#big fat mama cat

[crunkyscorner]

silly goofy Forneus ref ❤️

[kashverse]

would babykuna ever get a sibling or would she stay an onlychild?

you’d think, with all your combined wisdom and parenting experience, that you and sukuna would be able to handle another minikuna running around the house. but then, one day, you find mr pickles dangling by his claws from the curtains, a string of glittery beads tangled around his fluffy neck like he’s at some bizarre cat mardi gras. and babykuna? covered head to toe in glue and feathers, looking like the world’s tiniest, angriest chicken. 

“mama!” she screeches, throwing her sticky arms out. “mr pickles won’t stay still so i can make him a princess!” mr pickles lets out a mournful yowl, his eyes screaming, “save me from this tiny human.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, a sigh escaping you so deep it feels like it’s coming from your soul. “what… what is happening here?” you ask, a little afraid of the answer.

“mr pickles needs to be sparkly for the tea party!” babykuna declares, her little hands clapping together, sending a spray of glitter into the air like she’s some unholy craft fairy.

“and the glue?”

“to make the sparkles stick.”

naturally.

sukuna steps into the chaos, takes one look at his daughter—glue-feathered, glitter-covered, eyes wild with creative madness— and his fat, long-suffering maine coon…and he sighs. a long, weary sigh that only a man who regularly faces down hostile corporate takeovers and boardroom betrayals can muster. “i thought having another kid would be fun,” he mutters, rubbing his temples. “but at this rate, i’m gonna be grey before forty.”

“oh, please,” you snort, wiping glue off of babykuna’s cheek. “you’ll be hot even with grey hair.”

“damn right i will,” he grumbles, grabbing mr pickles from the curtain with one hand, detangling the beads with the other. babykuna blinks up at him, big eyes all innocent. “papa, will you be a sparkly princess too?” 

sukuna stares at her, deadpan. “no.”

“but—”

“no.”

“pleaaaase?” she bats her eyes, a trick she learned from you. sukuna falters. then—

“fine. where’s the glitter?”

“YAY!”

you watch as your fearsome husband—the one who makes grown men cry in the boardroom—gets dragged away by his tiny, sparkly tyrant, already mentally preparing himself to be covered in pink sparkles and feathers. he shoots you a look over his shoulder, one that says “you owe me.” and you just laugh, blowing him a kiss. “you’re doing great, sweetie!”

the look he sends you says he’s mentally planning your revenge, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away. as mr pickles saunters over to you, now freed from his glittery noose, he flops dramatically onto his side, giving you a look of pure feline misery. “welcome to the club, buddy,” you sigh, petting his fluffy head. “we’re all in this together.” mr pickles just groans, like he’s already over it.

and yeah, maybe the two of you will get grey hairs a little sooner than planned. but with all this chaos and laughter, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[icanseethefuture333]

Asteroid Kitty (9563): your kitten like charm 🐈‍⬛

Asteroid kitty represents the duality of a person, it’s how people are seen as sexy and cute. Asteroid kitty can also show how mischievous or promiscuous a person can be towards their prey, especially when it comes to women using their feminine charm to get what they want.

“I’m the type of girl you wanna chew all of my bubblegum

I’m the type of girl you wanna take to ya mama house”

Kitty in the signs/houses:

Aries Kitty / in the 1st house

Aries Kitty / in the 1st house people are the embodiment of “cat pretty”, their eyes are often shaped like a feline’s, and they are I nown for being a leader. They don’t like to follow the rules and could be seen as rebellious by people. Kitty 1st housers may also hate having people in their personal space but could lack a sense of respect for others. When in a relationship, they see what belongs to their partner’s as theirs, and wouldn’t understand why they don’t want to share. They could also be drawn to cats and animals prints in general. These kittens like to play hard to get and enjoy playful pushing/smacking on the arm as a form of flirtation. If they were a cat, they would believe they are the master and their owner was their servant, similar to those wirehair cats. They are only affectionate with the people they care about and can look at you as if you’re crazy if you act like you know them. These kittens have an infectious laughter as well and their voice sounds like purring to the ears. They are also athletic and look damn good in their workout clothes. They can pick up dudes at the gym and they often find people trying to help them whenever they are lifting weights.

Taurus Kitty/in the 2nd house

Taurus Kitty / in the 2nd house people prioritize financial security and success over the approval of others. These kittens value comfort and stability, they could often take naps and be seen as “lazy”. They might also carry weight more than others or have a “fat cat” 👀. Taurus Kitty 2nd housers charm is their ability to make their home and their style fancy on a budget. If they were a cat, they’d be the fluffy white Persian ones with the diamond collar. These kittens love luxury and being pampered. These are the type of people who grew up spoiled by their family. In a relationship, they are the type to be given money for spa days and so they can get their claws sharpened. They are also stubborn when it comes to arguments but for others their temper can be seen as sexually enticing. Romantic suitors feel compelled to give them their money and assets. Touch is also a big turn on for them and being touched by them always feels so sensual. They are high maintenance and lack patience when it comes to other people’s ignorance.

Gemini Kitty / in the 3rd house

Ohhh what chatterboxes! These kittens are very vocal and outspoken, but their way of communicating is very endearing! The way Gemini Kitty / in the 3rd house people talk is so adorable, when they have a crush on someone they can be very cheeky, and like to play a game of “cat and mouse” with their romantic interest. If they were a cat, they’d be a Siamese cat 🗣️! They are also very observant and attentive to details, if you do something that they don’t like, then they get the ick immediately. They are also very hot and cold, they hate when people are constantly in their face and need to have their alone time. Gemini Kitty 3rd housers need mental stimulation and have to be intellectually engaged. They are bold when it comes to saying dirty things and can be very vocal in the bedroom.

Cancer Kitty / in the 4th house

Cancer Kitty / in the 4th house people are attuned to people’s emotions and are sensitive to their surroundings. They could be described as empathetic and homebodies. People see them as cute and loving, they could often be babied by people, even as they get older in age. These kittens are classy in the streets and a freak in the sheets, they could play a more submissive role in the bedroom. Cancer Kitty 4th housers are known for their glowing skin, sweet scent, and docile nature. They like to be nurturing towards their loved ones and may cry with them when upset. If they were a cat, they’d be a exotic shorthair 🧸. They are viewed as the girl/boy next door and some people dream of marrying them. People hate seeing them sad and would do anything to make them happy again, they could manipulate others’ emotions if they wanted and whenever they’re in trouble, they get away with it because of their innocent demeanor.

Leo Kitty in the 5th house

The definition of mischief! Leo Kitty 5th house people are playful and vivacious, they love to have fun! You can find them at a party dancing or playing video games on a Saturday night. These are the kittens that enjoy laser tag, they like anything bright and shiny. If they were a cat, they would be an orange cat 🐈 ! People could find their energetic personality uplifting and are appreciative of their positive attitude. They are optimistic when it comes to their goals and they believe in having a team spirit. Leo Kitty 5th housers could be loved by children and animals, they see them as a big kid as well. They might be the youngest of their family or was that child who was a “busy body”, always wanting to go outside. When in a relationship, they love physical touch and quality time, they just won’t get off their partners lol. They could also have a high sex drive and are always excited to try something new, they might even want to try something silly like spanking their partner’s butt when they are caught off guard.

Kitty in Virgo/6th house

Virgo / Kitty in the 6th house people require more care than others. They could often be prone to sickness and when they are feeling under the weather, people wish to tend to their every need. Self care is an important part of their daily routine, so you can catch them doing their yoga routine or doing skincare. They could also be allergic to pets as well even though they might want one to keep them company. Virgo / Kitty 6th housers can be quite critical to cheap materials and are picky to certain foods, they have a refined palette. If they were a cat, they’d be a Russian blue. Hygiene is important to them and they are often praised for their well kept appearance (“pussy tight pussy clean pussy fresh”). When in a relationship, they are more shy and prefer to show their love through acts of services. In order to feel comfortable sexually, they could need lots of foreplay and require a partner that has patience, it takes a while for these people to get in the mood. Lying on the green grass underneath the warm sun could be healing for these kittens. Being in nature allows them to unwind and release stress.

Libra Kitty / in the 7th house

Popular and pretty! Libra Kitty / In the 7th house people are admired by their peers and often attract attention without even trying. They have many romantic suitors and they like getting what they want. People could often be jealous of them because of how well liked they are. They could have a reputation of being a “home wrecker” but they don’t see it that way. They feel if the home was never secure in the first place, then it wasn’t their fault someone chased after them lol. Libra Kitty 7th housers can be superficial and most of their attraction is based on physical appearance. These kittens also value balance and have a steady workload. If they were a cat, they’d be a ragdoll. In the bedroom, they are likely to be a switch and enjoy giving and receiving. These people like to see their partner’s face so missionary or cowgirl would be their favorite position, as well as 69 for fairness.

Scorpio Kitty / in the 8th house

What mysterious little creatures. Scorpio Kitty / In the 8th house could prefer to be alone and dislike being forced to socialize. These kittens are often misunderstood by others and might have been outcasted in their youth. They go wherever they please and look good doing it. Scorpio Kitty 8th housers may be drawn to the dark and prefer taking walks out at night, they also wear a lot of black. If they were a cat, they’d be a Bombay cat 🐈‍⬛. When they are attracted to someone, they ooze sensuality and are very alluring without even trying, their mannerisms as well are attractive to people. These people could have supernatural experiences and might be highly intuitive as well. In their family dynamics, they could be protective of others and can sense danger before it happens. In the bedroom, they are flexible and able to place themselves in all types of positions. They enjoy the darker aspects of foreplay such as roughhousing, shibari, whips, and bdsm. Their goal during sex is to claim their partner as theirs, expect love bites and scratch marks from these felines.

Sagittarius Kitty / In the 9th house

These are the alley cats who have seen and experienced a lot of things. Sagittarius Kitty / in the 9th house people are wise and knowledge of various topics. To other people they could consider them a “know it all” and mature beyond their years, they might feel inferior to them when engaging in a conversation. These people enjoy adventure and freedom, they would be a stray cat that is known and loved by all in their neighborhood. These kittens would most likely have multiple homes and don’t like being tied down to one place. They enjoy a good sense of humor and are attracted to someone who is intelligent, when a person matches their energy that turns them on even more. In the bedroom, they like to are open to new experiences and wish to try different things, so they are likely to mess around with sex toys. Sagittarius Kitty 9th housers could value their education as well and may be a “teacher’s pet”. If they were a cat, they’d be a Bengal cat. Within their family, these people would be the carefree older sibling who has crazy stories of parties and drinking, they are mostly likely to remain single and would not want to get married. They spend their time traveling and enjoying different cuisines.

Capricorn Kitty / In the 10th house

Capricorn Kitty / in the 10th house are focused , responsible, and determined. They have a sharp wit and don’t tolerate nonsense. These kittens are often annoyed with people’s incompetence and it puts them in a bad mood when things are not handled properly. They admire individuals with a good work ethic and have a good head on their shoulder. It’s a major turn on for them when a partner is able to take the role of a provider and make them feel secure in a relationship. These kittens are the type to receive push presents and don’t accept anything less than they are worth. They prefer stability and assets over romantic infatuation. Capricorn Kitty / 10th housers are likely to be “trophy wives” and “wags” (wives and girlfriends of athletes). In the bedroom, they assert their dominance only as a form of punishment or a way to relieve stress. In general, they can be a brat and desire a partner that can tame them. They are very opinionated and will let you know if the sex was bad or not. Their style consists of expensive jewelry and casual business attire. If they were a cat, they’d be an Egyptian Mau.

Aquarius Kitty / In the 11th house

Aquarius Kitty / In the 11th house people catch on quickly to things and have a keen intellect. They are smart when it comes to technology and could have a solid social media following. Their pets would also be popular on social media or they could make money from them (E.G: placing them in pageants or competitions). They do well in modeling campaigns and could have been seen in commercials and catalogs. Their sense of fashion is unique and they could be referred to as a “trendsetter”. Aquarius Kitty / 11th housers are able to find sexual and romantic partners quite easily thanks to dating apps or having good luck when it comes to sliding in people’s DMs. They also enjoy cybersex, either on FaceTime or sending sexy texts to their crush. Their online presence is considered tempting and alluring. They could post pictures of themselves in risqué positions or thirst traps are often their go to on their story. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make money from having an OnlyFans as well. When it comes to relationships, they are most likely to prefer being single and value their freedom. The downside is people try to trap these kittens and try to turn them into a housewife (or spouse) when they know they are very independent and rebellious.

Pisces Kitty / In the 12th house

What gentle beings. Pisces Kitty / In The 12th house people have a healing presence and are in tuned with their senses. They could have a spiritual connection to cats and often receive signs from them. They are highly intuitive and have cat like reflexes, they can predict things before it even comes true. If they were a cat, they’d be a blue abyssian. They enjoy reading books, meditation, and anything that allows them a peace of mind. Pisces Kitty / 12th housers are likely to smoke weed or use some type of psychedelics. These are girls at Coachella that dress whimsical and colorful and just there to vibe and have a good time. These kittens believe in manifestation and are the type to leave crystals in their crush’s car/home. They believe they can seduce people with their mind and aura (which is honestly true). In the bedroom, they prefer to use as sex as an act of healing and creating a spiritual bond. They could also be in non traditional relationships and may be open to polyamorous relationships. They might have even had sex with more than one person at a time.

[tosksuki]

Me U & Hennessy

Pairing: Fiance!Connie x Reader

WARNINGS: scratching, biting, nipple play, oral (male and female receiving), fingering , dry humping for 5 seconds LOL, p in v !!!, praising, pet names( sweet girl, baby, mama,) THIS WAS NOT REREAD AND EDITED sorry😊😊😊

WordCount: OOPS I FORGOT LMFAOOO

Summary: After Connie proposed to you with a fat rock you and him moved out of ur apartment and into a huge house. You’ve finally finished settling in and decided to celebrate. Afterall in between moving and working you both been too tired to give attention to the other. Connie misses his baby too much and you do too……..

You slipped off your comfy work shoes and slid the tight rubber band keeping your locs in a bun. “Hi baby! Mommy missed you sooo much” you say as your dog immediately runs up to you making you stumble a little. You crouched and gave him a couple pets before walking to the living room. “Connieeee im so tired” you slid next to him on the couch putting your legs over his. He spread his legs to get more comfy and started rubbed your thigh with his tattooed hand. For a moment he just stared at you thinking about how lucky he was. But fuck so were you. “Hi pretty girl how was work today?”

Can we stay home tonight ?

You ranted on about the new hire messing up your schedule so you had to redo it. You had to perform an emergency surgery on a sick cat someone brought in. Blah blah blah, “yeah mhm” he looks at you halfway zoned out the conversation. He lazily started rubbing your feet and you let out a much needed sigh. “You know I was thinking…lets celebrate since we are both off tomorrow”. You said trailing off and straddling him. Like it was a reflex his hands immediately found your hips and playfully slapped your ass. He let out a groan and bit his lip, “ ‘M missed you so much mama” he says placing sucking hickies where his mouth could reach. You leaned into his touch slowly grinding down on his hardening dick. “Missed you more nie,” you say moaning into his mouth as you held a passionate kiss.

You, me and Hennessy look what you did to me

“Fuck, lemme use this pretty ass mouth” he groaned palming himself through his sweats. You helped eachother undress sliding down onto your knees infront of him. It was so big n pretty, everytime your face to face with it your still shocked. You kissed up n down all thick 8 inches of him. Givin little kitten licks before finally making your way up to the tip. “Quit being a fuckin tease.” He whined , his hips slightly pushing forward to get closer to your mouth. “Your such a baby” you whisper making eye contact as you put you the tip in your mouth circling it with your tongue as you slowly went further down.

My head keep on spinnin

You look into his blown out pupils as you slurrrrrp. He grabs a fist full of your locs just so he can see your pretty expression. “My pretty fuckin eat—oooohhh” he let out a moan. He loved watching you give him head. You were so pretty with ur lips wrapped around your dick. One of your eyes closed bc it’s stretching your thing throat out so good. One of your hands stroking whatever length you could not swallow. “Ff-me ouu shit like that my sweet girl” its so sloppy bubbly spit spilling our your mouth and down to his balls. You brought your free hand up and played with them. Switching I between suckin his dick and sucking his balls. You felt him began to twitch and his grip got tighter than before. “Can you give me ur cum” you begged as you sucked and stroked faster than before. “Y-yea you can have any-any fucking thing” he grabs the sides of your heads as you came in ur warm mouth. Thick splats of cum filling your mouth as your tongue still moves around the tip.

You kiss on my thighs and then you eat it

He grabbed your chin and kissed you sweetly. Tasting the sweet candy you had earlier and his cum too. A long string of spit strung out as your hot kiss separated. “You did so good, always makin me feel good.” You were drunk off eachother. You crawled up onto his lap just for him to pick you up and it felt like you were teleported to your bedroom. He laid your back facing the bed and he traced his tongue all the way down to your sticky folds. Your clit already throbbing. Your precious finance circled your hole with his fingers. “Please stop teasing me Nie”. You felt your face - no entire body heating up. He smiles up at you as he inserted his two fingers watching your face contort. Your hips immediately start to push yourself and ride his fingers. His tongue lapping you up so sloppily. “Bab-mm shit” you whined. “Use your words mama…..” he lifted one of ur legs to ur chest and pistoned his fingers inside of you. He scissored the inside of your cunt to stretch your walls. “Please Conrad, need more” you begged not really sure what you needed but he knew! He curved his fingers slightly upward and he tongue drew the letters of his name onto your clit.

You shifting inside, you got me screaming

“OUUU SHITTT connie” you screamed as spurts of you cream spilled out onto his fingers and face. “Mmmfh u taste so f’n good. So sweet…” connie stood up and slapped his heavy dick on your pussy. He lifted both of your legs up on his shoulders kissing one of your ankles that was decorated with an anklet and his initials C.S dangling from the chain. Hes kissing your ankle so delicately as your pussy wraps around his length very snuggly. “Feels like imma cum already, i need you”. Nie leans forward and kisses all over your face, the new angle makin him.reach impossibly deeper. “Mised my fiancées dick honey. Missed you missed us” you whimpered and moaned as he put a pillow under your hips.

No Trojan on tonight

How can he be so gentle but so rough? His length giving the longest stokes onto your g-spot. “Ngh i-Ohmy God” squelch. Pussy is so fuckin good he can’t talk. Smack smack smack was all you heard as his balls slammed onto your ass. I lovee y-oussss much” he reaches and hand over and played with your nipples. Sucking and toying with them. “Wa-waif Nie” your feet pushing into the bed as you try to squirm away. “Nuh-uh this is your dick , don’t run just take it”connie cooed into your ear. There was a ring of fluids wrapped around his sorry i mean- your cock. You wrapped your arms around his neck wanting him to get impossibly closer.

Hold up, I'm 'bout to cum, no, false alarm

Thats when he pressed down onto your lower half. “Wh-whYa are you f-fuck—ing me like this” you moaned and tears began rolling down your face. You felt like you could feel your inside be mixed and destroyed. You started to flutter around him. “M’ so close baby please” you whispered. Your arms fell from his neck to his back as your nails began to dig into your fiancés skin. He let out a strained groan as you scratched his toned and tattooed back. “I need you mama , fuck can we get married.” Hes so whipped, proposing to you again like this? You moaned as your body started to twitch against his. You started fucking him back. “Yes connie yes yes yes” you eagerly nodded “im gonna cum.” You whimpered. “Cum with me pretty, i love you so bad” he let out a strained moan dipping his head in the crool of your neck.

Then look at you like it's finna be you

Your clit rubbed against the base of his cock and you lost it. You cried out for your Fiance as your body contracted ,creaming. His cum throwing thick sputs deep into you. Hes biting and nibbling into your shoulder, “soso good so perfect y/n”. Your named rolled off his tongue so easily . Hes still pushing his cum inside of you. Slow lazy strokes. “Love you so much connie”. He flips the both of you over and covers your naked bodies with your thick covers. Hes still in you plugging you up. He’s sound asleep , looks so peaceful and handsome. He’s your big baby , finally gonna be Mrs. Springer in a month and you couldnt be more happy. Your head finds its way to his beating chest this was home, he’s your home.

I say my head keep on spinning

Me, Hennessy and you

Okayokay I hope you enjoyed! Just to remind some of you, do not and i repeat DO NOT sleep with cum inside of you like this , it can fuck up your ph balance. Also practice safe sex and after doing the do PLEASE GO PEEEE!!!! this is not optional 😪 okay bye have a great day/night/week/month/year/life!

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery VIII

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You go to the cat shelter

If Ingrid was getting you a cat then she would do it properly.

She'd researched cat shelters. She'd found one that had a recent intake of kittens.

A cat was a lifelong friend and you and your cat deserved to grow up together.

She'd contacted the shelter and arranged a visit.

Ingrid knew today would be the day you got your cat so she'd prepared with a carrier and some blankets. She'd expected you to get attached to the kittens, to want to keep all of them and she'd already planned out a speech on why you could only have one, two if they were particularly closely bonded.

Somehow, the alternative was much worse.

You hadn't gotten attached to the kittens at all. You'd had a lot of fun playing with them but none had sparked a bond with you.

So, Ingrid resigned herself to you having a full grown cat as your companion. It wasn't the growing up together idea she had planned but that was okay.

Ingrid watches as you go through the rows of enclosures full of cats. She's content to let you and Mapi take the lead, equally as excited as each other and feeding off each other's energy.

You gasp and Ingrid looks up from her phone.

"I love them!"

At first, Ingrid is glad that you've found a cat that you seem to like but then she looks at Mapi and goes pale. Mapi's eyes are wide and she's furiously shaking her head at Ingrid.

Mapi can deny you nothing so Ingrid knows it's up to her to guide you away from this decision.

Though she isn't quite sure why Mapi isn't happy that you've found your forever friend.

Well...maybe because it's not one forever friend but two.

Ingrid's face mimics Mapi's perfectly as she peers into the cage.

Two cats sit inside.

One is truly a monstrosity. It's massive with long, ginger fur and a tuft that reaches all around its neck like a mane. Its face is reminiscent of a lion as well, all regal and judgemental.

The second is also a ginger tabby but the size of a regular cat. Or, it would be if it wasn't the fattest cat Ingrid has ever seen. It's practically a circle and she wonders briefly how it's even supporting its own weight as it wanders over to where you've stuck your fingers through the arms.

"I see you've found our gingers."

Ingrid nearly screams as one of the shelter workers approach.

"They were surrendered by a nice old lady who couldn't care for them anymore."

Mapi scoffs. "Yeah, looks like she really cared for them." She's pointedly looking at the chunky cat that has now rolled onto its back for belly tickles that you strain through the bars to give it.

The shelter worker winces. "Yeah, he's a little fat, isn't he?"

"Not fat!" You snap," Cuddle sized!"

The worker laughs a little bit. "He does give good cuddles. But he's on a weight loss program. Believe it or not he was much larger when he arrived."

Ingrid can't believe it because this cat is truly round and she can't imagine it being fatter than it is now.

"And of course, we've got his young friend there. They were surrendered together so they're very attached. They're bonded so we can't let one go without the other."

"Here that, cub?" Ingrid decides to break it to you now. "We can't bring one of them home without the other. Say goodbye now and we'll go and look at the kittens again."

You pout, drawing your hand away from the fat cat. "Bye-bye."

You turn to leave, Mapi already halfway across the room to see the kittens again before a loud yowling chirp freezes you in your tracks.

The big lion cat keeps warbling until you turn to face it.

"Sorry," You say," Mama says we can't take you away from each other."

As if he knows who to blame, the lion cat hisses at Ingrid before purring as he rubs his body across the bars of the cage. His fat companion remains flopped on his back in invitation (though Ingrid's ninety percent sure it's because he's so fat that he can't actually get up again).

Ingrid tries to guide you away but the lion cat keeps calling for your attention and the fat cat stays on his back for belly tickles.

She looks at Mapi for help.

"No," She says, catching Mapi's apologetic look," Mapi, no. He's fat and the other one is a monstrosity."

"Ingrid..."

"Mapi! You can't be serious!"

"We agreed on getting her a cat."

"Yes, a cat! One cat!"

"You said two at a stretch," You say quite unhelpfully. Over the course of the argument, you've somehow gotten into the cage and are sitting on the floor happily as you give the fat cat belly tickles while the monster sits in your lap.

"Oh, yeah, you did say that Ingrid."

"Mapi, whose side are you on right now?"

"Er...I'll be quiet. Cub, if you want the cats you need to convince Ingrid."

"I won't be convinced."

You stay silent for a long while even as Ingrid tries to get you moving.

Eventually, you stand and approach her. The fat cat is dangling from your hands as you present him like baby Simba. The lion cat sits at your feet, teeth bared in warning should Ingrid deny you.

"I love them!" You tell Ingrid earnestly," They're both cuddle sized and I love them a lot!"

"Cub," Ingrid says," They might be mean to Bagheera. You don't want Bagheera to feel sad, do you?"

"Actually," The damned shelter worker says," They're both perfectly good with other cats."

"Well..." Ingrid desperately tries to come up with another excuse.

"Mama," You say," Please?" Your eyes glisten with unshed tears as the fat cat mews pitifully at Ingrid.

She sighs.

"Cub, if I let you-"

"Mami! Mama's letting me keep them!" You tell Mapi triumphantly who gives you the biggest fake smile in the world.

"That's great, Cub!" She tells you before muttering under her breath to Ingrid," How could you let this happen?! The monster is going to kill me in my sleep! And the fat one is going to eat all our food!"

"How is this my fault?!" Ingrid hisses back, already reaching to take the paperwork," You're the one that left it up to me!"

"Because you're meant to be the strong one! We both know I would have caved much earlier! Why couldn't you be strong, Ingrid? Why?"

Ingrid signs her name on all of the papers and sighs. "Because she was about to cry and the monster looked like he was about to bite me."

Both of them turn to look at where you're still cuddling with the fat one. The monster is staring back at them, unblinking as it flicks its ear dismissively.

"Are we sure that's a cat?" Mapi checks," I think we should call the zoo."

"It might eat us before that..."

You seem happy though, a beaming smile on your face all the way home.

Both cats make themselves at home. The fat one finds Bagheera's usual sunspot and flops down. His whole body stretches out as he snoozes easily.

The monster immediately jumps onto the kitchen counters to survey his new kingdom and you dart around setting out the new bowls and toys before grinning at Ingrid and Mapi, who are awestruck at how brazen these new cats are.

Bagheera seems to be similarly shocked and a tad judgemental as she pokes her head out of her cat tree to stare.

"He is Garfield," You point at the fat one," Because he is round and cuddle sized." You point at the monster. "And that's León because he is my little lion."

In no way would Ingrid describe that cat as little.

Mapi, for the first time today, decides to be helpful. "You can't call him León," She says," That's our surname. He's León León."

You nod. "I know. It's a pretty name for a pretty lion."

Ingrid wouldn't describe him as pretty either.

"Garfield and León-León," You say with an air of finality," Mami, Mama, thank you for my kitties!"

[guesswhojusttt]

peace, peace, my love (Aizawa/reader)

Summary:

aizawa is not a good person, but he can try to be. you are not a person at all, but you can pretend to be.

(to those who wish they were a little easier to love)

Read on AO3

In which Aizawa adopts a cat. (You are that cat.)

It's never a bad time to bring a grown man to his knees.

Your nose twitches, smelling the petrichor before it happens. Big fat drops splash onto dry, grey pavement, spreading like stains on a shirt, like ink in a pond, and wet cat fur takes forever to dry, so you dart to the nearest shelter (the word shelter doing a whole lot of heavylifting here).

You huddle beneath a coarse bush, make a home of its sharp brambles and drooping boxwood leaves, the edges eaten away by crawling caterpillars or tiny ants or Japanese beetles. Your claws pick idly at the loose dirt, with its dead leaves and snapped twigs, its sharp rocks and wriggling worms that have made this damp earth their home. It would be so much easier, wouldn't it, to be a worm? You do not have to scavenge and hunt and fight for food- you can simply nibble at the nearest shred of vegetation. If it is cold, you need not seek shelter, merely crawl into the nearest pile of filth. What luxury it would be, wet mud your bed, soft grass your blanket, and all manner of greenery as your feast. No one to adopt you, coax you into a false sense of security, only to replace you and toss you out once they find someone better, someone who gives them everything you never could no matter how had you tried, no matter how you forced yourself to mold and change into anything, anything they desired, but it was not enough, because you were not enough, even when you had warped yourself into a form you did not recognize, metamorphosing yourself at their beck and call-

But, though you feel like one, though you may certainly be treated as one, you are not a worm. So you gather your limbs beneath you and tuck your head below the bush, chin resting on a patch of pillowy leaves, and watch the shoes of the people as they pass. An expensive pair of Nike's or Jordan's or whatever type of shoes high school boys obsessed over these days, pencil-thin, hot pink stilettos all tall and elegant and just a step closer to permanently disfiguring the woman's poor heels, chafed black boots that are well-worn (well-loved, your favorite type of shoes- and thus the type of people who wear them- are those that have clearly seen better days, were once shiny and polished and brand new, but have since been broken in, lost color and shine but are still worn year after year- loyalty, you think, to keep them around instead of replace them. Or maybe this man's just poor and can't afford a new pair, but… you like to think, well. Wouldn't it be nice to be a pair of shoes, kept around year after year, regardless of how you lose whatever was first appealing about you- never tossed out, never abandoned or replaced?)

What kind of life is it, if you spend your days dreaming of a worm's life, fantasizing about being a torn pair of old shoes?

You gaze out from your comfortable perch- this bush is yours, if nothing else is- and you may be parched, you may be starving, you may feel fur and fibers clinging to your ribcage till it caves in, concave chest and nothing else between your skin and bones except the thinnest most breakable layer of tissue- but at least here, you're safe from the oncoming rain. A cute pair of cats all snowy-white and speckled and spackled in cheerful orange dart past, and a little girl tugs on her mama's skirt and eagerly points at them, bouncing on her feet in her dusty-pink ballerina slippers until the mom sighs fondly, reaches into her purse, pours out a water bottle the cats eagerly lap up, nuzzling into the little girl's legs as she giggles and squeals in delight.

Well, of course (you think bitterly), everyone loves a cute kitten. You sigh and burrow your face deeper into your arms, tail flicking irritably. Why are they out so late anyway? Shouldn't the kid be asleep by now? Way past her bedtime.

The familiar pair of scuffed snow boots walks past your bush- this pair of shoes is always home well after most people are, must work a late shift, poor guy- but with your tail still agitating, it rustles the marcescent, withering leaves just a bit, just a touch, almost imperceptibility- you're never one to make much noise, why draw attention to yourself, why incite what'll only hurt you- yet the boots stop short, because of course they do. Of course he has superhuman, doglike hearing, because you truthfully weren't making much noise at all.

(You never do, anymore.

[You know better, now])

The tall figure stoops down, and if he has any regard for how dumb and silly and frankly pathetic he looks, grown-ass man bent in half, hair nearly brushing the dirt as he tries to get on your level- well. This sort of man seems to have no regard for anything, if that lackadaisical, languid, lethargic demeanor is anything to go by. He blinks at you- slowly, slowly now- and you blink lazily back.

He leaves.

Can't say you're surprised. He'd probably thought there was a cute fluffy kitten cloistered in the bushes, had wanted to take sympathy on it and feed it and maybe even pet it a little, but the moment he took a good look at you- matted fur and missing ear and mucusy eyes- he'd regretted having stooped down to inspect the bush to begin with. Well, of course he did. Wouldn't want to risk rabies or ticks or whatever else might be hitchhiking in your hair. You almost can't blame him.

Almost. For such a little thing, you really are full of more hatred than your small body knows what to do with.

You idly bat at a sprouting crabgrass weed, displacing a black ant that had been edging up its stem, when the thick, peeling boots come back, and with them, the foreign, exotic, salivating mouth-watering gourmet heavenly scent of-

Tuna.

No, not the stubby little can with cold watery shreds, but ahi tuna steak. Easily a fat inch thick, juicy and tender and comes-apart-in-your-mouth meat.

Oh. He must've seen the cute twin cats earlier and his old little heart must've softened and he must've wanted to why is he crouching down at your bush again? Are they behind you? No, would've heard. Your one ear hears better than two, really. But, no, neither your eyes nor your ear lie to you- he really is offering you this blue-ribbon tuna steak.

He digs his long index finger into it, peels off a morsel, and plops it down on the cracked curb before you. You're no idiot and make no move to take it. He backs up- five feet, ten feet- and only when he is no longer within grabbing distance do you pounce on it, snatching it up in your jaw and scurrying back to hide in the bush before he can blink.

You down it so quickly you choke. Not even a second to savor the rare, precious, once-in-a-lifetime flavor. You'd squandered your chance to delight in its taste and you'll never again-

He's offering another scrap. backing away- one arm's length, two arm's lengths-

You seize it and dash back into hiding and gobble it up and-

You continue this little song and dance till you've eaten the steak whole.

The next day, you do not perk up when he comes by, nor do you spend your full day awaiting his return. Because you are better than that, and you know better than that, and you know it was a fluke. A one-off encounter, because either he'd been drunk (though your sharp nose had not detected any traces of alcohol) or sentimental (his no nonsense manner does not strike you as the sentimental sort), and you weren't gullible enough, naive enough, foolish enough to really think he'd come by for you again.

And your shoulders do not relax when he sits at the park bench, stretching his long legs out, sighing off the weight of his day. The mini-playground, consisting solely of a small, faded red slide and an airplane spring rider, sits in wood chips which conveniently double as a big old litter box. A grey tabby- one you'd benignly dubbed Thief- scuttles over to the man's boots, its tail winding round his leg affectionately. He droops his large hand down, lets Thief sniff it, scent it, lick it.

You tamp down your envy. You expected this, and you can't be mad about things you knew would happen, right? That's like being mad at the weather for raining after you'd already checked the forecast and chose not to bring an umbrella.

Thief paws up the man's leg to settle on his lap, reveling in the scritches behind his ear and under his chin, leaning into the man's large, warm body.

You shiver under your bush, suppress an aggressive hiss (the time for fighting is long since over, for you. As far as you were concerned, Thief could have him, goodbye and good riddance), and curl your limbs closer, ever closer, around yourself.

It's going to be a long night.

Best you go to sleep now.

Night after night, when the moon is high in the sky or when the sun is just beginning to crawl up from the horizon, he comes back. Night after night, you are still on the waitlist for every homeless shelter within a 50-mile vicinity, and go back and forth between cat and person as if it makes a difference at all.

It would be nice to believe he was looking for you, but really he is just here to play with whatever stray cat is out. So you hide while he feeds fat, big, strong Garfield, and you bristle, because he snatches up any scrap you find before you can even smell it, batting at you and hissing at you or even scratching at you even if you were in the middle of eating something- if he spots food, it's his, doesn't matter whose mouth its currently in- he can and will and does snatch food right from between your jaws, still spit-slick and half-gnawed.

Even the big black cat- almost-panther-like, in size and appearance, but not as strong, or if he was as strong before, he's had it long since beaten out of him. He lopes over with a fluid agility that promise once I was something great, but now, with gunky black stains trickling from the corners of his great big eyes in permanent tear tracks, flinching, just like you, at the slightest sound, jumping, just like you, at the first sign of a motion just a hair too fast, conceding, just like you, to any cat half his size or strength the moment it wanted to steal his food right out from under him.

Yeah. Weak and a little pathetic, just like you. You get him. He's your favorite. You look out for each other, the both of you. All that really boils down to is that he doesn't steal your food and you don't steal his, and if he seeks shelter under your bush, you let him, and if you trail after him, he lets you.

It is the closest thing you have tasted to love. To friendship.

(It is not enough.)

But maybe that is because you are greedy, all-consuming, always wanting more than the little slivers and scraps they toss you. One day someone will extend an itsy bitsy droplet of kindness and you will think this solitary drop is enough to sate years and years of parched mouth and dry tongue, others you go from night to day without a single interaction and back again, and the starvation is back, like it never left, like its only compounded exponentially, worse and worse every day you go without a single moment of affection and-

And the last and only time you've been touched in a way meant not to harm is-

Is-

Is years ago, in that shelter's end of the year catch-and-release program. They grabbed you, vaccinated you against ringworms and parasites, and subsequently released you back into the wild as if you could survive out here.

Well, you're fine. You're all good out here. Just peachy.

The sky breaks open. It's happening less and less, and this worries you. Rain used to be common. Snow used to be common. Now, you're lucky to see even a smattering of snow, it's an unmitigated miracle if there's baker's sugar powdering the streets. Gone are the days of snowballs and snow forts and snowmen, lamenting long-gone snow days where children get to stay home from school and snow so high it drowned the park benches in its crests and dips. The rain is good, yes, in the sense that there'll be plentiful water to lap up when it douses the clefts of the cement, the fissures of the sidewalks, but immediately it only means that this bush isn't enough, the dappled leaves a contented for the water to seep through and soak the dirt at your feet. you scurry to the tall trash cans only to find a family of cats has already made it their home, using the plush, overflowing trash bags- thin and black and shimmery as drips slip down and coat them- as bedding, as shelter from the storm. The pitter-patter of the rain gushes into a torrent, and you dash to the overhang above the doors to the apartment buildings but of course, of course, both Thief and Garfield are already there, albeit on opposite ends since both are too competitive to really get along. Your precious bush is colonized by a drove of rabbits that in any other time or situation would know better than to come here, of all places, where bigger cats like Sushi and Fushi would eat them alive. Stupid, ugly, disease-ridden, tapeworm-carrying, flea-infested furbags, they thump their hind legs and lunge and you really, really don't have the energy to deal with them.

You can weather bad weather. You certainly have before- you are capable of it, more than capable. On one hand, you could probably slip through a train station and take it as your bed for the night, on the other, the last time you did that, someone reported you, so. Cat form it is.

Sure, the life expectancy for stray cats is about a fourth of house cats, but you've adjusted better than most. You're not weak, like the rest of them.

Even if… even if you weren't born into being a stray like some of them are. Even if, once, you'd actually been gullible enough to believe…

But there was no use worshiping that family in your mind. They never appreciated it once anyway.

The man comes back (late, as always), his eyes alighting on you as if he'd been searching for you. As if worried about you. as if. He takes a step towards you. You take three back. He crouches low, makes himself smaller, less intimidating.

He is not any less intimidating than a lion that rears back before it strikes.

You do not want his help. Not because you do not need it- you are not arrogant, nor are you so foolish so as to believe you, or anyone else, is entirely self-sufficient- not even because you do not want it (who would not welcome a warm, dry shelter from the thrashing storm lashing the trees themselves in all their height and grandeur?)- but rather, because you cannot have it.

Not permanently.

Last time you'd actually fallen for it-

So no. You have no interest in letting him warm you and dry you and take care of you only to abandon you the moment the rain stops. What is the point of love if not everlasting? What is the point of letting him give you just a sliver, just a finite taste, of what warmth could be like only to toss you back out like garbage?

No. You will huddle under this tree even as the rain slips through the leaves and douses you. He's getting soaked, too, but those heroic types are always willing to sacrifice small comforts for the greater good. You leap to the lowest hanging branch when he makes to approach you, dig your claws into rough bark, buried in the little crevices and cracks along the wood, skittering and scrambling up the tree to get away from him like a cat possessed. Take the hint, you want to growl, I don't want you. I'm not fine on my own but I'm still better off than I would be with anyone else.

He misinterprets your distaste for fear (it isn't, but of course he is the arrogant sort), and carefully lopes over to the base of the tree, craning his neck up to look at you, blinking the rain out of his bloodshot eyes. He raises one long arm to shield his stubbly face from the onslaught of rain, other hand weaving two long fingers into his stretchy grey scarf- grey, like the overcast sky, grey, like the sheets of rain separating you and him as a thick and much-welcome curtain. He takes another step closer, jaw set as if intending to scale the tree and rescue you, so you arch your back and hiss and do everything a cat does to say go away and leave me alone, but all he does is cock his head in sympathy, making a cooing noise that is so condescending and infantalizing that you'd all but gouge his eyes out were you not set on keeping him as far away as possible, scrabbling up to the next branch, ever higher, the torrent of icy water stabbing through your fur coat and right into your skin, again and again, cold sharp needles battering away at you- the leaves do not protect you at all, the tree swaying in the wind and bending and bowing to the harsh winds. When he realizes that no amount of pspsspsssting is going to bribe you to abandon your safe harbor, he squares his shoulders and straightens his slouch and tightens his grip on his loose grey scarf, tugging at it, winding it-

Then shakes his head, as if thinking better of it.

Instead, he offers his hand. Palm up. Crooks one long finger in a come hither motion.

You snort. Does he really think this would work?

He digs around in his trouser's pocket. Pulls out his phone. Your heat jackrabbits- is he trying to send you to a shelter? Not again not again- you're ready to leap off the tree and take your chances to outrace him, but-

Cats. Yowling. He's pulled up a Play this to attract your cat and make it meow back (works instantly!) video, and … he looks up at you so hopefully, so expectantly, that you almost feel a little bad for the sopping wet cat of a man before you. Almost want to throw him a bone. Rain ricochets off his moisture-wicking raincoat, douses his mop of black hair, stringy strands falling into his face (weathered, less so with age than with weariness). He fishes in his oversized pockets again, replacing his phone with a…

Carton?

CATMILK: TREAT FOR CATS & KITTENS, a cartoon of a bright orange cat heartily licking a milk mustache off its upper lip.

Does he… carry around a carton of milk for cats? Just in case? [1]

Does this man not have hobbies outside of following stray cats like some sort of stalker? [2]

He makes those soft kissy sounds that you know he thinks attract cats but really just make him look like a silly old man.

He's certainly tall enough, long-limbed enough, that if he really wanted to, he could just scale the tree and seize you himself, so it's beyond you why he's going to such bizarre, near-comedic lengths to lure you down. His pants are plastered to his legs by now, the rain sticking his clothes to his skin and isn't he cold, even in those thick boots and even with the turtleneck peeking out beneath his coat- it is the sort of wetness where it not possible to get any wetter, a drowned rat in a gutter. (You've seen and eaten enough of them to know.)

Put this poor idiot out of his misery, you huff, give him what he wants and then he'll leave you alone. As you always are. As you always should be.

You rear back on your haunches, slowly, slowly, and his eyes widen so earnestly that he must be a child seeing Santa is real, spreading his arms wide to catch you.

Well, fine.

Placate him and he'll go away soon enough.

You leap off the tree, claws out, head first, the branch left trembling from your jump off it, and he does not startle, does not react- you think dully, this must be a man who is used to catching people, to adjusting to unpredicted weights, permanently prepared. He draws his inky rain coat open, letting his sweater get rain-splattered in the process, tucking you into his jacket and bundling you close and tight before speed-walking to his home, kicking up sprays of water and splashing up perfectly good puddles in his haste to get home.

No.

To get you home.

He treks up the stairs, water-sodden boots squelching with every step, strong arm keeping you tucked closer than you think is strictly necessary, and you hold your breath and remind yourself the other shoe will have to drop.

He will release you back into the wild. It's what they always do. He's accomplished his heroic endeavor of getting you out of the cold wet rain, and as soon as the storm ceases, he'll be done with his task and done with you and honestly, honestly, you pray it stops raining right this second so you can leave. Before you learn his name or his mannerisms or what his phone-

His phone, blaring the generic, cheerfully chirping ringtone he apparently never bothered to change- he's pulling it out and you avert your gaze, not wanting to know his lockscreen, his phone case, how new and shiny and expensive it is or isn't. You tuck your small head further into his thick, dense jacket, an action he mistakes for affectionate nuzzling when really it's to cotton your ears with the fabric so you don't hear his conversation- or so that it's at least muffled. Don't want to know the low cadence of his voice, don't want to learn the slow, steady way he speaks as he sighs, "I'm not- no, Hizashi you are always pulling some- you can survive one night without me. Yes you can. Yes you can. Well if you die that's a you problem. To say I would laugh at your funeral is to imply I'd bother showing up to begin with. Mm-hm. I'm just busy right now. Yes it's more important than you, but that's not a very high bar. It's not really canceling plans because I never wanted to go anyway. No I don't. No I don't. You and Nemuri need adult supervision? Can't argue with that. I'm tired. I want to sleep. We'll go out for drinks- sooner if you have a say in it, later if I can avoid it. I said I want to sleep. Good night. I'm hanging up now. Yes I am. Yes I-"

And he really does hang up. Huh.

What a shame, too. The more time he spends talking to his friend the less time he'll spend bothering you, so it would've been in your best interest if he'd kept the conversation going just a little longer.

It's better when that sonorous, canorous timber isn't directed at you. When you can't feel it resonating from his chest into yours, can't feel his lungs steadily expanding into all of you, all of you, consumed by all of him. His rain-slicked coat may have been all rubbery and wet on the outside, but on the inside, where he had stowed you away? A fuzzy, dense fleece lining blanketed you on one side, his cable-knit wool sweater blanketing you on the other. All droopy and roomy, the shapeless collar sagged so low that your little head nestled right against his cool, smooth collarbone. The more your soggy fur presses into his sweater, the more he stinks of wet wool and wet cat and wet mud, but he only chuckles fondly.

"You stopped thrashing when i was on the phone. Does my talking help calm you down?"

No, no, no, no you do not need to hear more of that all-encompassing, steady-as-a-mountain voice. You squirm and convulse in a bid to pry yourself out of the cotton cocoon he has entrapped you in, but all that does is confirm his theory that he needs to soothe you.

Like some child.

Like some pet.

But you are not his pet. You are just a stray, that he happened to stumble across once or twice, and he had nothing better to do (he canceled plans with his best friends to stay here with you), and the moment he's done he'll toss you out and it'll be better, be safer, not to get attached to something you'll lose before you even have it.

It's not worth it, the way a cut takes only a second to stab into you but takes weeks, takes months, takes years, takes forever takes eternity takes infinity to heal and even then, even then, it leaves a scar behind to mar you; you can't risk that, not again, not again, not again-

He grunts, one large hand still cupping your head as the other fishes for his keys, jingle-jangling against each other as he unlocks the apartment door, kicking off his waterlogged boots, elbowing the door shut and flicking the light switch on. Warm, orange light bathes his apartment in a dreamy glow- the sleek wood paneling leading to a shaggy carpet, the overcrowded desk shoved to one corner, the stuffed-full bookshelf against the white wall- all so toasty and cozy and promising, awash the hazy orange glow.

Keeping a firm arm around his chest to cradle you close, as if scared you'll slip away the second he loses hold of you, he hushes and soothes you through every action he takes: his keys clink when he plucks them down onto his kitchen counter, shedding his rain coat, shaking off the water the way a cat shakes water off its fur and hanging it on the hook at the door. For just a moment, he pauses, back slumped against the wall as if his legs can no longer carry the weight of him- sighing, running a hand over his face, the quiet, irregular drip-drip-drips of his hair and clothes puddling at his feet- composing himself. Catching his breath. His heartbeat thrums slowly into yours- steady, steady, steady.

The man hooks a thumb through his thick grey socks, peeling them off, toes over to a long, pillowy, yellow sleeping bag, and eases you in.

A sleeping bag…?

Oh, shoot. You'd been taken in by a poor man. He'll shake stale Cheerios from a tattered box for you and call it dinner.

Well.

It would still be a kindness, and you would be grateful for it just the same.

You shuffle, kneading into the plush, well-used, well-loved fabric-

No, no, no. See, this is exactly what you were hoping to avoid. Now you know things about him. Things like- he has kept this sleeping bag around for a while, he has not replaced it, he has tossed it into the washer hundreds of times and it has lost its color and whatever deluxe softness it once held, whatever sleek shiny shades it had on the outside, and yet he has kept it, he has not thrown it out in the same way he has not replaced that scuffed pair of boots, he has used them both till it's molded to the contours of his body, and look, his phone's not new either, not at all, he does not throw things out on a whim, doesn't just abandon- he keeps, he keeps, long after the object is outdated and expired and obsolete, and there is no good in knowing any of this at all, because all this does is inflate a bubble of false hope, that you too could be a constant, something to keep around like a worn-out pair of well-trodden shoes-

You close your eyes. It is the only way to stop observing things.

Again, the man does not understand you. He doesn't- he doesn't get it. Doesn't get you. Delighted, babbling like a fool in love, "aw, you gettin' comfy, kitty? All cozied up? Good, make yourself at home. Oh, I know, you were just so cold and scared outside, huh? Brave girl. Such a brave girl. Trust me, you don't have to be scared, anymore. Wanna get a little warmer? Yeah? Of course I'll turn on the heat, just for you. Such a sweet little kitten."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

The dull rumble of the gas kicks on, heat seeping into the apartment like a nice hot shower after a snowy day, cradling you in its warmth till staying awake and sober is an active effort. The ambiance does not flood, but trickles into, your ears: feet shuffling along cool floor, fridge pops open, rustling, fridge snaps shut, tap water gushes, tap water off, glass clinks on the counter, cabinet opens, soft rattling, cabinet closes- the quiet, cyclic sounds of his pitter-pattering about the kitchen could've damn near soothed you to sleep, a homespun, home-baked, homemade lullaby of just- of just- someone going about their day. Someone going about the meniality of life, the same humdrum of a routine smoothed and honed and rounded the way a river sands down a stone till it's a comforting weight in your palms… when was the last time you had a place to sleep with no shouting, no crying no clanging no yelling no slamming-?

Okay, fine.

Just for tonight. You'll sleep here, just for tonight, just to weather the storm, just to dry off, and in the morning when he opens the door to go to work, you'll slip out when he does, and part ways as unlikely friends. [3]

Which unfortunately means, no matter how hungry you are, you can't take his proffered gifts. Normally you have no problem accepting help- you need food, and would never pass up a free chance to eat without neither cats nor people competing and drawing blood for each and every bite- but to eat now is- well-

It's the basic Greek laws of xenia, yeah? Same for the Islamic hospitality rules. If you have a guest, you feed them; if you are a guest, you eat and be merry and thank your gracious host. To do otherwise is to say I am not your guest; I am merely a traveler, passing through; I will not sit at your table, I will not drink your wine: I will not sleep under your roof and bid you a good night, and you will not wish me safe travels and thank me for brightening your day.

We are strangers. Let us remain so.

So when you hear the sharp snap of a metal can, when the salty tang of sardines permeates the air, when he places it reverently at your feet like a worshipper, you do not grant it so much as a cursory sniff.

"Some cats don't like seafood, right? Or is it that you don't like wet food?" He scuffles off only to come back with a bowl full of cat kibble and oh God this is not a cat bowl this is a human bowl. The man is using his own dishes to feed you. Come to think of it, that was just a normal can of packed sardines, not a can of cat food. Is he just feeding you whatever he has in his own pantry? No, the dry food for sure smells like bonafide cat food. Still. His own bowl. His own food.

Oh, well, now the reason you're eating isn't just to reject hospitality and show him you're not one to keep around, it's because he's this poor broke sorry man who's sacrificing his own meals to feed you. Poor thing, going hungry for a sorry stray. To accept his kindness would be a cruelty. It's okay, you would tell him, if you didn't have the basic social decorum that says if you turn back into a human now he'll freak out because no Quirk justifies tricking someone into providing you with food and shelter and warmth.

Because no matter how much you had fought tooth and nail to keep him from bringing you in, no matter how much he'd been the one to insist, it still felt like you'd… manipulated him. Coerced him, somehow. But there was no room for guilt: you become a cat specifically because… well. People are… kinder, to cats. Still cruel, still overlook them, still do not save them or take care of them or adopt them or love them, but no one is going to call the cops on a famished, bedraggled, ugly cat the way they would on a famished, bedraggled, ugly woman. A homeless person is a threat. A homeless animal is a tragedy.

So you give thanks for your Quirk because at least, as a cat, your stomach is smaller, your needs lesser, and no one's going to think you're some scary, smelly drug addict who needs to be reported for disturbing the peace (sleeping on a park bench).

You nudge the can back to him and hope it conveys, I'll just scavenge for mice and birds outside, so don't you worry about me! You'd leave out the part that normally the moment you get your grubby little paws on a scrap, every other cat within a 50-mile radius can somehow smell it and pounces so viciously that you're left without even the bite you'd held between your teeth. Still, go mix it with mayo, shred some lettuce, wrap it up in some tortilla, you skrunkly old man. Judging by the broken red capillaries all over the whites of your weary eyes, you need this boost more than I do.

But he does not understand you, just as you do not understand him, not even a little bit, not even at all (why is this penniless old man giving up the last of his food to feed a bony old cat, you wonder, and do not know that he is neither penniless nor that old and has a whole stockpile of catfood and cans and bags and pouches specifically on the luck occasion that he comes across a cat, you do not know that being an underground hero and a teacher at the most prestigious school in the county means his pockets are lined with far more than lint and cobwebs, you do not know, you do not know-)

Just as he does not know you. He clicks his tongue, "picky girl, huh? Princess wants to be spoiled? Want a Fancy Feast Classic Pate ™? Want a Churu Puree Lickable Treat™? Come here," and he does that fake-groan thing humans do where it's not a grunt of actual effort but they exaggerate it like it is, scooping you back up into his arms- doesn't he care that wet cat is getting all over his perfectly good nice sweater?- and you squirm viciously, struggle and writhe, but all he does is bring you to the open pantry, holding you up to eyelevel with a dizzying, colorful array of options.

Oh, bless his heart. This man's a cat mom with no cat.

Well, this explains everything.

Big brand names and wand toys and bags- not just of kibble but of litter, a scoop, a cat bed- why does this man stockpile like it's going to be a damn apocalypse. An apocalypse where specifically cats are in danger, because you know damn well he doesn't have this much in the fridge.

You dig your claws into his arm and use the split second of distraction to leap out his arms, bound over to the fridge, because you've gotta know. you can just tell he's the sort to come home at midnight, open the fridge to nothing but leftover take out (from a restaurant he didn't even want to go to but was dragged along), sniff the sticky rice, decide it's maybe decent and probably won't give him food poisoning, and eat without bothering to heat it up in the microwave.

"Refined taste? Sorry, sweet little kitty, I don't have much to offer you in the ways of human food." He pops the sleek black fridge door open, and-

And-

Oh, you were so right it sort of hurt a little.

One- because you are so set on not knowing this man, (the more you know the more you get attached is how it works you see), but damn if he isn't easier to read than a picture book with big bold neat letters.

Two- because this sorry excuse of a man was just much in need of help as you. If anything, having you around might encourage him to buy himself some food, as it had already pushed him to turn on the heat (would he had just let the apartment stay cold if it wasn't for you being here?), to go to bed at a reasonable time and to come home earlier to take care of you.

You could do him some good, you think, but that is an arrogant thought, and a condescending one to boot, so you squash it down along with the worse, rotten, traitorous he could do me some good. You give a disdainful sniff to the low fridge shelf, carrying the impressive feat of no less than half a bottle of soy sauce and a yellowing onion and a dented, open can of sparkling water that you just know had gone stale and should've been tossed out weeks ago and-

You've been here too long. Getting too comfortable with each other. What are you doing, sniffing up his fridge? Fuck's sake!

Piss him off.

You scale the pantry with its veritable cornucopia of feline delights, and it is not hard to send everything toppling over like a collapsing tower, to wreak havoc and destruction upon his frankly creepy shrine, because otherwise- and you can hear it so clearly, an impartial, detached observer spectating the actors as they take their stances upon a stage when you've already memorized the script right to the bitter, yet crudely obvious end:

"I'd love to adopt you, but I'm so busy with work; I just wouldn't have the time to give you the attention you deserve: I'm barely home as it is." And it would be true, because you always see those scuffed boots trudge home when the moon is bright, or even when the dawn has first begun to break. It wouldn't be a half-baked lie or a flimsy excuse.

(It wouldn't make it hurt any less.)

"You have a very special place in my heart, and you always will, but I'm just not in a place in my life where I can adopt a pet."

"Why is she in a room by herself? She got behavioral problems or somethin'? I'm not interested in an aggressive animal."

"It's just that I already have all the cats I need and besides what if you don't get along with them?"

"I'll still visit you. Of course I will."

(She did not).

"I wish I could, but my mom's allergic-"

"She won't let me pick her up."

"What's wrong with her face?"

"My dorm doesn't allow-"

"Not very friendly, is she?"

"I'm looking for a lapcat, but this one's been cowering and hiding in the corner like I'll kill her-"

"Can you introduce me to a better-?"

"Way too shy-"

"I'm sure she'll find her forever home, but I'd prefer a-"

"No, really, what's with her face?"

"She bit me!"

"We'll find you your person eventually," the shelter worker would promise (lie), every time, "I'd even adopt you myself, but-"

Whatever. People don't owe loyalty to strays; only to the housepets waiting for them at home, the ones they keep around for years and years till one of them dies and then they grieve carry a piece of their pet with them forever because they love them, they love them, and people can certainly be nice to strays like you, and feel sorry for you, and wish they could find a home for you, and then walk right past. They do not love them (you), they are no more loyal to them than to a trampled weed. Yes, they might see it once upon an idle stroll, might peer at it closely on their way home, but that is the start and end of the relationship.

It would… save you both a great deal of time and trouble to just nip it in the bud.

Yet even as the metal cans clatter to the ground and your claws rip into a paper bag of kibble, waterfalling onto the yellowed kitchen tiles you realize, as you exert every manner to make him turn you out sooner rather than later- so you can only feel a smug, I-knew-it-all-along satisfaction, rather than a hollow I thought this time was different pang- that the stockpile of food is assorted in the sense that- that- with a marked difference in expiration dates and brands and states of being, old and new alike, that he must've-

You can see it now. Every time he goes grocery shopping, indulging his curiosity, making a harmless little impulse purchase, flitting into the pet food aisle, perusing the shelves and grabbing one or two things just in case, for the somedays and what ifs and hopefullys, and repeating this ritual every single time he ever goes to a store until they build up into whatever the hell it is he's got going on here. You had sat in your bush a thousand times over, had watched him follow strays in his free time (so you know what he is doing is not out of kindness nor the goodness of his heart, he just has nothing better to do with his life. Probably works a miserable job with shitty hours and shittier pay and this is the only part of his day that gives his life any real meaning, makes him feel like he's useful), watched from the safety of your foliage as he extends an arm out to offer up packets of pate and cans of carp, sprawled on the park bench, rubbing the heel of his palms into his bloodshot eyes and sighing, long and heavy and aching, days- nights- when your nose tingled with the tang of blood, and what kind of job is this, that leaves him bloodied and scratched up and dented like an old beaten-up car?

So you understand that taking care of strays is just his passion project, and yes, yes, you can understand that. Respect it, even. Appreciate it the way a parishioner appreciates a bite of sacrament.

Just…

You need so much more than one bite.

(I know love does not come easy.)

You don't want to be someone's charity case, yeah? It's a little embarrassing. At the same time-

You do not have that sense of pride everyone else seems to, the sort that makes them say we're not taking free food and I'd rather work three jobs than accept handouts and I want not your pity but your respect. Can't relate. You would love to pitied. If someone felt sorry for you, that means they acknowledge bad things have happened to you. If they smother you with sickly sympathy, at least it means they know you've had a pitiable life. And your desire for dignity is so much lesser than your desire for someone to just- to just get it.

But no one fucking gets it.

(Oh, there must be someone who hears me.)

Because no one else is in your position. Oh, everyone else has a partner, if no partner, then a friend group, if not a friend group, then a best friend, if not a best friend, then a loving family, if not a loving family, then someone, somewhere, who understands them a little, who loves them a little-

But you do not have anyone to couch surf with, to 'can I crash at your place till I get back on my feet?', a special sting of misery when shelter workers, when every intake worker asks if you have any family or loved ones you can stay with, because they have limited beds and every homeless shelter is underfunded because don't you know money should go to bombs, because war keeps our country safe so you can starve in peace; a special stab of humiliation, that there is a not single person you can put down as your emergency contact, it is just a big blank line staring back at you, the dash of N/A where you're to put a phone number taunts you like a playground bully and- and it's-

At least a cat can be cute.

This man, kind as he may try to be- he doesn't get it either, can't get it, because he has friends that were waiting for him. Who want to met up for drinks with him. He does not need you, because already he has people who love him, and people he is protective of, and he is in the business of taking care of strays, not taking in strays.

And what is more violent than being taken care of but not being taken in? If he keeps you safe tonight, but is rid of you in the morning, then…

What could be worse?

Painfully patient long fingers pluck up every item that clattered to the floor and ease it back into the shelf. Get a broom too short for his tall form, sweeping up the kitty kibble like it was no bother at all,

He closes the cabinet. He sighs, and there it is, he is disappointed in you he hates you you've upset him he'll finally toss you out and you won't have to spend another excruciating minute choking down his vile, suffocating, poisonous kindness-

"So!" He claps his hands together. "Your palate is simply too sophisticated that neither my own food nor the cat food satiates it, but I can't just not feed you. Let me check again, m'sure I can throw something together."

He pries the white Styrofoam takeout container from his fridge, muttering "guess I should thank Hizashi for forcing me to try that conbini stand."

Mackerel. You do not even like seafood unless it is salmon or tuna. (You have learned that the food at a cat shelter is generally safer than food at a homeless shelter). But this poor man is trying so hard to help you, to take care of you, and even if it is to stroke his own fragile ego, it would just be cruel to reject him, at this point.

So you bend your head and you eat it and you try not to look at him when he smiles as if you are a kindly fairy who has granted him everything he didn't know to wish for.

He just… sits there. Crouching, hunching, staring. Well. Perhaps staring is the wrong word- staring (glaring gawking leering glowering) is what they do to you when you're sleeping on the train and you stink of sweat and vomit and piss and your prone form is taking up three seats, staring (watching waiting waiting waiting) is what you do when you've found a particularly good dumpster and you can't decide if it's safer to approach it as a cat (and risk bigger cats fighting you for every scrap of food) or as a human (and we all know what happens to a woman walking alone at night), staring (studying observing poring over) is what you do when you get your greedy little hands on a book, soak it up word by word and page by page and throw yourself into it, headfirst, submerged in the feel of ink and paper and thoroughly immersed that everything else just disappears-

Yes. That's the type of staring he's doing now: poring over you. Like everything else doesn't matter because finally, finally, he's fed you. Doesn't touch you. Doesn't even try. Just goes to the bathroom, door clicking shut, water running, brush-brush-brushing his teeth and just… leaves you to eat. In peace. Gives you your space.

You can almost hear him say: if my heart was a house, you're right at home.

Home.

It's enough to make you want to vomit all over his carpeting just to make him kick you out, but-

You're not about to give up the only food in your stomach for spite.

That, and…

You can't stay in your cat form forever. It's like laying down too long or sitting too long, your body can't just- can't just stay in this 'mode'. It's a mode to turn on and off, not keep running forever, like a laptop never shutting down till it overheats. And you will. Overheat. But he could come back out any minute, and- he'll think you're a burglar and he'll call the cops on you or worse he'll just kill you himself and no one would ever know, it's not just that they wouldn't care or wouldn't miss you there just genuinely wouldn't be anyone who would even know-

His footsteps, when he comes back, are enough for your shoulders to jump. Footsteps and knocking are about the scariest sounds out there. But he just flicks off the lights. Peels back his blanket- soft, well-worn, why is it that everything he has, he's owned for years, why is nothing here new, why are you the sole intrusion upon an ancient sanctum, does that means he really is the loyal type like you judged when you first saw those stupid boots?- he eases himself into it with a soft groan, pats a spot next to him to tuck you in for the night. You blink at him, attempting to convey as much disdain and dislike and distaste as physically possible-

But again, he does not understand you. He slow-blinks back, and he must think he is reciprocating love, as a cat's languid blink would normally mean a sign of affection.

He keeps misinterpreting you- giving you the benefit of the doubt, assuming your every rude, insensitive, petulant action is so much better than it is, that you're so much better than you actually are.

Nor do you pretend to understand him, either, and while he tries to see the best in you, you force yourself to seek out only the worst in him-

Yet despite every miscommunication and misconstrusion-

He finds a way to make it work. So he keeps the corner of the blanket peeled back, waiting just for you, even as you slink away to the window, hopping up on the sill, stretching your back and marveling how, for once, you did not have to be careful of your movements. You would not startle anyone around you, nor would anyone startle you, either. You do not have to be careful of how your jaw stretches as you yawn- no one will interpret at as a threat, because this man does not see you as anything more than a pathetic little charity case. (You suppose he's not wrong). You can outstretch your arms all along his cool windowsill, and he will not be mad at you for making too much noise and can you keep it down some of us are trying to sleep here. For once you are on the other side of the windowpane, the rain battering the glass practically a world away— though you can hear the pellets pound the pane, though you can feel the icy chill of the water seep into the glass, it does not seep into you, because the heat he turned on has settled quite comfortably into your boenes- for once, no one is hurting you, for once, just for now, you are safe.

You are safe.

Oh, yes, you know, you know- he'll let you go soon enough. Just as soon as those storm clouds wither up and dry.

Outwardly, you'd hissed and squirmed and clawed every step of the way.

Inwardly, you hope the rainy season stays forever.

[dilfl0v3rss]

aran fucking yn's shit up after he saw her purposely flirting with other guys😜

aran so mf fine yall like ughhhh😩😩

you had told this man over and over again that you did not want to be at this damn party. aran has been practicing nonstop and when he’s not practicing he’s playing in his matches so you wanted to take this night to spend time with your man, but of course he wasn’t having that. “ma we just beat our rivals, we gotta go” he said as he brushed his waves in the mirror. his muscular tattooed back facing you as he stood in just his sweatpants. you were in the bed, his t shirt covering most of your body as you sat on your knees staring at him. “pa i want us t’stay here tonightttt. let’s watch movies and have sex” you whined, making aran chuckle in the mirror before turning around and approaching you. his happy trail in your face as he held your head up by your chin. “we can watch movies and have sex another night mama. tonight we going to celebrate the win.”

now you were here, perched on your boyfriends lap as he talked about the highlights of the game with his teammates. “they was getting mad when me and aran kept scoring off of our serves” atsumu said, aran, osamu, and suna chuckling as they thought back to the game. “yea i saw them arguing in the middle of the court. looked like they was damn near ready to fight” aran said, his big hands rubbing up and down your thighs as he spoke. you doubt that he knew it, but he was making you incredible horny. his freshly faded hair along with his tight black shirt and grey sweats. his black cat jordan’s tapping on the floor as he spoke. his muscular brown arms with tattoos dancing along the skin and his big strong hands playing with the fat of your thighs. he was driving you nuts. you slowly leaned your head down to his ear, your tone sweat and low as you caressed the nape of his neck. “daddy i wanna fuck” you whispered.

all aran gave as a reply was a quick “later ma” before continuing on with his conversation. anger rushed through your veins as you quickly got up and walked away. “what’s wrong wit her?” atsumu mumbled as he watched you storm off deeper into the party. aran just rolled his eyes. “don’t worry bout it bro. she just in one of her moods” as aran continued on being a dickhead, you made your way to the kitchen for a couple drinks. “if ima be here all night i might as well” you mumbled as you poured yourself a hefty cup of what looked like pink whitney. you were halfway done with your cup when you realized you left your phone with aran. “fuck” you said as you began your journey over to him. however, you were stopped in your tracks as you witnessed a group of girls in his and his friend’s faces. atsumu was already making his way upstairs with two as well as osamu with another two while the other four were of course in your man’s face.

“we love watching you play, you’re so talented aran really!” one girl said, her group of friends nodding along to what she was saying, giggling as aran gave her a kind smile from his seat on the couch. “preciate it. glad y’all liked the show” you didn’t even care about the phone anymore. all you thought about was revenge as you went right to the dining room. some if his teammates were there playing pong so you knew it was the perfect place to get aran’s attention. “can i play?” you asked, your sweet voice catching the attention of almost every man in the room. “f’course y’can pretty. you on my team” a guy said. he was cute, tall, lightskin with curly hair. typical fuckboy, but you didn’t care. ‘must be on the football team’ you thought as you noticed the school logo they all got tattooed on his upper arm. you smiled as you approached him, telling him your name before the two of you approached the table.

of course aran’s teammates snitched on you. they were loyal to your boyfriend. plus, you needed them to tell anyways so you can carry out with your revenge. after you, and who you came to know as malik, won another game you raised your hands in the air, purposely bouncing your breasts in “excitement” before giving him a big hug. his muscular body making it hard for you to even wrap your arms around him fully. as the two of you released each other, you felt malik lightly tap your shoulder. “you wanna go upstairs” he whispered. your pretty face making him weak for you as he practically begged you to go with him with his eyes. you were going to shoot him down gently, but your words were cut off by the sound of a deep voice behind you. “nah she good, we boutta leave anyways” aran said, leaving no room for complaint as he took your arm and walked you out of the party.

“got me fucked up” he mumbled as he opened the passenger door for you to get in the car. you slowly sat down, waiting for him to get to his side before you opened your mouth to speak. without looking at you aran spoke instead. “don’t say nun. just take what i give you at the house” his words brought a smirk to your face as aran started his car and began driving the both of you home. the ride was silent and so was the walk into your bedroom. the only sounds coming from either of you were small clanks and clothes shuffling as you changed into one of his t shirts. “take that off” aran mumbled, eyes trained on you as he pointed at the black fabric covering your body. “why? i always wear your shirts to bed” you whined, earning you a stern look as aran made his way towards you. “you not going to bed”

before you could reply, the shirt was snatched off of you. aran pushed you down on the bed before slowly getting on his knees. “if you cum before i say, ima spank you” he mumbled before immediately getting to work. your back arched off the bed at the sudden action. the wetness of his tongue bringing a cool feeling to your clit as he payed close attention to your entrance. he fucked with with his wet mussel, aran’s long tongue giving you the most pleasure you’ve had in days as you kept your legs wide open for him. you moved your hands towards his hair, but they were pulled back down and held on your stomach by one of his hands. aran quickly got back to eating, this time focusing on your clit while breaching your entrance with two thick fingers.

he sucked on your clit delicately before flicking his tongue all around it. “fuck a-aran it feels so good” he replied with a “mhm”, the vibrations of his deep voice making your pussy flutter around his fingers. he knew you weren’t going to last much longer, so to punish you he worked harder. aran’s fingers moved deeper into you as he tongue kissed your clit. his wet tongue swirling all over the bud as he continued humming into your pussy. “shit….wait daddy m’finna….oh my god arannn” your orgasm hit you hard. your legs shaking rapidly as your release shot out of you and all over aran’s face. he stood up, dick fighting against the cotton of his sweats as aran walked towards his dresser.

too in a daze to understand what was going on, you mindlessly let him turn you on your stomach when he came back. ass high in the air as you instantly arched your back as deep as you could. “so needy” he mumbled before taking both of your hands and putting them behind your back. aran attached the fur handcuffs to your wrists before rubbing his big hands all over your ass. occasionally spreading you to get a good look at your awaiting pussy. “you like t’get me mad baby?” you figured now would be the best time to answer truthfully, the yearning for another orgasm clouding your brain as you quickly replied with the truth. “mhm….wanted you t’fuck me” a smile graced aran’s features as he listened to you snitch on yourself. you were such a slut for his dick you had no problem telling him all your sins in hopes that he’ll fuck you.

“so you flirting wit other niggas just so daddy could fuck this pretty pussy?” you replied with a quick “mhm” earning you a hard slap to your ass. aran would usually start of lighter and build up to harder slaps, but tonight he had no patience for it. a loud whine rang through the room as you wiggled your ass at the contact. the flesh already heating up from the force of his hand. he spanked you two more times, each so hard that you knew you’d have a big handprint there in the morning. “that’s not nice mama. if i say no, you supposed to be a good girl and respect that. not go out and be a brat so you could get what you want” you felt no remorse from his words and he could tell by the way your pussy began to leak as he spoke. you were just ready to get fucked. “m’sorry daddy” you said in a sultry tone, your arousal dripping down your thighs as you repeatedly clenched your pussy. aran smirked at the action, giving you another three hard slaps to each of your cheeks.

the volume of your whines increased as you grew restless from the lack of attention to your aching core. “daddy please fuck me. m’so wet please please please” there’s was nothing in this world aran wanted more than to fuck you silly right now. his dick was so hard his precum leaked through his boxers and sweatpants, a small wet patch pointed towards your pussy as if his dick were chasing you. “you gon be good f’me-” “yess! yes i’ll be so good f’you papa” you yelled into your pillow as you wiggled your ass in anticipation. aran slowly freed his dick from his sweats, his tip almost red from how neglected he’s left himself. his precum had the whole top half of him wet at he lined it up with your awaiting pussy. aran knew he shouldn’t be fucking you right now. he should be stroking himself to his release while keeping you face down in the pillow with nothing so you could learn to stop playing with him, but he was so weak for you sometimes it made him sick.

he sunk into you fully, giving you no time to adjust as he began hungrily pounding you into the mattress. he was just as pent up and horny as you right now and all he couldn’t think of was his release. “fuck fuck fuckk…ma you so damn wet” he groaned, his dick twitching repeatedly as he felt your wet walls clench around him. “daddy i love you so much….wont do it again shittt” aran knew you were lying through your teeth, but he couldn’t find it in him to care right now. fucking you with so much vigor your headboard began to slam into the wall. “s’my pussy right mama? say it f’me” the cuffs around your wrists clanked together repeatedly as you tried your best not to reach for him. he was just fucking you so good you needed something to grab. aran noticed this and once again, spoiled you by holding both of your hands in his. he began hitting you deeper, his dick hitting your g spot as you screamed out your response. “yesss fuckkk. this your pussy daddy please m’gonna cummm”

the constant stimulation to your g spot made your legs shake as your orgasm began to rush out of you. clear liquid flying everywhere, wetting aran’s six pack and some of his chest while the rest of it soaked the bed under you. the sight made him weak in the knees as he felt his dick twitch for the final time inside of you before he came as well. “shit ma” he moaned as he spilled his seed deep into you, heavy hand giving you light slaps on the ass while aran moaned about how much he loved you. before you knew it the both of you hit the bed, passed out in pure bliss.

aran was first to wake up, slowly removing the cuffs from your wrist and throwing them somewhere in the room before pulling your body onto his chest. you stirred awake, lifting your head a little to give him a kiss before laying back down his chest. “m’sorry for flirting with another guy. i really won’t do it again” you whispered but aran heard you. giving you a kiss on the forehead while rubbing his hand up and down your back. “s’okay ma, we can talk about it inna mornin” and gave him a quiet “kay” before kissing his chest and letting sleep take the both of you again.

[starsofjewels]

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Child Support

Shroud: Meow! (Jumps up onto Blake’s bed and sits on Blake’s stomach) MeooooooooOoOow!

Blake: Ugh! Alright! Alright! I'm up! Just get your fluffy butt off of me. I swear. You've put on some weight recently, and it's making those ice picks you call legs dig deeper than normal.

Shroud: (hops off the bed and licks her paw nonchalantly before following Blake to the kitchen)

Blake: (puts a kettle of water on the stove and starts getting Shroud's breakfast ready. She glances at the sleek, black feline waiting patiently, amber eyes falling on the slight barrel in her belly) I don't know if you even need this. (cracks open can of wet catfood) You're getting chubby.

Shroud: (meows indignantly and visually huffs)

*Ding-Dong*

Blake: (Raises an eyebrow, glances at the apartment door, and back at Shroud) Did you invite someone over?

Shroud: (eyes glued to the bowl of food) Prrrrrrrrr.

Blake: (rolls eyes and places the cat's food bowl on the specialty feeding mat before answering the door) Hello?

Yang: (standing in the hallway confidently in a pair of orange cargo pants and white tank top, an absolute unit of a fluffy ginger tabby tucked under her arm) Hey! I'm Yang! Your new neighbor from down the hall. And this is Ember.

Ember: (purring contently as he's being carried around like a bag of feed)

Blake: Oh. Um. Hello. (Mentally: Oh, fuck! My new neighbor is hot!) My name is Blake.

Yang: Blake! Nice ta meetcha. Soooo... This is going to sound strange, but does a little black cat live here? Maybe female type?

Blake: (blinks and glances back into the apartment at Shroud eating peacefully) Y-Yes.... Why?

Yang: (shuffles and laughs awkwardly) Well, you see. A couple of weeks ago, I was out in the back courtyard with Ember here and got distracted. When I saw him next, he was...well...he was mounted up on a black cat. I tried to break them up, but she got away and scaled the fire escapes to a balcony on this side of the complex.

Blake: .....Mounted up?

Yang: They were fucking.

Blake: (jaw drops as she stares at the Goliath tabby and back at her substantially smaller black cat) Shroud! You little whore. I thought you were fixed! Is that why you're getting fat?

Shroud: (licks her chops before trotting over to the door) Meow.

Yang: Yeah, I thought Ember was neutered, too. He never sprayed or scratched at furniture or was ever aggressive!

Blake: (groans and covers her eyes) I'm more wondering how that miniature tiger of yours didn't smother her. No offense.

Yang: None taken. He's a big boy. (Whips Ember around so he's cradled in her arms but is still spilling over)

Blake: (sighs) Well, thank you for letting me know I have to deal with kittens in the coming months. I thought she was just getting fat.

Yang: Oh! There's more! (Slings Ember over her shoulder like a feather boa, reaches towards the wall, and pulls out a 50-pound bag of kitten food) Child support!

Blake: Oh, my. (Takes the bag with some difficulty) Um. Thank you. I appreciate it.

Yang: No problem! It's the least I can do considering my boy (pats Ember's side with solid thuds) got your little lady pregnant. (Reaches down and scritches Shroud under the chin)

Blake: (shocked)

Yang: So, I was thinking maybe we could check in with each other every once in a while? For the kittens! I'm willing to help.

Blake: (trying not to stare at Yang’s muscles) Right! For the kittens! That would be nice! Thank you.

Yang: Don't mention it! But I'll get out of your hair. My apartment is just down the hall, third door on the left, if you or Little Mama need anything. See ya around, Blake!

Blake: I'll see you around (closes the door and stares at Shroud in disbelief) You had to get knocked up by a damn near domesticated tiger whose owner is also a blonde bombshell?

Shroud: Meow (purrs and rubs up against Blake’s legs)

Blake: (sighs and picks up Shroud before moving to the couch) Let's get you a vet appointment.

Yang: (quickly sprints back to her apartment, locks the door, and holds Ember up to eye level) You just had to knock up the pretty little black cat who just so happens to have a hot owner, didn't you?

Ember: Mow

Yang: I am not a disaster!

[ramona-quinn]

Not Tired

Plot: Crymini doesn’t want to have her nap.

Co-written/credit to @yourneurodivergentlady

Edited by me

Note: Husk’s room is also Crymini’s nursery. There’s a bedside crib next to Husk’s bed. There’s also a changing pad on top of his dresser, a rocking chair next to said dresser, and some toys inside of a toy box.

It was after lunch. Crymini was patting the table in the dining room after eating her favorite little food: grilled cheese and fruit.

“Alright, Mini!” Angel sang as he finished helping Husk clean up the dirty dishes in the kitchen. “It’s time for a little nap.”

Crymini pouted, crossing her arms as Angel unbuckled her from her booster seat and scooped her up.

“I’m not tired,” she whined as she was settled on Angel’s hip.

Angel sighed and rubbed Crymini’s back and gave her a gentle bounce. She hated nap time with a passion whenever she regressed. “I understand you don’t want to have rest time, but it’s important for our bodies to have a break.”

When Angel made it to Husk’s room, Crymini spotted some of her toys and sleepily whined as she pointed at them, wanting to play.

“Shh-shhh… it’s not time to play right now, baby. It’s time for night-night,” Angel soothed. He carried her to the changing table and laid her down so he could change her diaper and get her dressed. She scowled at her mama.

Angel offered her a smile. “Oh, so grumpy. You’re okay. Papa is gonna bring a bottle up for you. How’s that sound?”

Crymini grumbled as Angel tapped her nose and began to change her.

“Would you like to pick out a fresh diaper?” Angel asked her. He held up a light pink one with white skulls along with a black one with the same pattern.

The hyena sighed and pointed to the black one.

“Good choice, baby!”

Crymini still frowned as Angel changed her and dressed her in a pair of black pajamas with Jack Skellington on the shirt. She didn’t want to take a dumb nap. She wanted to play! Mama and Papa didn’t have to take a nap. Neither did Fat Nuggets or anyone in the hotel. It just wasn’t fair!

Once he was finished getting her changed, Angel scooped her back up and settled her on his hip. He then picked up one of her pacifiers and offered it to her.

“You want your paci, sweetie?”

Crymini huffed as she hid her face in Angel’s shoulder, turning away from the soother.

“Someone’s a grumpy girl,” Angel cooed as he kissed the side of her head. He clipped her pacifier to her pajama shirt and began to walk with her.

Angel laid Crymini down in her bedside crib and tucked her in. He sat down beside her on the bed and began to stroke her hair. “What story would you like to read for naptime?”

The hyena shrugged. Husk came into the room while gently knocking on the door. Angel turned when he heard the cat come in and shut the door.

“I’ve got her bottle here,” Husk said as he walked over to the bedside crib. He then handed Crymini her bottle. She turned away from the cat, grumbling something incredibly sassy.

“She’s a little fussy about having to take a nap,” Angel informed the other.

Husk nodded. “I see. Naptime isn’t so bad, pumpkin.”

“How come you don’t have to?” Crymini asked.

“Well, grown-ups don’t need as much sleep as little ones do.”

“I’m not little. I’m big,” the hyena argued. “I’m the biggest girl in Hell!”

Angel reached out to pat her head. “Even big girls need to rest sometimes.”

Crymini rolled her eyes and yanked the blanket over her.

“Hey,” Husk gently admonished. “We know you’re upset, but there’s no need for an attitude.”

“No attitude…” Crymini muttered under her breath.

“Do you want your bottle and cuddles?” Husk asked. “I bet Mama will read you two stories if you want.”

Crymini peeked from her hiding spot.

"Okay..." the hyena sighed.

Angel grabbed two books as Husk handed the little hyena her bottle. He then turned off the overhead light before flicking on the bedside lamp, settling down in the rocking chair.

The spider began to read to the baby.

----

Two books later, Angel had finished reading, and Crymini was still awake. She didn’t even touch her bottle. Husk turned off the bedside lamp and turned on Crymini's nightlight.

“I’m not tired,” she still complained as Angel and Husk kissed her forehead.

“We know you’re not. Just rest quietly if you can’t sleep,” Husk said.

“You guys are mean and not fair…”

“Sweet dreams, princess,” Angel said as he and Husk left the room, gently closing the door behind them.

Crymini stared up at the ceiling as she tried her hardest to sleep. She tossed and turned as she closed her eyes. However, she just couldn’t sleep.

----

Angel and Husk were hanging out in the lobby while Crymini napped. The baby monitor sat on the coffee table, and they could see that their little girl was struggling to sleep.

“Should we do something?” Angel asked Husk.

“I don’t know,” Husk shrugged. “Maybe we should wait a few more minutes.”

And that's what they did. Ten minutes later, it was obvious Crymini wasn’t going to fall asleep.

“I’ll go check on her,” Husk volunteered.

“Thanks, Whiskers…” Angel said as he leaned back on the couch.

Husk went upstairs to his bedroom and opened the door to find Crymini sitting up in her crib, wide awake.

“Baby,” he cooed. “It really is naptime.”

“I can’t sleep…” Crymini pouted.

“Do you wanna cuddle for a bit? Would that help?”

Crymini nodded as she reached her arms out. Husk scooped her up and grabbed her bottle before sitting down in the rocking chair.

“I’m not tired…” the hyena grumbled.

Husk ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead. “I know you’re not, sweet girl. We can just cuddle, yeah?”

“Fine…”

While Husk rocked Crymini, she rubbed her eyes. She fought back any yawns she had, determined not to take her nap.

“I can tell you’re sleepy, kiddo…” the cat chuckled. “Why do you keep refusing your nap?”

“Wanna play,” Crymini stated.

Husk kissed the baby's forehead and tried to offer her stuffed cat, Ramona (it was sitting on top of the toy box). “I know, honey, but you won’t have any energy to play later if you don’t rest.”

Crymini grumbled as she cuddled her stuffie.

“Would you like a song?”

The hyena thought about it for a moment, then nodded her head as Husk started feeding her her bottle. He started gently patting her padded bottom while singing "Hush, Little Baby" softly.

Crymini’s eyelids started drooping. She snuggled closer to her caregiver for warmth as she yawned and closed her eyes. She finally fell asleep when seventy-five percent of the milk inside of the bottle was gone.

Husk replaced the bottle with the pacifier clipped to Crymini’s shirt. He then stood up and tucked her back into her crib, hoping she would stay asleep. After kissing her forehead, he crept out of the room and shut the door.

Much to Husk and Angel’s fortune, Crymini stayed asleep.

“I guess Mini did need that nap after all,” Angel hummed. “Poor baby.”

“Yeah. She’ll thank us when she has enough energy to play later this afternoon,” Husk said.

“If she wakes up again, I can tend to her.”

“Thank you.”

[byjove]

It looks like Tortellini (other small tortie kitten my dad found for me) has found a home with my dad and grandma. My grandma has needed a friend for a long time and pets have a scientifically positive effect on slowing the neurological and physical decline of the elderly. If it doesn’t work out, I told my dad I’d be willing to take Tortellini so Daphne has a friend.

We’re a tortoiseshell family. My dad’s cat soul mate was a big fat tortie named Baby Kitty who my parents got shortly after their marriage, she’s in a lot of my baby photos and a lot of photos of my dad from around the time. She was a sweet, bizarre cat who loved water and floated around on rafts when my parents lived by the lake early in their marriage. After her there was Tempy (short for Temperance) and Big Mama, both torties adopted from the same shelter. There was also Rosemary, a dilute tortie we had for a while who was so mean that she ended up being rehomed to a horse barn so she could torture small animals in peace with very little human interaction. But we’d been tortieless for several years since Big Mama succumbed to jaw cancer. Now we’re both back in business.

[pearlescentparade]

I have sososo so many thoughts in my head for drabbles like UGHHHH!!! So im just gonna yap them out.. all at once and maybe do the ones i think r fun. Whichever one gets the most attention ill probably do.. Pick ur faves guys!!

1. Coil w a cat-hybrid reader... Kinda like how hes a dog Reader is a cat. I love opposites attract!! jus imagining Coil with a partner whos just so serious and prissy, maybe even a nobel person. Pampered spoiled cat x wild street dog

2. Sword and rocket w reader.. Polyamory win!! Basicallyy sword met reader recently and they hit it it off rlly well right away! Rocket gets jealous that his long time friend and crush is spending sm time with someone else until he meets you and realizes oh Your actually kind of. Cute. And sword is like ik right!! Rocket freaks out abt his crush on you while sword is all sunshine and rainbows.

3. Shuri has a big fat crush on youuu but doesnt have the guts to ask you out so he does it instead as silver shadow!! Shenanigans ensue. Shuriken crushes on you hard whenever you visit slings cafe but when hes super confident and flirty as silver.

4. Child reader and Banhammer, he sees you abonded on the side of the road and takes you in and accidentally gets attached to you but whoops. Turns out you belonged to the church of the true eye. When Scythe tries to get you back and you start calling her mama Banhammer doesnt react well. They co-parent you like a divorced mom and dad.

-🍊🍨

OH THESE ARE GASSS i honwstly love all of these

if anyone wants to pick, ill post ur ask with the tag #🍊🍨anonvote

[writernopal]

Writing Pride Tag

I was tagged by @paintedbutton here, thanks so much!

Rules: 📝 Post a snippet you are extra proud of having written.

I'm picking something from Man O' War this time because I've been revisiting some of the chapters as I work on the new one and holy mama, there's some goooooood shit in there! I was explaining this to @illjustpretend the other night, but this series is really abstract compared to AASOAF and explores a lot of really big themes/ideas. Because of that I feel like I get to write in a way that I don't get to do much for other projects, its like the really prose-y bits of AASOAF turned up to 11, but like, all the time. Anyway have this sneep from Chapter 9, Apex!

But the completeness of those visions mattered little. They were like the ebb and flow of waves. The in and out of lungs. The rise and fall of the wind. To miss a rise, or any other such apex, was no great thing, for another would come after the expected fall. It was natural. It all was. Except for that feeling. The rush. It formed a strait through this existence, connecting one’s heart to that which lay beyond. A charged force, yet immoveable. Left unattended, it was dismally aimless, heralding not life but death, despite being the very source of that universal anima. And to see it was to signal violence, for how else to retrieve a thing which lay completely encased within? But to reach it was no difficulty. Anyone so inclined could root it out, but to make it bloom? That was distinguished. Artful. It meant becoming something. Something’s cadence could be heard in the roar of those big cats and in the languages formed by the mouths of men. Voices, worlds apart, yet both decrying their abounding desire to Consume—the hedonistic belief, no truth, that to ascend from this limbo, was the Right of Rights. That divinity should not be withheld nor distributed on the arbitrary design of birth. That the mere act of existing spelled a common fate—to become a grasping and blind creature. So then, why not grasp for something more? Something higher? Something beyond? For certain, what else did that unadulterated force want if not to preserve its gluttony forevermore? To make the tremulous line between this state and the one that followed fat and efficient. To lavish the tantalizing promise of unbridled feeling, no matter its brevity. To become dizzy. To become lost. To become anything but a rise and fall.

Tagging (gently): @sarahlizziewrites @thatndginger @kaylinalexanderbooks and @leahnardo-da-veggie

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@the-mindless @milosometimeswrites @mysticstarlightduck @tabswrites @void-botanist

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[ohimsummer]

Picture suguru having triplets <333

100x more the protectiveness, care, and love 🥰🥰

WAHHH HIM AND HIS LITTLE TRIPLETS ARE SO CUTEEEE AHHHHH he is such a cute dad holding his fat little babies in his big arms and smooching their bald little heads 😽

they cling to his legs wherever he goes, they're like little cats under his feet all the time (yes he has almost tripped over them HJVFHK) they are always right behind you or him like some little ducklings following their mama ehehe

also i have been wanting to talk about him dressing his little one/s up for halloween wahh....i think he matches with them in some way so if they're dressed as prince/sses, suguru dresses as the horse or the knight that saves them. or he dresses them up as bees and he's the flower (or vice versa)(satoru can laugh at how silly suguru looks all he wants 🤨) he watches over you + the kids so diligently while they trick or treat, always hugging them when satoru someone scares them and the three babies come running to mom or dad for protection <<33

[fuck-yeah-iheartmedia]

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[rorywritesjunk]

(Day 31. "Animal". I can't believe I did this. I can't believe I completed it. I loved every second of this. Have some soft dad Buggy with a fussy child.)

"Meow!"

Buggy rubbed his face sleepily as he opened his eyes, frowning at the weight on his chest as he tried to understand what he was looking at. Cat ears, a fluffy mane, and a big smile was on the face of his son as he perched on his dad.

"Daddy, wake up!" Sunny insisted with a giggle.

"Why are you dressed as Richie?" Buggy asked groggily. He knew why. Sunny had made fun costumes for the kids and Prism and Sunny refused to remove theirs. It had been a week. Sunny was a lion and Prism was an elephant. If his son was in here then it meant his daughter was nearby.

"Awoo!"

Buggy forced himself to sit up, looking over the side of the bed as his daughter puffed her cheeks out and pretended to make elephant noises. He lifted her onto the bed with a sleepy sigh. It was his birthday, he was supposed to be sleeping in. Why wasn't it happening?

"Can't daddy have five more minutes?" He whined pitifully as he flopped back onto his bed as Sunny and Prism pawed and pushed him. How did he end up with five kids? Oh, right, he loved his wife and found himself loving being a dad. It was such a weird thought, something he truly didn't think would happen.

"Uh uh!" Sunny giggled as he bounced off of Buggy and onto the bed beside him. "I'm Richie! Roar!"

"Imma elephant!" Prism said before a frown crossed her face. "I want a name."

"Then pick a name, candy corn." Buggy replied sleepily as laid on his back with an arm draped over his eyes. "Any name."

"No, Daddy, I'm an elephant and I can't talk!" She told him with a shake to his arm. "You gotta pick my name!"

"I can pick your name!" Sunny told his twin. She shook her head, giant elephant ears flopping around.

"No, we can't talk 'cause we're animals!" She shot back. "Daddy hasta name me!"

Oh sweet Lord... "Does Daddy have to?" Buggy whined. "It's Daddy's birthday and he was up late. He just wants t'sleep, my precious babies."

"Bu-But daddy-"

Nope, nope, he should have just given her a name and been done with it because he could hear it in her voice that she was about to start crying and he was too tired for that. With a heavy sigh he sat up to face his youngest ones. Sunny was all smiles, just like his mother, while Prism had big fat tears in her eyes as she sniffled, snot already threatening to drip from her big red nose. His wife joked that she birthed their clones because Prism had the same way of reacting to things as Buggy: over the top, loud, and full of all kinds of emotions.

"Oh, gum drop." He rubbed his face, racking his brain for some kind of silly name for her. "Uh... Elephant name... Ellie? Elsa? Uh..."

Prism sniffled and shook her head. "No."

"I thought animals couldn't talk." Buggy said as Sunny made himself comfortable beside Buggy, leaning into his daddy as he tugged at the mane. Prism glared at Buggy and he let out another tired sigh. "I'unno, Mama's better with names."

"Sparkles the Elephant!" Sunny suggested.

"No, we can't talk, daddy hasta do it!" Prism shrieked. Buggy winced at the high pitched noise and put his arm around his son.

"For animals who can't talk, you two sure talk a lot." He mumbled. "Elephant names... Elephant names... Stompy? Tootie?"

She shook her head, sniffling and fussing as she grew more agitated. Of all the kids, Prism was definitely most reactive to things. She got overstimulated quickly, often couldn't process what she needed, but thankfully her parents knew what to do.

Buggy pulled his daughter into his lap and laid her head against his chest. Ever since she was a fussy baby she would be soothed by this, hearing his heartbeat seemed to relax her and still seemed to work. She tugged on the elephant ears with a sob as she curled against him as her brother crawled into Buggy's lap next to her, grabbing onto her sleeve gently.

"It's okay, baby, we'll think of an elephant name for you." Buggy never thought he'd have to say words like that, but since the birth of his first kid he found himself saying the most unlikely sentences. "It might just take daddy a few minutes, okay, because daddy is still waking up."

"Su-Sunny already has a name!" She cried as her brother tried to comfort her. "I want a name!"

"I know." Buggy wanted his wife to show up and make everything better.

"A-And he's named after mama!"

"...okay." He rubbed his face wearily and looked down at his teary-eyed daughter. "Baby, do you want your elephant name to be Buggy?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding, sniffling loudly as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. Buggy nodded and tapped her on the nose.

"You are now Buggy the Elephant, okay? You and Richie the Lion should go find Mama and tell her daddy wants breakfast, 'kay?" He hoped they would. He was hungry and didn't want to get out of bed yet.

"Daddy, I'm an elephant and I don't know how to do that." Prism sniffled. "Can I stay in your lap?"

"Fiiiine." Maybe his son would do the task but Sunny was taking the mane off and getting comfortable in Buggy's lap. "So... No one is gonna go get Mama and tell her daddy's hungry?"

Both shook their heads. Guess Buggy was going to starve.