#duck pet re

[softpawpup]

halloween costumes for duck regressors !!

the ugly duckling

bathtub rubber ducky

so many characters from ducktales & darkwing duck

duck detective

abby mallard from chicken little

ming-ming duckling from wonder pets

mother duck and duckling (ft. caregiver!!)

duck pilot

daffy duck from looney toons

duck vampire

the aflac duck

howard the duck

pekkle from sanrio

duck from dont hug me im scared

duck from princess tutu

quaxly from pokemon

[comatosebunny09]

apt 302 | sylus q.

— summary: at first, your new neighbor was as mysterious as he was handsome. after taking some time to get to know him—or forcing your way into his quiet life—you realize looks can be deceiving. — cw: gn reader, neighbors au, neighbors to friends to lovers, profanity, innuendoes, jealousy, misunderstandings, stalker ex, alcohol use, guns mentioned, self-indulgent, allusions to reincarnation, angst, pet names, sylus being an insufferable gentleman, slice of life — dividers by: @omi-resources — notes: this grew way longer than i expected, soooooo you’re gonna hate me for what comes next. anyways, thank you so much for reading! — now playing: my favorite person now - she was pretty ost — tagging: @alfredosaws, @sinsodom @chuppiechanchan @hao-ming-8 @antonneva @sunsets-and-crows @leighsartworks216 @grabby-smitten @nebulorra @minniestarmj @elysiums-light @saiaise @queenofstresss @beewilko @aetherscribit @libriomancer @world-of-hearts @awkwardnurse @huachengnism

Information Technology isn’t as cushy of a field as you initially thought.

Sure, you have a desk job doing the most mundane of things—working the help desk, troubleshooting devices, re-imaging computers. But your job isn’t without its drawbacks. 

Sometimes, the days are long and arduous. The constant customer interaction doesn’t help matters; you’re a bit of an introvert, requiring five business days to recover from just a few hours of socializing. 

So, forgive you for seeking a little respite in the form of your favorite set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers as you ease into your apartment. 

The weight of the world sloughs off your shoulders when the door leading inside clicks shut behind you. You sigh gratefully, the sound of your keys clattering against your entryway table, intermingling with that of your AC humming to life.

You hang your bag and sweater on the coat rack. Trade your uncomfortable shoes for house slippers, the soreness in your heels slowly retreating. The last vestiges of sunlight creep through the slits of your blinds to bathe your home in its ethereal glow before ducking behind the horizon. 

Your apartment is humble. Has a natural, minimalistic vibe with bits of decor displaying your personality sprinkled throughout. You already pay the price of a kidney and two lungs to stay here. No use investing in posh furniture when your job sometimes requires you to pick up and go at the drop of a hat.

Your stomach growls whilst you draw your curtains shut and turn on some ambient lighting via your phone. You’ll eat soon, you promise. For now, you’re on a mission. 

Quietly, you move through your home in search of your laundry area, thoroughly prepared to slip into your PJs following a shower to jumpstart your weekend. 

Too bad a pile of sopping wet clothes awaits you when you open your dryer door. 

“Goddammit,” said under your breath as you mash the power button. It won’t turn on. Figures. You kick the offending appliance. Stupid thing must be out again. 

You had set your clothes to dry before you left for work. You were looking forward to snuggling up with wine and your favorite show, donned in comfy clothes. Seems your dryer had other plans.

You should’ve replaced it months ago when it first started acting up. You had hoped to salvage it a little longer; appliances don’t come cheap these days. Besides, you’ve had a darling neighbor to fix it each time. To extend its lifespan. 

Speaking of which—

Chewing your lip, you pad over your cold, hardwood floor to snatch your phone from the coffee table. Fall onto your couch cushions with a devious smile twitching your lips. It’s getting late, so you don’t think to badger him into tinkering with your dryer tonight. However, perhaps he’ll let you utilize his. At least until you can use your day off tomorrow to shop for a replacement.

You hover your thumb over his contact, his name flanked by crow emojis. Contemplate calling him, but what if he’s busy? This is usually about the time he’s leaving. Instead, you settle for opening your messaging app, already conjuring an excuse.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): lol (Sylus): good morning to you too. (You): 😒😒😒 dude it’s like 6  (Sylus): 🤷‍♂️ (Sylus): im just now getting up. long day at the office.  (Sylus): whats up? (You): are you busy tonight?? (Sylus): not really. 😏 what did you have in mind ? (You): pause. not like that (Sylus): 😢 (You): my dryer’s out again (Sylus): ah. want me to take a look? (You): nah you already do so much (You): is it cool if i use yours tho? 😬😬😬 (You): i’ll bring you booze (Sylus): lol (Sylus): its fine sweetie. doors unlocked. ill be in the shower. help yourself. (You): 🙏🙏🙏

You take your time gathering your saturated clothes into a basket. On your way out, you snag a bottle of Merlot from your fridge.

No matter how often you’ve been here, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how much more… put together Sylus’ place is compared to yours.

It suits him—the black and red furniture, the stylish accents littering his apartment. It smells delightful inside, a mixture of mahogany and amber enmeshed with remnants of food. Soulful jazz flows from a record player, fitting the sepia-toned glow of floor lamps and candles flickering on every other surface.

You toe the door shut behind you. Feel so small and out of place amid his decor. You’ve only recently started coming here, having spent much of your time together inside your apartment. Regardless, you navigate his space like it’s your second home, finding his washer and dryer set.

After starting your clothes in the dryer, you wander back to the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of your cardigan. You take some time to admire the atmosphere. Fingers skim over the various vinyls organized on a built-in bookcase on the wall.

You snort with a half-smile. You know so little about your neighbor, yet you know just enough to be this comfortable with him.

He’s a music buff; that much is for sure. He’s clearly made of money if the luxurious furniture and his car are anything to go by. You don’t press him about what he does for a living. Figure he values his privacy above all else, unlike you.

You’re an open book. The primary yapper in your acquaintanceship, prattling on about your life and aspirations. And he just sits there, wordlessly nodding with a polite smile behind the rim of his glass. Where you would otherwise be wary of being in someone’s home like this, you feel safe around him in a way that almost terrifies you.

“Admiring the decor,” teases a voice from behind. 

You jolt, spinning around like you’ve been caught stealing. You’re met with a smirk beneath scarlet eyes, twinkling with mischief. Strands of white cling to Sylus’ forehead, damp from the warm spray of his shower. He towels his hair dry, maneuvering around the living set towards you.

“Hey, you,” you greet, trying to play it cool. Like your heart isn’t hammering and heat isn’t branching into your cheeks. You attempt to maintain eye contact. It’s increasingly difficult to do so with his physique peeking through his t-shirt and sweats like that.

“Hey, yourself.” There’s amusement in the deep gravel of his voice. A smile in his eyes as he studies you, draping his towel around his shoulders.

You swallow. Try to divert the subject, motioning to his record collection. “You got some new tunes, I see.”

A chuckle is dredged from the bowels of his chest. You feel it pull in your stomach. “Sure did. Got something you might like.” 

God help you as he reaches around you, the fine hairs littering your body standing on end, your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Unconsciously, you step back, your spine softly thudding against the records display. Your heartbeat’s on a warpath, and you swallow against the dryness of your throat as the veiny, sinewy muscle in his forearm stains your periphery.

He gives you a bemused look before slowly peeling a record from the shelf behind you. Steps back to fish out the vinyl and settle it on the platter, replacing the record that was just playing. 

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Good job playing it cool, dumbass.

“You alright?” Sylus quizzes with a raised brow. “You seem a little on edge tonight, sweetie.”

You sigh, schooling an unconvincing smile onto your face. Try to ignore how the term of endearment glides off his tongue so effortlessly. You wonder how many other people he addresses like that. 

“Work was…rough today. Kicked my ass. I’m tired.” 

A snarling sound invades the space between you, heard over the gentle croon of the new music. Your eyes fall to your stomach. You rub it placatingly. In all your haste to have some dry friggin’ clothes, you forgot to eat. 

“And hungry, too,” you sheepishly add.

You glance up, and Sylus’ gaze tracks from your stomach to your face. He smirks knowingly, motioning with a nod toward his kitchen. 

“Figured you didn’t eat yet. I made carbonara if you’d like some.”

You smile wryly at his back as he pads away, carrying the scent of cedarwood and bergamot with him. Where would you be without such a doting neighbor? 

You track him to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold, you watch him procure a bottle of water from his fridge. It’s so very small, dwarfed by his massive hand.

“I suddenly got called for a Teams meeting five minutes ago.” 

Your heart drops, the smile nearly falling from your face. And here you thought you’d have his company over dinner.

Suddenly, he taps your nose, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed when he got closer, swaddled in the static of your bodies being so close. “Where did you run off to,” he rasps, searching your gaze for something. 

The proximity of your bodies grows stifling, his warm breath glazing over your skin, dizzying. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he steps back, leaving you shell-shocked and utterly confused. 

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” he says, brushing past you with an air of finality. 

You strain your ears for the noise of a distant door shutting before you make your move, rummaging through his cupboards and drawers for a plate and cutlery. After you’ve scooped a decent helping of food onto your plate, you settle onto one of his velvet couches, cross-legged and shoveling food into your maw. 

The fluttering of wings piques your interest. You’ve hardly any time to acknowledge him before a tuft of black, iridescent feathers shines from Sylus’ coffee table. The crow studies you curiously, ingesting you with his beady eyes before he preens himself.

“Me-fith-toe!” you greet around a mouthful of food. 

Said crow ducks away, dodging errant crumbs and spit flying from your mouth, cawing in protest. You give him a rueful look. 

Sylus has a soft spot for animals. You noted it the first time you entered his apartment, greeted by his boisterous companion. Funny; he doesn’t look like the type to have such an eccentric pet. 

But Sylus has found numerous ways of pleasantly surprising you, revealing parts of himself to you bit by agonizing bit.

“Chicken?” you say after finally swallowing, offering a forkful of pasta to the bird. Mephisto scrutinizes the food before resigning himself to pecking at it. You smile fondly, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Mephisto, you cannibal.”

Lulled by the occasional flap of Mephisto’s wings and Sylus’ even tone murmuring things of business somewhere far off in his home, you fall into a familiar rhythm, quietly waiting for your clothes to dry.

You spend the remainder of your evening in your neighbor’s company, drinking Merlot and judging each other’s music tastes, long after your pajamas have dried and settled in the dryer.

“So, have you boned yet?”

You choke on your waffle. Pound on your chest with the heel of your palm to dislodge it. You turn narrowed eyes on the source of the question. She merely shrugs from across the table, sipping her mimosa as if she’s asked the most innocent thing. 

“Bitch.”

“What?” She appears nonplussed, setting her champagne flute down with a definitive clack. All serious when she returns your stare over crossed arms, and you know you’re in for it. 

“You talk about the guy so much I figured you would’ve already, ya know…” The humping gesture she makes under the table is a bit much. 

You blanch. “No, dumbass, I haven’t boned.” Your voice peters towards the end of your sentence. And you peer down at the napkin folded in your lap, heat prickling your face. 

You won’t deny Sylus is good-looking. More like he could be someone modeling Prada on a catwalk. Can’t pretend you haven’t entertained the thought of being a little closer to him, too. More than just the late nights spent talking or him fixing something you broke.

You shake your head. Of all the times you’ve been tucked away in either of your apartments, he’s never made a move on you. Sure, he’s said some pretty suss things. Flirted with you outside of your usual banter. 

And maybe he’s done things to confuse the ever-loving hell out of you—cooked you breakfast when you were drunk off your ass and hungover the next morning. Lended you one of his expensive record players. Shacked up at your place a few times under the guise of “coming to get Mephisto.” But—

Nah. He’s not like that. You’re just neighbors, right? Unofficial friends. Friends hang out all the time, right?

“He’s not like that,” you say brattishly, stuffing more food into your face. At least not with you. 

You don’t miss your coworker’s fox-like grin spreading in your periphery. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, watching you like a smug sibling about to snitch. 

“Sure, sure. If you say so. He’s still a man, though. He might not have tried you yet—”

“Hush,” you interject. The table shakes, cups rattling as you saw into your sausage with your fork and butter knife. You’re done with this conversation.

Try as you might, however, you can’t banish your thoughts revolving around him. Especially with your coworker watching you like that, silently egging you on.

He’s not that kind of guy. 

He’s still a man, though. 

You’ve repeated it like a mantra throughout your day, even as you mindlessly clacked away at your computer. 

Work was a blur. An exhausting blur. Day gave way to the soothing exhale of night, and you were finally nestled in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, on your couch, entertaining yourself with a game of Uno. It wasn’t much fun playing alone, but you needed a distraction from the mess of your mind when your favorite show couldn’t help. 

It’s a quarter past 9 when a shuffling sound in the breezeway outside your apartment catches your attention. It’s accompanied by the echoed rasp of a recognizable voice, chuckling and murmuring indiscernible things. 

You peel yourself from your couch as if on autopilot, nose pressed against the cold metal of your door as you peer through the peephole.

It’s your nightly ritual—waiting like an overzealous puppy to greet or send off your neighbor. You don’t always get the luxury of saying goodnight in person. Sometimes, he’s gone for days—weeks—at a time. You don’t know the semantics of his job, but you make it your mission to help assuage whatever burdens he shoulders whenever you can.

He’s there to help you, after all. Whether with a glass of wine, a warm meal, or his company.

So, forgive you for wanting to be a decent neighbor. And you would be tonight if not for the scene that passes through the fisheye of your peephole.

It’s Sylus, clad in something flattering and expensive. There’s no mistaking his broad back and shoulders. The purl of his voice, the wispy dusting of alabaster hair on his collar. But the smaller frame with him, well—

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

She’s pretty from what you can glean from the limited view of your peephole. Donned in a dress that’s form-fitting, voice high and light. Giggling silly things, fastened to Sylus’ side, held there by a virile arm draped around her middle. She’s drunk if the sloppy lean of her body is anything to go by. Sylus angles himself near her ear to whisper something, ushering in a new set of giggles.

You watch with your breath corked in your esophagus until they slide into his apartment together, their enmeshed voices fading from the stilled walls of the hallway.

Huh. Well, so much for him not being that type of guy. 

You grapple with this new revelation, a furrow between your brows, hands falling listlessly at your sides. Numb as you drag yourself back to your couch, bouncing comically on the cushions.

You don’t even know why you’re upset. He's a grown man with a…life. You think. 

It’s the first time you’ve witnessed him bringing someone to his place other than you, but it’s only natural for a guy like him to have options. He’s far from hideous. Has the gift of gab, for God’s sake. He’s charming and the very definition of masculine. 

It just stings a little, knowing that it’s not…you that he’s touching like that. 

So, you are definitely not flinging Uno cards onto the coffee table. Muttering things to yourself, gripping the stack in your hands so tightly, the plastic squeaks. What’s even got your undies in a bunch? The man’s not yours. You’ve never screwed around. Never really showed signs of wanting to, so it makes sense he would seek pleasures of the flesh elsewhere. His world doesn’t solely revolve around you as much as you would like for it to.

You’re halfway through a third round of angry card-flinging before a soft rap at your door nearly sends you some 30 feet into the air.

Stomping to your entrance, you peek through the peephole, and your heart works overtime when you catch sight of a wash of black and scarlet.

Internally, you scold yourself for how gullible you are. You throw the door open like you weren’t just cursing him and his stupid existence moments ago. Try to act nonplussed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe with a haughty look. 

Of course, he would smell good. Look good, propped against the threshold like that, an amused cant to his lips, his physique devastating beneath the tight cling of his turtleneck.

“Hey,” he greets, the sound breathy and easy like warmed honey. 

“Hey, yourself.”

He studies you for a bit. Eyes flicker over your face, and you tamp down the sparkling rush of warmth that wades over your skin at the attention. Even when you’re mad at him, your attraction still finds an annoying way of creeping through the seams.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange, and feel free to tell me to piss off, but…do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

You stand up straight. Blink owlishly, mouth opening and closing. “Huh?” is all you’re able to muster. 

He chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this side of bashful. “Yeah. It’s a…bit of a long story, sweetie.”

“O-Okay,” you say, rigidly moving aside.

“Thanks.” The charm is back on, turned up to max capacity. He brushes past you into your apartment, falling onto your couch with a huff. Quirks a brow at the mishap on your table, the carnage having spilled onto the floor. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but were you playing Uno by yourself?”

You ignore him, plopping cross-legged on a floor cushion adjacent to him. Bypassing the tick in your brow, you look off to the side, fighting the embarrassment threatening to take hold of your visage. Shouldn’t he be across the hall, entertaining his company?

“Shut up and grab some cards,” you grumble to dispel the green-eyed thoughts stewing in your mind.

“Bossy.” But he doesn’t contest you, gathering the abused cards to shuffle them. 

The remainder of your evening slides by with comfortable quips. With booze and a break to catch up on Love Is Blind—somehow, he’d roped you into watching it. 

You had no idea he was such a sap. Nearly forgotten how miffed you were mere hours ago. 

He assuaged your worries with an explanation as the sun crept over the city. 

The girl in his apartment was an old colleague who’d gotten drunk and convinced herself that she was anything but. 

Being a good samaritan, Sylus brought her to his place to sober up since the apartment complex wasn’t too far from the main strip of bars. He didn’t want any issues when she inevitably woke up. Messing with drunk people wasn’t his thing. 

So that’s how he ended up here, inhabiting your couch like he’d always been a part of the decor. 

He didn’t owe you an explanation. You were just friends. Still, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that twitched your lips after he cleared the air.

At some point in the morning, you both fell asleep. He looked all serene, too big for your sofa, but comfortable. You watched his lashes flutter from your place on the floor, his lips parting with soundless exhales. Even in sleep, he maintained that guarded aura, his arms folded across his chest. 

You were bleary-eyed, gathering yourself from the hardwood to fetch a blanket to drape over him. He shifted, and he was so pretty with the sun bathing him in an angelic glow like that, his hair bright like a halo. 

You were about to retreat to your bedroom when an abrupt knock tore you from your reverie. You glanced at your guest, ensuring he went undisturbed. He needed the rest. He was a night owl, and something about the sun vexed him, so he typically spent his days sleeping when you weren’t impeding on his time.

You moved to the door, foregoing the peephole to open it. Big mistake.

On the other side stood Little Miss Pretty from the night prior, impatiently tapping her foot. Her hair was flattened on one side, and her dress was askew. By the looks of it, sleep hadn’t been kind to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she sighed, schooling her expression into fake politeness. She straightened herself as best she could, but the white patch of dried slob staining her chin did little to help her plight. You bit back a snicker. 

“I’m looking for a friend. He lives across from you. His name’s Skye.”

You quirked a brow at that. Skye? Oh, honey…

You wondered how many other people Sylus had fed a fake alias to. Or if Sylus was even his real name.

“Haven’t seen him,” you chirped over crossed arms. Pulled the door slightly closed behind you, barring the woman from getting a peek at him, nuzzled up so cozily on your couch.

She sighed with slumped shoulders. A childish pout warped her lips. Her voice shifted into something more bratty. “You sure? Tall guy, white hair, red eyes? You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Not ringing a bell, hun. Sorry.”

It was taking all of you to keep up this ruse. You were fighting so hard to tamp down your amusement. This woman reminded you of an antagonist in a Korean drama, the way she was kicking and huffing about. 

“Where the hell did he go,” she groused. You watched her draw her phone from the pocket of her fur coat, your throat growing dry. 

Your blood turned to ice when a familiar ringtone chimed in your apartment behind you. You stiffened comically; mouth hinged open with shock.

The woman’s expression morphed into one of suspicion. She tried to look inside your home, the upbeat ring of Sylus’ phone still flooding the uncomfortable silence.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to assert her way inside. “What the fu—”

“Hey, girlie. Back the hell off before I call the police,” you warned with a hand pushed to her sternum. She insisted on being unruly, so you snatched your taser from the entryway table, the telltale blue sparks and sharp whip of static causing the woman to jolt back with alarm.

“You’re both insane!” she shouted from the hallway, the stomp of her heels reverberating off the walls as she made her way to the stairwell. 

With a relieved sigh deflating your chest, you eased the door shut. Leaned against it, glancing at the man of the hour. He was still fast asleep, his leg dangling off the edge of your sofa. You smirked knowingly, shaking your head as you disappeared into your bedroom. 

You’d let him sleep for as long as he needed. And you’d give him shit when he awoke about his taste in acquaintances. 

(Sylus): hungry? (You): a little. was gonna make some ramen if you want (Sylus): 🤢 (Sylus): that stuffs terrible for your digestion sweetie.  (Sylus): how about i make you dinner instead ? (Sylus): at the supermarket. need anything? (You): 😲😲😲 (You): you keep spoiling me and i might think you like me (Sylus): 😏 (You): nvm. no don’t need anything. lemme know when you’re back (You): i can help with groceries (Sylus): now who likes who? (You): fkdkos (Sylus): ? (You): sorry fat fingers 

You have a nasty habit of not using your peephole as of late.

Your apartment came with one for a reason. Sure, your neighborhood’s been pretty tame since you’ve moved here. But that doesn’t mean the occasional weirdo doesn’t slip past security, roaming the halls and startling the other tenants. 

You’ve found yourself forgoing the use of it a lot lately, given the only person who typically knocks on your door is the guy across the hall. And he usually calls or texts before he bugs you, but that doesn’t stop him from being spontaneous. You suppose today is one of those such cases after he manipulated you with dinner. 

Maybe his hands are full, you muse, unlocking your door. Though you’re doubtful he can’t handle a few bags. You’ve seen him in action at the community gym, thick cords of muscle rippling beneath a tan stretch of skin. 

You draw the door open with a smile, expecting to see a customary thatch of white. What confronts you instead sends a tide of dread washing over your innards. 

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” breathes a voice you haven’t heard in months. A voice that still makes your body stiffen, and your blood run cold. 

When your senses return, you step back into your apartment, thoroughly intending to slam the door in your ex’s face. They’re quicker, however, wedging themselves in the gap before you can shut it. Grabbing for you, a crazed look warping their features.

“Baby, please! Talk to me! I miss you!”

You bat at their hand, trying vainly to crush them, to scare them off. It’s to no avail, and you wonder if they’re coked up, giving you a run for your money as they try to bully their way into your home.

There’s a softball bat propped on the wall, and your fingers brush the base of it in your attempt to grab it. Something to defend yourself since your taser’s out of reach, tucked somewhere in your bag. 

The sounds of your struggle intermingle, your voice strained and panting, please please please, and your ex’s caught between sobs of your name. 

Just a little further. Just—

Suddenly, there’s no more resistance in your door. You stumble against it, a wild look in your eyes. And then, there is the noise of a brief scuffle. Of a back being shoved against a wall, of rusting plastic bags, of “Who the fuck are you?!”

Amid your panicked frenzy, you glance up to see a back to you. Barring you from the view beyond your threshold, and your body’s awash with relief as you register your savior’s form.

“You would do well to piss off,” seethes Sylus, and there’s an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. You feel it furling in your stomach, burning your lungs. And in this moment, you don’t know who to be more afraid of.

Your ex makes a sound of protest, but you imagine the cut of Sylus’ eyes deterring them.

There is the scuffling of shoes across the concrete flooring of the breezeway, and you listen with bated breath until the cacophony fades at the foot of the stairs, willing your heart to ease down.

Scarlet eyes shift to you, brows knit with concern. “Who was that?” Sylus asks, tone cautious as if he doesn’t want to startle you more than you’ve already been.

You right yourself, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes. Finally grab your bat, waving it intimidatingly as you step aside to let your neighbor in.

“My stupid ex. Just know you saved their life. ‘cause I was gonna—” You make swinging gestures, the metal bat swooping in the air. The corners of Sylus’ eyes crinkle. 

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.” He kneels to retrieve the bags he’d tossed down in his haste to intervene. You scurry over to help, gathering up spilled food.

Once you’re both inside, the bags placed haphazardly on the counter, you’re seated on your sofa, nursing the rush of adrenaline still spuming through you like the hot rush of a geyser. 

“You need to get a restraining order,” says Sylus. He emerges from your kitchen with a tense set to his jaws, two bottles of Angry Orchard clasped between his fingers. 

Plopping down beside you, an arm draped over the headrest, he shoves a bottle into your hand, side-eyeing you as he throws his head back for a swig. 

You babysit the cider, the crisp condensation of it serving to ground you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m not asking, sweetie.”

You bristle under the weight of his tone, feeling much like a scolded child. You know this. Should’ve done it long ago the first time your ex took it upon themselves to do surprise pop-ups at your place—at your job.  

“And an alarm system.”

“I know, I know.”

“I can take you right now to look for one—”

“I got it, Sy! Fuck, I-I got it.” You release a weighted sigh, warring with yourself. 

Not only do you feel silly for being so lackadaisical with your life. But now, you feel even worse for the seemingly impenetrable silence that settles between you. You didn’t mean to yell, frustration and adrenaline having burbled to the surface. He was just worried. No need to take your emotions out on him. 

Sylus exhales slowly, an unreadable expression descending onto his face whilst staring at the wall.

“Sorry,” you murmur, unconsciously patting his quad. You don’t miss how he stiffens; don’t miss the tight coiling of tendons in his neck. You retract your hand, instead drumming your fingers along the bottom of your bottle.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time this has happened,” queries Sylus in an attempt to dispel the tense atmosphere.

You shake your head, shrinking into yourself. Stare at your lap, pulling at some frayed threads in your bottoms. 

“How did they even manage to get up here?”

You shrug. The security guards at the gates aren’t always the most attentive. Besides, sometimes, the pin pad leading into the lobby malfunctions, making it easier for anyone to just slip into your complex.

Unprompted, you begin to bare yourself, explaining the possibilities of why your ex showed up.

Sylus listens attentively. Doesn’t interrupt you, watching the subtle shifts of your expressions as you speak. 

You tell him that things weren’t bad in the beginning about two years ago. How your ex said and did all the right things, and they were wonderful. But they wanted something you weren’t ready for. You had some growing up to do, so you broke things off. Moved to another city, started a new job. 

You didn’t bank on them following you. 

The visits were random at first. Occasional run-ins at the park, the bar. Things soon blossomed into something more concerning when your ex found your new address after you relocated to another part of the city to ease the stress of the commute. 

This was their second time making an appearance at your door. You knew you should’ve done something to protect yourself sooner, but you didn’t think much of it then. Figured they would live and let be. Today proved otherwise. 

“You’re grossly naive, sweetie.” 

You snort before gulping down the remnants of your cider. “Way to make me feel better.”

He chuckles, and it’s comforting, your thighs pressing together amid your dinky couch. “It’s what I’m here for. But I could understand how you could drive someone to such extremes.”

You glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” 

Before you know what’s about, he’s panning in, flooding your vision with the scarlet shine of his eyes. With the wispy dance of his lashes until his breath fans over your molten cheeks. Limber fingers sneak beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head back. 

Warmth wades over you. Your breath swells in your chest. Lips purse as a mysterious shade of burgundy leaks over his irises. His voice drops a few octaves, husky, the sound of it pinching in your stomach.

“It means that you’re someone worth fighting for.”

You scoff, shaking yourself away from his hold. Ignore the bashfulness creeping into your face in favor of being a cheeky little shit. 

“All right, Li Shang. Getting a little too serious over there.”

He huffs a laugh in response, popping up to grab another round of ciders from your fridge.

Ingredients sat untouched on the countertop as your evening eased by. You’d settled on a pizza, catching up on shows and talking, long after the moon had pinned itself to the center of the sky. 

Sylus promised to teach you how to use a gun. He had plenty and would carve out time in his schedule to take you to a range. He didn’t press much after, instead letting the weight of your evening melt from your shoulders. 

He was reluctant to leave you, even after sunbeams spilled through your blinds and you snoozed so quietly, cheek propped against his shoulder. 

His hand never left your thigh. Possessive in its touch as he mirrored your affections from before. 

It’s strange.

Today is your birthday. You’re enjoying yourself, filled with enough alcohol to tranquilize a small goat. 

Your co-workers had dragged you out. Surprised you with dinner, a cake. Took you to the strip of bars lining the streets adjacent to your apartment complex. You were all smiles until your cheeks ached, and you’d nearly thrown up from laughing so much. 

Still, you feel…empty. Like something is missing. Or someone. 

You look at your phone for the umpteenth time. Scroll through your messages, reliving the moment in your head. 

Sylus was the first to wish you a happy birthday. It made you swell with overwhelming happiness, knowing he’d woken up so early to be the first to say it. You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder when he sent a voice message of him singing “Happy Birthday.”

God, for everything he was good at, poor baby couldn’t hold a note to dig himself out of a hole. Still, you cherished the gesture, lying in bed for the first hour you’d been awake, replaying said message and rolling around your bed like an enamored teen.

Even now, you replay the voice note, holding the speaker to your ear. It’s hard to hear it amid the live band playing and the merriment around you at the bar. Try as you might to enjoy what remains of your night, you can’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to a certain smug figure clad in black. 

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): hows it going birthday babe? (You): 😭😭😭 (You): u shuld be her e (Sylus) im sorry sweetie. i had some work to catch up on.  (Sylus): you must be having a good time. 😏 (You): fuk wrk 🖕🖕🖕 (You): am not drink ur dronk (Sylus): lol. you sound plastered. (Sylus): do i need to come rescue you? (You): hum (Sylus): ? (You): hone (You): home (Sylus): 🫤 (Sylus): we need to have a serious talk about you enabling autocorrect. (You): r u (You): home (Sylus): about to be. why ?? (Sylus): sweetie?

Somehow, you find yourself staring at the glossy, black numbers embossed on the top center of his door. 302. It’s ingrained in your memory. You’d probably find your way to his apartment with your eyes closed, driven to it by the familiar smell and homeliness it exudes. 

You’re still a little tipsy. Took some time to sober up as best you could before ditching your friends and catching an Uber back to your complex. You had enough sense to gather everything you’d shown up with. Didn’t hitch a ride with any strangers regardless of how many of them tried to pull you into their arms as you stumbled out of the bar. 

You had a one-track mind. Only wanted to spend the rest of your birthday with him.

With a goofy smile plastered on your face, you knock on his door. You’re singing that infectious song you can’t get out of your head when it swings open.

“Apateu-pateu, apateu-pateu,” you chant, shaking your hips from side to side.

He greets you with an omniscient smirk, eyes softening whilst leaning against the doorframe. “Well, hello, birthday babe.”

“Sup!” you return a little too enthusiastically, pitching forward until Sylus steadies you with his hands. You giggle like a drunken fool, peering at him. Hadn’t realized how good his hands felt, searing through the fabric of your top. 

Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed many things about him before. His lips are a pretty shade of pink. Skin textured, nose sharp, cheeks high. Little flecks of amber dwell between the scarlet rinse of his eyes. His hair falls into his face, damp from the shower he probably had before answering the door.

“I take it you had a good night,” he says, gaze painting a steady triangle between your eyes and mouth.

“Almost,” you whisper back, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You lose yourself in the idle stir of his eyes. In the fragility of his smile, and you feel so safe in his hands like this. 

You don’t know what compels you to do it. To conquer the space of hot, dizzying breaths between you. But, you sort of…well…

Your inhibitions hit the floor. With your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, you angle yourself closer to kiss him. You almost pull away when he stiffens. But he seemingly relaxes, and his lips cautiously move against yours as he unconsciously guides you closer.

You cling to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He encircles your waist in his powerful arms, fastening you to the hard press of his body. He kisses you like he’s waited lifetimes to do it, one hand molding around the apple of your cheek. 

When your tongue sloppily prods the barrier of his teeth, he bristles. Draws away from you with a resounding smack, blinking wildly. You’re confused. Your heart sinks. You try again to draw him back in, but he gently pushes you away, shaking his head to dispel the bleariness. To chase away the spell that’s fallen over you. 

“Baby, wait. No. Not…not like this,” he rasps through kiss-swollen lips, holding you by your hips. You’re wounded. A hot flush of embarrassment washes over you, and your brows knit together like those of a confused puppy.

“Wha-what’s wrong? Did I—am I—”

“No, no, you’re…you're perfect,” he soothes with a chuckle, a thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Beautiful, even. I just…I don’t think now is a good time to do this.”

“Oh.” You deflate, a scorching film of tears clouding your vision. “Oh, okay. Um, I’ll just—yeah, I’ll go. I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

You slide out of his arms, too mortified to look back as you fumble with your keys. After he murmurs a hoarse, “good night.” Did you misread him before? Misinterpret his actions, his words? 

You’re numb as you sink into your couch. Sobriety slowly creeps in. Stray tears blister your cheeks, but you don’t full-on sob. Can’t bring yourself to, instead laughing hysterically with your face buried in your hands, swallowed by the bleak loneliness of your apartment.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

[chaepink]

(re-sent) hello dear! i just found your account and i adore your content, i don't usually bump into writers with preferences for femdom!readers and i'm here for it! keep it up ‹3

could i bother you requesting a drabble/oneshot for fem!softdom!reader x sub!tenya iida? in which reader decides to go to tenya's dorm just to find him enjoying some alone time (since he missed reader so much), he thinks they're going to get intimate, but reader tells him to continue as she watches (ocassionaly kissing his cheeks/earlobe and marking his neck). iida might get a little too desperate for touch so he starts begging for a hand or two for help, he can't do it without her. (reader calls tenya: "baby", "hun", "iida". tenya calls reader "baby", "darling") plus: he's a soft moaner ‹3

i hope this isn't too much! no hurries in writting this, i hope you have a nice day/night! —♡ (i made a few subtle changes, i hope you don't mind!)

Your Own Private Show | sub!iida tenya

wc: 740+ words | masterlist

dom!reader, fem!reader, consensual voyeurism, masturbation, begging, pet names, marking

note : i am SO sorry that this took so long, it got lost in my drafts 😭

"ah!- f-fuck.. [name] please!" You and your hand hovering over the doorknob freezes. Is iida?...

Your heartbeat quickens as the noises keep flooding your ears from iida's room. Whines, sobs, pleas. He adds your name to each and every single one of them. He's begging for you.

With bated breath, you quietly and slowly open the door and holy shit was you not ready for the view on the other side of the door. As if he is posing for a portrait, his head is thrown back, his cheeks are flushed, and his body is exposed as he sits on the bed. His legs are spread almost as if he was used to it. And well, he rather is.

He looks absolutely breathtaking.

And well, the thing that takes your breath away the most is the thing right between his legs.

His cock was red and there was a little pre-cum on the tip. Iida's hand was rapidly stroking it and it looked absolutely sinful.

You can't help but walk in, attracting your boyfriend's attention. He whines as you continue to stare at him, his hand stopping.

"p-please..." You raise an eyebrow.

"Please what? Please help you with your little problem?" He whimpers at you. "Aw," you say with a feign pout, "is my iida all hard and horny?"

Iida shivers at how possessive you sound as you say the word 'my'. He nods as he looks up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to help him.

You walk over to him, making sure to take your very time. You stop right in front of him, eyeing him up and him. Iida's breath hitches as you duck down towards his ear. Your hot breath makes him shiver and he lets out another whine.

"How about you put on a little show for me first, baby?"

Iida's freezes and as realization dawns on him that you won't be touching him anytime soon, he pouts at you. He reaches to try to grab your hand but you manage to dodge his grasp. He lets out a yearning whine.

You shush him with a finger to his mouth, silencing him. He stares at you with pleading eyes, his hand still wrapped around his dick.

You lean towards his neck, slowly biting and sucking on it. Iida lets out a soft moan when you bite down rather harshly, making sure it'll bruise for a few days.

His body trembles as you continue to suck and lick his neck, leaving a trail of marks.

With a hand placed on his hips, you begin touching his body all over but making sure to avoid his dick and other sensitive parts.

"Go on, Iida. Touch yourself." Iida hesitates a little but starts to slowly touch his dick. Even though he's embarrassed to do this in front of you, the pleasure pushes away that thought and he begins to shamelessly bucking his hips into his hand.

Little 'ah's and 'please's fill the room along with his whines and pleas for you to touch him.

"T-Touch me, darling. P-Please!" You chuckle a little.

"But i'm already touching you, darling. Or is it here you want me to touch?" You raise an eyebrow at him as you point towards his aching dick. He nods frantically at you and you coo at him. He continues fucking into his fist but you start to see tears well up in his eyes.

One of your hands goes to touch his dick and Iida lets out a whine. It doesn't take long until iida is begging you to cum with moans and whines that follow after. Your hand replaces his hand on his dick as Iida's hips begin to jerk into your hand, desperate to chase after his release.

After a while without you, he feels as if his orgasm is coming quicker than usual and before he could warn you, he cums all over his chest and your hand.

Eyes wide and chest heaving, iida flushes red at how quick he came but when you continue to pump his dick, he gasps.

"Baby w-wait." His shaky hands try to push your hand off his dick but it doesn't budge. Rather, you just speed up your movements.

"You wanted me to touch you, right?" You give him a grin that makes Iida's dick twitch and a whimper to leave him. "Well be a good boy and sit still for me, I'm not done yet."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[leanxooo]

L O S T P U P P Y — rick grimes x black!fem reader x daryl dixon

“is it so bad i just wanna be around you two?”

✷ : One day a unknown named girl shows up to the atlanta camp, when she gets settled; she takes a liking to daryl and rick, following them around like a lost puppy and they dont know why.

✷ : chapter one: lost puppy interlude [ see other chapters ]

cw: mentions of daddy issues, walkers, pet names ( pretty, darling, sweet girl, princess ) , rude!daryl at first, a little sexual content ( dry humping, dirty talk, kissing ), age gap ( reader is 19 - 20 and Rick and Daryl are 30 - 40 ).

xoxo note: in this apocalypse the haves phones and anything modern, don't like it? keep it pushing honey, also ntm on me! I haven't written in a while.

Silence. That was the only thing heard around the camp as the group watched the young girl walk up in a baby pink skims set with pink Asics and a black book bag with a purse on her side.

"Who the fuck-" Daryl started to say out of his mouth as the girl walked up breathing heavy, "holy shit bro" she said as everyone looked at her.

She looked behind her, wondering what everyone was looking at "what we looking at?" she asked confused "who are you" Rick asked as he put his hand on his gun.

"oop- lets chill... okay?" she said giggling nervously, "my name is y/n and I was just walking and I saw the camp." she shifted from side to side as everyone just stared at her.

"Well welcome to our camp, your more than welcome to stay pretty girl," Carol walked up and smiled at her "I'm Carol."

The young girl smiled at the older lady, "thank you Carol!"

Rick and Daryl silently watched the scene unfold, Daryl was looking the girl up almost drooling at the sight of her, her pretty brown legs, her slicked back ponytail, the way the skims fit her body.

"Daryl wipe ya mouth for me real quick!" t-dog and Glenn laughed together as Daryl muttered profanities under his breath and walked off.

The conversation between Carol and the girl continued, not even paying attention to the boys. "Well as of right now.. we don't have any tents and there's like three to a tent and there is only one tent that only has two people.." Carol rambled.

Y/n nodded her head and followed Carol to the tent, "you're going to have to share this with Rick and Daryl.. at least for right now till we go on another run" Carol said and motioned for y/n to follow her to a table where two boys were sitting.

"Y/n, this is Rick and Daryl your temporary roommates! their very sweet and respectful guys," carol spoke but y/n wasn't listening she was just staring at the two man before her.

She was already having unholy thoughts about Rick's beard tickling her legs as he-

Y/n's thoughts were interrupted by Carol when she whispered in y/n's ear, "you don't wanna get on Daryl's bad side so I suggest you stay out of his way and rick is going through something with his wife so don't be surprised if he's cold towards you." Y/n nodded her head and waved at the two.

"Its nice to meet you guys, Im y/n, I promise not to be your way" she smiled at the two, only Rick returned the smile.

Carol walked y/n back to the tent she would be staying in and left her alone, they ended up putting a cot in the tent next to two other cots.

Y/n sat up her side of the tent with pink and sparkly things, the blanket on her cot was pink and so was her pillow. She re-organized her bookbag and sat it in the corner.

She pulled out her phone and portable charger turning her phone on to watch TikTok, it was currently 10:40 and Carol called everyone out to eat.

Y/n walked out the tent with her same skims on but changed her Asics to her pink Kurt slides, she walked up to everyone sitting in a circle and sat next to a young boy.

"Hi I'm carl" the boy put his hand out to the girl, y/n reached her hand out and shook it. "I like your nails!" Carl smiled and held her hand for a bit as her admired her pink duck nails.

"Thank you! I do them myself" she smiled "foreal?" he asked, letting her hand go in the process.

She nodded her head and looked at everyone that was staring at her, "so y/n.." Andrea started "what's your story?"

Y/n looked around, "well I'm from Las Vegas.. I came to Atlanta to visit when the apocalypse started," Rick looked her up and down "how did you survive alone out there?" he asked.

"My dad is a cop, he taught me a few survival things" she giggled "he also had alot of guns." she stopped real quick, got up and ran to her tent.

Everyone was confused but she came back with her bookbag, she pulled out a pink hand gun.

"Why the fuck is it pink?' Daryl spoke "well first off.. I like pink and secondly I hate the color black so.."

"Your so interesting.." Andrea said "yea I get that alot" y/n said admiring the gun.

"How old are you y/n" t-dog asked as he ate the stew Carol made, "I'm 21, my birthday just passed." She smiled at him and he nodded his head.

AFTER AWHILE OF SITTING BY THE FIRE AND GETTING TO KNOW Y/N EVERYONE HEADED TO BED, dale let y/n use the bathroom in the RV to get ready for bed.

Y/n walked out the RV in hellokitty pants and a white cropped tee, she walked to where carols tent was and saw Carol was with her husband and daughter.

"Good night Carol, thank you for everything" y/n smiled and Carol smiled back but her smile quickly dropped after her husband gave her a stern look.

Y/n looked at him with a stank look, "the fuck be wrong" y/n thought. Before y/n left the tent she blew a small kiss at Carol and her daughter.

While y/n was walking to her tent she saw Rick's wife, who she learned was Lori and Rick's friend, shane sneaking into the woods.

"This is a weird ass place," she thought as she shook her head. Y/n walked to her tent saying her good nights to everyone.

She got into the tent and saw Daryl and Rick staring straight at her, "well shit, I got something on my face?" she giggled, Rick slowly shook his head.

"Oh-" she was going to say something but was interrupted, "what the fuck is your deal?" Daryl asked rudely but y/n only laughed.

"Fuck is you talking about?" she asked in the same tone. "You popped up outta' nowhere with ya' lil expensive clothes and ya bags."

Y/n rolled her eyes, Rick only watched the interaction from his cot, "you sure nobody sent you?" Daryl asked "nigga- who the fuck would have sent me?" y/n pulled her phone out of one of her purses and set it up, taking a scarf out of her black bag.

She pulled up her camera and tied the scarf around her fresh edges, "I mean I don't know-" Daryl stated sarcastically as he moved his hands in the air.

Y/n just laughed at him and turned her phone off to charge, "no one sent me dummy."

She layed in her cot and got under her cover, "goodnight boys." She smiled and rolled over.

"Oh and Daryl next time you wanna drool over me-" she turned around "dont do it when I'm around love."

[salty-autistic-writer]

Snippet: Buck saves a cat. She doesn't want to let go.

Buck has always loved animals. He smiles at dogs when he meets them on the street. He also pets them whenever he gets the chance to. Buck thinks that coming home to a dog with a wagging tail would be pretty amazing. But he also wouldn’t mind a cat or a bird or any kind of pet, really.

A lot of his childhood friends had pets. His parents never got any. Too much work, too much trouble, too expensive.

Now, as a firefighter, Buck is never sure if he should get a pet, since neither he nor Tommy are home a lot. But he does think it might be nice to have a pet in the future. Someday.

Buck didn’t know that “someday” would come so soon when there’s a fire at a farm and he fishes a screaming kitten out of an already smoking heap of hay.

Thick smoke is still rising up from the charred remains of the barn. Fortunately, neither humans nor animals were harmed. Quick thinking and acting saved a lot of lives today.

Buck looks at the saved kitten, making sure she’s alright. Underneath a thin layer of soot, her fur is white. She looks like a little fuzzy marshmallow.

And … she just won’t let go. Her little claws are digging into the thick fabric of his turnouts and she keeps rubbing her face there, making little pitiful noises. Buck looks down at her, amused. She’s so cute. But he clearly has to hand her over to someone. He already asked around, trying to find an owner. But no one wants to claim the white ball of fur.

“Cats just live here,” one of the farmers tells Buck, shrugging. “They sleep in the barns and hunt the mice. Sometimes they multiply and sometimes a few of them are driven over by a car. Nature balances itself, you know?” “Sure,” Buck mutters, glancing at the kitten which looks up at him with wide-open blue eyes.  He swallows and chuckles nervously. “Uh. Marshmallow. You really have to let go now, ok? Maybe your mother is somewhere around, huh?”

The kitten just rubs her head against his chest again, purring.

“Looks like this cat is going home with you,” Chimney says with a grin.

Buck perks up, eyes widening. “What? Uh. No. I can’t, I …”

“Cats choose their family,” Hen chimes in, smiling. “Seems like this one made her choice.”

“I …,” Buck turns to Bobby, begging him with his eyes to save him. But Bobby just laughs and says, “Congratulations, Buck. You’re a father.”

Buck sighs. When he looks down into those eyes again, he realizes he’s ready to admit defeat. For now. “Come on, Marshmallow. We’re going home.”

When Tommy comes home, Buck is sitting on the couch and Marshmallow is lounging on one of his knees like a little white Queen. He washed the soot off, brushed her fur and gave her some water as well as cheese. He really has to buy some proper cat food.

Tommy stops and stares at the picture in front of him, clearly astonished. Buck smiles weakly. He gestures at Marshmallow, who looks at Tommy attentively and with her ears pointed towards him, but remains sitting on Buck’s knee confidently, licking one of her paws, probably chasing after the taste of cheese. “Yeah. So … this happened.”

Tommy blinks. “Ev. Why is there a tiny white cat sitting on your leg?”

Buck clears his throat, stroking down the arch of Marshmallow's back. “That’s Marshmallow. We got called to a farm fire and I saved her. She apparently decided I’m her new father now.”

“Marshmallow. You called a cat Marshmallow?!” Tommy asks, raising his brows. Buck shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else. She’s small, white and looked a bit burnt before I washed her. But … We can still re-name her right?”

“You want to keep her,” Tommy says. It’s not a question.

Buck swallows. He looks at Marshmallow and can feel the love for her blooming in his chest. “Yeah. What do you think?”

Tommy tilts his head and approaches the couch. “I’m more of a dog person. But cats are fine, I guess. Hey there,” he smiles at Marshmallow and carefully reaches out to pet her. Marshmallow ducks and makes a hissy noise, her claws piercing Buck’s jeans and stinging like little pinpricks.

Tommy frowns, pulling his hand back. “I don’t think she likes me,” he says and sounds disappointed.

“Give her a few hours,” Buck says, amused. “She just got here. I'm sure she's going to get used to you soon enough."

Turns out Marshmallow doesn’t want to leave Buck’s side at all. She follows him everywhere on her small paws, her tail raised and butt wiggling while she hurries to keep up with his steps.

When he goes to the bathroom and closes the door, Marshmallow sits outside, meowing in a demanding way and scratching at the door.

When he goes to bed, Marshmallow sits on the floor and meows until he picks her up and she can snuggle up against him, purring. A small, soft, warm ball of fur.

“I’m starting to feel jealous,” Tommy says, kissing Buck’s neck from behind and glancing at the cat.

Whenever he tries to touch Marshmallow, she ducks and looks at him skeptically. At least she doesn’t hiss anymore. Still, Tommy sulks over the fact that Marshmallow is so focused on Buck and Buck tries to convince him it’s just a matter of time.

Then, two days after Buck became a cat Dad, he comes home after going to the grocery store for some cat food as well as proper bowls for Marshmallow. He opens the door and is greeted by silence. When he walks into the living room, he stops and has to keep himself from laughing.

Tommy is taking a nap on the couch. And curled up on his evenly rising and falling chest, is little Marshmallow, also fast asleep.

Buck takes a picture with his phone and leaves the room on tiptoes, with a smile on his face.

They’re both cat Dads now.

[miraclewoozi]

NOW YOU SEE ME - c.hs

you can’t say you’re surprised that your boyfriend leaps at the thought of throwing some sensory deprivation into the mix of your sex life, but you’re maybe a little shocked at just how into it he gets.

pairing; vernon x fem reader. genre; smut. plotless smut. MINORS DNI. w/c; 4.5k a/n; smut warnings under the cut. a/n2.0: you ever just think about that one time hhu wore blindfolds on stage? yeah. yeah, me too. a/n3.0: this is half proof read and half not proof read because if i had to re-read the rest i was gonna delete it! so! if there's a typo, no there isn't! <3

warnings; swearing (honestly just assume this is a given with me at this point), blindfolding, nipple play (m rec), finger sucking, praise, handjob (m rec), orgasm denial (m rec), piv sex (not wrapped but it’s est. relationship), slight dumbification (of him<3), face sitting/cum eating implied(f rec), pet-names (baby, sollie, angel, maybe a couple others). dom!reader, sub!vernon. reader is shorter than him.  (if i've missed anything, please let me know!)

“...Blindfolds?” 

“Blindfold. Singular,” you correct your boyfriend, shuffling slightly against the back of the couch. He cocks his head a little but he doesn’t contest it: he just waits for you to continue. “I don’t know. Things got a little… over-friendly at brunch the other day and someone brought it up as something they’d always wanted to try.”

“Huh,” Vernon muses. “Yeah, no. I’d never really thought about it.” 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him, and he rolls his eyes at you, looking back down at his phone. He taps the screen and the familiar jingle to his favourite game sounds through his speaker once more. 

“I didn’t say that,” he says, the corners of his mouth tweaking up almost undetectably. What’s less discrete, though, is the way his bottom lip pinches as he draws it just slightly between his teeth. “You know I’ll try anything once.”

“Anything?” you tease, raising the volume of the TV again now your little intermission seems to be coming to an end. 

“Almost anything,” he corrects. You laugh, and so does he; you bump your foot against his abdomen where your legs are resting in his lap, and his grin stays an extra few seconds on his face. Right up until something in his game obviously gets a little more difficult; then, his brow furrows in concentration and his thumbs start moving deftly across the screen. You turn back to the TV, pretending to pay any attention to the show you put on a little while ago, but your mind starts to drift elsewhere.

Good to know.

Three weeks pass before anything comes of that little conversation. 

For a little while, Vernon was half-expecting you to whip out a sash of satin every single time things got the slightest bit steamy in the bedroom. When he told you he was down to try almost anything once, he really wasn’t kidding — even though you’re yet to deliver on that grand idea, you can safely say that your sex life has gotten a little bit spicier since you brought it up. Nothing nuts, granted. A few restraints, a couple of new toys here and there, but as yet…

No blindfolds.

So when he gets home from work late one evening, yawning his way through the front door to your apartment, it’s honestly faded almost entirely from his mind. Hearing him enter, you come through to greet him in the hallway, eyes landing on Vernon as he’s mid-stretch, his t-shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his toned midriff. Your smile at seeing him only brightens.

“Long day?” you ask, taking the last few steps towards him. Maybe there’s a little extra sway in your hips as you do, but Vernon looks so out of it that you’re not entirely sure he notices. He nods at your question anyway, rolling out a kink in his neck.

“The longest,” he says. “How was yours?”

“Slow,” you sigh, reaching him and slipping your arms around his waist. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He ducks his head down, pressing a short but sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. You rock up onto your toes to press one of your own to his lips and he smiles against you, humming in the back of his throat. “Can we order something in today? If I try to cook right now, I’ll end up burning the place down.”

“What else is new?” you tease him, pressing small pecks across his cheek and trailing them down his jaw. He clicks his tongue in feigned indignation but sighs anyway, tipping his head to the side; your kisses start to linger, each touch of your lips lasting just a fraction longer than the last.

Your embrace tightens, pulling him flush to you. There’s something really endearing in the way he lets his weight fall against you, only barely steadied by his hands on your hip bones. 

“But before we do,” you murmur, lips tickling at his earlobe. He slackens his jaw, lips falling apart, eyelashes fluttering. You grin to yourself. “I think you need to unwind a little – don’t you?”

Vernon lets out a softly chuckled laugh. “I think you might be right,” he agrees.

You take a few paces back from him, reaching into the pocket of your sweatpants and pulling free a length of silk, running it slowly through your fingers as you lean against the opposite wall. His eyes fall to the pearlescent material before they lift back to your own; all the tiredness seems to have been shocked clean out of him and he stares at you like all his Christmases have come at once.

“Tonight?” he asks. You can practically see his thoughts firing off at a hundred miles an hour in those beautiful, big, brown eyes. Cute. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Vernon swallows so hard that his Adam’s apple bobs. “If you want to, of cour–.”

“I do,” he says, rushing before you can even finish your sentence. “Shit, babe. Yeah – I do.”

“Come here, then,” you say. 

He does. What a good boy.

“Shirt off.”

He does that, too. In one swift movement, he reaches behind his head and pulls at the collar. His upper half is quickly bare and the discarded article of clothing is little more than a scrunched ball on the hallway floor. He stands in front of you, still gazing down at the silk. You’re not oblivious to the hardness growing in his pants as his breaths get a little deeper and his chest starts staining pink in a blush, but you make no effort to do anything about it. Instead, you twirl your finger once, asking him to turn around, and he spins on his heels so he’s facing away from you.

He's even polite enough to bend his knees so that you can reach without stretching.

“S’that okay?” you ask once your fingers have tied the silk at the back of his head, tugging gently at the bow. He nods, his own hands lifting to make sure it’s secure and in place, that he can’t see anything, before he stands fully upright again. “Not too tight?”

“Perfect,” he tells you. 

You walk around to his front, using this moment to really take him in. His pants sit low on his hips, as they always do, and the waistband of his boxers peeks out over the top of them. He's perfect, you think, licking over your lips at the subtle edges of muscle and every inch of smooth skin. All yours, all for the taking. I can’t wait to ruin him.

“Tell me anytime if you want me to take it off, okay?” you ask, reaching out with one hand to press your palm against his bare chest. He gasps softly at the sudden contact but quickly relaxes into it, almost falling forwards into your touch.

“I won’t want you to,” he chuckles. “But yeah. Of course.”

“Good boy,” you coo. Your thumb strokes gently over one of his exposed nipples, earning you another easily-won sharp intake of breath. A few more careful brushes and it starts to harden under your touch, your intense, hungry gaze unwitnessed by the man already totally at your mercy. His back arches just a little, seeking more, but you stop almost as quickly as you started.

Instead, your hand travels upwards, flat-palmed but agonisingly light. He's burning up, already, the loss of one of his senses so obviously heightening everything else. 

Two of your fingers curl beneath the chain that decorates his collarbones, pulling at it firmly, and he stumbles forwards for real this time. You catch him with your other hand on his waist, holding him in place and looking at his parted, pink lips. 

“D’you trust me?” you ask, and Vernon nods, following the sound of your voice until he’s just inches away from your own mouth. Each of his breaths feels a thousand degrees as they breeze over your face; you can’t help but lean forwards and kiss him. Just once. As a treat.

“With my life,” he whines, chasing you when you pull away. “I’m all yours, babe. Please. Use me.”

You keep your fingers hooked under his chain and use it to guide him all the way to your bedroom. He follows blindly, steps clumsy: he trips over himself a few times, slipping in his socks on the polished floor. He mumbles various unintelligible things to himself each time and you just laugh sweetly back at him, but his gracelessness only delays you by a couple of seconds. The moment you have him in your room, you uncurl your fingers from his necklace and plant both your hands on his waist, pushing him slowly down towards the bed.

“On your back,” you tell him, watching as he lies flat, both his arms fixed at his sides. 

You climb on top of Vernon, for the first time really realising just how much power you hold over him, right now. He is completely at your will. With one hand planted either side of his head, you lean down over him, hovering with your lips just grazing his own. He tries to press up into the kiss but you deny him, pulling away until he falls back onto the bed with a huff.

“You’re gonna behave for me tonight, aren’t you ‘Sol?” you ask, each syllable dragging your lips across his, joining and separating them over and over. “Be really, really good?”

He nods, and when you don’t respond to the nonverbal answer, clears his throat. “Y-yeah. I promise.”

“Only because you know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“Only ‘cause I want to,” he corrects, swallowing hard again. You grin at him, giving in to the kiss that he so desperately wants. He moans softly at it, again as you lick your way between his parted lips, again still as you suck his tongue into your mouth and ghost your teeth over the muscle. 

It’s spitty and sloppy and needy on both of your ends but Vernon makes a point not to lift his arms from where they’re placed down by his thighs. He kneads at the bedding instead: grasps and releases the sheets, rubs them between his fingers so that he doesn’t completely lose himself in you and do something he shouldn’t. He really is being good, you muse. Showing real restraint. Because you know, and he knows, that he isn’t allowed to touch you until you say that he can.

You sit back from him after a little while, pulling off your own shirt and taking hold of one of his hands. He curls his fingers around yours, so deeply grateful for even this pathetic little touch.

“Here,” you sigh, and Vernon rolls his head back when you place his palm on your side, on the fabric of your bra band but not at the cup. He holds you there, thumb stroking back and forth, and when you lower yourself back down again, he’s so careful in how he tightens his grip so that he doesn’t let go.

You kiss his Adam's apple first, feeling it dip and vibrate with the moan he emits. You travel lower, then, and lower still: over his collarbone, down his chest, before your tongue flits out across one nipple, hardened from the chill in your apartment and aided by the anticipation of not knowing where you’ll touch him next. He whines at the gentle brush, biting down on his lip; you feel how his hips threaten to jolt beneath you, but his concentration is written all over his face and you just know he’s anchoring them down with all his might. You blow a slow stream of cool air over the bud, one hand moving down to toy with the other side of his chest. 

He’s always been so sensitive, here. Always keening and gasping as you tweak his nipples and suck them into your mouth. You tug one between your teeth, at the same time wiggling your hips down to better position yourself over his cock. It’s straining so much against his work pants and you think if he gets any harder, he’ll burst through the seams. A high-pitched whine tumbles through his defences at the combined sensations, and you roll down against him again, again, again until he’s grasping at your bra for dear life.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him, voice low and quiet. 

“Need more,” he says. “Please — fuck. Fuck, I need more.”

You click your tongue at him. “Such a nasty word from such a pretty mouth.” With a frown, you sit upright and press two of your fingers against his lips. He parts them for you but immediately closes his mouth around your digits, suckling on them, licking over them, groaning at the weight of them when you grab his jaw with your thumb and ring finger, pressing his tongue back down in his mouth. “Be good, okay?”

He nods, his jaw a little slack even when you pull your fingers away, a string of his spit keeping you connected until it breaks and falls onto his chin. It stays that way even when you move off him, even when you start unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. He helps, lifting his hips, kicking them off and over the side of the bed, ready to be forgotten, all the while not closing his mouth. You position yourself between his calves, just out of reach of his hands, and trail your fingers over the insides of his thighs. 

“You want more, huh?” you ask, watching as Vernon nods again, so desperately, the blindfold staying secure and unmoving even as the bow at the back shifts against your bedsheets. His jaw is so tense, the muscles at the joint are practically bulging. you’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t so damn pretty when he got worked up.

“Please,” he pants, muscles twitching under your touch. When you lean down and kiss the inside of his thigh, right where that adorable freckle embellishes his skin, he jerks enough that he almost plants his knee into your jaw. “M’sorry — it-… it all feels so much more sensitive today-” he says, all rushed and hurried. You kiss his thighs over and over, licking your way upwards, pecking just below his belly-button and dragging the tips of your nails down his sides. God, his cock is hardly even concealed beneath his brilliant white boxers; he might as well not be wearing any with the outline so clear and obvious. A small translucent patch is even starting to form where his tip strains against them. 

“I know, baby,” you grin. “It's okay. Can we take these off, too?”

He wordlessly lifts his hips up for you again so you can work his last remaining article of clothing off his scorching body. His length bounces free the second it possibly can, thick and leaking, and he groans at the relief of finally escaping the elasticated confines. 

I could just leave him like this, you think to yourself, relishing in everything that makes the man lying in front of you so perfectly himself. Every single hair, standing on end, at attention to you. Every dip and curve and bump and bruise and scar. You could stare at him all day. But he’s growing impatient behind that blindfold, no matter what his perfectly well mannered hands and near-silent mouth would have you believe. As much as you want to just sit here and visually appreciate him, you think maybe it won’t hurt to physically do so, too.

It’s a fair stretch, but you manage to lean over him to open your bedside drawer and pull free a small bottle of flavoured lube. You squeeze a little into your palm, and he inhales a few times: even though you can only see two thirds of his face, you can practically feel him trying to figure out what the fragrance he can smell is, all of a sudden.

“Strawberry?” he murmurs after a moment, and you hum acknowledgement, taking his cock in your hand. He sighs, hips lifting to thrust himself further into the circle your fist makes; you freeze mid-stroke until he settles them back against the bed. 

“That’s it,” you encourage, languidly starting to pump over his length as he lets out more sweet little moans and whimpers, teeth so tight around his bottom lip that the skin around them pales. “Let it out, baby.”

He releases his lip almost straight away, gasping a moan of your name, his fists balling at the bed sheets instead to ground him.

“How’s that feel?” you ask, jerking him off a little faster, moving your wrist in the way you know he likes. When he only nods up at you, you squeeze your fingers just enough that he stutters out a grunt.

“So good,” he sighs, licking out over his lips. “Feels-... feels like heaven.”

You hum, fondly smiling ear-to-ear (not that he can see this, but you both know he’s visualising your face right now whether his eyes are trained on it or not). “Fitting for an angel, huh?”

Over the course of the next few minutes, your speed increases until he honestly can’t quiet the noises you so eagerly want him to make. Alongside the lewd sounds of the lube in your palm sliding up and down his cock, over and over and over, his whimpers and pleas grow louder. He re-grasps the sheets in his fingers, spewing out a string of expletives.

“M’gonna-...” he starts, swallowing hard, and you start to slow your movements just enough to make him hiss. His voice, when he speaks again, almost seems to be laced with panic at the thought of not being allowed to finish. “Please – oh, please, you’ve gotta let me come.”

“Do I?” you ask, pouting condescendingly down at him. He can either hear it in your voice, or he just knows you well enough to have guessed exactly what your face is doing right now. Either way, he groans, his own lips jutting out to match your expression as he throws his head back.

“Please,” he tries again, a little deeper this time. As if he’s trying to be commanding when he begs you. As if he could ever stop you playing with him, like this. (As if he’d ever really want to.)

“Not yet,” you say, slowing and softening more until your movements are barely-there. “Hold on, for me.”

Miraculously, he does. even when you bring him to the edge again and immediately drop your pace — he mewls at you and rolls his head back and almost chokes on the spit collecting in his mouth, but he doesn't let go. It’s taking everything he has, you can tell. The pretty vein that runs up the side of his neck bulges. His forehead grows damp with sweat. His cock twitches and throbs in your hand and is so hard you’re sure it must be bordering on painful for him. But he holds on.

After half an hour, after denying him of his orgasm for the fourth time, you can’t help but feel a bit of pity for Vernon; he looks positively wrecked, writhing with every pump of your fist, his voice dry and hoarse. And maybe it’s a little self-indulgent, when you finally stop teasing him: maybe you can't deny that this is destroying you, too. The weight of him in your hand is satisfying, but the need you have to be stretched out on his cock is almost unbearable. 

You undress yourself as he comes back down from the brink, drying off his forehead on the back of his arm. Your clothes join his on the floor and positioning one leg over his hips, you bend down low to kiss his lips.

He presses up into it so hard he almost breaks his own nose.

“I need you, baby,” you tell him, cupping his cheek. His hands instinctively come to settle on your hips. “I want you to fill me up. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathes, just the idea of finally being able to get his dick wet seemingly wiping away the brain matter he uses to form coherent sentences. “I can...”

“Do you want this off?” you ask, fingers playing with the bottom of the blindfold. 

He shakes his head, almost as if he’s offended that you’d ask. “No – please,” he hurries, gripping your hips tighter. “Leave it on. Wanna-... wanna fuck you with it-... wanna know how it feels…”

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his lips before grinding your pussy down over his leaking cock. The heat between your legs and the slickness of your folds as they drag against his length does something so deeply sinful to Vernon: he reaches up behind your back, pulls you down towards him, buries his head in your shoulder and sounds like he’s about to sob.

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna-...” he tries to warn you, another smooth roll of your hips cutting him off. He groans into your skin, practically drooling for you. “Oh my God – you’re so wet.”

“It's what you do to me, ‘sol,” you laugh.

He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to stutter out a breath. His leaking head grazes your throbbing, neglected clit and you don’t have it in you to tell him to keep still. You let him fuck against you for a few seconds longer, selfishly relishing in the momentary fractions of relief, but enough is enough when you need him inside you so badly it stings and you lift yourself away from him, much to Vernon’s dismay.

“You’ll last until I tell you that you can come,” you instruct him. “Do you understand?” 

He swallows thickly and slides his hands down your back, pressing his fingertips into your ass, but he does nod his assent anyway. 

“I’ll try,” he says, slowing his breathing, preparing himself. The poor sweetheart always nearly comes apart the second he feels your walls hugging him.

“You’ll succeed.”

You don’t give him the time to respond as you take his length in your hand and position it at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock, your cunt stretching to accommodate his size. it punches the air out of both of your lungs after the build-up; his sensitivity and you finally now feeling that delicious fullness renders both of you completely silent. You lower yourself until he’s fully tucked away inside you, until you’re sitting atop of his thighs, and suddenly you’re the impatient one. You want to feel him drag against your walls, want to feel him pounding up into you so hard it rearranges your guts. But you’re not that mean. You wait a few seconds for his abs to relax and for his fingers to stop grasping your ass so ruthlessly before your thighs start to work you up and down in deep, long movements.

Truthfully, you’re really not expecting this to last very long at all, so Vernon surprises you when he holds himself together beneath you long enough for the knot to start tying itself low in your stomach. He doesn’t thrust up into you, nor does he bounce you up and down on his length the way he sometimes does. It’s self preservation, really, but you can convince yourself he’s just being on his best behaviour if you want to (but it’s kind of hard to care too much when his gorgeous cock is pressing so deeply into you that you can feel it in your stomach).

“You feel so good, Sollie,” you gasp for him, changing the angle of your hips and feeling his tip graze across the spot that sends your hips into disrepair and your brain into a frenzy. If you weren’t kneeling, you think you’d collapse. “You fill me up so well, oh my God.”

“Mhm,” he nods, squeaky and quiet. His fingers grip your hips tighter, the sharp lines of nails pressing in. You don’t care that it stings: you’re beyond playing, now.

“You wanna come so bad right now, don’t you?” you ask. 

“On-only when-...” he swallows hard, feeling you bouncing a little faster. His chest is all pink and splotchy, his neck sweaty and tense. “When you say I can-...”

“I think you’ve earned-... earned it, don’t you?”

“You think so?” He asks. You nod, forgetting for a second in your bliss that he can’t hear you until he asks again. “You really think I have?”

“Yes, baby,” you tell him, squeezing your walls around him and feeling his hips make that first frantic jolt up to meet your own. You hold yourself still, dragging your nails down his chest, leaving harsh lines in their wake. “Want you to come for me. Want you to fuck me full.”

“Shit,” he whimpers, fucking up into you again. And again, and again, and again. Over and over, faster and faster, holding you harshly in place as he chases after the release you’ve been dangling in front of his covered eyes since he came home from work. Hell, since you mentioned blindfolding him in the bedroom in the first place all those weeks ago. He can’t control himself, head back against the pillows, moaning your name out loud as his orgasm hits him like a fucking train.

You aren’t far behind: by the time his thrusts slow, you’re coming down from your own Earth-shattering high, thighs burning but feeling so deliciously full. He continues pressing into you, trying his best to keep fucking his cum into your hole even though it dribbles out and pools at the base of his cock. You’re bent down over him by the time you’ve ridden out your climax, forehead on his collarbone, feeling him soften inside you but still not pulling himself out.

“You did so good, ‘Sol,” you breathe, easing your fingers behind his head and untying the knot that keeps you from looking into those gorgeous eyes you love so much. He lets you, this time, and the silk falls away onto the pillows as he blinks up at you. His lashes are a little dewy, his eyes glassy and sweet in his post-orgasm bliss. 

He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, except that can’t be. All of them are right here in front of you.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs, hugging you close. “Thank you, y/n.”

You can’t help but chuckle at him. “Thank you for trusting me, silly.” 

“Always will,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “With my life.”

“Well. Thank you for that, too.”

He slowly pulls himself out of you after a handful of minutes, grunting softly at the loss of your heat and his sensitivity. One of his hands lightly taps against your ass and you start to sit, begin moving off him so you can both go and clean off, but he doesn’t let you get too far.

“Where are you going?” he asks, frowning, his hand gripping your ass harder. 

“Well, seeing as I’m literally dripping cum all over the bedsheets right now-...” you start, raising a brow at him. He tugs you, then, as if to pull your hips up towards him, as if to guide you up the bed. You shuffle slightly, unsure, but when he can reach, both his hands wrap around you and he pulls you up so your leaking cunt is sat right over his waiting lips.

Okay. Maybe now he’s looking at you like you hung all the stars.

“You really are, aren’t you?” he asks, nosing your inner thigh, one hand sliding in-between your legs. An elegant finger plays with his cum, smearing it over your lips, a grin forming on his own when his eyes leave your pussy and lift back up to meet yours. “I’ll be good, baby, I promise. Please. Let me help.”

thank u so much for reading! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so appreciated<3

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Dessert Paradise: Bitter-Step and Sugar

{After accompanying Pilot Cookie and Whipped Cream Cookie on their adventure to the fabled: Dessert Paradise. Along with the return of Sugar Swan Cookie, things seem well... Yet something is amiss.}

[CROB SLIGHT Various / Reader]

-

Relaxing beside Pilot Cookie, you smile a bit as the older cookie re-counts the trip the three of you had been on.

"-AND SO... The

Nudging Whipped Cream Cookie slightly, you whisper: "I'm a bit suprised you could could carry me back to the plane. You didn't need too." You say, watching the dancer smile fondly at the memory.

"Ah, yes. Well, I couldn't help myself, I didn't want to loose you." He said softly, petting Black Sugar Ducks head kindly. The little fluff-ball squaking at him unhappily, yet she still nuzzled into his arms.

"O-oh.. Hehe." You take a deep breath, hoping your dough wouldn't become hotter. "Thanks, bud'." You turn away, giving your attention back to Pilot Cookie.

The ballerino pauses his petting, slowly reaching a hand out to your shoulder...

"Hey!" Black Sugar Duck quacked at him.

"O-oh, sorry.." The ballet dancers touch soothed her dark feathers. Glancing at his longing expression at you. Envious of him that he got to be so close to you. Much less carry you! Unfair!

"Hmph! You're a coward!" She stated, head raised high as she looked at him. "If I was like you, I could carry them whenever they wish." The small duck huffs at him, feathers ruffling up.

"What's this now?" You turn your attention to Black Sugar Duck and Whipped Cream Cookie, confused.

"O-oh, um..." His pink frosted eyes locked with your own. Words trailing off, not sure what to say.

The duckling sighs, giving her pity to him.

Stomping her flippers, she calls to you. "(Y/N) Cookie, I wanna' carry you too!"

You blink, a small giggle slips out as you gaze down at the bird. "Uh-.. Well, how about I hold you in my lap instead?" You give a look to Whipped Cream Cookie, to see if he was fine with it. The male merely smiles, nodding.

"... I'll consider it." She relents. Waddling over to your lap as she shuffles and gets comfortable. You in turn, lean your head on Whipped Cream Cookies shoulder, still watching Pilot Cookie. "After everything. We made it. I mean- I know we would. B-because of my.. Intuition?"

You play off your blunder. Not sure how to explain you knew the next events in "Peril in Paradise" story arc. Frowning at the thought as you pet Black Suagr Duck.

"Me too.." Whipped Cream Cookie rests his head beside your frosted locks. Gazing at the delightful scene in front of him. "Truly, I couldn't agree more." He mumbles softly.

-

Knowing the events after, you sigh at the sight of the Paradise. The air becoming cold, jellies and fruit becoming rotten. It was much creepier in person- or in the dough? You ignore your thoughts. Hoping to find Wind Archer Cookie and the Cookiemals.

Clothes in a bit of disarray and mud, you head forward. Stumbling upon the once shimmering sugar castle. Now shrouded in dark colors a dim lights.

-

If (Y/N) Cookie had a costume based on the event. I think it would/n't be on Swan Lake.

I'd like to think It could just be a ballet outfit, but also. It wouldn't make too much sense since Black Suagr Swan and Whip already have one.

But maybe? Maybe based on Odette? Or One of the Swans in lake?

Or! Maybe, based on Paradise outfits, a guardian outfit would look cute!

Blue Slushy Cookie excitedly chirps as she flails around your form. You smile bashfully, adjusting the outfit. "Don't they look cool? Red Panna Cotta Cookie, Wind Archer Cookie!" The smaller guardian chirps.

"They.. Ahem, look decent." Red Panna Cotta coughs in his feathers, glancing away. Wind Archer nods to you, bowing. "It fits you."

Now for Black Sugar Swan and Whip... Different story.

"Hm! Now, even you, (Y/N) Cookie. Can bask in my brilliant's radience! Oho!" Black Sugar Swan coos sweetly, eyeing you from where you stood.

"Black Sugar Du-!"

"QUIET!"

She shrieks, "I.. I will not be reminded of such a feeble bird."

You outstretch your hand, "I.. I'm sorry, but please listen-"

Feeling a hand tug you back, your dough lands on someone else's chest. Blinking, you look at the new presence.

"Whipped Cream Cookie..."

-

[Thanks for reading, comments, art, reblogs or hearts are super welcomed! I've been wanting to post this since the update! I love Whips costume, the wholw prince vibe is amazing!]

[samwinchesterswifu]

Dark Side of the Moon (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Requested: No

Season 5 x Episode 16

Warnings: none :))

MINORS DNI

A/N: I'm having such a good inspiration going back and re-watching the show. Including little moments that could have happened if either boys had a partner.

Word Count: 615

Summary: Unaware of being dead, the reader takes a moment to indulge in a memory that she had long since forgotten.

Completely unaware of the current situation unfolding, she finds herself in the entrance of Bobby’s house. However, she was dressed like how she used to when she was 16. A baggy white t-shirt and loosely fitting jeans. The shirt seemed to stretched out, and a cheap cologne came from the top hem of the t-shirt. Realizing it was the old cologne Dean used to wear when they were-

“Y/N?” 16-year-old Dean pops from the kitchen to greet her with the biggest grin on his face. His voice still slightly high from not hitting puberty quit yet.

A small grin forms on her face, she hadn’t seen this version of Dean in years. The Dean she knew.

“Come on, I got this situated on the couch,” Dean motions to follow him. She gives a small nod, following him into the living room.

Next to the couch was a small side table pulled out. A hot cup of tea, presumably fresh, and a thick lore book with a bookmark sticking out on top.

Dean sits on the edge of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other on the floor. He pats his lap, motioning for her to lay down. Doing what he asks, she gently lays her head on his leg. She looks up to Dean briefly, another wide tooth grin forms on his face. This was their favorite summer activity. Bobby was gone, and John had probably left the three of them there away on a hunt. The windows were open slightly, allowing the fresh breezy air to swift in.

Dean picks up the lore book and begins reading were they had left off previously. While at the same time, he began to pet her hair. Hearing Deans soothing voice, she began to drift off to sleep.

However, she was rudely awaken by the sound of rushing footsteps coming from the kitchen. Jolting up from her spot, younger Dean was not responding to what was happening. Merging around a corner, she spots a much older Dean, and much older Sam. The two stopping in their tracks looking between her and the Younger Dean that was left on the couch.

“Guys?” She asks, confused on how they got there.

They quickly explain everything, how Roy and Walt had killed them and they were in heaven living out their greatest moments. Hearing that, a deep blush forms on her cheeks.

“So this is yours..?” Her Dean chuckles lowly. Surprised but also understanding. She could only muster up a small nod.

“Is this what you guys used to do when I wasn’t around?” Sam asks honestly bewildered at how slow Dean used to be with her around.

“Yeah,” She admits with an embarrassed tone on her voice.

Another chuckle is heard from Dean. He walks towards her. Cuffing the side of her cheek and giving her a sweet kiss.

“I miss these moments too sweetheart,” Dean whispers. His green eyes shining like how they did whenever he was happy.

Suddenly, the world around them started to shake, and a bright light flashes into the windows. The boys mention for her duck and to stay quiet. They explain its Zacharia looking for them and that they had to find the next road. Discussing quickly, the boys make a decision to try the front door.

They all move towards that area. Sam opens the door and mentions that it was the correct move. Before leaving with them, she takes one final look back at the young boy the couch. He was in the same position, reading a loud the same book. She smiles, happy to have had a chance to relive that memory.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.” 

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen. 

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact. 

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers. 

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry. 

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way. 

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld. 

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.” 

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for? 

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure. 

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless. 

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning. 

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon. 

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.” 

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog. 

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking. 

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?” 

“His first name is Hella.” 

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

[gdjyho]

❝ ecstasy ❞ pt.2

- sypnosis ; jungkook and the reader are having another casual hookup.

- pairing ; jungkook x reader [kind of (?) established relationship]

- warnings ; mentions of cheating, pure smut , nipple play, unprotected sex, p in v, creaming, pet names, crying from pleasure, slight overstimulation, nudity, breeding[ let me know in the comments if there’s any more !!]

- a few ppl were asking for pt.2 in the comments !! i might look into making this a series 🫣🫣

✭ ✭ ✭

“ nmph! kookie!” you almost scream, tears streaming down your face. he wouldn’t admit it, but the nickname is growing on him. kookie, he loves the way it almost slips off your tounge, how you can’t contain it. he groans, taking in the view below him. your sticky skin connecting with his as he fucks you hard from behind. your glossy eyes and your tits, swollen from pinching and sucking.

“you take me so well” he showers you in his praise. he uses the hand that’s not wrapped around your waist to draw spirals up your back. the sudden contact of his cold, tattooed hands sends shock through your body. your hands are sprawled out onto the sheets, gripping them for dear life.

the screams and groans mixed with the smell of sex and headboard squeaking fill up the room, bouncing off the walls to make a sweet harmony. your squelching pussy drowns jungkook’s cock.

“cum in me ! make me yours” you whine, forcing the rest of his cock into you, as the tears continue to flow down and hit the soft pillows.jungkook drags up your chin, licking a line down your jaw. you try to push your orgasm closer by dragging your fingers over your wet folds.

the stream of his name uncontrollably spilling from your lips grows louder and louder, your mouth agape as you cream on his cock. your organs feel as if they’ve been re-arranged inside of you. meanwhile, jungkook is still slamming into you, riding out his high as his flushed cheeks begin to cool down while he drags his hips into your ass using what energy he has left.

he paints your insides with his liquids, shoving back inside what drips from you. this makes your lips part once again, drool coating them completely. he pulls out from your pussy, making no effort to clean the mess he’s left on the sheets.

he collapses beside you, engulfing you into his sticky embrace. your forehead glistens with beads of sweat, which he wipes off for you. “you’re so pretty like this. all ducked out because of me” you can only smile on his chest, his compliment drawing a crimson shade across your cheeks.

“mmm, baby, all because of you” jungkook plays with your hair, tucking the damp strands behind your ears. he leans down to kiss your forehead, flashing that bunny smile at you. he continues to caress your features with his thumb, going past your cheeks and over your small nose. “ i love you” he states in between kisses, reaching your hands and taking in up to his plump lips.

“ i love you too” you use your free hand to explore his fluffy outgrown hair and massage his scalp. he had never loved anyone like this, besides jihyo. his small smile fades away as thoughts of her enter his mind. his girlfriend. that weird feeling returns. the one where his mind goes foggy and he begins to get lost in his thoughts.

he withdraws from the hug, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. once again, he opens up the camera app, stealing a picture of him groping at your chest. the surprise attack catches your off guard. “ jungkook-ah!” you jokingly push him away, causing him to grin. he presses on the little “add to folder” button.

the picture transfers to a folder filled with your bare chest, ass and many more fucked out pictures of you. he presses on the one from last week. a handful of your ass displays itself onto the screen.

- i’ve edited this so many times but i think i’m gonna stick with how it is now.

[aesthetictarlos]

BuckTommy prompt: something with dogs ✨

Buck and Tommy are strolling around the park, enjoying their Saturday off and the sunny day. They're basking in a comfortable silence, their shoulders brushing as they walk with their hands intertwined.

Buck's never been in this park before, so he widens his eyes as they reach a big pond, surrounded by green bushes, he spots a few ducks and even a swan in the distance. "Oh, baby, look at that!" He says excitedly, already reaching for his phone in his back pocket, ready to take some pictures.

"I knew you'd love it," Tommy replies, kissing his cheek and disentangling their fingers so that Buck can fully jump into photographer mode.

Buck smiles brightly, walking around the pond and crouching here and there to get the right angle for his pictures. He loves nature and when some colourful flowers draw his attention, he gets lost in capturing all their beautiful shades.

That is, until he hears Tommy's voice exclaiming, "Hi, cutie!" with a soft, delighted tone. He immediately turns his head to see what's going on, and he can practically feel his eyes re-shaping into two hearts as he sees his boyfriend kneeled on the grass, petting an adorable Samoyed who's eagerly lapping at his hand.

He melts on the spot. He knows Tommy loves animals and that he's a dog person, but knowing and seeing him being a softie with a puppy are two entirely different things. Tommy with puppies is a sight to behold, and he can't help but take a few pictures.

Buck can't tear his eyes away. Tommy giggles cheerfully as the dog wiggles its tail, clearly enjoying the attention and the cuddles, and then he starts rubbing between its ears, earning a joyful bark as his fingers card through the white, fluffy fur.

Tommy must feel his eyes on him, then, because he turns and smiles widely when he realizes he's being stared at. "C'mere, I want you to meet my friend!"

Buck chuckles, joining him. "Hey, you," he says to the dog, putting a hand in front of its nose. "I see that you've my boyfriend wrapped around your paw, uh?"

Tommy rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder and points to the woman standing a few feet away from them, talking on the phone and holding a pink leash. "She owns the coffee shop next to my place, that's how I meet this cutie here. Her name is Alaska and she really, really loves cuddles."

Buck softens, petting Alaska while his heart beats to a litany of I love you, I love you, I love you.

[opal-kitty333]

@qin-qin16 The brain rot has consumed me. Had to put words to page before I got eaten alive. First time I've written Cross and I really leaned into dog coding so he may be ooc, oops. Hope you enjoy.

---

It takes far too much fumbling with one hand to actually pull out your keys, let alone turn them in the lock. The recent heat wave made your door expand, so the door has to be pulled on to unlock without your key snapping. A difficult task with a plastic bag full of food in your other hand. It’s a common struggle, an annoying one you hate having to deal with, but you're far too stubborn to set down whatever is in your hands first.

But there’s always one silver lining to taking so long just to open a stupid door.

You can hear Cross' heavy footfalls as he practically marches through the house towards the front door. A small glance to the nearby window and you can catch see him peeking through the curtains out to watch you continuing to futz with the lock before he ducks out of view, embarrassed at being caught. Still, you can see his silhouette shifting in place as he impatiently waits for you to pull it together long enough to enter your own house.

Finally, you finagle the door into unlocking, opening it and quickly making your way past the entry way. You turn, shutting and re-locking the door, and when you turn again Cross is already in front of you. His eyes are wide and excited, all but bouncing on his heels as he fights the urge to pounce on you.

"You were gone for so long. We'd you go?”

You huff at him, but you’re smiling. He doesn’t technically live with you, yet this has become an all too familiar song and dance by now. Leaving for work, or just to wander about, only to return to Cross waiting for you to return. In all his excitement, he shift closer and closer, leaning in till you're all but pressed against your front door.

“Back up. Back up!” You scold, not liking to be cornered the moment you got home.

Cross bows his head, slouching as he shuffles away to let you breathe. He always tries not to crowd, being so much larger, built broad and sturdy, able to easily corner and cage you in without meaning to. Of course, he forgets sometimes, especially when excited, but it’s nothing a quick reminder doesn’t fix.

Now with a bit of space, you do your usual routine when you get home. Off goes your shoes, out your keys and wallet into their proper places, and up in the closet goes your coat. Cross follows, circling and moving all the while, careful to always be in just the right spot to not be underfoot so he doesn’t get scolded again. Diligently he waits for you to give the word, to let him know when he can greet you properly without you getting grumpy at him.

Once you’re all done and ready, you set the bag on the coffee table in the living room. You turn to Cross, opening your arms.

“Come here big guy,” you say with a fond smile.

It’s barely a second and then he’s on you, pawing at your sides to pull you closer, nosing through your hair to try and smell where you’ve been. You’re pressed firmly to his chest, a wall of bone wrapped in soft cloth and fur. He trails down, sniffing and huffing against your skin in a way that's just shy of tickling. He passing your temple, then your cheek, jaw, giving an affectionate nip against your neck just to hear you giggle at him, until he pauses at your shoulder. You can feel his chest expanding as inhales deeply, gathering as much of the scent left on your clothes as he can as he wraps his arms around your back and pulls you all the closer.

You expected this, of course, smiling as you rub your cheek against his. He always loved the smell of the maple trees blooming, so you had made sure to take a slow stroll beneath them in the park at some point on your impromptu adventure, soaking up as much of their scent as you could. You’re sure there’s other things, traces of the pet shop you wandered around in to see all the animals on display, the dampness of rain, sweat from speed walking home as fast as you could so the food wouldn’t cool to much, and of course the indescribable scent of you that Cross can never seem to get enough of.

You pull away, and while he whines at the loss of contact, he lets you slip through his arms despite having the strength and skill to pin you to his chest and never let go. You look up at him to see his eye-lights blown wide, focused solely on you as his jaw trembles in a pout. His head lowers, leaning towards you to try and follow as you take a step backwards, his hands making grabbing motions towards you as he internally fights the urge to yank you back to his side.

You laugh, taking his hands in your own and gently tugging him towards the couch.

“Sit.” You command, and he obeys without question, plopping heavy enough on the couch to bounce and make the springs protest. You don’t wait, nestling yourself into his side, pulling the bag to your lap.

“Ever had mole sauce?” You ask, pulling out two Styrofoam containers from the bag. The plastic is tossed aside to be taken care of later.

He shakes his head, leaning in to see what treat you’ve brought him this time. “What’s that?”

“It’s a Mexican chocolate sauce. It’s savory though. I think you’ll like it.”

You hand him his food along with an unwrapped plastic fork. It’s not piping hot, but you know he’s never one to be picky. He’s always happy to accept just about anything you give him, even when he doesn’t like it. Taking each bit of kindness like it’ll be the last he’ll ever get. Popping open the lid, Cross observes his food for a moment, inspecting the tamales and mole sauce like they’re a puzzle to be solved. Tentatively, he cuts off a small chunk with his fork and brings the bite to his mouth. You smile as he pauses, all but able to see the loading bar in his mind as mulls over the taste of something familiar but so very different.

You start eating your own food, barely even a bite in before he snaps to wolfing down the rest like a man starved.

“Slow down. You’re barely even tasting it.”

He stops mid bite, not even done with the previous before he was going to shovel more into his mouth. He’s bashful as he lowers his fork, slowly chewing instead. It was a bad habit of his, so used to rushing through eating the scraps tossed onto his plate to tide him over before being dragged to do something else. You’ve been hard at work to train it out of him, always making sure he had plenty to eat when you were around. Be it small snacks or proper meals like this, you wanted to make sure he learned to enjoy his food and know the next bite would be just as tasty and filling.

You go return to eating, putting extra effort to be methodical and slow, knowing that Cross will follow the example. He does, looking to you for approval the whole time. You’re quick to give it, bumping your forehead against the shoulder with a smile. Crosses expression softens, his tense posture finally starting to relax into the moment with you. He leans back, a smile of his own creeping up as he watches you eat between bites of his own.

It’ll be a long meal, each small morsel savored for as long as possible before moving onto the next, but that’s okay. You’re savoring a more than the food, after all.

[sunflowericescribbles]

Ok, since it seems my brain won´t shut up about it, let me introduce you all to the one idea stuck in my head preventing me from going to sleep:

"The Nanny" series with the Hazbin Hotel cast

Lucifer as the single father and Broadway producer Mr. Sheffield. I´m not entirely sure if he should be called Mr. Morningstar or Mr. Magne. Is worried about his children but doesn´t have much time, because of work, depression and rubber ducks.

Charlie is his oldest (and actually only biological) child and wants to produce her own show someday. m

Vaggie isn´t much younger than Charlie and got practically adopted by them after her parents kicked her out and she had nowhere else to go.

Nifty is the youngest and somehow got adopted, too. She is not an easy child to deal with, though and the primary reason the household needs a nanny

Husk in the role of butler Niles. He hears and knows more than he wants to.

Alastor as C.C. and Lucifer´s business partner. If it weren´t for Lilith who had made the deals (that he cannot get out of so easily) with him (and his secret fondness of Charlie, who sees him as her uncle), he probably wouldn´t have stayed longer than necessary around after her departure. At least Lucifer´s taste is somewhat similar to Alastor´s, so they actually manage to work together quite decently. (The fighting and bickering is more habit than anything else at this point)

Angel as the Nanny. Either got recently kicked out by Valentino or finally managed to get away from him and somehow landed at the front door of the Morningstars.

To be fair, that´s still a rough idea and I´m not entirely sure about the roles xD

Nifty could also just be Alastor´s pet (aka Chester xD). Lilith could be either dead or alive (but divorced). Alastor as the butler would be fun, too, actually (he would probably be a better cook than Husk at least?)^^

Of course the relationship dynamics don´t have to be the same...

Angel crushing on Lucifer would be fun though xD ...But then coming to the realization that the butler is actually more his type? They lounge around in the kitchen quite often, especially at night. Also, Angel noticing that there is more between Alastor and Lucifer, but neither of them is acknowledging it? Funnily enough, when Lucifer is not around it´s Alastor acting all strict like a dad when Angel is proposing ideas for what the kids could do. Ah yes, the kids.. we really need to work on Charlie´s confidence and bring her out of her shell a bit more. She is very diligent in whatever she is doing and is probably the most interested in what her dad does. And Vaggie is obviously crushing on her, how cute. Nifty actually needs the most attention, because if you don´t watch her carefully she´ll run off to god knows where and gets her hands on dangerous and/or gross stuff (this applies for indoors and outdoors and has caused Angel the most stressful moments so far). She´s also strangely attached to Alastor who is surprisingly patient with her when they meet. He might not call her "princess" like Charlie, but he definitely shows his fondness more openly to her. Husk is actually the only one who knows of Angel´s more questionable parts of his past. Husk also knows certain things about Alastor, but since he also has leverage against Husk, they´re both kinda tied. Husk won´t deny that he likes to inconvenience Alastor whenever he is around. Lucifer is mostly oblivious about all those things. He is currently planning a show with giant rubber ducks without Alastor´s knowledge.

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 8 - Just Dinner

It's time for the tour... You & Sylus finally meet and begin your partnership to find the mysterious protocore. But is it a business dinner or a date? Even you can't tell anymore...

Visuals: https://shorturl.at/3XOoh 

Sylus shows you the house, going into detail about every room. Stopping at every painting in the entryway to tell you about the artist and which pieces were custom made. Every vase has a story. Stories of the countries Sylus visited where he went to a night market and bought a piece from a local artist as a souvenir. Even the chandelier was made by a glass maker in Linkon who never takes new clients. But they dropped everything to make a single chandelier for this house.  

The kitchen was fit for custom marble countertops. Two huge ovens and a massive walk-in freezer. There is even a wine cellar, and Sylus’ collection is impressive. Right off the kitchen is a dining room with a table that could seat 20, easily. 

Up the stairs Sylus shows you a bathroom with a huge round tub with a waterfall shower head above it. His and hers vanities line the walls with matching walk-in closets on each side. 

The bedroom has a massive bed with a mountain of pillows. A small sitting area in the corner facing the floor to ceiling windows. A peculiar stand sits next to a fireplace across from the bed. You hear the familiar CAW behind you and you duck to avoid Mephisto hitting you in the back of the head. Mephisto lands on the stand and flaps his wings enthusiastically. Sylus enters pets Mephisto affectionately. Sylus motions for you to come in. You hesitate but enter and join him next to the fireplace. 

“Open the door to the left.” Sylus motions to a door past the bed. 

You slowly approach the door and open carefully. Beyond the door is a walk-in closet that has been transformed into a small arsenal. Guns of all sizes, most are missing pieces or are broken. You look over your shoulder to Sylus with a grin.

“Impressive.” You enter the room and look through the gun displays. You run your finger along an impressive rifle. Even though the metal is rusted you can tell it is cleaned regularly to avoid dust building up. 

“These are my favorites. A reminder that just because something’s broken doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.” He leans on the door frame and watches while you examine the guns. You look over your shoulder and give him a warm smile. Was anything he said real? Or was he just trying to butter you up?

“They are. Beautiful, I mean.” You sip your wine slowly, maintaining eye contact. He backs up to let you pass him and re-enter the bedroom. Your eyes linger on the bed. Professional. Remain professional.

There are multiple guest bedrooms, an office, a gym and a fucking library. The house is amazing. From the design choices to quality of the build, this house does not belong in the N109 Zone. Yet here it is. And it’s so cozy. 

Sylus leads you back to the dining room where the first course of your dinner is already set on the table. Like a gentleman out of a storybook, Sylus pulls your chair out for you. You sit and take in the food before you. The chef refills your wine glass while introducing the first course, an Autumn Fritto Misto. The scent of the mushrooms and apples blend perfectly together. The taste is even better.

Before you knew it, the chef brought in the main course, a fragrant Lobster Risotto swimming in butter. Then the dessert, a Coconut Panna Cotta with Passion Fruit. The wine paired perfectly with every dish. Not to mention the conversation was effortless. Sylus asked about your hobbies and favorite things. You returned the favor. The questions may be relatively surface level, but now Sylus wasn’t just a pretty face. And you had more in common than you care to admit.

“When you’re not running an empire, what do you like to do to relax?” Sylus keeps his eyes on you. Watching you swirl the wine in your glass as you think of your response.

“I’m a fan of baking. I wish I had more time to do it, but like you said, my empire awaits.” Sylus smiles and nods his head toward the kitchen.

“Maybe you can bake here? Take one of these nights to indulge. Put me on clean up duty.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile plastered on your face.

“I noticed you prefer vintage guns and your music tastes are… old school. Is there a reason you prefer vintage over modern?” Sylus wipes his mouth with his napkin. The slow methodical swipe across his lips… They look so soft. No, stop… focus.

“Modern weaponry and music is only what it is today because of how the ‘old school’ styles forged a path. And I appreciate timeless beauty.” He stares at you intently as he says the last sentence. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I see what you mean. Does that preference for vintage carry over to movies too?” 

“I keep up-to-date with new films, but yes, older movies tend to be more straight-forward. Bad guys are bad, good guys are good, lovers… They don’t play games. They say what they feel. I appreciate that.” Your stomach tightens, is he hinting at something? 

The chef brought coffee and began clearing the plates. Sylus looks at his watch and sighs. 

“I’m guessing Luke and Kieran didn’t find anything in the shipment?” 

“I don’t believe they did.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sylus looks up at you with a smile, clearly trying to mask his disappointment.

“It’s a good thing there’s an event coming up that might have a better outcome.” He pushes his chair back and crosses his legs keeping his eyes on you. You lean back, raising an eyebrow.

“An event?” You have a feeling he brought this up on purpose.

“An event I would very much like you to attend with me.” And there it is.

“Is this an addendum to our original deal?” Sylus chuckles before finishing his coffee in one sip.

“No. It can count as next month’s meeting.” You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table. You can’t deny your curiosity has peaked. 

“What kind of event?”

“A charity masquerade. There’ll be an auction, well, two auctions. One official and one not so much.”

“And you think this rare protocore will be available at the not so official auction?” Sylus nods.

“It’s next week. So, will you go with me?” You sip your coffee and stare at him for a long time. 

“I’d love to.” 

Sylus has been very composed tonight. In fact, he has very rarely faltered during any interaction you’ve had with him. But when you tell him you’ll attend this event with him, the smile on his face is undeniable. He couldn’t even keep eye contact with you. He looked down at his now empty coffee cup.

“I’ll send you the details.” 

Ding

Your phone buzzes and you look from your phone to Sylus. 

“That was fast.” Sylus chuckles at your joke. You turn your phone over and see messages from Dorian.

(Dorian) Out front. Ready when you are. (Dorian) Unless you’re having too much fun on your “date”.

You scoff and flip your phone back over. Sylus looks at you, his brows raised.

“What’s wrong?” You stand. Sylus follows suit. 

“My rides here.” 

You look up at Sylus. His eyes burrow into you and you don’t turn away, even when your cheeks feel flush. You know Dorian was just trying to rile you up. This was not a date. It was enjoyable and, sure, you wish Dorian had gotten stuck in traffic or gotten pulled over for driving like an asshole. Just a little more time with Sylus would have been nice. But this was NOT a date. 

Keep trying to convince yourself of that. 

Sylus walks you to the door and you stand in the doorway together, illuminated by the moonlight. You see Dorian in the car, staring at you once again. You turn back to Sylus and realize he is much closer than a second ago. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, touching a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, kitten.” You hold his stare. 

The distance between you continues to close until your forehead almost touches his. That smile. That goddamn smile. You bite your tongue and your breath catches. Sylus leans in and you close your eyes. His lips press the whisper of a kiss to your cheek. Not at all what you were expecting. Your eyes fly open and you pull back slightly so you can see him better. You might be seeing things, but it definitely looks like his cheeks are just slightly flushed. You’re probably seeing things. 

“Speak soon.” He releases your hand and steps back into the doorway. You nod at him and flash a small smile before heading to the car.

You’re not even in the car fully before Dorian is peppering you with questions. 

“Did he just fucking kiss you? You can’t say this wasn’t a date after he pulled a stunt like that. Are you going to call off the deal? Did he even find the protocore he was looking for? Or did he tell you anything else about what he is looking for? Are you going to answer me or just sit there looking like a smitten teenager?” That last one hurt a bit.

“Dorian, shut up. For one fucking minute. Okay?” You lean your head back on the headrest. 

“I’m sorry. I just… I want to know if all this is worth it.”

“Do you remember what I told you when we made our first deal and solidified Himitsu in the zone?” After Dorian doesn’t reply you continue.

“We spent four months building a connection and forging a relationship, we secured a partnership that set Himitsu apart. That client is still loyal to us 5 years later. You were just as impatient then as you are now. You tried to rush me and you nearly lost us that contract. So do not rush me now. Understood?” Dorian leaned back in his seat, slightly surprised by your tone. He nods. 

The ride home was silent, which you were grateful for. Dorian was right and you finally admit it to yourself. It was more like a date than a business dinner. But you weren’t upset about that. You are genuinely excited for next Saturday. Maybe things don’t have to be so complicated after all.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX Chapter 5: https://shorturl.at/7YtTh Chapter 6: https://shorturl.at/cMCj7

[lunanami]

STAY THE NIGHT — KEIGO TAKAMI.

warnings : depictions of a bad mental health episode and disordered eating, vague allusion to keigo's past, gender neutral reader, pet names (duckie, baby, sweetheart), written with selective mutism in mind.

notes : very self indulgent comfy fic i wrote this week for myself, just posting in case it puts a smile on anyone else's face <33

wc: 1.2k

you'd spent the day hidden from the rays of sunlight that cut through the gaps in the curtains and distrupting the fortress of solitude that you'd crafted from a mess of blankets and pillows strewn around the mattress.

keigo was long gone, having left early in the day to go work at the agency. you were still sleeping when he left; he hated to wake you so the avian hero simply settled for leaving an ice cold bottle of water (now bordering on room temperature) and writing a cute post-it note and sticking it to the lampshade on your bedside:

"get some rest today for me, okay? don't push yourself too hard, i'll be home as soon as i can. love you, duckie. — kei."

the silly little duck that he'd attempted to draw made you giggle — he certainly was no artist. nonetheless, it warmed your heart that he cared enough to leave something so very sweet. you took a sip of the drink he'd left for you before slipping back under your covers, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach and the tremors that overtook you.

keigo kept his promise, re-entering your shared apartment a few hours after midday. since his agency had taken on additional sidekicks, he'd gotten more time to himself. occasionally he used it for press opportunities, now being the number two hero, but the real reason that he adored such circumstance was that he got to see much more of you.

"hi, duckie," he called out in a whisper, cautious in case you were napping. eventually he found you half awake, holding onto his pillow for dear life. he sat next to you on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

keigo would be stupid if he couldn't tell that you were struggling. he didn't know what was causing it, yet he was patient enough to do whatever he could to help you out until you were ready to open up to him. you let out a sniffle, rubbing your face against his chest as he held onto you.

fortunately, the man was an expert observer and had begun to learn what your small actions meant. he slid the hair tie that he always kept on him off of his wrist, moving your hair into a messy, messy sort-of bun as he continues to caress your back. at this point, keigo could feel your trembling.

"have you eaten anything today, duckie?" he asked, looking at you in case you nodded. you didn't however, you simply shook your head. "okay, baby, it's okay," he cooed. "do you think you could eat if i made you something? would you try f'me, duckie?"

you mustered up your strength to whisper an affirmative, allowing keigo to lift you and carry you to the kitchen. there, he sat you on a stool by the island while he got to work.

very early into knowing him, keigo began to pick up on the small things, like how to tell when you were struggling or, relevant right now, what your safe foods were. perhaps it was his own harsh upbringing, but caring for those he loved had become something that he cherished so very dearly — it made him feel fulfilled. you could tell just as much. while he made you something to eat, he hummed a tune absentmindedly (not realizing that it replicated the melody of your favourite song).

you hugged your arms, craving the warmth of either your blanket stash or a wing hug from your boyfriend. "you cold, duckie?" keigo asked, already shrugging off his jacket. he draped it over your back, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wrapped you up tight. "'m all done anyways," he continued, walking back over to the worktop and returning with a plate of food.

"i know it's a lot, duckie," he confessed, "but i thought we could share, 's that okay?" he waited for your nod before continuing. "we can either go and put a movie on or stay in here and i can tell you about my day, which would you like?"

keigo watched as you struggled to form a response, instead opting to put his two hands out in front of him. he then repeated your option, assigning each of them a hand that you could grab or squeeze to communicate with him. he never made you feel silly for being unable to verbalize what you wanted, instead working quickly to come up with solutions.

you grasped his right hand, indicating that you just wanted for him to talk to you. keigo's voice was always a source of comfort to you; he could quite literally narrate the dictionary and you would be beyond content. softly, he began to tell you all of the happenings at the agency. it was mostly about the new intern that he'd taken under his wing, tsukuyomi from ua. solely from the excitement in keigo's voice, you could tell that he was elated to have another avian-esque hero around. he spoke of the progress that the young hero has made in such a short time, and all of the ideas that he had to help him improve even further.

his rambling was enough to fill the room for the both of you, which put you at ease as it removed the pressure for you to reply outside of the odd nod to ensure that you were listening and not drowning in your own thoughts. you picked at the food that he'd given you, with your boyfriend occasionally grabbing a bite for himself.

you barely noticed that you'd gotten through most of it, with keigo now on some tangent about how he suspects two of the sidekicks at the agency are dating, so he always assigns them patrols together. when you finished eating, he did notice, however.

"all done, duckie?" he asked, to which you nodded timidly. he stood up, wrapping his arms around you. "'m so proud of you, sweetheart. you did so good, yeah?" you leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his chest. "sleepy?" he queried, and you nodded. "why don't we go take a nice warm shower and then cuddle up for the night? does that sound good?"

you nodded your head again, this time more enthusiastically than those prior. keigo chuckled lightly, happy to see you seeming a little bit more like yourself. "you know, duckie," he began, while you face was still smushed against his chest. "i'm really really proud of you, i mean it. i know it's hard sometimes, but 'm always here for you. you're so strong. i'm always in awe of how you can go through this and still pull through, even if you need someone to lean on, you know? i just wanna stay and help you out, duckie, 'm not going anywhere." he punctuated his little ramble with a kiss to the crown of your head, ruffling his feathers before finally releasing you and leading you to get settled for the night, just as he'd promised.

sidenote: i actually think you and kei would end up stalking the socials of the two sidekicks and going on a full detective search later that night ><

[lizaluvsthis]

A Chamber of Burning Souls

Fanfic Written and Illustrated by @lizaluvsthis

Idea of creation by @itsajjanea

First off- I'd like to thank @itsajjanea for the main fic idea I feel so tempted on making the fic cause I really don't want to attend prom rn and I dont even have no partner. Anyways- consider this as a valentines meal for yall-

I know how much everyone has been wanting a valentines fic for our gay boys :))

Oh- just a reminder that me and AJ are making an AU dedicated with the Movie we both watched and gave us the gay fairy boys some ideas of it so :D

Summary: It's Prom and everyone is invited to celebrate at Square Plaza, having no partners left to find. SMG4 and SMG3 both paired together.

With Four having no experience of what Prom is at all, he happens to find himself binded with his ex rival filled with complicated thoughts.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Sun and Moon, fluff, romance, drama, hurt/comfort, angst, gay fruits are real, LOVE IS IN THE AIR YALLL

Relationships:

SMG4/SMG3

Mario & Meggy Spletzer

Meggy & SMG4

Mario & SMG4

Mario & SMG3

Meggy/Tari

Luigi/Bowser

Mario/Spaghetti¿

Bob & Mario

Chapter: Prologue- The golds in strangles

SMG4 gets a knock on the doors step as he opens it with no one at the presence. His eyes phased down to spot an envelope. "Huh- that's weird-"

SMG4 picked it up and brought it to the living room where Bob and Mario are currently playing games, Meggy cheered Mario up. "Come on Mario! You can do it! Beat his ass!"

Mario trying so hard as he spam clicks the buttons from the controller, with another set of limb to eat his spaghetti trying to focus. "I'm trying here!" Mario grunts in frustration as he gets almost beaten by Bob.

"OH YEAH!? YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER? WELL TRY ME B-TCH CUZ THIS BOB NEVER RES-" almost filling up Bob's sentences, he gets knocked over to the ground as SMG4 pops into the couch.

"Yo guys! Check this out! We have got a letter!" Meggy and Mario looked at each other, then back to him. "Ooh a letter? What does it say?" Tari spoke right beside Meggy as she pets her rubber duck.

Four carefully opens the envelope and took out the paper, he makes a small joke before opening it's last fold. "Hope it's not our loans for the castle-" in an immediate took by his suprise, the shining of the font reflected to his eyes.

The text is filled out of gold ink in a fancy choice for the font's italic words. The scent of the paper is dried oatmeal, with a mixture of red roses that can be smelled.

The crew found it astounding to take the envelope a bit too serious now as SMG4 carefully read out the words.

"Good afternoon to everyone, I hope you all are having an amazing day. This letter that we provide you all, is about an upcoming event that will be held at the Square Plaza near the Mushroom Kingdom, you are all invited to join in.

The main event is a party themed for Prom, just to remind everyone it's almost close to valentines day and make sure to bring yourself a partner.

We'll be glad to meet your attendancies at the party."

After SMG4 had read the letter, the bubbles of the air filled in and popped with his crew's early celebration.

"LETS GO BABY I'M GONNA GET MY OWN B-TCHES FOR TONIGHT!" Bob excitingly said, picking out something from his pocket and shot up a launcher through the roof as he called a helicopter to take him away.

"I'm so excited! I've never been on a prom sadly, last time I remembered were other of the inklings I know were the ones to beg for me to be their partner. I didn't know how prom works so I went alone and got kicked out- like thats a big sucker-" Meggy gazed up waving her hand away to think about the past and brushing it off as a cold plain memory.

"Mario's got-ta have thems spaghettis for free!" He 'Oooh'd' rubbing his stomach craving for more spaghettis than he'd eber order in a silver platter.

He day dreamed sitting on a fancy table holding a fork to his right as he asked the waitress for more pasta, sit up straight confidently pointing up his hand.

As a result of Meggy breaking through his 'imaginable-barrier' with the paper ripped on to the spaghetti. "Mario, we're supposed to bring our partners not just enjoy food." He threw out the paper snapping back to reality.

"Atleast foods can be your love match when it comes to terms of 'love' like my sweet spaghetta pasta rolli" he accordingly pulls another set of pasta out of nowhere patting the 'sauce' on top.

Meggy pinched the bridge of her nose fuming out frustration, guess it's always assumable that Mario will always be Mario.

"Mario, you do know foods aren't real beings right?"

The orange haired girl turned to look at SMG4, but to all she could see is a Meme Guardian whos pondering deep from his thoughts.

It was such a very hard decision, he wasn't even sure if he'll attend. "What about you SMG4?" The man in white and blue didn't respond, but instead. Turned the letter to look at the back.

---

Location held in: Square Plaza

Time in: 5-6 pm

Time ends: 11 pm

Note- Required to attend and bring a special guest/partner

---

Gazing through the golden text double checking, it made his eyes felt life threatening from the word's mouth. He squints his eyes. "I don't know Meggy, you guys seemed to have an experience when it comes to prom but I... well-"

Mario scoots closer to be in the side view "Assuming, you've never had a partner to dance with in your days?" Out of curiousness, SMG4 breaks everyone out by telling a word.

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT OR HOW PROMS ARE SUPPOSED TO WORK!" throwing the letter and the envelope at the same time to the sky.

"Aww don't worry SMG4! If it makes you feel any better, I don't know how proms are when it comes to occassions like this! I only watch it on animes with my waifu hatsune miku!"

Boopkins filled out enlightment with a soft pull from the sheets is a body pillow of miku hatsune where it gets hugged tightly by boopkins.

"But that isn't the same in reality, I've never had a partner- or even went to prom- neither!" "I thought you said people loved you and your contents before?" Mario urged in gibberish.

"They do... But- I'm not that as funny as a kind guy I am. I'm not one of those rich wealthy dudes, I don't have experience-" "well you're about to have it now!" Meggy cracked her knuckles.

"No- I don't think you understand-"

"we're pulling you in for your first ever prom experience!"

"Mario's gonn to help you find some chicks!"

The M&M duo spoke in different answers.

The dried inkling added a death stare to Mario's soul, giving him the creeps making him change back the sentence. "I mean- uh- help you with prom." Mario thought to himself with both eyes turning on opposite directions away from each other and his mustache growing bigger.

SMG4 gave them an awkward look, and finally decided. (If Three were to come then... I'll be there...) He didn't want to miss out all of the fun stuffs that will happen during the event.

"I guess- whats worse that could happen during prom?" He brought up a wide smile to the team as everyone Wooh'd in excitement.

Leaving then, pointing on view to SMG3's cafe where a letter is left the side of the doorstep the same placement back at the blue's castle.

-

*ding-dong* a doorbell rang. Where Three opened the door to check.

What could've been a result to happen when you didn't come?

"What is this... A letter?"

End of Prologue...

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

Next Chapter- Night Bring Out... [COMPLETED]