#How To Remove Cat Spray

[hazbn-oneshots]

Bathtime Headcanons

Just a few headcanons for sharing a bubble bath with the main characters. Enjoy!

Charlie:

oddly enough Charlie doesn’t partake in full baths as much as she favors showers.

She’s busy dealing with the hotel and along with ruling as the Princess of Hell so she much prefers a quick warm spray.

On the occasion, however, she finds herself tired enough that you might just be able to convince her to indulge with you. 

You make a point of dredging up any kind of bubble bath, bath bomb, lotion, anything you can find to ensure that you can provide the best bubble bath possible.

Music plays softly over a small speaker, but it’s drowned out the hushed whispers of words of love as you meticulously wash and condition her hair.

Conditioning is your favorite step. Charlie didn’t need it often as her hair somehow stayed so silky, so every now and then when you got to run a soft brush through her hair, twisting it gently to pin atop her head.

She tries to wash you in return but you always push her hand away, insisting on pampering her after a hard day.

Usually ends with you drying her off and carrying her to bed when she inevitably passes out.

Vaggie:

Vaggie loves baths but she’s hard pressed to admit it. Nothing feels better on sore muscles than a nice soak, ideally with lavender. She loves lavender.

The two of you had been dating for about 6 months before she even entertained the idea of going to you with such a request. 

She was too embarrassed to ask.

-in the end, how she broaches the subject is by surprising you one night when you return home. A few candles lined the edge of the bathtub that was filled nearly to the brim with bubbles.

”I just thought it would be nice, you’ve been gone all day” And you know better to react calmly should you risk spooking the flustered angel with the scarlet red face.

She’s the one that drags it out in the end. She’d wrap her arms just a little tighter around your waist and mutter about how the water would stay warm for just a little longer.

Vaggie gives sweet towel hugs.

Alastor:

Listen, Alastor takes pride in his hygiene. He takes the utmost care to keep himself and his dress in immaculate condition. 

He’ll invest in facial creams, hair creams, body creams, oils, lotions, you name it and he’s used it. 

But baths? No. Absolutely not.

You’ve only attempted to convince Alastor to take a bath with you and neither occasion ended particularly well. The radio demon wouldn’t speak to you for a week after the first failed attempt and had all but removed himself from your life with the second so you couldn’t say you were in any hurry for a third.

However, the two of you have come to a happy compromise. Whenever you found yourself in the mood to draw a bath you would sometimes find Alastor pulling a chair up next to the tub with a book tucked under his arm. So would begin a lovely tradition between the both of you.

More than once you’ve found yourself dozing to the soft static of the Alastor’s voice, and in response the demon would lightly tap his cane against the edge of the tub to rouse you.

Don’t fall asleep though, three strikes and he’ll leave you in the tub. No he doesn’t.

Husk:

Not. A. Fan. Considering his entire being consists of fur and feathers, Husk can and will do everything within his power to avoid bathing if he can. Look, it’s just not his idea of a fun night to sit down with a hairdryer and attempt to wring himself out as best he can.

Inevitably he’d miss a spot and end up with stale wet cat smell and no one likes that, especially not our resident grump.

He won’t make a fuss if you want to bathe with him though. What he will do is laugh while patting your shoulder. “I’ll wait for ya in the room”

The more comfortable he gets, however, you’ll start to see that eventually Husk begins to find reasons just to ‘wander’ into the bathroom with you. He misses you, you know it, but it’s still sweet to see him making the excuse of looking for his lucky pair of boxers.

”The water’s always warm darlin”

You better get the blow dryer ready, the only way you can convince him is if you’ll deal with it. You don’t mind though, the purrs are worth it

Angel Dust:

You and Angel take turns picking which bath bombs and bubble baths that you’ll throw into whichever potion you’ll be brewing up tonight.

Bathtime with Angel was always a favorite for you, you couldn’t think of anything better than getting to curl up with your cuddle bug in your arms. Although things never really stay that way for long.

It’s hard not to tease while washing each other. A slip of the hand here, just a little rough touch of loofah there, just a sweet little taste of what could be but the restraint comes easy in the relaxed atmosphere. Just in times like these Angel will be patient enough to wait until you can actually make it to the bed. 

Angel won’t let you wash his hair. You don’t know why he’s so particular about it but if you interrupt his routine of products then his entire night is ruined so you choose the peaceful route and leave the man be. That doesn’t mean he won’t wash your hair for you if you ask though, those four hands of his do wonders at massaging the scalp.

Angel will 10/10 let you towel dry him every single time and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t use it as an opportunity to make a show at bending this way and that, making sure to get every inch of him.

He looks like a fluffy mess afterwards but hey, he’s your fluffy mess.

Requests open!!

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Paradise Lost nobles reacting to being called babygirl

Gamigin: Make sure to take your vitamines.

Mc: Sure thing, babygirl.

Gamigin confused: I'm not a girl. Shouldn't I be your babyboy?

Mc: Nah, babygirl suits you better.

Gamigin is confused, but he's got the spirit. Trys to call you babygirl as well and you almost choke while laughing. Please explain to the autistic dragon what babygirl is, he doesn't get it, but he wants to be included. Once you explain to him the joke behind it, he'll start calling everyone in Paradise Lost babygirl. Uses it so much that it infiltrates Lucifer's vocabulary. You won't be able to go to Paradise Lost again without being called baby girl

Morax: Done! The cavaty has been removed. How are you feeling MC?

Mc: Amazing... Thanks babygirl

Morax: You're welcome!

This man... when I tell you that Morax is the most squishable character in whb. He has no fucking brain, this man is an orange cat, a lobotomy survivor. He gets high on nose sprays every morning. I want to aggressively shake him until he pukes from motion sickness.

Anyways, he wouldn't even notice he's been called babygirl. Even if he goes, he just takes it as a compliment. He is very babygirl if you ask me.

Buer: That would be 200 dollars

Mc: What?! I didn't know Paradise Lost doesn't have universal healthcare.

Buer: We do have universal healthcare, but yoga isn't considered healthcare. So, that's 200 for all of our sessions.

Mc: Can't you make a discount for me, babygirl?

Buer: No.

Calling him nicknames isn't going to get you free yoga classes. There's no nickname you could use that he hasn't heard before from people trying to weasle out of their payment.

Marbas: ...

Mc: ...

Marbas: Don't say it.

Mc: Babygi-

Mc proceeded to get body pressed by Marbas and his metal wheel thing (tf are those called?). This man has been called babygirl by the entirety of Abaddon since he's the doctor assigned to that region. He has had enough. If he hears anyone call him babygirl again, he'll start friendly-firing right through your skull.

Lucifer and MC are cuddling peacefully

Lucifer: Become imortal with me, Mc, and I'll make sure not a single day of yours is touched by sorrow.

Mc: ...damn, babygirl, who gave you the right to be so poetic?

Lucifer just takes it. No reply, no nothing, he just nods. It kind of reminds him that you're human, since only those would laugh at sarcasm like this. It's fine, he loves you even if you aren't imortal. He just wished that you would call something more romantic like "love" or "darling", though he won't say that out loud.

[pinknatural]

After googling “what to take to a stranger’s birthday party” and reading the top five articles thoroughly, the first two more than once, Castiel has determined that he should either bring candles, wine, or baked goods. 

A candle seems like a good, safe option, but the Walmart candle aisle is overwhelming. How is he supposed to know if Anna’s-friend-Dean likes oaky, woodsy smells versus lavender-linen smells? Castiel likes the one that smells like a waxy apple pie, but who’s to say that opinion is shared? What if he prefers pine, or something called Deep Twilight Mist? Castiel removes the lid for Deep Twilight Mist and smells the cream-colored wax curiously. It smells like the perfume Hael used to spray everywhere when she was eleven. He puts it back on the shelf. 

There’s a candle that smells like cupcakes. It is a birthday party, so perhaps he would like that. Castiel puts it in the blue plastic basket dangling from his arm, then puts it back on the shelf, tilting it so the label is facing perfectly outward. Maybe Anna’s-friend-Dean doesn’t like candles at all. 

Wine. Everyone likes wine. Well, unless Anna’s-friend-Dean is one of those guys who thinks wine is too feminine. Or if he doesn’t drink at all. Or if he drinks too much. Or, perhaps even worse, if he’s some kind of wine connoisseur and will mock Castiel for buying reasonably-priced wine from Walmart and then blacklist Castiel so thoroughly that he will never find a friend in this town. 

Wine and candles are too complex. But everyone likes baked goods. 

Castiel is stopped in the middle of the road, turn signal blinking to indicate that he would like to turn left into his apartment complex, when he realizes that Anna’s-friend-Dean could be diabetic. But the party is at a restaurant that specializes in hamburgers, so probably not. Hopefully not. All Castiel has to do is successfully implement chocolate chip cookies and then melt into the walls at the party. Be pleasant enough company that next time someone has a large event they allow Anna to invite him again. Go to enough social functions that he can claim to have friends and get Anna off his back. Live quietly, working at the Gas-N-Sip and writing papers about the science of Theology and perhaps even going to the library and reading secular fiction.

Castiel has no expectations of finding actual friendship at Anna’s-friend-Dean’s birthday party. Or ever, really. If he ever gets lonely, he can get a cat.

Anna thinks that Castiel and Dean will get along very well. Castiel thinks that living outside of their mother’s influence has made Anna believe in fairytales. Anna has known Castiel his entire life. She knows full well that he has never gotten along very well with anyone. 

Castiel cracks an egg over the batter. Maybe this whole baking thing will impress Anna so much that she’ll stop bothering him about making friends. 

Who knows, maybe these cookies will unlock something else to add to Castiel’s quiet life. He quite likes the idea of baking.

--

The firefighter is very beautiful. Maybe even the most beautiful person Castiel has ever seen, besides models on the sides of buildings who look so perfect they’re fake.

“You the guy who started the fire?” the beautiful firefighter asks. He puts his hands in his pockets. Castiel’s cheeks burn. Not from any fire. 

“They were just burnt cookies,” he says. “I didn’t know they would set off the smoke alarm.” In the entire building. The other firefighters are by the doors, writing things down, talking to other residents of Castiel’s building. How come the beautiful firefighter was the one who had to talk to Castiel? He sneaks a peek at the man’s arms, but they’re sadly covered by his coat. 

“You burned the cookies on purpose, then?” the firefighter raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Castiel says. The firefighter has green eyes and freckles splashed across his nose. Castiel wants him to take off his helmet so he can see what his hair looks like. 

“Right,” the firefighter says. 

“Am I in trouble?” Castiel asks. 

“No,” the firefighter says. He winks. Castiel feels his heart literally skip a beat. “Not a crime to burn cookies. Losing out on the cookies is punishment enough.”

“They weren’t for me,” Castiel says. “They were for a birthday party. Tonight.” For some reason, he wants the firefighter to know that he has a social life. Never mind if the social life was enforced upon him by his older sister.

“A birthday party? Today? Who’s hosting? I gotta fight for my honor.”

Castiel is baffled. What honor? What fight?

“What?”

“Everyone will come,” the firefighter says. He makes a pose, as if he’s flexing. “To see me and this other guy fight to see who’s the Supreme Birthday Boy.” He stretches one arm out, pointing it to the sky, then he opens his fist. “Pow! It’ll be me, of course.” He turns to look back at Castiel. His mouth is very pink. Castiel wishes he understood what words were coming out of it. 

“It’s my birthday, too,” the firefighter says after a moment, when Castiel doesn’t react.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I dunno. Trying to be funny, I guess.”

“Oh,” Castiel says again. Behind the firefighter, he sees that the other residents of his apartment building are filing back inside. For some reason, despite the January chill, Castiel doesn’t want to go back in. Not yet. 

“You know, usually this is the part where people say happy birthday,” the firefighter says. 

“Happy birthday,” Castiel repeats. 

“Thanks!” the firefighter beams. “So do you think I should crash your friend’s party tonight?”

“No,” Castiel says, alarmed at the thought. A firefighter, and probably a bunch of other firefighters, crashing Castiel’s opportunity to stand beside the wall, holding a cup of sprite? When Castiel shows up with store-bought baked goods? And this beautiful firefighter will point right at him and say that Castiel invited them and then Anna’s-friend-Dean will hate him forever, and probably Anna will too? “Also, he’s not my friend.”

“He’s not? Then why are you going to his party?”

“He’s my sister’s friend,” Castiel explains. “I’ve never met him. She thinks I need to leave the house more.” Too late, Castiel remembers that he was supposed to pretend he had a flourishing social life. Oops. 

“Wait,” the firefighter says. His eyes sparkle. “Are you Anna’s brother? Cas-something?”

“Castiel,” he says, with the patience of someone who has had to explain his name a million times. He narrows his eyes. “How did you know that?”

“Dude,” the firefighter says, laughing. “I’m Dean.”

Anna’s-friend-Dean is a beautiful firefighter, with green eyes and freckles? Anna’s-friend-Dean is the Supreme Birthday Boy? Anna’s-friend-Dean probably has very muscular arms, under his uniform?

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” the firefighter says. 

“Winchester! Wrap it up!” one of the firemen calls from the truck. Castiel realizes that all the firefighters are about to leave, and everyone from his building is already back inside. When did that happen?

“Be there in a minute!” Dean hollers over his shoulder. When he looks back at Castiel, he grins almost shyly. “You were gonna make me cookies?”

“Yes, I--I thought it would be an appropriate thing to bring.” Castiel wonders again if Dean could be diabetic. Or perhaps allergic to something in chocolate chip cookies. Are chocolate chips made in a peanut-free facility? Maybe Castiel should’ve bought wine, after all.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says. “Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach was dead-fuckin’-on. But, uh.”

“But?” Castiel is sure, suddenly, that Dean is about to reject him and tell him not to come to his birthday party after all. Which would be a shame, because all of a sudden Castiel wanted to go.

“My favorite dessert is pie,” Dean says like a confession. 

“Oh,” Castiel says, eyes widening. Maybe he can swing by the bakery--maybe he can look up a bakery, and then swing by it--on the way to the party. Assuming he’s still going. 

“And, uh, not to toot my own horn, but I make a pretty mean one. I actually made myself a birthday pie, and I was gonna eat it alone, but maybe…I mean…”

“Yes?” Castiel asks. Dean is slightly taller than him, so he tilts his head back to meet his eyes. Dean swallows. Castiel watches his adam’s apple bob.

“Well, I could swing by after my shift is done,” Dean says. “Bring it with me. We could share. Before we go to the Roadhouse, I mean. If you want.”

“I want,” Castiel says before he can think about it. He snaps his mouth shut. Dean brightens. 

“Great,” he says. “I’ll be back. After my shift.”

“When does it end?” Castiel asks. Dean looks at his watch. He grins at Castiel, tongue poking between his teeth.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. 

“Okay,” Castiel says. “I will you soon, then.”

“Yep,” Dean says. “Gimme about an hour, okay? And then we’ll have pie.” 

“Okay,” Castiel says. Dean turns to head back to the firetruck. “What kind of pie?” Cas calls after him. Dean turns. 

“Apple!” he calls. Castiel stands outside, in the January chill without his coat, for a long while after the truck leaves. What a strange man, making his own birthday pie. What a lovely man, sharing it with a stranger. Supreme Birthday Boy, indeed.

--

When Dean returns, in a soft flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, revealing his magnificent forearms, his hair a spiky mess that Castiel wants to run his fingers through, he has, as promised, an apple pie. And Castiel has a present for him. 

When Dean opens it, he laughs until he almost cries. He lights it right away, and the lingering aroma of burnt chocolate chip cookies is chased away by the apple pie candle from Walmart, a bright, steady little flame flickering between them.

(ao3)

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

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[freckliedan]

i know TIT shows don't start until next month, but i want to start posting about this early: what covid safety precautions are you guys planning on taking?

this community prides itself on being a welcoming and safe place for neurodivergent and mentally ill fans, which rules! phannies are one of the kindest groups of fans i've known, and that's a lived type of kindness—people act on it, we aren't just talk.

so that's why i'm mentioning this now! there are a lot of physical disabilities that both frequently co-occur with neurodivergence and that make potentially getting covid more dangerous. and covid cases are at an extreme high right now.

it would suck very bad if going to TIT caused people to get sick or die. it would suck if dan and phil got sick from being around us, both because of the impacts on them and because of any potentially cancelled shows.

so how are we going to take care of each other? i have several points of action i'm planning on, but i hope you guys are thinking about it too.

my longer term steps: i still wear a kn-95 every time i leave the house, and i still have not caught covid. even though i know my level of caution has good success rates i am planning on minimizing risky behaviors for the week/two weeks before my show. + i'm up to date on my boosters.

my personal steps day of: i'm planning on using a preventative nasal spray before TIT too; with the nasal spray, i may be comfortable with removing my mask for a picture during my m&g. i might not; i plan on decorating my mask to match my outfit—possibly decorating a cloth mask to wear OVER my kn-95.

i think it would be very cool if we started decorating masks and posting about that the way we've been doing bracelets!

my community-focused steps: i'll be bringing extra masks with me, too, to hand out in case anyone wants them; might have half of those include cat whiskers as decoration. i'm also making this post, and i'm going to talk about it in the discord servers i'm in.

in conclusion.

wearing a mask is an easy way to make us disabled phannies feel safe and cared for and included in this fandom! please consider it even if it's not something you find important in your day to day life. (though it's never too late to start masking for the protection of disabled people in your day to day life, too).

[nekomanager]

.—♡ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 {KOZUME KENMA}

your surprise for KENMA's birthday surprised the both of you even more

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ⋮ f!reader, overstimulation, blowjob, slight exhibitionism, nekomimi, creampie

It's already late at night. This must be the perfect time for you to give Kenma your official gift. Quietly, you walked out of your walk-in closet, planning to surprise him.

Your boyfriend, who turned 28 today, was busy playing the game you bought for him. His birthday stream just finished and he's now playing while in a call with his teammates from high school, though they might be done with it already.

“Kenma?”

Hearing you, he gave a quick glance then returned his attention back to his game, until it dawned to him…what you were wearing.

He instantly looked at you, gasping and staring at the puffy cat ears on top of your head, the collar around your neck and the thin fabric of your pink string bikini; your top bearing a cat-shaped hole in the middle showing your cleavage and he guessed that your panties had the necessary tail. Just for him. He thirstily swiped his tongue across his lips.

You shyly crawled towards him and he gulped, just lost at the sight of his little kitten all willing to service him, taking the floor like the good girl that you are. His eyes travelled down to your collar, and a grunt escaped him when he saw what’s engraved in the metal plate, Kenma’s.

All of this. All of you. Is his.

Kenma dropped his console and removed his headphones.

You placed your hands on both his knees, parting them further so you could place yourself in between. His breathing got heavy and you cupped his cock, now turning stiff on your touch. “Y/N,” he closed his eyes and blew out a pained exhale.

Your fingers fiddled on the zipper and button of his pants, opening it with eyes full of wonder. He sprang right onto your face and you just stared at his growing erection. You licked your lips at how pretty his dick looked for you. Too pretty. You slowly glided your tongue along his length, taking your time in feeling his warmth and softness. Getting to the the tip, you circled your lips around, taking him in but not reaching half his shaft before you removed your mouth.

“K-Kitten, please…” he whined, face all reddened, “be my good girl.” Seeing how needy he was of you, you finally devoured him completely.

The tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat as you bobbed up and down him, your hand wrapped around as well, pumping him with the right grip. You felt the ache in between your legs as he kept huffing and moaning repetitively. Your ass wiggling as you sucked him, making him rock in your mouth harder.

“Mhmn…” you mewled.

He cupped the back of your head, fingers all tangled up around the strands of your hair as he pushed and pulled in and out of your mouth. Tears now brimming at the corners of your eyes, while your saliva almost spilled out of your lips as you were filled by him. His girth fitted your mouth perfectly, numbing at the sensation.

Kenma groaned, feeling that he’s coming close. He pulled your face away and his cum sprayed all over your face and your innocent pink kitten lingerie.

Both of you just stared at each other still catching your breaths. Breathing heavily, he took you in. Your lips now bearing the same color as your cheeks while you panted, breathless.

His eyes just pinned you when he spread his legs and tapped his thigh. You gulped and heeded like a good kitten, taking over his lap. He aligned the tip of his shaft along your dripping entrance and you sank all through his entire length. Your head swung back at how deep he hit you.

Your body was shivering at how good he felt, and he wasted no time bouncing you on his lap. You gripped your wrist around his neck so you won't fall with how wildly he was thrusting in you. Your hearing was filled with his soft huffs and moaning which made your walls clench around his cock tighter.

"Augh- Y/N!" He said as he moved at the edged of the seat. His hand hands gripped your ass firmly, moving your body to meet his deep and forceful strokes.

"Aaaah...aahh...I'm close! K-Kenma! Kenma!" You whined, finally orgasming.

However, Kenma wasn't done yet and he's not gonna let go of your cute kitty pussy until he shot his birthday cum inside of you. He placed your body on the floor and began slamming down his cock so rapidly that your knuckles are turning white and so was your vision.

You just came...You just came! Another one...another one! Your toes curled, cumming around him again. Your mouth hung open and drool slipped down to your chin.

He hugged you tight, placing a hand below your head as he gave two strong pumps before filling your pussy.

“Holy shit! Did you and Y/N just did what we thought you were doing?”

Your heads both sharply turned to the headphones beside him. Kuroo?

“H-How long have you been there?” Kenma took his headphones and asked, panicking.

“Damn! Just enough." Tora commented.

Lev added, "We're supposed to greet you, but we're the ones surprised!"

"Why didn't y'all put down the call?!"

And Yaku..."We thought it’s just a game thing until now."

"No, you put the call down next time,” Kuroo reprimanded Kenma then chuckled. "Wow. What a happy birthday. We'll leave you two alone. That's enough show for us today," continued by his best friend who ended the call.

Kenma froze, his face even redder. It's his entire team. However, he couldn’t do anything about it anymore, and his head was still light with pleasure

Running a hand through his hair, he returned his focus back to you. You were almost passed out, breathing through your parted lips. You looked so adorable that he wanted to squish you more in his arms. He sighed and smiled. At least, he got you as his special present for the rest of the night.

Happy Birthday to me.

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

[marlynnofmany]

One More Earth Animal -- Part Two

(Part One is here)

Fernando Hwan Tengku-Jones was expecting a cat. His friend on the colony world had said they were sending one that somebody’d left behind — poor thing! —and Fern couldn’t wait to give it a good home. He’d already cat-proofed his quarters as best he could. Fragile things were put away, his reading lamp was secured to the bedside table, and he’d grabbed a few cardboard boxes from the recycle stash that would make good hidey-holes. A litter box should be available somewhere in this space station’s commerce sector — he’d been here before. He could check after the drop-off. As much as he would have liked to get that set up first, he wasn’t in charge of the schedule.

His Frillian crewmates were curious about the companion animal that the captain was allowing him to bring onboard. He’d spent the last half of the trip telling them every story about cats he could think of. Each of them rippled their frills in patient disinterest, but he didn’t mind. They’d be won over by the adorable kitty soon enough.

When the ship docked at their usual berth, Fern did his part in helping unload the usual shipment. The specialty maintenance shop here always ordered the same stuff at this time of the rotation. Everything was normal. But then Fern got to dash off to meet another ship, and he was more excited than he’d been in a long time.

He called ahead, and was told to meet at the cargo bay door. When he arrived, he saw that this ship was unloading boxes as well. He didn’t see any logos anywhere, and the boxes weren’t even all the same kind, plus the crew wasn’t wearing uniforms.

Looks like one of those freelance setups, he thought while he patiently waited at a distance. That always sounded like such an unreliable way to make a living. But at least they get to travel to interesting places. Where there are cats!

When the crew finished handing the motley assortment of boxes off to a motley assortment of customers, the one with the tablet waved him over. This was a cute little lizard who probably wouldn’t want to be described that way. As yellow as a very serious banana. She called into the ship for somebody else to come out, and Fern was delighted to see another human carrying a cat-sized cage.

“Hello!” the other human said, waving her free hand. “I have something important to tell you about your new friend here.”

Fern was immediately worried. “Is it injured? Or pregnant?” His captain had approved a single animal, not a litter.

“Thankfully, no!” she replied, setting down the cage with the front turned away from him. “First of all, he’s perfectly healthy and perfectly tame. And he’s been fixed. But most importantly, his stink gland has been removed.”

“His what?” Fern thought of his aunt’s cat who had stunk up the house by scent-marking the walls. Wasn’t that just pee, not a gland?

“Congratulations,” the other human said. “You are the proud owner of a non-spraying skunk.”

“A what?” Fern said on reflex, processing her words.

She lifted the cage and turned it so he could see inside. “This is the friendliest little snuggle buddy, and he likes being brushed.”

Fern stared. A very fluffy skunk stared back. While most of his brain was still circling in shock, the thought surfaced that the animal really did seem tame: not threatening to spray even though its gland had been removed. Theoretically.

He asked, “You’re sure it’s completely de-stinked?”

“Yes.” The other human nodded. “Our medscanner is top-notch. And I spent a lot of time with him on the trip here; I’m certain he was hand-raised as a pet. No idea how the poor guy ended up in the middle of nowhere, but he more than deserves a loving home. Think you can give him that?”

Fern’s heart twinged, and he shook himself. “Yes, absolutely. Did he come with a name?”

The other human smiled. “Nope! That’s up to you. I’ve been calling him Fluffy, but that’s just a placeholder.”

“Seems pretty accurate,” Fern said, gazing through the bars.

The yellow lizard stepped forward with the digital paperwork. Fern signed for the skunk, his thoughts in a whirl.

“If you’re already set up with cat food, good news: skunks will eat that,” the other human told him. “They’re omnivores, so this guy will eat a lot of the same stuff you do, just try to keep it as close to nature as you can out in space: plain and not overly processed. He’ll love peanut butter and chicken eggs if you can get them. Oh, and keep him away from the usual list of Crazy Human Toxic Foods! No chocolate, onions, garlic, or caffeine. Or hot peppers, though that’s more unpleasant than poisonous for him.”

“Right,” Fern said, handing the tablet back. “Good to know; thank you.”

“Sure thing! I hope you guys have a long and happy life together.” She presented him with the cage and gave his uniform a look. “Merchant ship, right?”

“Talented Toolmakers, of Frillian Pride,” Fern recited automatically as he accepted the armload of skunk. “I got hired when the route changed to spend more time in human territory. But then it changed back, and I haven’t seen much from home lately.”

“Well this guy’s glad to have you,” the other human said. The lizard was already walking back into the ship. “We have to rush off to another delivery, but good luck! Skunks can get into places they shouldn’t, and claw things open that a cat wouldn’t be able to, so keep him away from the engine room.”

“Got it!” Fern waved goodbye as the other human trotted back onto her ship. While the bay doors closed, Fern took careful steps back toward his own.

He expected his crewmates to react in alarm at the news that his cat was a skunk … but he’d forgotten that they were unfamiliar with Earth animals.

“If it can’t make that smell, and it isn’t going to bite anyone, then I don’t see a problem,” the captain said. “Just keep it in your quarters while it gets settled in. You can bring it out under supervision later.”

“It really is as fluffy as you said,” remarked the engineer.

“What does it eat?” asked the pilot.

Fern replied, “A lot of the same things I do.”

“That’s convenient!” the pilot said. The others agreed.

And that was that. Fern took the skunk into his quarters, let it waddle around and sniff everything, then fed it a messy plate of cat food. He put a folded hand towel in the cage and gently stuffed the skunk back in so he could run off to buy a litter box without worrying about what it would do while he was gone.

He splurged on a fancy litter box with a covered top and an auto-scooper, designed for ship’s cats. When he set it up and opened the cage, the skunk went right for it, which was a relief.

Probably a relief for him too, Fern thought. He’s been in that cage a while.

The captain announced that they were taking off. Fern settled down to socialize with his new pet, confident that he wouldn’t be needed for a while yet. Their route was predictable, after all, and this next part involved a lot of empty space before they reached the warehouse.

A lot of empty space, and pirates.

Human ones according to the intercom, which just made the whole thing more insulting. This was NOT the taste of home he’d been missing. The captain’s announcement held a lot of profanity, and Fern could see why. It was bad enough to be shaken down when they had cargo they could be reimbursed for, but right now their hold was empty. And the pirates wouldn’t accept that.

They’ll want our own tools, Fern thought, looking around his quarters. And food, and fuel, and… His gaze fell on the skunk nosing about his bookshelf.

And fuck them.

He lunged for the intercom button. “Captain, if you’re sure they’re human, I have an idea.”

Several minutes later, the pirate ship locked onto the merchant vessel, and clamped an adapter over the airlock. Pirates gathered, ready to board, armed with guns and knives and vicious grins.

Those grins evaporated when the first pirate looked through the airlock porthole at what waited for them on the other side.

One lone human, wearing a breather helmet and carrying a fluffy, agitated skunk.

The pirates detached immediately and took off with enough thrust to rock the ship.

The pilot got the merchant vessel back on course, while the captain sang praises over the intercom, and Fern brought Fluffy the Fearsome back to his room for some well-earned brushing.

The next time that particular merchant ship passed through the area, it had a large emblem of a skunk pasted next to the company logo.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[purrrtasticsnake]

Jungwon

Imagine: Jungwon as your sub:

Pairing: sub!Jungwon x femdom!reader

Warning: light smut, BDSM themes, petplay, free use, implied mommy kink

• Funishments: He loves bratting, but that does come with a prize (a very fun one). He doesn't necessarily always get punished if it's not that serious, but he receives funishments all the time (Which is something he doesn't mind at all). 

So when he's getting naughty, you quickly pull him aside, and teach him a little lesson. This mostly involves spanking or any other type of impact play. As long as he gets bossed around, he's happy. Just for fun, you still make him apologize for whatever he did to get into this position.

One of his ways to set you off, is by acting like a brat in public. Because that makes it harder for you to discipline him without other people noticing. But if you can't wait to get back home, you just pull him away from your surroundings, into an alleyway. Give him some good smacks and make him kiss your shoes to prove he'll behave.

His real punishments are not so fun, tho. These can vary all the way from writing lines, to spending a week in a chastity belt.

• Pet: You guys established that you are his owner. He had always dreamed about a relationship like that. The possessiveness and care that comes with it drives him crazy (in a good way). 

He regresses quit a lot to petspace, mostly as a cat/kitten. And you've noticed that he even has some cat mannerisms. Like how he loves getting back scratches, and he can't resist the urge to wipe something off of the table (which also reminds you that no matter how cute he is, he'll always be a brat at heart). 

You decided to buy a cage for him, which he now uses as his comfort place, when he misses you. But off course it also gets used for timeouts. The whole cage is filled with blankets, pillows, stuffies and things that remind him of you. Sometimes he'll steal your used clothes and put it in there. Or he'll spray your perfume on the blankets.

• Free use: If you want it, you get it. Jungwon has no issue with that. You can grope him whenever you want, even when he's sleeping. He hates initiating these sorts of things, so he wants you to do it. It makes him feel desired.

Sometimes you'll visit his workplace to see his hard work for yourself. Then you can't resist sneaking him away from the group into an empty studio. Especially right after you see him dance, you just want to give him a little reward.

It's really fascinating. Because his reactions are always a surprise. Sometimes he'll act shy and really flustered like 'm-mommy, why so sudden?'. Other times he'll get such a big rush of adrenaline that he'll immediately flash you a naughty smile and acts all sassy like 'damn why did it take you so long, can't you see I've been starving?'.

☆ Choosing Game: ☆

(● = his choice/preference)

1)

○ rewards

● punishments/funishments

2) 

● getting spoiled by Domme

○ servicing his Domme

3)

● petplay

○ ageplay

4) 

○ obedient

● BRAT

5)

○ praise

● degradation

(He loves getting slut-shamed, even though he's not a slut at all)

6)

○ bondage

● impact play 

(One way to drive him crazy is by taking off his own belt, and using it to whip him)

7)

● exhibitionist 

○ voyeur

(Loves it when you make him strip)

8)

● low protocol 

○ high protocol

Here you can find my other imagines:

(Update: it got removed)

[ahhvernin]

To my nosy neighbors who say my yard is full of "Trash" Those are native flowers.

Black eye susans

Milkweed

Jewel weed

White Heath Aster.

They're dying...because its almost OCTOBER. Its called WINTER IS COMING. You don't like my "Messy Garden", well I don't like your golf course manicured lawn. It looks haunted. Devoid of life, only the remnants of the spirits of what could have been there. Meanwhile I have bumblebees, green metallic sweat bees, honey bees, monarchs, skippers, hairstreaks, house finch, catbirds, mocking bird, cardinals, dark eye junkos, ruby throated hummingbirds my favorite bird, grackles, dragonflies and A SHIT TON OF FIREFLIES. And you know what sometimes it takes like 2 years for someone to watch how their garden grows and then decide what to plant there. Its called: "Not spending hundreds or thousands of dollars on landscaping and plants that will probably die if the professionals dont come and take care of them"

Also I dont see you sharing the fruits of your labor such as harvested vegetables with the neighbors. Have some Tomatoes, radishes, peas and squash. Don't yell at me for "Not cutting the lawn every week" When you don't even physically mow your own lawn and then have the gall to tell me "If you can't hire a landscaper you shouldn't be living in a house." What kind of elitist bullshit is that. Don't tell me you can't mow your lawn because of your bad knee, but expect me to mow my lawn with how shitty legs that want to give me a 40 minute cramp. And then give me a sob story that you got to spend most of your Social Security Check on landscaping and you eat like a dog. Well...Then...Have some damn tomatoes, radishes, peas and squash. PS. I'm doubling down, finally know what I'm doing with that one flower bed. I'm putting more black eye susans, I'm also gonna add New England Asters and White Heath Asters. Locally collected BTW. I'm gonna get my cottage meadow house one way or another and I'm not gonna hire landscapers. That's like a weeks worth of groceries. P.P.S The skunk is nomadic. It hopscotches from property to property. It sprays because your dogs and cats are in the yard in the middle of the the night. I don't have pets other than my fish, and I only generate one 8lb bag of trash each week, so I don't know what "TRASH and GARBAGE" you're talking about. P.P.P.S This isn't an HOA. If you want manicured curb appeal without any personality, you are free to retire in an HOA. Otherwise...

My Yard, My Playground.

Also, I'm not hiring a snow removal company either, deal with my zigzaggy hand shoveled driveway.

[roosterforme]

Two to Tango Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley lets you play cat and mouse with him all day long. But at night, it's a battle to find out who is really in control.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing, smut, angst

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Part 1

Bradley watched you stroll into the locker room like you hadn't just kissed him. You were either totally unaffected by what you just did, or you didn't want him to know you were a little riled up too. He groaned as he pushed through the men's door.

As discreetly as he could, Bradley ducked into one of the shower stalls and started to peel his muddy clothes off. The locker room was already filled with steam from all of the other guys running the hot water, but Bradley wasn't able to focus on getting cleaned up just yet. 

As he removed his compression shorts, he looked down at his erection and groaned. He'd been fine until that little smack to his cheek. You hit him just hard enough for it to sting, and then he thought about you doing that to him in bed. 

"Oh, fuck," he grunted as he wrapped one large hand around his cock. He stumbled toward the faucet and turned on the water, letting the warm spray wash over him as he jerked off. He needed to be quiet; he was literally surrounded by the others in the stalls next to him. He bit his lip and stroked himself at a steady pace, picturing your smug face as you slapped him. 

Apparently it had been too long since Bradley got laid. He was reacting to you like a teenager, which should have been embarrassing; he was old enough that you called him old man. But you were just the type of woman who always got him worked up. He liked them cute and bossy, and it didn't hurt that you had seemed completely disinterested in him before you kissed him. 

And you were cute enough that he'd want you more if you ran hot and cold with him. And now he was thinking about you on the other side of the wall, in the ladies' locker room, running your hands all over your own body.

His hand felt good, but he had no doubt yours would feel better. Bradley tipped his head back and stifled a moan as he came all over his left hand. He felt a little dizzy as he let the steamy water wash over his body, and he started to clean himself up. 

Would you kiss him again? Or pretend this never happened? He was already anxious to get you alone and find out.

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

Bright and early the next morning, Bradley walked with Coyote to the cafeteria, opting to bring his own teammate this time instead of sitting with the Air Force guys. He still wasn't sure if you had tricked him yesterday at breakfast, or if he had walked into that trap himself. Either way, you had been on his mind all evening while he was trying to fall asleep. 

He knew you would be a distraction as soon as he saw you. He'd let himself jerk off to the thought of you, let himself think about fucking you, but now he needed to focus on the rest of this week. Bradley and his teammates had to beat your team. 

"Morning, Tango," one of the Air Force aviators said, and Bradley looked up to see you strolling in wearing your flight suit with the sleeves tied around your waist. You were wearing a black tank top, and when Bradley made eye contact, you winked at him. 

He almost moaned around his bite of oatmeal as you walked past with your chin held high. Coyote smirked. "You like her," he murmured softly. Leave it to Javy, always the quiet one, to call Bradley out on his shit. 

"Doesn't matter. She doesn't like me, man," Bradley replied as he drank his entire cup of coffee. 

Coyote snorted and shook his head. But actually, Bradley wasn't sure how you felt about him. The kiss and the slap were hot, but Bradley was convinced that you were just trying to throw him off. 

Distraction, he thought to himself. He tossed his trash and walked to the classroom with Coyote. He found the spot at the back of the room labeled Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and slipped into the seat. Then his eyes settled on the name placard next to his, and of course it was yours. And of course he liked your first name. 

A four hour lecture sitting next to you? He might not make it. He propped his elbows on the table in front of him and massaged his temples.

"What the hell is your problem?" Phoenix asked as she strolled past him and took her seat at a different table. 

"Just trying to figure out why I'm being punished."

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "You're so dramatic. We'll be in the air after lunch. You usually enjoy these lectures."

"Mmm," he hummed, because now you were walking into the classroom. You found your spot and sat down gingerly next to him, chatting sweetly with Hangman of all people and ignoring Bradley completely.

"Morning, Tango," Bradley finally said, forcing you to acknowledge him next to you. 

"Old man. I didn't notice you there, sweetheart," you said, clearly pretending you were surprised to see him. "Have you decided what you're going to call me today? Something to complement incompetent and inexperienced?"

"I tried to apologize for that," he reminded you. "Yesterday....outside the locker rooms."

You turned toward him and bit your lip. "Yes, you were very....sincere."

"And you were very handsy," he whispered as the flight instructor entered the room.

You pressed your lips together. "Yeah...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know anything about you... if you have a wife or a girlfriend or something...shit, I shouldn't have kissed you without permission."

Bradley examined your face; you were actually sorry. But he wasn't sure if you were sorry for kissing him, or just for neglecting to confirm if he was single and consenting.

He wanted you to kiss him again. "I'm single. And consenting."

Your mouth opened and you gaped at him before biting your lip again. He watched you grin as you asked, "Exactly how much are you consenting to, old man?"

"Good morning!" Class was beginning, and absolutely everybody was now facing the front of the classroom except for Bradley. He peeled his gaze away from your profile and faced the front as well. 

He opened his lecture booklet and scrawled one word in the corner of the first page. When he nudged it a little closer to you, he watched you lick your lips as you read Everything. 

Then you took your pen and wrote one word in neat handwriting before pushing the booklet back toward him. 

Perfect.

Bradley groaned softly and it felt like all of his blood rushed away from his brain and directly to his cock. 

He was struggling to sit still, paying more attention to you twirling your pen out of the corner of his eye than the actual lecture. Those fingers had been touching him yesterday. Bradley had just given you permission to touch him again. The only problem was, he wasn't sure you and he would even be able to have time alone this week. The schedule was packed. 

He saw you hold your pen up and deliberately drop it on the floor between your chairs. "Oops," you murmured. 

Bradley watched your dip toward the floor, running your fingers down the length of his leg, touching him through his flight suit. He was straining against his compression shorts, dying to touch you. 

Only three hours and fifty minutes of this lecture left. 

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

"Tally! Tally! Bogey, six o'clock, Phoenix!" Hangman shouted. Bradley quickly doubled back to help his teammates. The Naval aviators had taken to the air first, participating in a timed drill. The mission was simple: shoot down the enemy aircrafts as fast as you can.

"Break right, Phoenix," Bradley told her, and he watched her navigate exactly as he had hoped she would. It gave Coyote a chance to eliminate the final opponent from the dog fighting scenario. 

"Yes!" Phoenix cheered. "Nicely done, guys. Although I must say, I really miss Bob. He would have spotted them way sooner than we did."

Bradley smiled as he undid his mask and dropped altitude. He followed the other three Super Hornets down to the runway, and he was climbing out of his jet just in time to see you and your teammates walking across the tarmac. 

"Good luck, Tango," he told you, trying his best not to convey the want he felt when he looked at you. 

"I don't need luck, Rooster," you told him with a smirk, and Bradley watched you start up your ladder while he followed Phoenix to the tower. 

The Air Force aviators would need to beat a time of thirty minutes and fifteen seconds if they wanted to earn more points than the Naval aviators. And when Bradley unzipped the top half of his flight suit and drank some water, he listened to the radio as your team took to the air. It was immediately obvious that although you were most likely the youngest member of your team, you were clearly the leader. 

"Tango! Angels three, two bandits!"

Your voice was strong and commanding through the radio, and Bradley was intrigued. "Hit the firewall, Killer!" 

"Tally two!" 

Your team seemed to work together just as well as his team did, and now Bradley was a little nervous. He could literally see two hundred dollars and his pride slipping through his fingers. But you sounded like magic to his ears. 

"Hit it hard! Final Bandit!" 

And when your team ended with a winning time of twenty-nine minutes, Bradley wasn't even surprised. He had underestimated you just two days ago, and now he was going to keep paying for it. 

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

Bradley took his time on the way to the locker room. You were ahead of him in points, and the Air Force was leading the Navy. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he was dying for more of your attention. All you had to do was look at him, and he started getting hard. Every time you talked to him, he wanted to touch you again. You were so self assured, he couldn't get enough. 

You were walking toward the showers, chatting with Coyote. Javy appeared apologetic when Bradley looked at him, but that didn't stop him from making you smile and laugh. Bradley waited for you to walk past, and you paused when Javy went into the men's locker room. When you gracefully stepped right up to him, you let your fingers rest just below Bradley's belly button. His whole body clenched as you stood on your tiptoes, brushing the tip of your nose against his. He was instantly leaning down, trying to get his lips on yours, but you had pulled away enough that he could see your grin. 

"You're so slow, old man. Let's see if you can pick up the pace later. Three one six five."

Bradley moaned as your fingers drifted further south before you turned and stalked into your locker room. He loved being teased and toyed with; no woman had ever treated him like this before. 

"Oh, shit," he whispered. 3165. That must be your room number. Fuck, he had to walk gingerly into the locker room and pray that nobody would notice his erection. And no jerking off today, no matter how badly he needed it. He'd wait for you. 

So he got cleaned up, did his hair and put on one of his Hawaiian shirts. Then he and Phoenix ordered a pizza and ate it in her room. "Why do you look so nice?" she asked. She was wearing a sports bra and oversize sweatpants. "I'm exhausted and probably going to pass out as soon as we finish eating." 

"No reason," he muttered, folding a slice of pizza and biting off half of it. 

"Ohhhh," she said, when she finished chewing. "It's Tango. I knew the two of you would end up either fucking or fighting. It could have gone either way. But I must say, if you're sleeping with her, you'll definitely lose your bet."

Bradley frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"Let's just say I'm not about to make a wager with Killer anytime soon," she said with a smirk. 

Bradley snorted. "You're hooking up with that big guy? He's like two feet taller than you."

"He's big everywhere, Rooster," she told him, and Bradley grabbed another slice of pizza and left with a grimace. 

Should he wait around a little longer? Or head to your room? Fuck it, he was already on his way up to the third floor. Might as well see if you're actually in your room. 3165. He raised his hand to knock when the door across the hallway abruptly opened. 

"Don't knock!" you said, dashing out and grabbing his hands while you laughed. 

"Huh?" he asked, surprised to see you coming out of a different room.

You were trying to contain your laughter as you pulled him across the hallway and into room 3164. "That's Killer's room. I was just fucking with you. Trying to see if you'd actually show up."

"Seriously?"

You were grinning as you pulled him into your room and closed the door. "You look so cute in your Hawaiian shirt, too. Killer would have snarled at you, showing up like you were his booty call."

Bradley was trying not to laugh, but he could feel his lips and mustache twitching with amusement. You were wearing your black tank top and some short shorts. "You know, something tells me you'd have laughed if Killer threatened to punch me."

You nodded as Bradley backed you up to the wall inside the tiny room. "I probably would have, old man."

Bradley scooped you up, holding you by the thighs and pinning you against the wall. You gasped as he pressed himself against you through your shorts, but you still had laughter on your lips. 

"You know what's not funny?" he asked softly, your hands coming up to grab his shoulders. 

You bit your lip and squeaked as he pressed you harder into the wall. "Tell me," you demanded, still grinning. 

Bradley smirked at you as he lowered his voice until it was rough and raspy. Then he squeezed your thighs and said, "It's not funny how hard I'm going to fuck you."

You gasped and licked your lips. "Tell me more, sweetheart."

Bradley was the one smiling now; your pupils were blown wide as you focused on his words. "You're leading me in points, Tango. I gotta make it so I have an advantage tomorrow. If you can't walk straight or sit right, I think that might give me the upper hand."

"Oh," you gasped, and Bradley lowered his mouth to your neck. He listened to you whine as he teased and then soothed your soft skin with his mustache while he ground his hardening cock against you. "Okay, show me what you got, old man."

Bradley tipped your chin up with his nose and sucked on your neck. "You're not going to be calling me old man when you see what age and experience can get you."

You were whining a little bit as he tossed you onto your bed and watched you start to scramble out of your shorts. 

"There's no rush, Tango," he whispered, watching you as he took his Hawaiian shirt off and draped it across the back of the chair. You were laying on your back on the narrow, twin-sized bed, your nipples straining against your tank top and your tiny underwear barely covering your pussy. He reached down and ran one long finger along your seam through the lace fabric. When you bucked up off the bed, he grinned and said, "I like to take my time."

You moaned and Bradley watched you turn your head to the side. Your cheeks were flushed now. "Please," you whispered, easing your tank top up your torso until your tits were on display for him. 

"Damn," he muttered, stroking your nipples gently with his thumb and making you mewl. "You done being demanding then? You like to switch it up in the bedroom? Let me control you?"

"Fuck," you gasped as he moved his hand lower and dipped his fingers into your underwear. You just looked up at him where he stood and sucked in a deep breath. "You should be so lucky, Rooster. I'll be in charge of everything."

He slipped one finger down along your clit and watched you squirm. "You keep telling yourself that." Bradley eased his large body on top of yours at the same time his finger dipped inside you. He kissed your lips softly, before rubbing his mustache along your tits. 

He worked his fingers, never giving you more pressure on your clit as you rocked your hips up against his hand. Your pussy was wet and silky, and his cock was throbbing now, but he was determined to make you wild for him.

He licked and sucked on one breast and then the other, switching each time you started to really whine. "Rooster!" you hissed, bucking hard as you took a second finger followed by a third. Bradley could feel how hard you were gripping him, and his hand was starting to cramp, but he kept going. 

"You like that, Tango?" He gently took your nipple between his teeth and gave you some pressure there until you were practically screaming and pawing at the back of his head. 

"Yes!" you screeched, your gasping voice breaking on the word. Bradley crooked his middle finger inside you and watched you shake your head back and forth against the pillow. You had your feet planted on the bed, absolutely riding his big hand for everything he was worth. "Fuck!" 

"Yeah, I'll fuck you in a little while," he promised, keeping that same soft, steady rhythm with his thumb. "But first, let's get you off like this." He leaned in close to your ear and licked your neck as you came on his hand, legs shaking and babbling nonsense. "If you like my hand this much, you'll never survive my mouth and my cock." 

"Oh God," you whispered, looking up at him like you were finally ready to let him take charge. He waited until your hips stilled before he withdrew his fingers and tasted you there. 

He smiled. "You taste good," he whispered, and when you parted your lips for him, he slipped his three fingers into your mouth. You moaned and sucked on him, licking between his fingers and dragging your tongue across his palm. 

Suddenly Bradley felt less in charge than he had a moment ago. You kept his fingers between your lips until he was groaning, then you said, "Where's this magical mouth you told me about?" 

Bradley climbed on top of you, tipped your chin back and kissed you hard on the lips. He fucked your mouth with his tongue, pausing only to yank your tank top completely off your body. Your mouth tasted like your pussy, and he couldn't wait to get himself squared away down there for some more. 

You brought your fingers up to tangle in his hair, and Bradley's kisses became more controlled, more languid. He would be damned if he rushed this instead of proving to you that the rest of him was just as impressive as his fingers. 

Your hands felt too good on his neck and and behind his ears, and as he settled his full body weight down on you a bit more, you were thrusting up against him, wrapping your leg around his hip. "Don't rush it," he whispered against your lips and you moaned so loudly, his cock felt like it was going to break his zipper. 

But you grabbed him roughly by his hair and pushed him further down your body. "I want your mouth on my pussy."

"Fuck," he groaned kissing and tasting your tits as you guided him down. Bradley licked your belly and pulled your tiny underwear down, pressing his lips all over your newly exposed skin. 

He looked up your body as he took your underwear down your legs and dropped them to the floor. You met his eyes and bit your lip as he spread your legs wide. "Pretty," he murmured, pressing his lips to your clit. You were soaking wet and your fingers were still tugging at the roots of his hair as he licked the full length of your slit. 

He forced a slow pace, refusing to give in to your tugging and whining. But when Bradley heard you moaning his call sign as he swirled his tongue over your clit, he had to slide one hand down to adjust himself. He sucked on your clit softly until it sounded like you were going to start crying, and then he had to unzip his jeans. His dick was painfully hard, but thankfully you were now moaning, "Fuck me, Rooster. Please!"

"Shit," he almost yelled, releasing you and standing. He took off his undershirt and dropped it to the floor before yanking his cock free from his jeans and underwear. 

"You look good, old man," you whispered, still out of breath as you rolled onto your stomach on the narrow bed.

"I still don't know how old you think I am, Tango." As he toed off his shoes and socks and guided the denim fabric down his legs, Bradley groaned. "I don't have a condom."

You smiled up at him over your shoulder, reaching out to grab him by his dick and pull him closer to the bed. "If you're clean, you don't need one," you whispered, releasing him and getting on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed. 

Bradley was practically panting at the sight of your ass and pussy, bare and ready for him. He grabbed you by your left hip and guided himself to your opening with his right hand, relishing the feel of you and the depraved sounds you made as he pushed and pushed until he bottomed out.

"Oh, God," he groaned. He should have masturbated earlier. What the hell was he thinking? This felt too good. Thankfully you were already pretty far gone, your face buried in the bedding as you got louder with each thrust. Your body looked like it was made for this as he watched his cock disappear into your pretty pussy over and over again, you ass bouncing with each thrust. 

"Harder," you gasped, and with a devilish grin, Bradley slammed into you. 

"You like that? I like it, too. Gonna love it when you can't sit in your cockpit tomorrow," he promised, fucking you hard until you were clamping around him. Your thighs were shaking as you met his body each time he bottomed out. "Fuck, fuck, where do you want me to cum?" he asked. But you were in the middle of your second orgasm now, and there was no way he was going to get a solid answer out of you. So Bradley pulled out, and within seconds, he was spurting his cum all over your ass and your back. 

"Oh," he gasped, gripping himself and looking at the gorgeous mess he had just made. "Beautiful."

You were still scrambling around on the bedding as you more or less collapsed onto your stomach, and Bradley looked around for something to clean you up with. He spotted a travel sized pack of tissues next to your bag and started to wipe his cum off of your pretty skin. 

"Did you make a mess on me, old man?" you asked softly, turning to look back at him with a smile. 

"Sure did. Looks pretty though," he rasped as he finished cleaning you off. 

You just laughed and tried to stand up to no avail. Bradley scooped you into his arms and got you both settled onto the bed with you halfway on top of him. "You can cum inside me tomorrow night if you want to."

Bradley grinned and kissed your forehead. "You want more of me, Tango? Enjoyed that, didn't you?"

You just laughed and said, "Okay, I'll admit it, you're a good lay."

Bradley narrowed his eyes at you. "Just a good lay? I thought we were kind of having fun here. You know, all the dirty talk. All the tension."

You looked at him like you weren't sure what to say, but you swallowed hard and whispered, "It's just sex."

Bradley felt like he'd been hit in the gut. "Right," he grunted. "Right." Shit, he needed to leave before you could tell he was annoyed.

You stretched out and yawned, and Bradley slipped out of your bed. He got dressed quickly, avoiding looking at you as he zipped his jeans. He threw his Hawaiian shirt on and headed for the door without buttoning it. "See you tomorrow night?" you asked, sitting up completely naked in bed. 

Bradley glanced your way one time and then left without a word. As far as he could remember, he had never done the walk of shame. He'd sent girls packing in the middle of the night before, so he supposed this must have been how they felt. But it was barely nine o'clock now, and he had to sneak back to his own room and think about how cheap you'd made him feel. 

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

Oof. Tango, he is clearly into you! Hope you guys enjoyed this part...more to come soon!

PART 3

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[bowbowcherry]

Nsfw MDNI ×

Tojixfem!reader

×Thumb in ass,degradation, 69, spit, drool, spanking. Pubes. Squirt. F!cum swap. Hair pulling. Mention of pain play ig?. Gross at the end?×

I stayed up from 1 to now 6pm I am tired and I can't sleep :D I can't slant certain words without it doing the whole paragraph when I click off!!! . Uh baseball fic still working on cuz I'm lazy.

I feel like I didn't add as much sexy time but idk ill edit it to mix any mistakes n s8ch tomorrow or someday lol anyways make sure to reblog and like!!! Enjoy:

69 w/ toji!×

You slurp, both your hands at his base. His pubes tickleing your hands. Your drool, from sucking him deeper earlier, dripping down his hard cock onto your pretty, soft minecured hands. Like slime, it sticks. In the pubes ,everywhere. Eyes closed. Makeup smeared. If only you could see how much of a whore you look like. But it's all to impress fushiguro.

"Fuck baby.." He groans into your pussy. His thump playing with your tight rim. He licks you from your clit to your clenching pussy hole. Playing with the clenching muscle with his wet warm one. Then licking over Puffy fat swollen folds. Then back to your swollen peral of meat.

you trying to take that fat cock down your throat. His thigh muscles flexing. The feeling of your wet sticky tongue dragging over his tip, sucking. The hands at the base feeling them squeeze when he licks over a good spot. God, the high he's getting from all this. His whole body feeling sweaty and hot. Electrifying. Might be better then any drug If his eyes could roll back more they would. Your soft plumply thighs beside his head. Waiting to squeeze his head. Threatening and trembling to close as he flicks right to left on your puffy hard clit.

His thumb pushes past your tight rim. His other hand moves to slap your ass. The sound loud thur the room."H-haaah...toji.." One of your hand, now on his thigh your nails digging into his thigh like sharp cat claws. Leaving behind pretty red lines. You buck back on his tongue. He grabs your ass and slaps it again and again. Making it nice pretty red. God he wants to see it turn red and bruised. Just watching you try and get comfortable while sitting. God does love that. Drives him fucking insane. You squeezeing your thighs looking up at him with lusty and husky doe eyes. Fuck, his dick trys to bob. It throbs acheing to be touch with that warm mouth"Dirty. Nasty. Pain slut..go back to sucking that big dick like your ment to. Fucking freak...mmm" And he goes backs to licking and sucking. you do as your told. As you should.

You lick over his tip, before taking half of him in your mouth. Your hand one hand go's back to the base to steady the heavy rod. Your lips drags as you you move your head up and down. "Mmm.." your eyes roll. It's all to much. Feeling his tongue. The taste of his cock. The thumb moving in amd out your ass fast. Your head feels empty like a dog who got its food. So good and wanting more. You grind back on his face, your thighs squeeze his face. Your mouth let's go of your favorite candy to moan loudly into the air. Coming,That big boost of euphoric high. "TOJI!" You squeek, voice cracking as you spray your sticky and sweet juices into his mouth. Your hand one hand removing and going back to claw at his thigh the other gripping his base quite tightly. He couldn't say that he didn't like a little pain.

He's groans moving his thumb faster . He brings his other hand his pointer and middle finher rub your pulsing and twitcheing clit, side to side. Your squirt drenching his lower face, dripping down his neck and sticky face onto the bed. God he wants to cum he really can't take anymore of this. He can just feel his cock turn purple with need.

He collects some squrt in his mouth. the nice favor coating his whole mouth.he wants to swallow so bad but shareing is careing. Your panting, mind in a different place. Floating around somewhere in heaven like an angel. Your pushed off him, your face making contact with the bouncey bed. On your forearms. Creaking from your harsh movement. Your behind in the air. Quite a veiw for him Then your hair is grabbed from behind. A nice stinging ache feeling from it. Your pulled to face toji who is kneeling on the bed. The bed dipping around his knees. His toned thighs flexing, his cock bobbing here and there. His pubes to his happy trale. His abs, waist. His perked nipples. You feel yourself clench. everything is a perfect on this God.

Hand still in your hair he pulls it back so your neck is strain as you look up at him. Your face a mess. On all fours. Make up smeared heavy lidded eyes all hazy. Your pretty tits hanging. Gripping the sheets as he uses his other hand to to open your mouth. What a veiw His rough fingers grabbing roughly at your chin opening your mouth up. He leans close spitting his saliva and your liquid into your mouth. A nice good mouthful. "Drink it selfish slut." He grins at you when your face turns sour when it all hits your mouth. You swallow. His cock jumps, leaking like a broken sink. Fuck your perfect.

×

[pearl-kite]

So I came to the realization today that I am not going to get anymore work on this trunk done this year. I still need to finish stripping the paper inside and redoing that, but it's just. Not happening until spring. With that realization, I decided it's time to finally bring it back inside, put all the junk on my floor that used to be in it back in it, and guys

It looks good.

This is going to be a summary post of the project, so let's go back and remember what I started with. Back in, like, 2015 or something, I bought this dome-top steamer trunk at a missionary shop for $65

Yeah. Rough. But underneath that paint it was sturdy, and the only thing missing was the lock and the right-side hasp. While I lived overseas this sat in my parents' house, and when I got back I kept meaning to do something while storing all of my yarn and cat food in it. When I finally got my own space (almost a year ago now!) with my own garage, I finally decided: it was time.

Heads up, this is a long post under the cut.

Did a lot of research online, grew to hate how generative AI has even permeated niche topics like how to refinish a vintage steamer trunk, WHY is there generative AI for that, PLEASE stop, went to Lowe's and bought some supplies (I used Citristrip for the paint stripping, it worked VERY easily), and started stripping that hideous brown* away.

Almost instantly I could tell how good it could be. The tin looked amazing, and for most of the stripping process I wondered why on earth someone would cover it with any color. It took multiple layers of stripping, and I got better at it over time.

I did also start to see some oxidation issues with the tin that made the purpose behind the paint job a little more understandable.

One side was particularly bad, but I will never forgive the decision to paint the entire thing one single color.

At first, the flat metal seemed okay, but the longer I worked on stripping, the longer it was exposed to air, the rustier it started to get. I had already planned on coating it, and I ended up getting some Rust-Oleum Rust Reformer spray paint. Instead of removing the rust, it bonds to the oxide and stops the process from continuing. It also happens to leave it a nice matte black that didn't need additional painting. I taped everything off, then sprayed.

Then it was time for the tin. I looked for ideas, and the best one I found was Rub'n'Buff. It's not so much a paint as a pigmented wax, with the idea that you can buff it to a higher shine. As I was stripping paint, I found a spot under one of the slats that the painter missed, and the original tin had been painted a gold color, so I used that to decide on color. I decided on Grecian gold, though I used the antique gold as a kind of base to make sure the Grecian stretched far enough.

I originally started applying it with some craft foam brushes, but they didn't really want to work for me, so I ended up buying a pack of makeup sponges, the little disposable wedge ones, and the finer texture worked much better. I had to trim them down pretty frequently, because the wax would build up and stop applying as nicely, but there were more than enough in the pack to finish the job.

The coverage is amazing for this stuff. This side was the worst of them, and one layer of the stuff was almost perfect. The Grecian gold was almost a bit runnier, though, and ended up needing a second layer to cover some patches that were almost too thin, thus the other underneath.

This tin is so pretty though. I still kind of regret that it needed it; the places that weren't oxidized were so bright in a way that the Rub'n'Buff had no hope of emulating. There are some places you can still buy the embossed tin for rehabing trunks like this, but I haven't found one with a pattern quite like this, and this one is so much nicer than the ones I've seen. I'm very glad that it was all intact except for where the lock goes.

After the tin came the slats. I knew from sites like Brettun's Village that I wanted to use tung oil, so I had bought what I thought was tung oil. Turns out Minwax gets to call their tung oil finish that even though there's. No... tung oil. in it. ? So uh, if you want actual tung oil, do NOT listen to Minwax, they're lying, I don't understand why it's allowed. It still looks nice enough, but quite annoying.

Speaking of Brettun's Village, they not only do their own restorations AND provide a guide, they have a very extensive supply of recently furbished and original parts. They happened to have a nearly identical hasp to the one that was missing (so nearly identical I only noticed after my dad pointed it out) and an old lock also similar to my original, made in the late 1800s/early 1900s.

The next step was to tackle the inside. Instead of just adding more paper on top (like the last people did, so now there are two layers, one of which hides some original stickers ;3;), I decided to try to scrape that out, and I've found some structural issues that the metal and slats outside have held together and kept hidden.

The top split in the wood is an actual crack on the front that needs fixing. The middle split is just the gap between the planks. The bottom is also a crack, but not as extensive as the top one.

So the final steps, when I get the motivation again come spring, is to finish getting as much of the paper off as I can. Then my dad is going to help me use some bondo to hold the cracks, and I'll find a removable wallpaper I like. Then I can sort out what I'm going to do with the lock. That top split runs right through where the lock should go - you can see some of the wood filler we already put in from where the original was ripped out - so we can't try to put anything there or it'll crack worse.

But I brought it in today!

It looks so good, I glance over and get to feel so satisfied; I did that.

*I don't like to call any color hideous, because a lot of the time it really depends on the context, and it's an okay brown. But for THIS? It was probably the worst brown they could have picked. Mixed with the orange of the paint stripper it looked like I was scraping diarrhea.

[yjhariani]

Surprises

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k Warning: Profanity, mention of a death of a neighbour.

A/N: Still the neighbour. How shall we end this series?

That one day, you bumped into one of Simon’s friends who you met at the ball in your building. You believed they called him Gaz. When you greeted him, he greeted you back and said that Simon asked him to get something from his flat while he was away. Simon had left for a couple of months by then.

Later that day, you found out that your new Russian neighbour died. All you knew had died in a car accident.

When you updated Simon on your day via voice message, he only responded with a skull emoji, per usual. However, he did ask how you had been doing.

Weeks passed. Upon your leave, you found a bouquet of lovely flowers by your doorsteps. There was a card attached to it that said; Skull emoji.

When you confronted Simon about it, he left your text on read. Afterwards, you bombarded him with photos of Ghost the cat and received a response of a very rough selfie that had his middle finger in the frame.

You stopped counting the days of Simon’s leave because it was not getting better. The yearning was getting more and more real. Ghost the cat was keeping the yearning fire going even more rather than consoling you of Simon’s leave.

Then, it was your birthday again. At that point, you had not been in contact with Simon for over a week—which was not irregular.

However, later you had someone delivering something to your place. It was a birthday cake with a chunk of a quarter of it missing. A few hours after texting Simon of it, Simon responded with a photo of a quarter of a cake with his friends gathering around the remainder of the cake in the background.

About another couple of months after that, you found Simon waiting in front of your door at your arrival to your flat one Friday evening. You were not sure if you did it on purpose or not, but you leaped into his arms and he was catching you.

Even there, you could hear Ghost the cat meowing from the inside of your flat. He started scratching the door.

“Little shit’s going to ruin your place, love,” Simon pointed out.

“He’s already spraying everywhere, my place smells like cat piss now,” you replied.

“Maybe you should move him out to my place,” Simon suggested as he put you down on your feet.

Simon had his mask on and as if it was tradition, you pecked him on the lips through it.

“Let’s get in, then. Your son misses you a lot,” you teased.

“Of course you’d call him that,” Simon sighed.

Chuckling, you proceeded to open your door. Right away, the cat hopped out and meowed loudly at Simon. Simon picked up the cat and started scratching the space between the cat’s ears.

“I got something for this cheeky bastard,” Simon said.

“Oh, yeah? A little gift for your son?” you joked.

“I thought he’s yours,” Simon said.

“He’s my cat, but he’s your son,” you said.

You pulled the two of them into your flat. You led them to the sofa and put down the stuff you were carrying before going behind him and draped your arms on him from the back. You gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Tea?” you asked.

“Just you,” Simon said, gently pulling you so you were sat on the sofa next to him.

There was a moment when you and Simon only looked at one another. He took something from his back pocket.

“The bastard’s got my name, might as well look the part, don’t you think?” Simon put something into your hand.

Placed at your hand was a pair of circular tin with a chain. On the tin was embossed the word Ghost.

“I got it commissioned,” Simon informed.

You chuckled.

“What?” Simon asked.

“You care so much about your son. That’s cute. I’ll attach it to his collar,” you answered.

Simon looked at you disapprovingly. It was quite terrifying and it explained the look people gave him when you were at the ball.

“Hey,” Simon softly called. “Did I spook you?”

“You can say I just saw a ghost,” you said.

Simon put the cat aside and removed his mask. It was visible that his beard was longer than usual. His paint also looked fresh, meaning he was not taking chances of not putting his mask on or putting it on and looking weird behind the mask. 

Simon put the mask on the table. However, of course, the cat kept coming back at him.

“It’s mating season and I think that’s why he’s more touchy,” you said.

“Yeah? Shall we pair him up?” Simon replied.

Again, you chuckled.

“I paired my brother up and it went well,” Simon said.

That froze you up.

Simon? Pairing his brother up? It went well? Also, he was saying this out of the blue? On top of that, he said in a very good mood. Or so it seemed, at least.

As if seeing your wonder in the way you looked at him, Simon sighed and took your hand.

“You said you don’t have a pleasant story. That sounds very pleasant,” you brought up.

Simon said nothing, really. He instead brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“Are they still together?” you carefully asked.

“I wouldn’t know, love,” Simon answered.

That sentence contained more emotion than whatever Simon had ever expressed in your presence. There was sadness. There was guilt. There was a little bit of anger. Even way less than that, fear.

You leaned closer towards him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Simon rested his forehead on yours before eventually taking your lips with his.

When the kiss seemed to be about going somewhere, you felt a smack on your face along with a few claws.

Yelping, you pulled yourself back, holding your face.

“Again?” you questioned.

“Get the fuck off,” Simon groaned, putting the cat down who reacted with a meow of protest. “You alright?”

Simon tilted your face aside, looking at the impact of the cat’s attack.

“Yeah,” you replied. “There’s more on my arms.”

Simon moved his hands to your arms, rotating them carefully to see a couple of more scratches.

“It’s just scratches,” you said.

“This joke isn’t worth it, then,” Simon said.

“You love the cat,” you reminded.

“Never said that,” Simon said.

Again, you both only looked at each other. Maybe you were trying to memorise each other’s faces again, but in a different emotion this time.

“What say you we ditch the cheeky bastard here and you spend the night over at my place?” Simon said.

“Dust island, you mean?” you asked.

“I’ve been cleaning since morning,” Simon said.

“Really?” you replied.

Simon nodded once.

“You managed to clean your place but not yourself?” you asked, lightly scratching his beard.

“I did take a shower,” Simon said. “Besides, you said you want to help me shave.”

“When are we gonna do that?” you continued.

“I got all week,” Simon informed.

Then, it was the next day.

You and Simon were in his bathroom. Simon sat on the closed toilet and you sat on his lap, facing him. You were lathering shaving cream on the lower half of his face and neck. Simon watched you, holding you in place by the waist under your shirt. Well, his shirt.

Once you were done, you smeared a little on his nose and chuckled. Simon responded by wiping his nose on your face.

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” you asked.

“I am,” Simon nodded.

“What if I nick you?” you questioned, wiping the shaving cream off his nose.

“I’ve had worse,” Simon said.

“What if I shave your eyebrow?” you replied.

“No one would notice, love,” Simon shrugged. “Except you.”

Simon wiped the shaving cream off your cheek before resting his hand back on your waist.

“Get on with it, then,” Simon said.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you said before taking the razor.

You started shaving his face. Every now and again, you would look up to his eyes, to see if he was telling you something. Every time, he only looked back at you with nothing but a resting look.

Occasionally, Simon would rub his thumb on your skin. At one point, he moved his hands to taut on the small of your back. Sometimes, he moved his hands to your thighs. Other than his hands, his body sat still.

After the shaving was finished, you rinsed his face and dried it up with a towel. Then, the two of you did nothing. You were just there with your arms draped over his shoulders and his on your hips.

“How does it feel?” you asked.

Simon felt his shaven face with one hand

“Good,” Simon said. “Well done, love.”

You smiled.

“I could get used to this,” Simon said.

“Let’s get used to this,” you said.

Simon pulled you closer and kissed you on the lips. You returned the kiss without hesitation. By the end of it, Simon rested his forehead on the crook of your neck.

“You’re safe,” you heard him say.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked.

There was no answer.

Simon just pressed his lips on your collar bone.

“Hey, we’re already here. Might as well take a shower, yeah?” Simon suggested.

You put your hands on his face, lifting his gaze to you. 

“Sometimes you don’t answer my questions and it worries me,” you admitted.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Simon said.

“I have you to worry about every time you leave,” you said. “Should you fall in battle, who would tell me that? Our landlord when he lets someone move into your flat?”

“Especially that you don’t have to worry about, love,” Simon said. 

You only looked at him, not really reacting to his question.

“Look, the only person allowed to move into this flat after me is you,” Simon said. “In fact, if you’d like to save some for rent, you could.”

Simon took your hands.

“I got this place because I want to feel like going home every now and again,” Simon explained. “Then, I have you.”

Seeing the thin smile forming on your lips, Simon squeezed your hands a little.

“Doesn’t have to be quick, doesn’t have to be my place. Could be yours. I don’t care. Only if you agree with this,” Simon continued.

You moved a hand to his face.

“Sure,” you said. “The two of us living together?”

“How’s that sound?” Simon asked.

“With your son,” you added.

“Now you’ve ruined the moment,” Simon said.

You chuckled.

“Yeah,” you said. “Let’s get rid of one of these places. I mean… might as well, right?”

“Right,” Simon nodded.

The two of you were looking at each other again.

“We’re not moving too fast, are we?” Simon asked.

“It’s relative,” you said. “I already adopted your son.”

“God,” Simon scoffed.

You chuckled feeling that Simon was actually enjoying the joke because he kissed the back of your hand and smiled while doing so.

@hao-ming-8 @here4thespice @fckwritersblock @misshoneypaper @oscarissacsslut @itsasecrets-things @revrs @d4z01 @snortangeldust @sm8th0p

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day fifteen

@ailesswhumptober 15 — waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.” ↳ the farm, circa 1890 word count; 1.3k

cw; teeth pulling, possible minor gore, psychosis, catholicism, child abuse

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morris is screaming like he's being murdered.

He's just got a loose tooth. Oscar knows he does, he'd been the one to find it at some point in the dead of night when he'd woken up to Morris crying beside him — eventually managed to coax him into mumbling hoarsely that his mouth hurts. He'd let Oscar pull his lip back, after he'd sworn to God to be gentle and not touch anywhere near what hurt, and Oscar had seen blood smeared over baby teeth. Remembered how Da had whacked Morris hard in the mouth the evening prior, and the pieces had clicked into place. Da had knocked a tooth loose.

It's one of Morris' canines. They've always been a little crooked since they grew in when he was a wain, tilted forwards to stick out like fangs, and they're sharp as anything too. Sharp like a dog.

Sharp like the devil, Ma's always said.

She hates them. She's always hated them. And she's screaming now too as Da wrangles Morris through the kitchen, a pair of his pliers in one big, work-rough hand.

"Get them," she pleads, tears shining on her face, something terrifying in her pale eyes. Something shining and manic. "Get them, Morris, get the deamhan out of him. Sé do bheath' a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta—"

"Stop fuckin' fightin', lamb," Da grits out, spit flying between his teeth. "You'll only have me pullin' out another."

Morris is still screaming.

He's wailing, sobbing, face red with his terror and Da's suffocating arm around his neck, a desperate bid to keep him still, but Morris is writhing despite it. Kicking and scratching and turning his head. It reminds Oscar of trying to hold one of the barn cats, but Mo's nails aren't anywhere near as sharp.

His teeth probably are, but that's the issue, isn't it? He can't bite anyway — not like this. It's clear the tooth is still hurting him bad, only piling onto his panic, all his fear at what Da's going to do. And Da's trying to make it better, Oscar knows. He's just. Not doing it right.

"Le'mme do it," Oscar pleads, not for the first time, but his voice is once again lost over Mo's wailing and Ma's shrieking and praying. All nonsense words, that dirty language she ain't allowed to speak, but for once, Da isn't punishing her for it.

He gets the pliers into Morris' mouth instead. Forces them inside as he's screaming and Oscar watches as he squeezes them tight around what must be his target, scarred knuckles bleaching white with the force of it — and Morris howls. A shrill, awful sound that jerks some sort of primal terror awake within Oscar. A blind, protective urge.

But then Da rips the pliers out, and Oscar can do nothing but watch the blood that sprays, splatters across the wood of the cupboards when Da's arm comes swinging backwards. There's a wee tooth between the jaws of the pliers in his hand. A dangling thread of red-pink skin torn from the inside of Morris' mouth.

Morris bawls. Blood pools over his wet bottom lip, dripping down his chin to join the mess he's already covered in, all drool and tears and snot. He goes down with the tooth when Da drops them both, and a mouthful of saliva washed pink falls from his slack mouth onto the floor as he chokes and gags and sobs.

Oscar tries to run to him, but Ma gets there first.

Oscar had hoped, blindly, that she'd be done now, her insanity satiated for the day. For the morning, at least. But she's still muttering, still crying, still shaking, and heaves Morris up with hands under his arms, strong in that way she only is when she's crazy like this. Dark, unbrushed hair in her face, fire in her cold blue eyes.

"Wash it away," she mutters, voice a hoarse whisper, breathless. "Defiled. Defiled. A Naomh Mhuire, a mháthair Dé. He will forgive but only if we repent in humility before Him, A Dhia—"

She drags Morris up further, to the edge of the sink basin, and forces his head down backwards over the lip of it. Holds him there with a hand tangled in his curls, upside down, neck wrenched back. Flayed out like a sacrifice.

"There is nothing we can do to cleanse ourselves, only Dhia, only His mercy can save us—A Naomh Mhuire, a mháthair Dé, guí orainn na peacaithe, anois is ar uair ar mbás—"

"Ma," Oscar says cautiously, scared in such a different way than he is of Da. "What're you doin'?"

The water turns on.

Oscar's heart stops. Over the immediate thundering of the water as Ma wrenches the pump back and forth, he hears Morris begin to choke and retch beneath the water flooding over his face, pouring into his nose and mouth with how he's pinned turned up to it. Oscar sees him kicking and struggling once again, even more frantic this time — primal — but he's utterly helpless pinned backwards like this. Pitted against Ma's mania rather than Da's brute strength.

"Ma!" Oscar shouts. "Ma, fuck—You're gonna drown him!"

He runs forwards, but, fuck, Ma is strong when she's like this, and she fends him off like she's battling another demon —- one like she's convinced has possessed her youngest. Been convinced since those fucking teeth grew in. She shoves at him with bony elbows, blocks him from Morris with every inch of her scrawny figure, and Oscar can't get past her. Not without hurting her bad, and he doesn't want to. Can't stomach it.

He feels a lot less than his twelve years suddenly.

"Ma!" Oscar pleads.

He knows she'll regret it. She always does, every time she gets like this with Morris. He's her sweet babby, her little angel, her wee lamb. She'll come back to herself hours or days from now and sob over him, over the marks she left, the ones she let their daddy leave. She'll kiss him and cradle him and apologise a thousand times over until the words are meaningless.

But Oscar can't imagine what'd happen if Morris weren't even here for her to sob over when she came to. Buried in the garden like their sister, dead at Ma's hands just the same.

"Ma, you're gonna kill him," Oscar sobs.

Then, finally — "Da!"

He steps back as Da comes running. Watches, crying, as he pries his wife off of their son. Tosses her aside and whacks her hard for good measure, sends her sprawling to the floor, wailing like a child — like Morris — and the water trickles to a stop without an active hand on the pump.

Morris is left wheezing and heaving, awful breathless sounds like he's just been pulled from the lake, still stuck where he'd been left without the leverage or wherewithal or strength to pick himself up.

Da shoves him forwards and he folds, collapses on his knees. Keeps retching until finally he throws up, water and bile and another mouthful of blood. He's not screaming anymore. Just crying, sobbing like he used to when he was a tiny baby and couldn't talk at all, didn't have the lungs to scream.

Da pats him hard on the back, and he retches again.

"Alright. Alright, lamb," Da soothes. "Don't break down on me yet."

Da strokes his soaked, tangled curls back from where they're plastered to his forehead.

"Take a breather, yeah? You have a second. An' then we'll get that other tooth out for your Ma."

[llamagoddessofficial]

For the DA AU, how are they with pregnant people? What if MC is pregnant? Maybe she announces to the staff that she had a accidental pregnancy, but decided to keep the child?

Red: With her permission, of course, he lets the kids know- he wants to make sure they understand to be gentler with her. Also, if she gets ill or tired, or doesn't show up some days, they'll understand why! He's just hoping the kids will stop asking where babies come from. That's for parents to explain. 

He always lingered around her, but he does even more- usually he drops a few terrible lines that make her go pink, but he now lurks around her well after he should, watching her go about her business and trying to help. He’s always offering to make her tea or get her a snack, eager to ensure she’s hydrated and well rested... but he’s always staring, it’s sometimes unnerving. He muses out loud about what she might name the baby... “are you gonna bring ‘em to the daycare? won’t that be fun!”

It’s sweet, at first. She likes having someone looking out for her. But... she does get a little concerned with how he starts acting with other adults. Not just staff- even parents. People come up to her and ask her innocent questions about the baby, and she can feel Red’s empty glare from across the room. If anyone ever tries to touch her belly he appears out of nowhere like a ghost, grabbing them and removing them from the room with a cheery “keep your hands to yourself inside the daycare!”

It probably doesn’t mean anything.

Sans: Being pregnant won't save her from his Mischief and Mayhem. In fact, he just seems to double down on plaguing her, stealing her keycard so often she's started carrying around a decoy card and a flashlight to beam in his face if he gets close. Her using a flashlight on him is the equivalent of using a spray bottle on an aggressive cat. It’s because he’s extra desperate for her time and focus- he loves babies, and the girl he likes is pregnant, he wants to be involved in everything she does. As soon as she’s not involving him, he acts out to get her attention again.

If she thought Red’s hovering was bad, Sans is a hundred times worse. He’ll literally hang over her shoulder like a clingy kid if she’s not looking at him, so close his eyelights light up her face- if he could breathe he’d be breathing down her neck. He’s always demanding she sits down, has a nap, eats/drinks something, stops working... he’ll steal her laptop and phone if she keeps working. 

To be honest, she kinda finds it endearing that regardless of which personality is greeting her, both daycare attendants want her to look after herself. She also finds it sweet that even though Sans is the clingiest, most annoying, and most boundary-defying robot she knows, he’ll always quietly ask permission before he touches her belly. And if she says no, he’s clearly annoyed, but he never pushes.

Skull: Skull is always listening. Red and Sans often ask her to rest because Skull is intrusive-thought-style saying it over and over again until one of them asks her. But he doesn’t make many appearances, especially if she doesn’t know him already... he doesn’t want to frighten her when she’s pregnant. That just sounds like a bad idea. But as she gets more pregnant, he can’t help himself. Even while trapped behind Red or Sans he constantly reaches out to touch her belly- luckily, she gave those two permission, so it’s not considered much of a problem. 

Something that might get him to come out is if she ever complains about her feet/back hurting. Says it’s very uncomfy where she’s sat. She makes a lighthearted complaint, and suddenly she’s picked up- she giggles, thinking Red/Sans just scooped her up as a joke...

... until she feels the second pair of arms.

“... comfy... now?” :)

[running-with-the-feels]

Demon zombie Au:

Just some ideas for how Demon!Kuai Liang looks and such

-Due to those infected appearances being affected both based on their environment, their own personal nature, and even due to experiments done on them in Kuai’s case

-demon! kuai Liang’s has similar eyes to that of wraiths or spectators, no pupils, just the Iris being almost visible and glowing, his glowing blue with no emotion behind them. [Kinda simialr to Giyuu from Demon Slayer if you look him up]

-Had horns but they were barely visible and not really developed until the Lin Kuei got access to him, they grew fast but were incredibly brittle due to the fast growth so long is almost completely broken

-Eyes glow in the dark when light hits them like a cat, scares the shit out of random warriors or just Hanzo who got up to check on him

-Lot of scars both from missions and experiments, while demons are not exactly always the most welcoming of random demons on their territory and Kuai got the blunt of it sometimes

-claws, just claws

-Devleoped scales, they scatter all over his body and they do hurt him and he needs to remove them manually to let new scales grow in

-His vocal cords got fucked up as well, both due to being bit in the throat but also that it’s harder for him to form any words, on able to make mostly unnatural sounds like growling and hissing

Ahhhh I love this, and I will add:

Kuai Liang's horns were also brittle due to malnutrition (demons don't need to eat to survive but they do need it to survive well and be healthy) so his horns get longer and stronger after he gets taken in by Hanzo and Harumi

Harumi has a spray bottle for when Kuai Liang hisses just to be surly. He finds this very amusing

Hanzo finds the growling very attractive

Bi-Han used to help pull Kuai Liang's scales whenever they grew in too much, and before Hanzo and Harumi realized he needed help, Kuai Liang had to pull them himself and he couldn't reach his back

Demons stay very far away from the Shirai Ryu now that Kuai Liang is there bc that is His territory and he Does Not Share