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honey-crypt · 9 months ago

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elliott that sings his heart out while drunk asf x gn/m farmer? You know the drill :3

also saying that again, ur writing makes me giggle n kick my feet have a great day dude

a/n: i went all out if you couldn’t tell, only the best for the queen of elliott art herself!!! also attaching the drunk singing elliott art she posted for visualization reasons lol. this was a literal blast to write, i had to rewind somethin’ stupid like a hundred times to get the flow right. also follow @fuerrziah cuz her art is the best and she is da best <3

word count: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drunk antics, suggestive ending

summary: you knew elliott got a bit silly and unfiltered when drunk, but you didn’t realize that the man could belt it like the best of them until you witness him sing frank sinatra's somethin’ stupid.

★ sinatra - elliott x farmer ★

The Stardrop Saloon was the heart of Pelican Town, a bar and restaurant full of laughter and chatter every night, as Gus brewed pretty cocktails and Emily bounced from room to room taking and delivering orders. To some, it was a place to unwind after a hard day or to spend time with friends while to others, it was a second home.

Often, you frequented the saloon to treat yourself to a meal and a drink, and tonight was no different. You were too exhausted from harvesting melons, chasing after chickens, and so on to bother microwaving something, much less cooking an actual meal. With a heavy sigh, you plopped down at your usual spot and waved Emily over with a tired smile, “Hey Em.”

“(Y/N)!” the waitress greeted you with her usual sunshine demeanor, “Good to see you tonight!” she clicked her glitter pen and hovered it over her notebook, “The usual tonight?”

“You know me well,” you chuckled softly. Emily scribbled down a few lines and stated, “Should be ready in fifteen. Can I get you a drink beforehand?”

“Water with lemon,” you answered, your mouth drier than the Calico Desert from the summer heat. Emily nodded and went behind the bar, pouring you a tall glass of ice water with a lemon garnish. She returned to your table and set the drink down on the wooden coaster, “Drink up and have a good night.”

“You as well, Em,” you hummed, watching the blue haired woman disappear into the crowd of bar patrons. The walls of the saloon vibrated from the amount of noise produced in such a small space. You weren’t surprised at the amount of people present at the Stardrop Saloon; after all, it was Friday, the busiest night. At least, Emily and Gus will get some good tips. You down your water without care, as some of the liquid spilled from your lips and down your chin onto your overalls.

“Parched?” a deep but honey-like voice hummed. You looked up and locked eyes with your closest friend, Elliott, hovering next to you. Ink stained his strong calloused hands, presumably a remnant of a hours-long writing session.

“Absolutely,” you exhaled, “It’s hotter than Hades’ taint.”

Elliott snorted, emerald eyes crinkling up while he smiled down upon you, “I can agree with you on that, my friend. I fear that if it gets any degree warmer, I must forgo my long sleeves.”

You side-eyed Eliott’s sleeved arms, as he borrowed the seat across from you, seeing the outline of toned muscle. You could take your suspenders off, too. you thought to yourself, waving a passing Emily over and requesting another water with lemon, For a beachfront Hemingway, you sure have the physique of a Greek God.

“How did your day on the farm go?” the writer asked, resting his elbows on the table. You plucked your glass off the table and pressed it against your forehead, “I shoulda taken today off, but the mayor just had to request two dozen melons for his outing with the governor,” you grumbled, annoyed at Mayor Lewis but more so at the sweltering heat that suddenly enveloped the room.

“Rest days are always good,” the redhead let out a low hum of agreement, “Perhaps, you can do so tomorrow?”

“I doubt it. Shane ordered three dozen hot peppers,” you sent daggers to the man in question from across the room, as Shane drank his beer by Gus’s prized wooden bear statue. Elliott’s lips formed a frown, “The life of a farmer, one of never ending labor,” he laughed.

Emily approached your table and set down another glass of water with lemon for you, “Here’s your usual,” she added before placing a plate of spaghetti by your water, “Want some parmesan?”

“What is this, the Gotoro Empire? Of course, I want some,” you jested. Emily giggled and handed you the shaker of parmesan, “Just let me know if you need more,” she then directed her attention to Elliott, “Hi Elliott! You looking for your usual tonight, too?”

“Yes, please, my dear,” he answered, adjusting his suspenders, “And a pale ale for my friend, as well.”

“Coming right!” the waitress skipped off to the back of the bar. You raised an eyebrow at Elliott while you drowned your spaghetti in heaps and heaps of parmesan, “What’s the occasion?”

“Can I not treat one of my closest friends to a nice drink after a hard day’s work?” the writer clutched his heart, “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” you rolled your eyes with a playful twinkle in your eyes, “You know I don’t object to anything free, especially a free drink.”

Emily returned with Elliott’s usual, a pint of beer and a crab cake, as well as a pale ale for you, “Enjoy your meals!” she gave the two of you a thumbs up, “Wave me down if you need anything.”

You touched your lips to the cool glass and drank, the hot and ice sensation of alcohol coating your throat, “Shit,” you exhaled, “I needed that, thanks.”

“Of course,” your friend offered you a smile, that stupid smile you often saw on the cover of a romance novel, “How about a toast?” he held his beer up, “To friendship and a hard day’s work?”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you chuckled and clinked glasses together. As the night went on, one glass turned into two, then three, and so on. You tapped out after two glasses, as for Elliott, the Scot in him already finished four glasses of beer. His cheeks were flushed like the color of his hair, his eyes fluttering while he held back a hiccup, “Oh Yoba…” your friend tucked some loose hair behind his pierced ear, “I think… I think I went overboard.”

“You think?” you questioned. Emily returned with Elliott’s fifth glass of the night and you mouthed to her, “Cut him off for tonight,” to which she nodded in agreement.

“You usually max out at three, is something on your mind?” your ears rang and your head throbbed from the noise of overlapping conversations around the saloon. Elliott finished his fourth glass of beer, a bit of foam smeared on the right corner of his lips, “Oh, (Y/N), I won’t bore you-” he hiccuped, “-with my woes. I’m simply a tortured artist destined to be consumed by my work.”

You grabbed a napkin and leaned down towards Elliott, “Hold still,” you whispered, as you dabbed away the foam from his lips. His face turned to a darker shade of red, “You’re so close,” he whispered back, eyes hazy. You pulled away and set the used napkin aside, “Sorry, you had foam on your face,” you mumbled, averting your gaze.

Behind you, Pam dragged herself towards the jukebox and slammed a quarter in its slot, grumbling to herself about hating the cheerful swing of the current song, “Shit,” you heard her curse, “Wrong button,” the atmosphere of the saloon abruptly switched from chaotic to sombre, as a light guitar riff filled the air.

“Oh!” Elliott leapt to his feet, “I know,” he covered his mouth to hiccup, ��I know this song!” he then approached the jukebox and leaned on it for support, swaying his index finger from side to side to the rhythm of the music. You smiled to yourself and sipped your water, only to choke on it like a Yoba damn fool the moment Elliott began to sing.

“I know I stand in line… Until you think you have the time… To spend an evening with me,” his voice was a neat match to the original singer, a light baritone, “And if we go someplace to dance… I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me…”

Elliott unbuttoned a few notches on his sea blue dress shirt, exposing his defined collarbone and a bit of wispy chest hair, “Then afterwards we drop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…” he glazed over your face and body with a drunken smile, “And then I go and spoil it by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” Elliott untied his ponytail, luscious locks free from their confinement and resting against his shoulders.

Your pupils dilated; no longer was the saloon filled with static chatter and the slamming of glasses, but instead everyone ogled silently at Elliott, his vocals amplified. He pushed himself off the jukebox and stumbled a bit, taking your hands in his, “I see it in your eyes, that you still despise the same old lies you heard the night before…” he touched one of his hands to your cheek and cupped it, “And though it’s just a line to you; for me, it’s true and never so right before…”

“Elliott?” your voice croaked, your blood rushing to your extremities and your heartbeat overwhelmingly rapid. He gave you a lopsided smile and continued to sing, “I practice every day to find some clever lines, to make the meaning come true…”

No, no. He’s just singing the song. This doesn’t mean anything, you tried to reason with yourself, but it fell short, as Elliott serenaded the next few lyrics, “But then I think I’ll wait until evening gets late and I’m alone with you… The time is right, your perfume fills my head-” he leaned closer to you and inhaled your musk, “-The stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like-” you could feel Elliott’s breath against the side of your neck, as he sang in your ear, “I love you…”

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. The alcohol in your system, the summer heat, Elliott’s closeness, made your mind go foggy; you were hanging onto every single word that spilled from the redhead’s pretty little lips. Elliott passionately belted out the instrumental pause, trying his best not to laugh, earning a laugh from you, nonetheless.

He stood back up and pulled you off your feet with him, repeating the chorus, “The time is right, your perfume fills my head,” he twirled you around, “The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” even when intoxicated, Elliott was a true Casanova, holding onto you and swaying you side to side to the music.

“I love you…”

You met his eyes, oh how they shined like gemstones.

“I love you…”

Your knees turned to jelly, you clung to your friend for dear life.

“I love you…”

Your surroundings vanished; no more saloon, no more patrons, just you and Elliott.

“I love you…”

You leaned closer, your chest against his.

“I love you…”

You pressed your lips against Elliott’s, savoring the aftertaste of beer and crab cakes, as the jukebox switched to the next song and the world around you returned to its original state. Elliott kissed you back, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in control but Yoba, did he taste divine. Oh, to have the confidence of a drunken fool at all hours of the day, you grabbed at his hair and tugged on the strands, Elliott moaning against your wet lips.

“Hey, you two!” Pam’s voice snapped you back into reality and broke the kiss, “Get a room!” Her words garnered a few similar statements from other bar patrons.

Through glossy eyes and clouded minds, you leaned your body against Elliott’s and asked, “Well… should we?” to which he pecked you on the lips, “That’s a splendid idea,” you tossed your own wallet on the table to pay for the two of you’s meals and interlocked arms with one another, supporting one another’s uncoordinated bodies. To the door and out you went, as you and Elliott roamed the streets of Pelican Town towards his cabin, exchanging laughs and kisses.

…

bonus:

Back in the Stardrop Saloon, Pam plopped her ass back in her seat, relieved that the farmer and Elliott were finally gone. She gestured to Gus for another beer and commented aloud, “About time those two lovebirds figured it out.”

“Indeed,” answered Gus, as he dropped Pam a foamy beer, “They make a cute couple.”

“Oh, dear!” Emily walked up to Gus with the farmer’s wallet in hand, “They left their wallet here, should I run after them?”

Gus chuckled to himself and shook his head, “Put it in lost and found, I don’t think we should disturb those two tonight.

#honey crypt fics #stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #sdv elliott x farmer #sdv elliott x reader #stardew valley elliott x farmer #stardew valley elliott x reader #stardew elliott x farmer #stardew elliott x reader

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crunchwrapsnoopy · 5 months ago

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Second Chances [Touya Todoroki x Reader]

˙⋆✮ That's So True ✮⋆˙

"Looking into big blue eyes. Did it just to hurt me, make me cry Smiling through it all, yeah, that's my life."

even villains deserve a lil redemption

Dabi x F. Reader

𓂃ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ༄˖°𓂃ﾟ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ.

WC: 1398

I'm sat on my thrifted couch by the window as rain softly beats against the glass. I press play on the voicemail for what feels like the millionth time, the words already burned into my memory, but still, I can’t help myself. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe hearing it again will change something.

"Y/N, please come back. What I did was wrong, it’s been months... I can’t lose you. The league misses you, too. Toga won't shut her damn mouth about you. Fuck, I’m so drunk right now... I love you. I know I didn’t say it often, but—"

The sound of Shigaraki’s raspy voice cuts through, sharp and impatient. "What are you yapping about?" he snarls. "We’ve got shit to do, wrap it up."

Dabi’s voice stumbles back in, slurred. "Bye, Y/N. I have to get a new burner soon- I’ll try calling again. Fuck, I know you won’t pick up. You haven’t the last dozen times but I’ll try." The message ends with a quiet beep.

It’s been three months since that call. And by then, I’d already been gone for seven. Seven months since the night I left him—the night I left all of them behind. His betrayal, his lies... it was too much. It’s been almost a year since I stepped away from the league, from the chaos, from the life that almost consumed me and swallowed me whole. A year since I walked out and didn’t look back.

I’m lucky, though. So stupidly lucky. My quiet, lowkey role in the league made slipping away easy, there were no repercussions or police coming after me every time I stepped foot outside. I’ve kept off the radar, built a new life for myself—a quiet life. I work at a flower shop now, which is insanely different than working as a villain for Shigaraki and the League of Villains, and it smells a lot better too. I’ve even gotten myself a little apartment on the edge of town, cozy, with a window that overlooks a quiet street, and roommate, which is actually just a little calico kitty that I named Cupcakes.

I’ve found peace here. Real peace. But the voicemail keeps pulling at me like a thread that came loose on a favorite sweater, both painful circumstances. And no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I know Dabi’s voice will haunt me forever if I don't talk to him at least one more time, and attempt to get better closure than some shitty drunk voicemail.

I text Giran, the broker that supplies the league with everything, including burner phones. Dabi stopped calling recently, so I assumed he lost my number with the last burner, because knowing him, he wouldn't stop calling just to give me space.

Me: Hi Giran! It's Y/N, I know we haven't talked in a while, but I was wondering if you know Dabi's current burner phone #? 😇

He gets back to me almost immediately.

Giran: Y/N!! So good to hear from you, kid, thought you fell off the planet lmao. And yea I can send the number. Giran: ###-###-####

He sends me the number, and I dial it immediately, my hands trembling. After a few rings, Dabi picks up, his voice sounding annoyed. "Who’s this? And how’d you get this number?"

"Hey, uhm... it’s me, Y/N."

"Y/N?" His tone softens, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight. What’s up?"

I hesitate for a moment before speaking. "I just wanted to talk... are you busy?" I can hear a lot of voices in the background—probably everyone from the League. "If you’re tied up, it’s fine. It’s nothing important."

"Never too busy for you, doll." His voice shifts, and I hear him step away from the noise, the background chatter fading as he walks off.

The noise in the background slowly fades as he steps away, and I imagine him walking down a hallway, his boots hitting the floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sounds of his breathing and the soft hum of his movements are the only things I can hear now. It’s strange, this feeling of distance and closeness at the same time.

“Alright, I’m all yours,” Dabi says, his voice rough but clear now, like he’s giving me his full attention. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

I swallow hard, staring at the rain outside, the droplets running down the glass, blurring everything in sight. My heart races in my chest, a million thoughts running through my head, none of them making sense. “I don’t know,” I admit, running a hand through my h/c hair. “I guess... I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, I figured that.” He lets out a soft chuckle, though it sounds a little strained. “You’ve been gone for a while. Thought you were never gonna reach out.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” I reply quietly. “But... I keep listening to that last voicemail you left. Over and over again. I just... I couldn’t stop myself.”

There’s another long pause, and I can almost hear the shift in his posture. Maybe he’s rubbing his face, or clenching his jaw. I wouldn’t be surprised. Dabi’s never been one for easy emotions. “Shit,” he mutters, sounding like he’s been through too much to deal with this. “I shouldn’t have left that message. I meant what I said but I wish I said it better, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

"It's okay. I liked it." I say softly.

"Really?" He asks, his voice almost in disbelief at me admitting that I enjoy his shitty drunk voicemail despite everything.

“Yeah,” I answer quietly, feeling the weight of the words settle between us. “It wasn't like you at all- guess the liquid courage helped a lil, huh?" I laugh dryly, "It was real sweet its own way. I could tell you meant it, even if you were drunk n didn’t know how to say it.”

Dabi’s silence on the other end feels heavier now. I can almost picture him—frowning, leaning against a wall, trying to collect himself. "Fuck," he mutters after a moment, voice low. "I never thought I'd hear you say something like that. But... I'm glad you did."

“I’ve been avoiding it,” I admit, my fingers tightening around my phone. "Avoiding you, avoiding everything. But I can’t keep running forever."

Dabi lets out a long exhale, like a weight’s been lifted from his chest. "I get it. I know you had your reasons for leaving, and I don’t blame you for it. I fucked up." His voice drops a little. "But if I’m being honest... I’ve missed you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I would."

My heart skips a beat. It’s strange to hear him speak so plainly, without the usual sharpness in his voice. "I’ve missed you too," I whisper before I can stop myself. The confession catches me off guard, and I quickly add, "But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to just jump back into everything. Things are... complicated."

"I know," Dabi replies, quieter now, as if he’s absorbing my words. "I’m not asking you to. I’m just... saying that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. If you want me to prove it, I’ll prove it."

There’s something in his voice now that feels different, a promise without needing the words. A subtle shift in how he speaks to me, less like the cocky villain and more like a person who’s afraid of losing something he doesn’t deserve.

I stare out the window at the rain, a tightness in my chest as I let the quiet wash over me. I know I can’t go back to the way things were, but maybe—just maybe—I can start a new chapter with him, one where we’re both trying, even if we don’t have all the answers.

“I don’t know how I feel yet,” I say finally, voice soft but steady. “But... maybe we can try again. Slowly.”

Dabi’s voice is quieter now, but there's an undeniable relief in it. "That’s all I need. A chance. We can take it slow."

I lean back against the couch, closing my eyes as I listen to the steady rain and his steady breathing on the other end of the line. For the first time in a long while, the knot in my chest begins to loosen. There’s no going back to what we were before, but maybe there’s still a chance for something else.

"Alright," I whisper, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Let’s see where this goes."

𓂃ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ༄˖°𓂃ﾟ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ.

#dabi #boku no hero academia #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #league of villains #shigaraki #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #lov x reader #lov mha #touya x reader

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cozeecritter · 9 days ago

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Bonnie and Axel met their doppelgängers today. Younger Caden was very displeased when Ganz basically started recycling their pet ideas during the twilight years of their run, but seeing them in front of my face has really highlighted their differences. More so between Axel and Bug.

Bug and Bonnie seem to be getting along okay! Though, she might be a little less jumpy if you’d blink more often, bud.

Bonnie: (｡﹏｡")

Bug: (⚈_⚈)

Ehhh, we’ll work on it. Great start, though! Now, let’s see what’s up with Axel and Fitz—

Fitzgerald: ⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾

Axel: (¬_¬")

Ohhhhkay. Well. That could’ve gone better.

#chattering critter 🐾#plushblr #kinzblr #webkinz #kinzposting #kinzcore #stuffed animals #webkinz plush #plush #plushies #plushy: axel the snow soft kitty #plushy: bonnie the webkinz calico cat #plushy: bug the webkinz ragdoll cat #plushy: fitzgerald the webkinz patchwork cat #i say this every axel post but i love that grumpy ass cat #everything about him makes me giggle #also bug has big autism creecher vibes #fitz would see a deadpan cat staring at him and be like “oh you want to square up do you?!?!”

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fwishbone · 1 year ago

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🔶🔶🔶 Knightly routine 🔶🔶🔶

#oc #the calico knight #OCs #chatter #my art

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feefymo · 9 months ago

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Heart Deco; James Patrick MarchxF!Reader

summary: James Patrick March is still alive and well. Prohibition reigns but he doesn't conform to the rules. With the intention of satisfying his alcoholic whim, he will make your acquaintance.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5953 words | murder, sex, violence, blood... it would be easier to indicate what is free of warnings!

a/n: little reminder that English is not my mother language so be gentle, please! I hope you'll enjoy this... long thing(!!!), especially @taintandviolent , to whom I want to dedicate it. Bye, little hummingbirds!

Year 1926.

Prohibition dried up the throats of Americans. It spread like a stinging disease, too bad James Patrick March liked the itch. He knew not to scratch but he hated the restrictions, so he was ready to relieve the tingling with a metal rake if necessary - even if it wasn't, in fact. If you're reading this, you know James Patrick March's special habits: he was a serial killer of the worst kind, sure. But that doesn't mean he didn't indulge in "surface" pleasures as well. Gentleman's pleasures, denied by society but still more accessible to the higher ranks. What hypocrisy! James, still alive and well, had received a tip-off and so here he was, heading to his car with fascinating cunning. Delighted by the pale sun that hit his figure, he was preparing to leave, arousing the interest of the ladies and the envy of some gentlemen. He knew the destination: he had decided to go to an isolated distillery in Calico, Ghost Town. A Sunday concession that brazenly opposed religious objections: a pair of sunglasses and the magical disappearance of the car hood were enough. James felt he was being watched, his ego picked up the signals and basked in it. At the same time, Mr. March succeeded in the fleeting attempt of not giving importance to anyone among those who remained entangled in his less dangerous net. Therefore, he set off enjoying the feeling of leaving anyone who bored him behind, there, to get intoxicated in the cloud generated by the exhaust pipe of his car.

The distillery stuck out of nowhere like the only tooth left in a homeless man: rotting, decadent, a building whose exterior was so ugly and run down that it aroused very little suspicion in the rare customers who passed by. For James, however, it was a picnic like any other that didn't affect his ginger mood at all. Indeed, the darker side of his spirit gradually took over, hoping to get much more than a sip of alcohol.

"Mr. March, it's a pleasure to have you here. We've heard about you!" "We've heard great things about you!" Mrs. Holland entered, interrupting her husband. The couple, too warm in their welcome for what James knew about the Dutch, stumped him with idle chatter. Pleasantries, useful insights into his constant thirst for blood which, if he wanted, he could have indulged in the blink of an eye. The man, treated with kid gloves, observed the two foreigners taking turns and competing to see who could best ingratiate him. For his part, the owner of the Hotel Cortez was experiencing a strong intolerance that he would keep at bay for a little while longer, behind a pair of wide, black eyes. Behind a plastic smile that his mustache shaded with surgical precision. While the types of alcohol available were explained to him, James soon realized that he was once again afflicted by the disease of boredom. A boredom that took him down, down, down into a spiral void that met and matched his homicidal instincts. Then came a first taste and his expression lit up faintly: "Aaah!" he croaked smugly, glancing at the bottom of the glass. "I was just impatient to savor what you praise so much." he turned on his heels with a movement tinged with theatricality, determined to take his own space and explore that dusty labyrinth of barrels and bottles.

He needed to stifle his bloody impulses out of mere opportunism and staying close to Mr and Mrs Holland made it unbearable. Almost impossible. So, whistling a dark tune that made him a recognizable target, he continued as if he were at home until a staircase aroused his feline curiosity. "Oh, it goes even lower! Are you perhaps going to distill all the way to Hell?" the man joked before biting the dusty air and performing a sizzling descent into the underworld. He wasn't greeted by a very different scenario, except for one detail that took his breath away once he understood it in its entirety. An arch had been carved into the wall in front of him. A blasphemous niche, made inaccessible by the glass that separated its "contents" from the rest of the distillery.

The content in question? You. Just you: disheveled, wild, ethereal. An otherworldly creature yet so seemingly fallible. Fragile and candid. You sat backwards on an old wooden chair, dressed only in a long cream-colored nightgown. In the center of the chest, sewn onto it, was a very red anatomical heart detailed with inlays and disturbing sparkles. Clinging to the back of the chair, you seemed twisted like the trunk of an olive tree to study the intruder without your expression being able to be deciphered.

For his part, James had been pierced in the chest by the poisoned arrow of a corrupt Cupid. Still, in a sculpted dictator pose, James let your bottled essence seep and nourish him. It seeped into his veins and electrified his brain. He gave you a stunned expression, as if your existence were an irreparable disgrace. "Well I'll be blessedly darned."

"Ah, you have found our Heart Deco." Mr. Holland congratulated, as if it were a treasure hunt. "We brought a gem from Amsterdam." The owner of the shack was pleased with the way James reacted to that vision: no judgement, no disappointment, no threat of turning to the police. What a morally healthy person would have found disgraceful at the very least, aroused in James an atavistic energy that he was just channeling onto this Heart Deco in its entirety.

It was as if Mr and Mrs Holland had totally disappeared from the planet: they spoke to him but James didn't turn around. His attitude had changed, he excluded them. He barely moved from the spot where he was pinned to observe and study you maniacally. For your part, you didn't show any kind of reaction: you didn't seem scared or infatuated. Curious, perhaps. You returned that oily look with equal intrusiveness. Imprudence, perhaps. There was something profoundly naive about you but that naivety was polluted and James picked up on it. He could feel it and appreciate it greatly. That day, he suddenly decided to turn his back on you, as if he had been burned by the mere image of you.

However, he returned. He came back and came back and came back. "Leave us alone." he commanded, his voice no longer composed solely of velvet but also of nails. A multitude of rusty nails. Your meetings, on the surface, were similar. Beneath the surface, something different, growing and perverse simmered more and more. James' ritual was always more or less the same: he also used a chair very similar to yours. It moved slowly, as if you weren't trapped and could escape.

He perceived you as wild and he was right. He sat calmly, sipped his cordial and smoked. Slowly. He stared at you like an artist stares at his unfinished work for hours, searching for the detail that would make it perfect. That same search afflicted James like a disease and made him more and more frustrated. By now, you were able to notice it from small details such as the pulsation of the jaw or the dilation of the nostrils. The very black, compact tuft that fell on his forehead and the pallor that increased on his marble face. You could even glimpse the muscles underneath his clothes so much so that, one day, you stood up.

You took him by surprise, forcing him to straighten his posture and roll his eyes. A few centimeters from the obstacle that separated you, you waited for him until he understood and stood up to meet you. Dazzled by your presence, he would have drawn a hundred fountains of childish blood just to hear you speak and his anticipation grew. It modeled his facial expressions, increased his breathing. In fact, you opened your mouth but to breathe on the glass and plant a kiss on it while your left hand slid in a squeaking sound until it rubbed at the crotch of James' pants.

There was no contact that wasn't imaginary, and yet, the man's erection grew instantly. James exhaled a tremulous sigh as he rested his forehead on the cool surface; he almost didn't notice that he had pushed himself against the glass to rub his cock against it. An uncomfortable, unsatisfying yet necessary friction. It hurt, it tugged at the intimacy of his skin but this increased his raging pleasure. He hated you and, at the same time, he depended on you. From the question he asked himself: "how fast does his heart beat?"

With a fist, he hit the divider and retreated but you were able to cut off his fury by holding on to the long pearly skirt of your dress. Wrinkle after wrinkle, you picked it up, revealing your legs and, after a few seconds, your pussy. Wet and luminous, you pressed her against the glass as well as your breasts hidden by almost transparent fabric. So, James fell to his knees with an expression halfway between disdainful and subjugated, venerating what you conveyed. "Oh, my precious creature…" he opened his jaws and licked nothing as if it were your cunt. He followed the lines of your crotch and worked his way into your tender center. His destiny was already written: he would eternally remain a murderer with the spasmodic urgency of authentic love. Devoted, if not downright submissive.

///

"And yet, we were convinced that you were interested in alcohol. You're ruining us like this!"

"If I really wanted to ruin your suffocating rat existence, I would already have burned you alive in this building. Without wasting even an ounce of creativity on it."

"Please, Mr. March. Leave these grotesque jokes aside. It's not something we can afford to give up!"

"Indeed. It's not a 'thing'… and neither of you take me seriously."

"You force me to be adamant, March: Heart Deco will not go away with you, that's out of the question."

"Adamant, you say? Mh! My dear gentleman, this negotiation has become very tedious and time, alas, is a tyrant. I apologize if the request has got you so… tangled up. On the other hand, you two are not even compelling interlocutors, therefore, thank you. Ad majora! If you allow…"

Errare humanum est, perseverare autem diabolicum. To err is human, but to persevere is diabolical, asserted Augustine of Hippo. And the Dutch had erred while James merely persevered. He traced his allegorical crop circles, pointing out the obvious, in reverse, on the only Bible he has left. What the couple had taken as a joke in bad taste, accidentally exploded together with their Ghost Town and without Heart Deco inside. Heart Deco, you, had sped away together with James, in the car that would take you to the Hotel Cortez. A silent but vibrant journey of adrenaline that, in different ways, you shared electrifying the road.

///

"Mr. March? Mr. March, wait!" a small nervous looking man chased James until he caught up with him but James didn't stop walking along one of the corridors on the first floor of the Cortez. "Forgive me Mr. Shaffer, I am desolated but, as you see, I have an unbreakable commitment." the owner of the hotel began by pronouncing his words. He sped up his march in long, elegant strides that distanced him from any mix-up. For his part, the little man in question was responsible for managing some projects relating to the building and, although he was intimidated by the figure of the other, he tried to insist: - But Mr. March, I need… -

"I must ponder, inept!" James interrupted him with a theatrical gesture of his hand, as if to chase away an insistent fly. "I'm not convinced about the color of the pool lining." he murmured with a caricatured thoughtful expression: although he seemed to be addressing someone, he was talking to himself, appearing and disappearing among the cones of light emanating from the walls. "Cerulean or Powder Blue? Cerulean or Powder Blue?" captured by that Hamlet-like doubt, James stroked his mustache and continued in his vicious circle. Mr. Shaffer stopped, dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief and took a breath but the hotelier burst out: "PALE TURQUOISE! … Perhaps." and then he disappeared, swallowed up by the dark secrets of Cortez. One, in particular, who fed his blood with trepidation.

///

Click.

Your breath flickered like a fish, simultaneously with the sound of a pause being pressed. Gradually, the huge room you had been led into began to light up. Small detail of no small importance: you could perceive the light but you still didn't know where you were because you were blindfolded. Blindfolded and with your wrists secured to two heavy iron rings stuck in the floor. Only later, you would discover that there were many others around you. Meanwhile, they kept your arms slightly open at the sides of your torso, in a gesture of false welcome. You remained still as long as you could, then you started to get agitated and not with the aim of escape. You fretted, smiling left and right in hopes of receiving more clues. "Mister… Mr. March?" you ventured, boldly, without receiving an answer. At least not immediately because, shortly after, the echo of slow footsteps began to spread and allow you to guess the owner of the shoes.

"Oh, but look at this. Look at yourself." the man began, as if it wasn't him who placed you at the bottom (extremely deep) of the indoor pool. "You are the Emperor's Nightingale, aren't you? I have always asked myself numerous questions about that fairy tale." James spoke, syrupy, feline and you heard him far away. You felt him close. You felt it everywhere, yet not there with you. "Freedom. A golden cage and no hunter will ever slaughter him. But if a mechanical bird takes over, precious, tireless, without feelings… what do I do with anything else? The mortal one?" a metallic noise interrupted James' prayer for a few eternal moments and a sense of bewilderment assailed you. "There, there dear: I'm here, with you. Who are you?" the strides lengthened and the man reached you, crouching in front of you. Despite exuding the heat of a living being, a drop of icy sweat ran down your vertebrae as if they were stairs. "Are you the living nightingale or the mechanical one? - it came naturally to you to make a gesture in support of your prompt response but this reminded you that you couldn't move your arms.

On the other hand, James was already thinking about it: you could smell the stupefying scent. The alcoholic notes on his breath that blended masterfully with the cologne he was wearing. Which he would soon impregnate you with. "Come closer. Come closer and feel how my heart beats, my Emperor." at that point James took a sharp breath through his nostrils and moved quickly against your chest, to make sure you weren't lying. To make sure there were no squeaky gears inside you. He was a serial killer and not a watchmaker for a reason. So, combined with the palpitations with which you were spoiling him, the man expressed himself in a low moan that was the soundtrack to his hands. He kept them open, caressing your nipples until they became hard enough to scrawl his palms. At that point, he grabbed both of your breasts, pressing his nose between them. You felt the ring he wore on his little finger create an inlay in your flesh and it was a pain that didn't seem enough. "Your ventricles flutter like little wings. Delicious." he noted, panting between his teeth, before grabbing the blindfold over your eyes and slowly but firmly pulling it down. "Good evening, my darling." James greeted slyly, tilting his head perfectly nestled in the hair jelly. A grin opened slowly, like a fan of premises to which you responded with a reverential nod. "Ooh, I like women who are a little formal and have hard nipples. How do you know it? You read my mind, maybe?" James, kneeling between your thighs, straightened his back in order to rummage through his kit.

“Are you going to kill me, Mr. March?” you asked without fear of the answer you would get, so his night gaze darted onto you. "I have the impression that it will entertain you more if I don't reveal it. " quick and imperative, he grabbed your ankle so that it rested on his shoulder and the fabric of the dress slipped, revealing a calf caressed by thick, weak and pale hair. Mr. March didn't care at all if and how much hair covered your gorgeous body, he was already incredibly aroused but he found it useful. They tested his lucidity like Russian roulette. Then, he began to touch your leg with the solemn touch of someone who comes across the fleece of some Greek deity; so typical of James. A master in veneration as well as in sugarcoating the pill. That could mean a night of his more conventional devotion to you or the calm before a storm.

Seeing the sparkle you saw in his fist, a tangle of dread expanded in your stomach. James held a razor in his hand. From the kit, he had taken only that. He slowly raised it so that you could get into visual confidence while he bent over your leg, lightly rubbed one cheekbone and then began to lick it in long stripes down to the knee. His irises, wells of black water, stared at your face, becoming opaque with growing eagerness. "Sometimes the pen hurts more than the blade… do you agree?" James asked in a slightly contemptuous whisper. Swallowing before going back to licking you. He stared at you expectantly, in a position that made his trousers extremely constricting. “Do you want the honest answer or the one you would like to hear?” your ulterior question bounced off the sinister and apparently pleased grin of the man, who snapped the blade and passed it over the (deliberately) insufficient layer of saliva. Once, twice, three times: the aim was not to shave you but to exhaust the viscosity and make you react to the burning. Craving it with the composure of a heartfelt gentleman, until you tried to withdraw and his grip became steel. James' idolatry of blood, your blood, could be read in his expression: "Oh, look at you Deco: I was so certain of your merit." Tiny blood gems decorated you like aristocratic stockings and, for each one, you suffered a little. However, the presence of James Patrick March continued to dominate the rest and your body, which reacted with pleasure.

The luck inherent in that individual lay in his wearing of many masks. Every day a different James, always methodical and lethal but often subject to boredom. He also put your other leg on his shoulder but he wasn't going to torture it, the idea had already tired him - exactly. He would bend over, literally lay between your limbs as the wrinkles in your robe rose and pooled on your contracted belly. Semi-prone, he seemed ready to swim in the absence of water, but instead, he gave himself the momentum to catch you by surprise and lift you up. Pushing yourself off the ground, more than half of your body was raised to his will. He had taken you away from the Dutch couple but not to free you. He had moved you from one prison to another, however, you loved every bar of this one. You stared at your warder with languor in your eye sockets: it seemed that his finely drawn lips were now made up with the blood you gracefully shed. He, however, did not return the gaze: ensnared by your shiny pussy, he had actually made sure of the absence of underwear. You weren't wearing any and it was as if your wetness were reflected shimmering in his dilated pupils; surrounded by the tiny splashes of blood now transferred to his facial features like freckles. He was exasperating you: he studied your sex with growing veneration but only his breath deigned to barely touch it.

"Mr. March… ?"

"What, my dear?"

"Please…"

"What. My dear."

“If you free my wrists, what can I offer you in return?”

Slowly, softly, James's frown became…pitying. He cocked his head to one side again and his eyebrows curved downwards. A vibrant "aaaw" tickled his whiskers. Whether it was a joke or not you wouldn't have been able to define it, especially since his aura made you numb. You were the clew of a sagacious cat whose canines terrified you more than the razor.

"As much as I love seeing your waiting cunt cry…" Mr. March could utter iniquities as if they were arabesques on silk. The premise sounded sinister and tempting: the ellipses were filled by the intrusion of his thumb, which approached your clit but circumnavigated it. It descended in two parentheses between the labia, then collected your juice with the linearity of a surgeon. You meweld impatiently and your thighs trembled. "…I don't see why not." he was indulging you and, even if you trusted him like a scrap of velvet decorated with splinters and glass dust, you couldn't help but rejoice.

"Of course, an exchange is an exchange. Calling it a "barter" sounds higly vulgar to me, so let's see…" he proceeded, crawling against your shaken torso until he stopped near your left breast. He caressed the nipple with a kiss before unsheathing the razor and cutting the edge of the areola in a dry line. Immediately, his mouth returned to collect the blood that rained down along with your squeal. He drank like Romulus with the She-Wolf, at the dawn of the birth of Rome. His eyeballs rolled, showing clearly visible capillaries. In raptures, he insisted on the wave of your snorts and your truncated syllables. As soon as he freed the first wrist, you brought your hand to his hair and, between spite and passion, closed it into a fist. You messed them up and tugged at them, eliciting a joyful, guttural laugh from the man's throat. "Some… milk is a fair price, don't you think? A favorable price." he had transformed you into the mother of sin. That milk had corrupted him and you, under hypnosis, were grateful for it. Electric, you closed like an oyster around him, licking away the crimson traces from his lips that had become your slave. The man's euphoria in seeing you as an accomplice, not at all impressionable, began to crumble his staid movements.

You were quickly reaching the same overwhelming rhythm of desires to express and this was underlined by a kiss that he dared first. His tongue, cryptic, pushed past your teeth in search of its twin. It swirled around it with the exasperation of a lightning-fast, toxic, iron-like love, bringing with it a long, hoarse groan. His beastly verse got caught in your throat and mixed with the notes you sang. Messyly, you grabbed onto James' suspenders and tugged on them in an attempt not to break the now soaked kiss. For his part, Mr. March stepped back with an air of surrender and opened his trousers. He lay down at the bottom of the pool with the sole purpose of dragging you onto him with primordial ardor. His grip on your hips was as merciless as that of a pincer: he was the one orchestrating your movements. The rubbing of the sexes, still hindered by his underwear.

“Are you confused, little creature?” he murmured, like a breathless movie actor. He smiled, though. He experimented, he pressed you against the veins of his cock in a shameless but still elegant dance. He raised his pelvis, rubbing his length between your melting folds. You, sometimes exasperated by the adrenaline rushes that James inflicted on you, tried to unbutton his shirt. "Do you wonder if… I will make love to you like a gentleman or… hm! Like a criminal?" with an abrupt interruption, he slide between your legs until his face could rest between them. “Should I treat you like a goddess or a prostitute?” he spoke deliberately close to your femininity, meeting it in a lustful stroke that turned into wide, slow lapping. He stared at you; he wanted a dirty answer of your reactions to his impromptu meal. He was entranced by the taste of you and he let you know by the moan that preceded the action of his right arm. He grabbed you by the throat but tightened like an hedcherkief.

"I can be… I can… a Greek goddess or not… there will be no difference between grace and dissoluten- oh James… James!" your desire to argue was overwhelmed by the pleasure offered to you. James had understood what you were trying to say and, appreciating your fine brain, had intensified his care. Small flicks of his tongue tapped on your clit, alternating with sucking. He stuck his tongue as deep as he could, fucking you through it before returning to the tangle of nerves. The middle finger took over immediately below and, shortly after, the ring finger. A cry strangled you and you almost lost your balance but the man bent a knee so you could lean against it. You swayed against his face and his fingers in blind desperation, so much so that you spontaneously grabbed the razor abandoned near you. James didn't feel threatened, on the contrary, he let you do it by curving his phalanges and detaching his mouth from your cunt from time to time, to observe how you melted on him. He stretched his solid neck, grinning with exposed fangs and nodding. He followed your moans but without adding sound; the wet chin jutted out and the nostrils dilated.

"Are you a mirage? Hm, are you darling? Prove to me that you're not at all…" you both knew what that meant. The grip around your slender neck intensified and the fingers, inside you up to the knuckles, became ever so slightly faster. Unstoppable like Mr. March's tongue that tirelessly slapped your clit until you heard yourself scream. Your sex pulsating furiously around the offending phalanges, dripping with scorching juices. For a moment you thought you would never recover. It certainly wasn't your first orgasm but you had never, ever experienced one like it and, at the mercy of delirium, you moved your right arm to the left and then quickly returned to the right and thus opened a cut in your lover's cheek. - HA-A! -the hotelier let out a long baritone growl bringing his hand, made slippery by your orgasm, to the wound. He stared at you with his eyeballs poised in their sockets, a furious bull who almost came in his own pants. Disoriented, you felt the need to rest that fought with the expectation of continuing and facing the consequences. You felt James Patrick March's impatience bubbling beneath you as before Pompeii was submerged by lava and you would not disappoint his expectations. Not after seeing him slowly lead the weapon of your defeat to his jaws to test it. Cleaning it of suspicious evidence as he scrutinized you and red flowed from his face. You curled up and licked it.

You looked like a dying candle and the dress contributed to the image, so you raised yourself on tremulous limbs and let it slide over the feline figure of your lover. Completely naked, you allowed yourself to look him up and down, still dripping onto his designer clothes. Juices, blood, tears, sweat. This created a growl in the back of his throat and he decided to get on his knees in front of you. Just like when a glass obstacle separated you. You preceded him, going back down and emulating his position before bending over at his crotch and unsheathing his thick cock. While you were admiring it, the owner of the Cortez proved to be prepared: he equipped himself with a cigarette. He turned it on and he took a greed drag from it. "You're also a warrior, then." The fact that he appeared relaxed was false, however, he guided his figure in sinuous nods that untangled your hair. He caressed your cheek before his cock was grabbed at the base and gently slammed against your cheekbone. Next, the tip passed over your lip perimeter like an obscene lipstick: consumed by haste, you tried to interrupt James but he hit you again with his cock. Harder. "Ah-ah-ah… greedy." he scolded in a grainy voice, as if he wasn't the first to have an insatiable hunger. In a mock bored manner he began to masturbate, his fist away from your initiatives: "Okay, lost creature: eat." March spelled out the order disguised as an invitation, slightly hunched over, before gathering your hair and giving you the go-ahead. You, out of breath, limited yourself to titillating only the frenulum, forcing James to stiffen like a statue of Italian marble.

"I am capable, Sir." you announced with renewed confidence, insisting on that very thin strip of skin. "I know how to pleasure a man with my mouth" you added, hotly, starting to dedicate yourself in great detail to the entire tip of the length. "And with the blade." James added as he studied you with clenched teeth around the cigarette filter, but his eyelids swayed heavily on his voluptuous gaze. Heart Deco, your stage name, emerged more and more from your arched body so that your captor's attention slid down your back to the roundness of your buttocks. "I know how to give an unforgettable blowjob." the punctuation of your provocation was replaced by March's dry groan. You began to repaint each raised vein with saliva, until you deemed it appropriate to go further. You began to swallow James's sex inch by inch, gradually. At the same time, your lover's no longer immaculate shirt fell from his muscular shoulders. He exhaled smoke like a dragon, taking a plastic pose as he held up what was left of the cigarette. Upwards, like a kind of torch to illuminate your sensuality. "Everything, Deco. Swallow it all. More. Mmmmore." declared the rich American, wetting his lips. "I believe you." he added hoarsely, blowing out a nicotine moan that accompanied his hand among your rebellious locks. He forced himself, thrusting his hips forward with the bluntness of a stab. The now extinct cigarette butt fell next to you as you expertly suppressed a retch. Your left palm crashed into James Patrick March's abdomen, enticing him to hold you by the skull. To ruffle you, indulge you…

He didn't warn you. He pulled back and positioned himself behind you in the span of an instant; you almost struggled to realize it. You preferred not to turn around, in fact, the sensation benefited you: now beyond your endurance limit, Mr. March grabbed you under the ribs and entered you in a tearing way. He remained still for a few seconds, exhaling ragged breaths and enjoying the suffocating welcome of your pussy. This allowed you to get used to it before the man began to pound you with the impetuosity of someone who discovers Eros giving in to Thanatos.

"OH MY GOD!" you yelped, snapping your head towards the kidnapper. You found him already looking at you with a pitch black strand cutting his forehead in two. With a caressing movement he pulled you up and leaned close to your ear: "Call upon me, not him: I killed God some time ago." what he said, how he said it, only made you more excited and needy. While he fucked you, vigorously massaging your breasts, you found purchase in his clean-shaven nape, naming him. Making you an echo of yourself. After a while, he responded to you with a roar and walked out of you gracelessly. He forced you to stand up and slammed you against the pool wall. You felt like an orphan but not for long because James came back to fill you, taking the breath away from both of you. Still between your walls moisted with longing, he brought your arms up. Up, up, up in a double and lascivious caress due to which you found yourself tied by the wrists again. You were the longest hand on a clock that now showed another hour.

"Please, James. Can you… hurt me? Can you do me ah-more? More? I'm begging you."

"If I can?" a sharp laugh filled your ear as he backed away with the aim of thrusting back into you like a slamming iron door. "I must." he huffed, continuing to push and push and push. His teeth clinging to the flesh in the crook of your neck: he was now transfigured into a pure beast, his claws stuck in your buttocks as he spread you apart with the sole imposition of his body. He wasn't a stingy or selfish lover, he had proven that to you. Now, however, his hasty descent into the Underworld of an unhealthy form of enjoyment was evident. You were his deadly river. You were his Styx and he had nothing but delirious, hissed compliments for you. One for each thrust into your now happily broken body. He squeezed your hands into fists and you, smiling, cried.

It was when an inhuman noise gradually exploded from James' lungs enough to fill the pool that he pressed his hot seed into your pussy. You, shocked, touched erotic epilepsy through his ecstasy. The tendons in his red neck ready to snap like whips as "Mr. Cortez's" knees buckled in a little snap and his temples threatened to explode. He directed his growl first at the blasphemed God then, with a movement of his head, at his mentor Demon. He fucked you beyond the climax until he suddenly stepped aside and staggered. He stepped back, trying to focus on you as a whole with the tip of his tongue at the corner of his swollen mouth. He nodded. He laughed, softly at first, but you only understood when his shoe hit the ground and made a watery sound. Now that he was settling down very calmly, March's laughter was louder and more theatrical: he was filling the tub and you were tied up. And even if you weren't, you couldn't swim. The color given to your cheeks by sex disappeared, turning into grey. Without the strength to struggle or the saliva to soothe your throat, you simply stared at your tormentor in astonishment. He approached you one last time, gently grabbing you by the chin and bringing your gaze up to his. He kissed you with the sweetness of a good and normal man.

“I could ennoble you with purpose.” James stated from an iron ladder, as if there were an audience watching the scene. "A subversive purpose: the end of Prohibition in America! AH! I could leave you here, soaking in water like the forbidden fruit that rots to transform into something far more diabolical. You could become the secret ingredient in my personal liquor." he insisted lewdly. Subtly morbid but blatantly thoughtful. From the opposite side of the pool, along its decorated edge, he watched you smugly as the water level rose. To the even number of jets, the same number were added. “Let me stay and look at you. Let me… think about it some more. Maybe-maybe, instead, you deserve our hearts hammering together…”

The degree of your agony would have increased along with the pure bliss of the memory. The ghost of James Patrick March's body, still stuck inside you. His cum still dripping down your thighs. His earthly version that studied you and, sadistically, toyed with your life. For you, nothing would have made more sense within the screaming walls of the Hotel Cortez.

"Oh, darling? I really need some advice." James awoke, as if from a long torpor and he grinned. "What color would you make this pool?"

taglist: @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth @lacucarachapisser @nahoyasboyfriend @marchsfreakshow @coentinim (I took the liberty of tagging you but, if you prefer to avoid it, let me know! This tagging thing is unngfhdidsj ouff)

#american horror story #evan peters fanfic #james patrick march #ahs hotel #james patrick march fanfiction #nswf content #reblog if you like it!#feefymo #the fic is not a request

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pupsmailbox · 1 year ago

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CAT ︰FELINE ID PACK

NAMES︰ aina. aislin. alonzo. amaris. amaru. ash. asher. aster. aylin. bast. bastet. bengal. burmilla. butterscotch. calico. cassandra. cat. catherine. catline. catness. catrine. catriona. catsel. chacha. chancey. charm. chartreux. chat. chaton. chausie. cheshire. chichi. clover. dreametta. drowsette. dust. dustbunny. eada. elara. falin. fang. feli. felias. felicity. felin. felina. feline. felis. felius. felix. felyne. fifi. fluffy. fortuna. fortunato. fuwa. gatita. gatito. gato. george. ghost. ginger. gold. hima. hiraya. honey. hypnoticesse. kat. katelyn. katti. kiara. kiki. kissa. kit. kitlita. kitri. kittie. kittlin. kitty. kizzy. koi. koneko. korat. kovu. kätzchen. layla. leo. leon. liora. lolly. lucifer. luckita. lucky. luna. lunar. lunette. mafdet. maine. maneki. mao. marble. marie. meekine.meeko. meowesse. meowette. meowlina. meowser. meowy. mew. mewbell. mewmi. mewy. mici. micino. mimi. minette. minou. mischieffe. mist. mizuki. molly. mona. moonie. morphius. munchkin. nala. narcyz. narkissa. nebula. neko. nemuri. neoma. neomi. nova. nuka. nyamu. oliver. otto. palu. patches. pawline. platinum. plato. purmwyn. purriette. purrsie. pwounce. ragdoll. ravae. saffron. selenia. silver. simba. sleepesse. smoke. smokey. star. stone. stripes. suerte. sunny. tabby. thomas. tiger. tigger. tigris. tom. ton. tyche. tychon. valor. victor. victoria. vitami. whiskers. yue. yume. zira.

PRONOUNS︰ bean/bean. bell/bell. bite/bite. calic/calico. calico/calico. carnivore/carnivore. cat/cat. cat/like. caterwaul/caterwaul. catnip/catnip. chance/chance. charm/charm. chase/chase. chatter/chatter. che/cher. chirp/chirp. chuff/chuff. claw/claw. cle/clever. coin/coin. col/collar. collar/collar. curi/curiou. cute/cute. dark/dark. dream/dream. drow/drowsy. dust/bunny. dust/dust. dust/kitty. dustbunny/dustbunny. dustkitty/dustkitty. fae/fang. fang/fang. fang/fang.carni/carnivore. fate/fate. feli/feli. feli/feline. felicitous/felicitou. feline/feline. flu/fluffy. fluff/fluff. for/tune. fuzz/fuzz. fwu/fwuffy. ginger/ginger. grey/grey. hi/his. hiss/hisse. hunt/hunt. hunter/hunter. hx/hxm. hy/hym. hy/hymn. it/it. ix/ix. jungle/jungle. kit/kit. kit/kitten. kit/kitty. kitty/kitty. luck/luck. me/meek. meow/meow. meows/meow. mew/mew. mimimi/mimimi. mis/mischief. molly/molly. moon/moon. mrow/mrow. mrreow/mrreow. mrrp/mrrp. nap/nap. neko/neko. nim/nimble. nya/nay. nya/nya. paw/paw. pet/pet. play/play. pou/pounce. prr/prr. purr/purr. queen/queen. quiet/quiet. roar/roar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. slee/sleep. sneak/sneaky. snooze/snooze. soft/soft. star/star. stripe/stripe. tabby/tabby. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tiger/tiger. tired/tired. tom/tom. trill/trill. void/void. whis/whisker. yawn/yawn. yowl/yowl. zhe/zher. zi/zi. zz/zz. 🍣. 🐀. 🐁. 🐅. 🐆. 🐈. 🐈‍⬛. 🐭. 🐱. 🐾. 💤. 😺. 🥛. 🥩. 🦁. 🦴. 🧶. 🧸. 🧺.

#pupsmail︰id packs #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #catkin #cat therian #kittenkin #kitten therian

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bakugoyelling · 1 year ago

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A Quest for Critters

Giyuu Tomioka x Reader

Warnings: Fem! reader, Reader wears a skirt, Established Relationship, Just slice of life fluff really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You and Giyuu go out to buy some Calico Critters (ᵔᴥᵔ)

Dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, Giyuu leans into the bathroom to peek at you.

“Ready to go?” he asks, watching through the mirror as you apply the last of your makeup.

“Uh huh,” you hum while dabbing on your lipstick, the color staining your lips as you press them together. Finished with your look, you turn around to face him.

“I just need to get my purse, and then we can leave, okay?”

Handsome as always, his eyes fall to your lips as you pucker them, coaxing him in for a kiss. Soft and gentle, his lips press against yours before pulling back, his gaze set on yours as he gently smiles.

“Alright,” he nods.

It’s a warm August afternoon, and as planned the night before, you and your boyfriend are heading out for a few hours — to the nearby bookstore, the only place in town where you can find Calico Critters. The adorable flocked toys decorate various areas of your room. Placed among your perfumes and creams, they sit beside the everyday items. You’ve even decorated Giyuu’s bedside table with one — a baby black cat in a blue outfit.

And while you enjoy collecting them, you still only have a few. Since you prefer to get them in stores rather than online, you don't buy them that often. But that's okay because when you do plan on purchasing them, it makes for a fun day out. Plus, it gives you the perfect excuse to dress up in something cute. Days like this are always something to look forward to with your beloved.

“I like your little skirt, by the way. It looks cute on you,”

A coy smile graces your features at the compliment, and Giyuu chuckles as you thank him.

Heading out the door, he wonders how he got so lucky — such a pretty girl, and he gets to call you his girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, you arrive at your destination, your fingers laced with Giyuu’s as you enter the familiar bookstore, the nutty scent of coffee welcoming you from the nearby cafe. The sectioned-off area where other patrons sit and read or quietly chatter. The atmosphere here always calms you — peaceful and quiet. You enjoy spending time here.

“I hope they have the ones I want,” you mutter while getting distracted, stopping in front of a shelf of stationery supplies to pick up a box of gel pens. The shades are pretty, and you can always use a new pen, but then again, you don’t necessarily need them.

“Which ones did you want again?” Giyuu asks as you set the pens back into their spot, letting you grab his hand while you continue wandering around.

“The rabbits. I didn’t get them last time, so now I really, really want them. Did you want to check out any books while we’re here?

“No, I’m good,”

“You sure? They have sudoku books,” You turn to him with a softened expression, looking up at him with an excited glimmer in your eyes.

The acknowledgment of one of his lesser-known hobbies has him blooming with warmth. He did mention that he completed his last book of the kind about a month ago.

“Actually, yeah, let’s look. I need a new one for work. I finished the last one you got me not too long ago.”

His muted enthusiasm has you smiling, happy as you lead the way over to the puzzle books so he can browse.

When you first started dating, Giyuu tried to play off his interest in sudoku. At times, his coworker, Shinazugawa, would poke fun at the hobby, proclaiming that it made Giyuu even more of a bore. And while Shinazugawa does still comment on the interest, it doesn’t bother your boyfriend as much as it used to. Especially after you giggled while completing a puzzle with him one day, the corners of your eyes creased as you told him, “You know, in middle school, I was a part of the sudoku club.”

A few minutes later, he settles on a new book of the number placement puzzles — the pages crisp, little square boxes ready to be written on.

“This one looks good,” he reads over the front cover with a nod, his hands clutching onto the spine as he flips it over to check the back — 300 puzzles should do it for now.

“Alright, now…back to your critters.”

Grabbing his hand, you lean into his side and chuckle, his focus on the task at hand making you smile, “Right! Back to the important stuff,”

Although, while continuing toward the small animal toys, you can’t help but go off track, shelves, and shelves of other items of interest catching your attention.

“Oh my gosh, Giyuu, look,” kneeling, you reach down, grabbing a blind box with a series of cat figurines printed across it.

“It’s the only one! Let’s get it,” you say, peering up at him excitedly. “I’m gonna buy it for you, okay?”

“But, don’t you want it?” He wonders.

“No, I’m getting the critters, remember. So, we need to get you something cute too!” Standing up again, you hand him the mystery box, already settled on purchasing it.

He must admit, the last toy you purchased like this was quite cute. And opening them up is rather thrilling.

“Okay, maybe I’ll get something cool,” He rotates the box in hand as you continue weaving through the aisles, lifting his gaze when he hears you gasp.

“Look! Here they are!”

Following your voice, he turns the corner and is quickly met with the view of you happily picking up different sets of the toys you came here for, admiring all of their intricate details. It’s nice seeing you so immersed in the act. Giyuu knows how much you enjoy collecting Calico Critters — when you were first getting to know each other, you were afraid he would find the interest weird, too childish of a thing for someone your age to be into. But he thought it was endearing, a wholesome part of your personality that, like all the other parts of you — he had fallen in love with.

“Do they have the rabbit family?” your brows furrow in question as you mumble to yourself, carefully scanning the shelf in search of them.

Your determination urges Giyuu to try and help, and while you kneel, he checks the areas on top, pushing boxes around until, hidden behind a trio of tiny mice wrapped in blankets, he finds the ones you're looking for.

“They have them!” His voice tinges with joy as he pulls the box down for you.

“No way! Let me see,”

Passing it to you, he watches your lips part in awe, a light squeal emanating from your throat in celebration.

“Eee, this is them! We found them, oh my gosh, they’re so cute! Good job looking up there, babe,”

He smiles as you thank him, your lips quickly pecking his cheek before you pull back to check out some of the other sets. You still have a few on your wishlist, but it appears they aren't in stock yet. So, with your newly acquired rabbit family, you and Giyuu head back to the front of the store, ready to check out.

“We should come back in a few weeks. Maybe they’ll have the Halloween set by then,”

“I’ll be sure to check behind the baby mice again,” He quips while you head to the register, a soft chuckle falling past your lips as the young lady working greets you.

When she finishes bagging everything, Giyuu takes hold of the plastic bag while she hands you your receipt, the two of you thanking her in unison.

“Would you like to get something to drink while we’re here?” With the scent of coffee still prevalent in the air, Giyuu thinks it would be nice to extend your day out with a treat.

“Sure, we can get something to eat too. We can try those sandwiches they have,” holding hands yet again, you spend a moment looking over the menu, chatting over your choices before deciding what to order.

Once served, you settle into the seats of the nearby corner table, where, while sipping on his drink, you urge your boyfriend to open the blind box you got him. When you hand him the mystery toy, he studies the graphics printed on the package before tearing it open. His large hands rip open the opaque plastic bag that lay inside while you watch in anticipation, waiting for the reveal.

Seconds later, a soft laugh escapes him as he pulls out the figure — a small black cat holding a single shrimp tempura.

“Aww, Giyuu, it’s so cute! It looks like you! Look at his little blue eyes,”

You wipe your fingers off any crumbs before reaching over to hold the tiny cat, smiling as you hold it up in comparison.

“Look, you’re practically twins! Do you like him?”

“I do,” He stares at the figure as you hand it back to him. “I think I’ll put him on my desk at work,”

Setting the cat down on the table, Giyuu replaces it with his sandwich, taking a large bite and swallowing before he continues, “He can guard the sudoku books,”

A crumb sticks to his lip as he smiles, his gentle humor and the grain of bread pressed to his skin making you giggle — dates like these are always your favorite.

— please do not modify or repost my work

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: Hehehe, another self-indulgent one-shot! I always think about what it's like to go on little shopping trips with Giyuu, so this was really fun to write! I was surprised at how long it turned out too, so I thought it would be nice to share. Anyway, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please let me know! Your kind comments are always appreciated.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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