#he smells like dog he NEVER smells like dog !!!!!

[haveihitanerve]

It was a lesson that was, as most lesson were in Gotham, learned the hard way.

"Down!" Bruce bellowed. Dick moved. But not fast enough. He looked. He didn't flinch. He hesitated, he didn't act. He doubted. He should have trusted.

Something slammed into his side, hard and small and painful, ripping apart his muscles and shredding tendons. That was the day he learned what getting shot felt like.

He sacked to the floor, finally, hands pawing uselessly at his side as he wailed in pain.

Bruce was at his side in an instant, and they got home so fast it was most definitely illegal. It never happened again.

"Drop!" Bruce called. Dick hit the floor. He was up a second later, the sharp stinging smell of gunpowder still in the air. But the bullet had disappeared. Missed. Speared into the wall.

"On your left!" Green Lantern cried, swinging his arm around, the massive hand he'd crafted with his ring spearing forward. Nightwing glanced over, used the second to ground himself, and lunged away. To the right.

"You've gotta trust me in the field." Hal complained later. "It's no use for me to call out orders just for you to check yourself." Nightwing dipped his head. Acquiescing , but not an apology. Not agreeing. Not a promise.

"Twelve o'clock!" Batman barked. Nightwing didn't even let his eyes stray, just moved, rolling away from the incoming stampede of aliens.

"What the fuck?" Hal mouthed to Barry, but the speedster had hardly a chance to shrug back before he was off to take the incoming wave.

So he waited instead until after the battle, waited until everyone was safe and back the Watchtower to advance on the young hero.

"Hey man, what the fuck is up with you?" He probably should have kept his voice down a little, but the anger had been building, and honestly, what was up with him? Disobeying Hal's orders, just to drop at the first sound from Batman's lips? Wasn't cool, wasn't fair.

Nightwing glanced up in surprise from where he was sitting on the table, patching his arm, and so did about half the League. Batman, in particular, was watching, white lenses narrowed, but didn't approach.

"I get that Bats is super cool and all that," Hal waved a dismissive arm. "But when I shout orders in the field, you're expected to follow them. Same as everyone else."

He glanced over at Batman. "No offense Batsy." he returned focus to the man in front of him. "But you don't get to pick and choose who's orders you follow kid. Not here."

"Actually I do." Nightwing answered, and, damn, Hal hadn't expected that. An apology maybe, maybe a little bit of arguing, but not a flat out refusal. The young hero didn't even bother to lower his voice or anything. Didn't even attempt to look cowed.

"You're different Hal. You're a Lantern. I'm not." his finger thrust in Batman's direction. "He's not." Hal cocked his head, frowning. "Yeah, I don't obey your orders immediately. I don't automatically trust what you call to me. Because you're. not. human. Maybe you were, once, before you got the ring. But you're not anymore. You're not on the field."

He gestured at Batman, to himself. "We deal with threats on the daily. In the streets. On the field. You're a brilliant man, I know you are. But you're not thinking for me."

He held up his hand before Hal could argue that of course he was. "You try." He agreed easily. "But you don't. Not really." He cocked his head, struggling to come up with an example.

"Lets say this; you're a cat, and I'm a dog." Hal pulled back, face twisting at the strange comparison, but Nightwing gestured to let him finished. Hal relented.

"You, as a cat, order me to drop to the ground. Because you, as a cat, know that if you drop, you'll land on your feet." Superman was nodding, following his train of thought. Hal was still a little lost, but Nightwing wasn't finished yet, so he was okay.

"But let's say that drop is fifty feet. And I'm a dog. Dogs don't land on their feet. That drop can kill me. You didn't account for that, no matter what you might think." He shrugged, glancing over at Batman, who was puffed up a little, with pride.

"He's a dog. Like me. And he thinks like a cat, like you. He accounts for that. So yeah," Nightwing shrugged, hopping from the table, and took a few steps forward. Hal stumbled back.

"I don't follow your orders immediately. I chance a look. I risk a second of disobeying your orders in order to ensure it won't kill me. Won't do more harm than good. But I still follow your orders."

He glanced over at Batman, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And sure, I follow Batman's orders immediately." He shrugged, heading over to the older hero, smile evident in his voice.

"But what do you expect? He's my Dad."

but yeah in the same vein of Bruce’s kids only following his orders in the field…of course they do. in Gotham, if you don’t hit the deck when Bruce says “Down!” you’re getting hurt, at bare minimum. there’s no questioning orders or hesitating. you have to trust that when B tells you to do something, it’s in your best interest, or in the best interest of the civilians, to do it — and do it really fucking well. really fucking fast.

that doesn’t mean the JL give orders in the same way, even though they’re well-intentioned. that doesn’t mean they fully grasp an emergency scene or its civilians’ needs. they might not realize how risky an order they, as a meta, give to a fully human vigilante is. they’re not a tactician the way Bruce is — they’re not thinking in plans, and backup plans, and fallback plans and extractions.

so yeah, Dick doesn’t take direct orders from anyone but B. of course he doesn’t.

[quarterlifekitty]

Something something bear!hybrid!Price something something breeding you full of his cubs…please?

I’m gonna do some RECYCLING here

Imagine Grizzly!Price introducing himself on the day you move in. And he’s never seen a bear like you before. You’re a bear for certain— the fluffy ears and tail, the scent of fruit and honey, it pulls out instincts he’d long forgotten about.

But you’re so little. And you have that funny little ring of fur around your neck. And that long tongue. And you can’t stand the cold. No hibernation instincts whatsoever.

A sun bear.

And he feels this tremendous itch when winter comes. He always feels this sort of dull ache— sleep is calling him. But he’s the kind of man who can’t help but keep an eye on everything going on around him. And you’re not prepping at all. Where are your crates of groceries? Your house has a cellar for God’s sake and he hasn’t seen anything go in there. Each time he sees you through your window, just enjoying yourself and ambling around the house— it’s like dry kindling is being tossed onto the embers around his heart.

He always felt this hard drive to nurture, to provide, to nest— he can’t stand seeing you so vulnerable and unprepared. And you’re so small! What’s going to happen once you get snowed in and you barely have enough to last you a week and a half?

Which is why he keeps coming around. Bringing his own things, preserves, jerky, canned goods— all under the guise of having “made too much”. Proving he has what it takes to care for you. You don’t really get it, he can tell from the look on your face, but you appreciate the treats.

He can’t get the image of you licking into a nearly empty jar of blueberry compote with your too long tongue out of his head. Of course his girl wouldn’t be wasteful.

Price only gets broodier as the dead of winter approaches. A blizzard is forecasted— and he all but demands that you stay at his place. He has a generator, firewood, a full larder— you don’t. You follow easily, like a dog rolling over to have its belly rub. What’s to protest?

He insists you sleep in his bed. Why waste the body heat when you could share? He barely has to prompt you before you’re rolling around, playing in his sheets, rubbing your scent everywhere. Sun bears mate year round, so you always smell just a little ripe and juicy— and it drives him crazy.

Having you in his bed, keeping you warm, feeding you…. It pushes him into that state of mind. You’re not in a man’s house anymore, you’re in a bear’s den, and his body knows what comes in spring, even if yours doesn’t.

He grinds up against you in his half-asleep daze, his nose buried in your neck as he mutters about what you’ll look like all fat and happy from overwintering with his cubs inside you. You might be a bit too small to take his cock at first, and it might be a bit of struggle to carry his brood, but you’ll have him to get you ready. He’ll look after you every step of the way, so just don’t worry your pretty head about it, ok?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

New Beginnings | Yandere Animal Town

You'll want to read Only Human Series | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The smell of a hearty meal brings a warmth greater than the heavy comforter you're curled up in–-a ray of light from the open curtains beaming on your face. Your body started to rise before you fully registered that someone had to be the cause of such a heavenly scent and you were pretty sure you’d taken back all the keys from your former roommate. Slipping into your slippers and wrapping a robe around yourself you made your way down the creaky steps of your late grandmother's home. Running your fingers over the aged wooden walls, tracing the frames of the art and pictures that were still hung. It brought back memories of her entering your life, your original apprehension, and the slow realization that you loved her just as much as your grandfather. Smiling at the frame you had hung just before the staircase. 

"Morning Poppop, Mam! I made it another year without burning the place down...please wish me well."

The words spilled out earnestly devoid of the filters preparing in your head. Seeing as you had revoked Eudora's key a week earlier after the incident with your bedroom your whole being was readying to scold whoever had found themselves in your home.

"Happy New Years, Hun! Decided to start the year with a good meal. Pull up a chair and take yer time; I will warn you though you'll be having company in a few. I tried to stop them but you know how these nosy neighbors of ours tend to be."

The motherly canine hounded on about each of their pleas; all of it all too familiar. letting her voice fade into the background you tried to remind yourself that this was reality. The space connecting the kitchen room was spotless. Wooden floors glisten and windows let in clear rays of light without a speck of dirt to darken it. Your couch known for its crotchety, dusty presence was abnormally bright for its beige color, and when you pressed a finger into the cushion it plumped up as you pulled away. As if its stuffing wasn't devoured by mites. The carpet and curtains shared the same treatment, smelling of lemon cleaning products. At the center of your transformed living room were the other two canines wagging their tails happily.

"So do you like it (Y/n)?"

The small voice of Titan woke you up. Memories of when you first met the pup all teary-eyed and worried for his mother. It was a stark reminder as to why the years to come would likely never be quiet again.

" How did you guys get in? You didn't break my other door did you?" 

The child giggled before rocketing himself into your thigh. Despite this being a regular occurrence you still doubled over to nurse the bruised spot; leaving your neck perfectly exposed to tiny, grabby arms. The little hybrid hung onto you waiting for the rest of your body to accept his impromptu hug. 

"Didn't have to this time with that new mini-door I finished installing for ya!" 

Tank cheered from the floor behind the couch, popping up to reveal his typical attire of worn and tattered overalls hanging off his bulging pecks. Its single good strap hanging on for dear life over his tanned chest which was puffed up with pride as he watched you examine only his his and his brother's work.

" Thanks you guys...oh uh Happy New Year."

The family returned the saying before ushering you to your seat to eat. All of them seemed more than certain you wouldn't be alone much longer. With one sip of orange juice and three bites into your toast, you no longer were. Mama Tiffany had the decency not to groan exasperated at the knocking on the door. While you knew dog hybrids had more intense senses than humans and likely told them who exactly was at the door, you had the impression it didn't matter who it was. Just that they were interrupting a quiet New Year's Day with you.

"Darling I've brought the champagne. Since we missed each other New Years Eve i say we drink it now and finish the bottle before lunch!"

It was Eudora the cow-woman you helped get back on her feet (hooves?) rocking her usual cow-print designer brand jumpsuit with champagne wrapped in her hand and two caps of wine bottles sticking out of her matching bag.

"AHEM."

In an instant Tank and Tiffany were behind you. Arms crossed and sporting a sneer, one hidden well and one not, Eudora was forced to realize she wasn't your only visitor. 

"Fine. I'll share but I'm not going to like it."

Tiffany hummed," Sorry dear but while a child is about we all can't be...under the influence."

Shrugging you had to agree. Titan for as independent and rambunctious of a child he was still one and it was in bad taste to be indulging with him so close by.

"Sorry, Dor maybe another time."

The cow-woman whined latching onto you to fake-cry into your chest. Being sure to nuzzle indulgently.

"Every time I come over you’re surrounded by that brat! How ever will we get to be alone?!"

Her dramatic plea made Tank roll his eyes, slipping around her to grab the neck of a wine bottle from her purse. Immediately jumping away she chased after the scampering dog hybrid as best as she could in her speckled pumps. Tank and Titan were snickering as they weaved around passing the bottle between the two as she struggled, slipping onto the newly shined wooden floor.

"Give that back you have no idea, how important that is!"

Above her head, Tank dangled the bottle mockingly as he chuckled.

"Oh, I don't?"

"Noo! You don't! A farmer dog would never understand the kind of luxuries I earned to get--"

"You mean you earned by selling this milk" Titan had mysteriously slid the bag off her arm rummaging through it to pull out a jar of milk with a label on top which he so dutifully began to read,"(Y/n)'s spe-speshul milk?"

Eudora blushed, gasping in horror abandoning the laughing Tank to snatch the jar from Titan's hand. Cradling it to her chest she glared at the dog boy hoping he'd shiver and tuck that tail of his. Alas he didn't. He was smiling devilishly at the cow-woman, who was too distracted by him to stop Mama Tiffany from snatching the jar from her manicured hands.

"Hm good readin' Titan," her boy proudly wags his tail. Eudora dives for the jar but misses on account of the mother canine easily dodging her and heading straight for the kitchen her victorious smile seen by only Eudora , "Anyway if you made this for (Y/n) I might as well use it to make some more french toast. What d'ya say Hon?"

"Wait—"

"Sounds good to me!"

"H-hold on!"

"Great I'll get started on 'em right away," she popped the lid open giving it a good sniff before recoiling something fierce. Tank shivered and fought the urge to gag as he picked up the scent. Titan retched and ran into your side doing his best to shove his wet little nose as deep as he could into your skin. Eudora was appalled watching Tiffany dump her creation down the sink, turning to her with a sorrowful hostile look she sighed.

"Ah that's too bad seems like this batch is spoilt. Betta check the rest of the batch if you plan to take that to market."

Eudora looked furious as though Tiffany had curdled it herself. On a warpath, she stomps over with her painted finger stabbing it into Tiffany’s chest. From where you were standing you couldn’t tell exactly but you were certain her face was contorted with an unbecoming snarl. On instinct Tank and Titan stood alert ears pinned back and the faint grumble of a growl in their throats. 

It would be best to diffuse this. Separate them both before Tiffany lost that already twitching smile and Eudora did something with her pointed finger.  Thankfully someone else has knocked on the door. 

“Ack-! Tiffany could you maybe get the door for me I’m still in my PJs?”

“Sure thing, Hun be quick now.”

She shoved Eudora out the way, shouting that ‘she was comin’’ to whoever was at the door. You had your guesses but you figured whoever it was you better be properly dressed. In your absence the guests congregated with whispers spat through their teeth. Tank was the first to speak.

“You’re disgusting, cow.”

She stuck a specific finger in his direction, that had him hurriedly cover his younger brother’s eyes. Much to Titan’s unhappiness he could hear the air whipping with some other unspoken gestures of hatred. A shame he only saw the one. 

Tiffany opened the door with a smile on her face, her nails barely chipping at the latest coat of paint on the door. At the very least this nuisance wasn’t as…troublesome. 

“Stein. A real surprise. Didn’t know you were invited to celebrate the New Year.”

The librarian snake-hybrid shuffled his feet as his hands wobbled, making an irritating clacking of the platter he brought. Tiffany shut her eyes. Couldn’t wish to scratch his hands off if she couldn’t see him.  Stein’s tail was at attention curling and twisting behind him with the nerves he was still battling. He had originally felt encouraged not only by his newly found meditation breathing but because his…group of devvotees had assured him.

“Great Stein they’ll be so happy you’re there!” They said and they promised,” Excalibur will certainly compliment you for your new scales.”

Which was what he had predicted would happen especially since he’d practiced the scenario so many times in his head. But how could this be if the one he wanted needed+ wasn’t answering the door?! Still he wasn’t too discouraged…he could tell there was someone moving upstairs; the thermal signature reminiscent of his one and only human.

“W-w-well we’d been s-speaking about plans and they said I could–”

“I’m not accusing, (Y/n)’s a real sweetheart to those decent enough.”

“I–yes they are!”

Stein happily followed Tiffany inside, unsurprised at seeing her children and the peeved cow woman. It was already confirmed by many of his devotees that they were incredibly adamant about guarding you. Of course their theories ranged from their own obsessions to their secret plots to control the world with (Y/n) as their tool. It really was absurd but Stein would never complain for he had so many slashed tires to thank them for. Those ‘little gifts’ were incredibly nice when he had extra time to speak with them.

“Hey Stein! Happy you’re here! And look at that, do you think the new shed goes nicely?”

He nodded returning the hug. The seconds spent in (Y/n)’s arms felt all so incredibly right for Stein. The small amounts of contact through clothes regrettably brought a heat he wasn’t expecting, a heat felt a sliver of when he was with them.

“Uh, are you hibernating?”

The small voice calling out to him and the silence calling for an answer. He hurriedly straightened himself out but he still couldn’t get his arms or his tail to fully un-intertwine from the human. Still he made the effort of tilting his head hovering just above his human (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

Titan sighed like children did. In the whiney strangely annoyed way they did. He’d like to have a clutch with you.

“Y’know! Are’ya fallin’ asleep on ‘em or what?”

Stein laughed joylessly. He wasn’t the best at speaking but the pinched brow of the little dog hybrid said this wasn’t an innocent question but a tempered reaction from an annoyed predator. Stein would have no way of knowing but minutes before Titan had done the best work that he could to scent his favorite human. He knew his puppy dog face and his irresistible charisma could get him so far with all these adults coming over he had to make his mark….and yet when his human returned it was gone. 

“No little one I’m just–,” Stein let himself release the human only up to their hands keeping his fingers in between their own. The only reason he could get his tail to naturally release was because he wanted to see his human’s smiling face. Stein internally swooned but settled for a warm smile,” Happy to see my friend and kindred spirit.”

Your heart warmed at the thought—’ kindred spirit.’ Half a year ago it would have been bizarre to know anyone was willing to give this human in a hybrid-only town a chance. A feeling of gratitude washes over, making your cheeks warm and your heart full. 

Here. These were your people, your friends, and despite their odd violent, creepy, invasive behavior they cared about you and are likely the reason you wouldn’t be alone from now on. 

“Happy New Year you guys! Let’s make this one count!”

Titan howled in agreement, while Tank and Tiffany cheered! Eudora let her pout cease…for long enough to crack open the champagne. With a successful poignant pop, the wooden peg shot faster than you could catch. However, there was something fast, a black shadow that whipped across Stein’s face. But looking at the hybrid’s tail it was swaying casually below him; the only thing different was the slight curl at its end almost like it was holding something—-

“(Yyyy/nnnn)!!!! The cow is making me drink this horrible adult juice.”

“NO! I’M NOT! Tiffany come get your pup before I skewer him!”

“Ah (Y/n) I–I noticed you were looking at my t-tail and I just th-thought I’d offer if you’d like to touc–”

“Shut it, worm. (Y/n) I wanted to remind you about some of the new piping I fixed for you. Just a minor fix but I can personally show you now.”

“Oh, Hon he did such a good job~ You two should check it out! But not before you give Mama’s pies a taste!”

This Year would not be quiet, not with these guys around and with many more to come. 

____________________________________________________

Sneak Peak:

Knock Knock

“More people? So soon?”

The question wasn’t for anyone in particular but you were already walking away from the squabbling hybrids at your dining table. Looking discreetly over your shoulder to see Titan successfully nip at Stein’s tail and nearly avoid its constricting, you worked hard to hold your laughter. Depending on your latest guest they might not take lightly to your troublesome attendees. Swinging the door open you realized your assessment was spot on…at least for one of your new arrivals.

“Morning (Y/n).”

“Mr. Mayor! G-glad to see you!”

You really wish you’d looked at yourself in the mirror again.

“I didn’t realize so many others were invited to this function.”

“Sorry if I was misleading, you don’t have to join if you don’t–”

“No please (Y/n). I deal with the citizens of this town every day. This will be no different.”

“Then uh welcome,” you move to the side allowing the pristine presence to grace your newly renovated living room. Watching the slight twitch of his nose you wrestled with the same feelings of anxiety when you do see it. The tell was either one of annoyance or great excitement, you could only hope it was the latter,” we were all just about to play a board game if you’d like to join.”

The mayor gave a smile over his shoulder before he claimed a seat at the table. With no time to follow up, you focused on inviting the rest of your guests.

“Look at you rolling out the red carpet for that sucker!”

“Before the both of us, the working class really is overlooked.”

You shook your head at the duo before entering the hugs their arms were already opened for. Of course, this wasn’t as simple as giving a one-armed hug to both of them at the same time. They demanded a full hug to each of them by wrenching you in their direction when you thought the hug was over. How pleasant.

“Duke, Sher welcome we haven’t started yet so we can deal you in.”

Sher smiled, his little tail likely wiggling with pride as he let himself in.

“Good you really shouldn’t have even started the New Year without me but as long as you let me win I’ll forgive you.”

You opened your mouth to correct him now, if only to avoid a tantrum later but Duke stopped you with a hand to your shoulder. With a blush he had you come closer so he could whisper–it must have something to do with eggs.

“I did bring the years first eggs with me but I didn’t want to draw attention by bringing it to the door.”

“That’s fine Duke! I’ll make an excuse so I can grab them.”

“M-maybe you should include me so that I can help it’s a lot.”

“Wow, if it’s that much you’re giving to me you must’ve had a real good New Years Party.”

Duke’s blush deepened and his dark eyes trailed away from your face; it made you wonder what exactly was so embarrassing about his ‘party’ by himself. You tried to ask only for him to shake his head again, more of his face taking on the redness originally on his cheeks. Worried he might pass out you let him stumble into your home and nervously wave at the rest of the group. With a satisfied clap of your hands and a look down the road, you were pretty sure that was it for guests willing to spend their precious New Year with the only human in town. That is until the skirting sound of rubber burning on the roads carved through the rural area with an engine obnoxiously humming the loudest it could have arrived. Unlike your friends, it had stopped on the road instead of parking on the filled driveway. Outstepped the source of too much of your grief with being harassed for simply existing—Margarine. 

Stepping out of her iconic reddish-orange car was the fox hybrid responsible for your continuously outcasted status. So naturally you were far from pleased. Nonetheless, she stepped out smiling cruelly with her camera in hand. 

“Don’t cry ape-breath, I’m just getting the first shot of the human for the new year. The papers are going to love this.”

You were going to retort, thinking about setting a hose on her or something, until you felt the presence of one of your guests at your back. One of your freakishly tall guests with his intimidatingly large pointed smile. 

“Hi there, Margory. Do we have a problem here?”

It felt good to see her scramble, waving nervously as she returned to her car. Struggling for a little while to start it, when she finally got it she sped off. Thankfully saving her other nasty remarks for later, when your house wasn’t filled with six different people who would actively tear her in half.

“Thanks Sykes!”

“No problem, I only hope you remember this kind act of mine if I ever need some extra cards in this game of ours.”

Shaking your head you closed the door and let him pull you back to a bustling table filled with all the new friends you’d made. A group who truly didn’t mind that you were the only human.

First post of the year and it's hopefully holding everyone over for this series. Thanks everyone for the response to this one. I don't know what this year holds but I've got big ideas. Thanks to everyone here and Happy New Year! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: POSSIBLE SUICIDAL INTENT, gore metaphor, self harm (reader scratching herself as a coping mechanism), manipulation.

You remember that time.

You remember that time when Dad looked happy—a nearly foreign sight. For what felt like ages, he had been frowning, dark circles under his eyes, the visible crease on the side of his mouth ever since the constant fights between him and Mother.

But lately, he's been smiling; he's been humming the tune you thought he'd forgotten. You also remember plopping down next to him on the couch, cheeks puffed out, eager to know what had him in such a good mood. "Daddy, what are you smiling about?" you asked then, and yet-

And yet, the moment he heard that, something in his eyes abruptly dimmed, just like it always did whenever Mother walked into the room. You instantly regret speaking up, wishing you had just stayed silent and let him bask in his already rare moment of happiness.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” as Mom used to say. This time, your curiosity will kill Dad. So, you’re never curious again, never dared to ask again.

Dad has been coming home later and later, leaving barely any time for you to spend together. It’s like he’s always working, always busy. Gone are the days of sneaky trips to the ice cream shop or casual strolls through the park. Sometimes, you compare yourself to that old dog the Jenkins had—the one they stopped walking because they lost that love they had when he was still a cute little puppy.

It was as if the unhappiness that had held Dad back had somehow transferred over to Mother.

Lately, the fights between your parents had become increasingly frequent, leading you to shut yourself away in your bedroom and sing loudly just to drown out the noise. Mother would often sigh heavily, slamming the cupboards like she had some kind of grudge against them. The constant frowning had begun to etch deep wrinkles onto her face, and the dark circles under her eyes appeared to grow darker with each passing day. She was even losing her hair—the bathroom sink was a testament to that.

You started to notice strange behaviors from Mother as well. She would constantly check Dad’s phone whenever he was in the bathroom, rummaging through the trash for any stray pieces of paper or receipts, even asking you to check his clothes and bring them to her. Whenever Dad came home, she would confront him, demanding to know why he was home so late.

Everything feels weird. When you try to ask them, they will shut you down, telling you it is a “parents’ problem”—something a child like you shouldn’t know or have any business in.

But their “parents’ problem” quickly becomes yours when you always find yourself lying in bed, desperately trying to drown out another round of their arguing. You even start wishing you could spend more time at your friends' houses just to avoid being at home. Every night, you pray for it to stop.

For this to end. Until it does.

The “parents’ problem” that has been brewing for months finally rears its head when Dad stops coming home altogether. The silence you have grown accustomed to was quickly shattered by the sound of Mother’s hysterical crying, accompanied by the slamming of cabinets and the crashing of plates being thrown across the kitchen. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding as a silhouette emerges.

Mother. She walks toward you, her long hair plastered to her tear-streaked face, and-

And she smelled something like the alcohol Dad used to hide in the fridge. She grips your arms in a tight, almost bruising grip, leaning down to look you straight in the eye.

"I was right, sweetheart. Mommy was right," she whispered, her voice hoarse from all the shouting. "Mommy was right all along." She repeats the phrase over and over, as if you'd eventually grasp its meaning. After all, you were her daughter; you should understand.

But you didn’t. For goodness’ sake, you were just an eight-year-old girl—just enough brains to process why Dad didn’t come to your ballet recital despite his promise, just enough to try to understand why Mother was like this. What was she right about? Was Dad never coming home again? When is he coming back? So many questions, few to no answers. Not enough courage to let them swim to the surface because exactly what Mom said—“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Biting your lip, you ask in a small, fearful voice. “What are we talking about, Mommy?”

Mother took a shaky breath, her eyes so swollen and red from crying that you wondered if she might actually take her last breath right then and there. It makes you wonder if losing the supposed love of her life truly felt like a kind of living death.

“Your father…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your father, he’s… He’s not coming back, baby.”

Something about her own words brought anger to her face. Mother’s visage contorted into unbridled rage, teeth bared and nose scrunched up. You cry out in pain as she grips your arms tighter.

“He’s not coming back! Your father is with another woman—a WHORE! So don’t you DARE go looking for him, because he’s not coming back!”

At that moment, you didn't know which was scarier—Dad not coming back or Mother's anger. Or the thought that this meant you would be living alone with her. Even so, your lips began to tremble and you began to cry.

The anger that mother had was long-lived. Sometimes, it seemed like it outlasted the love she had once held for your father. Or perhaps, in a twisted way, that anger was just an extension of that love. The wound that mother carried was as deep as her affection had been. Love. Seeing its manifestation through your parents' relationship, it appeared like a despicable thing meant for people on a dark path.

Mother never truly recovered from it.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, even year after year, the anger never left her—it simply transformed into a hollow, empty place where the light once resided. Did Dad take it with him when he went off with that woman—that "whore," as Mother had said?

Still, you suppose it was better than those times when Mother would go out for drinks and come back late or even fail to come fetch you from ballet class. More often than not, it was a friend's mother who ended up dropping you home. Some questions they asked about your mother: "Is she okay?" and “Are you okay?”

That, you never know how to answer. Sure, you're doing fine at school and in your ballet classes—your toes are a little sore sometimes, but your teacher says that’s expected. And it’s not like Dad’s gone forever or dead. He’s still out there, even if he wasn’t coming home. Mom is still here, even if sometimes it feels like she doesn’t really see you.

… What an odd thing to feel, an even weirder thing to complain about. When Mother wasn’t at work, she was always there when you came home. She was easy to find in her room except on nights when she went out drinking and came back late, drowning herself in tears.

And yet, it felt like she wasn’t there at all. Dad left, and Mother was gone.

So, when that question was asked, you would just smile and say you were doing fine, that everything was okay. Yes, it was strange, unsettling, but everything was okay.

At least before you hit your teenage years.

Where did this change come from? Where did this hatred come from? Someone flipped a switch, turning your hollow mother into a bitter, resentful woman even to her own daughter. Slowly but surely, you begin to notice the glares she throws at you—the same ones she sports when talking about other women, as she said, “Look at the way she dresses, like some cheap harlot.”

“Change.” One day, she said, her voice sharp and commanding.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What? Change what?”

Mother's eyes narrowed, settling her gaze on your chest, then your stomach—you hold your breath from the burn of her glare. “I said, change. What, you don't see how you look?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I don't know who gave you the confidence, but it's like you're asking for it.”

The sting of her words spread across your sternum, and you bite your inner cheek to keep yourself from crying. "But you said this looked good the other day."

“Then I said wrong, change.”

“But I like this top,” you protest, but you add a hollow chuckle for good measure, wanting to avoid coming off as defiant. “And it’s the only thing yellow in my closet.”

Mother’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “You still have that yellow hoodie.”

“But it’s a birthday party! In the summer!”

“That’s too bad. Either you change, or you’re not going.”

Deciding the conversation is over, your mother walks past you. As you feared, she stops, sweeping her critical gaze over your face. The crease between her brows deepens; her lips curl into a sneer.

“And what’s with all that makeup? You’re trying too hard. Tone it down.”

You say nothing, fixating instead on the mild sting of your nails digging crescents into your palms. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Hasn’t this happened before? Why aren’t you used to this yet? The thing about you is that you cry over the same things over and over again, asking questions you already know you don't understand. “Why would Mom say that to me?” echoed in your mind, and yet, the answer remains elusive, so stop asking that!

You flinched as your mother suddenly swiped her fingers across your lips, smearing your carefully applied lipstick. Out of instinct, you quickly swatted her hand away.

“Mom, stop!”

“A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she spat, her hatred for you dripping—soaking into your skin and inciting your own blood to boil and burn you from the inside. “No matter how thick that makeup is, you’ll never be like those pretty girls. So stop trying.”

Your breath catches, your throat tightens. Mother finally walks past you, leaving you to “self-reflect,” expecting you to be on your right side of the brain after. To change your clothes, remove that makeup. “A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she says. Your lips quiver; the headache doubles.

Which one you loathe the most, you can't even say for sure. This tube top or the color. Your blush or your lipstick. You and your tendency to persist when you should stop—that you're ugly, a pig, and you'll never be those pretty girls.

You will never be those pretty girls.

You will never be...

Her.

Hayley. You couldn't help yourself from poring over the name on Facebook after hours of scouring for a hint of who she is and what's so special about her. And from what you can tell, she was everything you're not. With her big, bright blue eyes framed by dark, mascara-laden lashes, her light blonde hair, and that perfectly sun-kissed skin. Not to mention she has a figure that just fits right – a body a girl would die for. Hayley's life is balanced between her rising career and her enjoyment, as evidenced by several uploaded holiday photos in Southeast Asia, in places like Bali, Koh Rong, Phuket, Kuala Lumpur, Chiang Mai, and Singapore. She has a good relationship with her parents—both her biological ones and her stepparents. She has a golden retriever named Barney.

You knew enough to understand that she was the type of girl who frequented the clubs, not the quiet pubs where Simon and she met. The only reason she was even there was because of her dark-haired friend, who was now tipping her head back to finish another shot glass.

Are you stalking her? Yes, you suppose you are—there’s no point in denying it when you’re sitting at a bar, watching the social butterfly laugh with her equally beautiful friends. But you’re maintaining your distance, aren’t you? You’re not doing this because you’re a pervert (not that this justifies anything, you're aware)—you just need to know about her, to confirm something.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

Hayley laughed again, her head thrown back, golden hair cascading down her back. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way her glossy lips parted to reveal a perfect set of teeth. She and her group of friends looked like they were engaged in some kind of game, and as the loser, Hayley stood up and made her way to the bar. You looked up, pretending to sip at the drink you ordered earlier, appearing casual.

“Four Margaritas, love.” Hayley requested of the bartender, who responded with a nod to acknowledge her order over the din.

The man left his post to get something from the backroom. There wasn't much to do in the bar besides tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the shiny bar surface. Hayley swept a bored glance around: the strobe lights, the DJ booth and the drunk people dancing around it, the crowded booths at the ends of the room, and more drunk people.

Then, her eyes landed on you. Something ignited in those cerulean irises.

A confident smile played on her lips. “Hi there,” she said to you, voice sweet like honey. "Mind if I join you?"

For a moment, your brain stops thinking—completely caught off guard. Hayley doesn’t wait for your response, already sliding into the seat next to you. She widens her smile, the apples of her cheeks lifting fascinatingly. This was not how you envisioned this encounter going at all.

“I’m Hayley, by the way.” She gives you her name that you’ve known before she even knew you existed. You can’t help but wonder if she said the same thing to Simon that night, if he bore into her blue eyes like you do now.

You managed a small, nervous smile. In response, you provided your name, and Hayley tried it on her plump lips. Up close, she was even more stunning—her flawless skin, perfect makeup base, the way the low lighting cast shadows across her face. How was it possible that someone could be so effortlessly gorgeous? What's more, she didn't just seem kind; she also appeared humble and genuine—the type of beautiful girl who didn’t flaunt her good genes or think she was better than everyone else.

Still, despite all that, your dislike for her continues to grow. It’s almost unfair that she gives you nothing but kindness and you try to find her flaws, something that you hope will mar her perfection.

“Are you here all on your own?” Hayley asks again, to which you nod.

Despite already knowing she didn't come alone, you ask anyway, "You?"

“Me?” Hayley glance over her shoulder towards her table. “I’m here with a few friends. Say, love, why don’t you join us? It gets a bit boring sitting on your own, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m kind of not used to such large groups,” you say, only to realize how lame it sounded. The poorly constructed excuse lays out the contradiction more clearly, like a lie written on a billboard. If you’re really the awkward, socially withdrawn weirdo you paint yourself to be, what are you even doing in one of the most crowded places in town?

Yet, Hayley didn't seem to judge you. The raised brow indicated that she thought it was strange, but her lips quirked up in a small smile, as if she found you… interesting.

“That's alright, darling. But you wouldn't mind a bit if I stayed here with you, would you?”

“Not at all.”

Hayley smiled, fishing her phone out of her purse. “Well, I was supposed to grab the next round for the girls, but I’ll just text them to grab the drinks. I reckon they can manage without me for a little while.” She opened her texting app, her manicured fingers making little tapping sounds as she typed.

Soon enough, a dark-haired woman approached the bar. Hayley greeted her friend, introducing her to you and you to her. The other woman smiled and nodded, but not wasting more time before saying goodbye to you and taking the drinks to their table. And just like that, you were alone with Hayley once again.

It makes you wonder why she even bothers to spend time with you—a complete stranger she just met. Is she always like this—always approaching and engaging with people she knows little about? Is that why she approached Simon the other day?

You grip your glass, soaking your fingers from the condensation around it. A temporary distraction from the memories that flash through your mind.

“Sooo, you seeing anyone at the moment?”

When that bold question came out of Hayley’s mouth, you came to a conclusion about her. It was clear that she was the type of woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. The type to pop the question out before dealing with the answer—and whatever it is, she actually has the guts to deal with it. What other people think or feel about her does not define her, and that speaks volumes about the kind of person she is.

It also speaks to the kind of person you are.

Inevitably your thoughts drift to Simon. Shaking your head, you answer her question. “No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

Then, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “And what about you? You’re not married, are you?”

Hayley laughs at that, wiggling her ringless fingers. “No ring on.”

“Not with anyone?”

An amused smile was etched on her face. “Don’t you worry, love. I’m a free bird, through and through.” She said as she leaned closer to you, the intoxicating blend of floral and citrus notes entering your olfactory. “Why? Got somethin' fun on your mind?”

At this close proximity, you could almost feel the warmth of her breath upon your cupid's bow. Up close, her physical details came into sharper focus—the freckles that peppered her nose, her deep-set eyes, a small mole sitting above the rosy pink of her lips, and the way her lip gloss glistened under the dim, hazy club lights.

And her lips. The ones that touched Simon’s.

The agony coursed through you, pumping in sync with each beat of your heart, spreading into the farthest reaches of your body. Poison in your blood. Thoughts raced in a frenzied, feral way that defied logic and reason. You wondered what it must have felt like for Simon. Had her kisses been soft and sweet, the kind that made him melt? Or were they passionate and hungry, with him nibbling and biting at her flesh?

Memories of that night are recalled to your mind, the image of their bodies pressed together coming with absolute clarity. The way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way she hooks her legs around him.

Before you can register what you’re doing, you close the remaining space between you and Hayley, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s almost daring. But it’s desperation that fuels you—your desperation to find any trace of him in her mouth, across her palate, beneath her tongue. You wonder if she can taste it, the bitterness of you. But when she kisses you back, more roughly and greedily, you find the answer.

Around you, the deafening music continues to play, the flashing lights like a kaleidoscope that twists and turns. Your olfactory senses register the strong smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and tears well up in the corners of your eyes. It reminds you of him—everything reminds you of him. Simon is everywhere but here. Even as you kiss another, it’s him you expect instead. You can’t help but wonder if it was the same for him that night—did he think of you as he sank deep inside of her?

When the kiss was broken, Hayley was about to smile at you before something faded it. A fat tear ran down your cheek. She furrowed her brows in concern.

“Hey, are you alright?” She asked, her accent growing thicker with worry. “Did I do something wrong? Go too far, perhaps?”

Hayley’s soft hands reached up, wiping away the salty liquid from your cheeks. You bit your bottom lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. “N-no, it’s nothing,” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper as you erased your own tears with the back of your hand.

Swallowing hard, your vision blurs again. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I need to... I need to go.”

Without another word, you turned and fled, ignoring Hayley calling your name. Pushing your way through the throngs of people, you made a beeline for the exit. The air in your lungs seemingly thinning, and your throat tightening. You switched to breathing through your mouth, as it was becoming increasingly difficult. A taxi approached, slowing down when you waved at it.

Two hours had passed since you fled the club, two hours spent waiting in suspense until, finally, the vehicle's headlights flickered to life, followed by the beeping sound indicating someone unlocked it. You remained silent, hearing the footsteps getting louder before you slowly rose to your feet, turning to face the person who had emerged.

“Simon.”

The owner of the name stood frozen in his tracks. The dim lighting of the streetlights only added to your difficulty in obscuring whatever expression he was sporting, but you didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

For a solid two minutes, his name was the only word spoken between the two of you. It wasn't like you were generous enough to offer him time to fully process the situation—no, it was more because you wanted to see how Simon Riley would react, how Simon Riley would deal with the unexpected.

You caught the way his mask slightly shifted—he clenched his jaw. “How?”

Instead of answering, you take a stuttering breath, feeling invisible needles piercing through your chest. “I forgot something in your car.” You tell him.

Simon's frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he seemed to contemplate your words. It was absurd—after all these weeks, here you are, standing in front of his apartment, having somehow discovered the address, and claiming to have forgotten something in his car.

But he doesn't say anything, just continues to make his way to the car. You follow closely behind him. He opens the door to the passenger seat, then steps aside to let you check the car. You stretch your hand under the passenger seat, blindly feeling for anything, brushing through the dust and small gravel collected there until you finally touch something cold and metallic.

Pulling it out, the phone you had planted there weeks earlier came into view. You knew this meant Simon had laid his eyes on it too. It wouldn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out you had been tracking him this whole time.

Fucking hell. Simon remembered what he had said about modern phones. He closed the car door with a sharp click, then turned to you.

“So you’ve been followin’ me, then?”

“You didn't return my texts,” you stated bluntly.

"I asked you a question." He growls, almost like he's threatening you.

You observed the anger brewing in the depths of his dark eyes, radiating from him like a hot flame. Good, you thought silently. At least there was something that riled him up; otherwise, you would be suffering alone while he goes to fuck any willing bodies he can get his hands on.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask again. “Why does it say your number is no longer in service? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he snap, voice dripping with venom. “You think I owe you an explanation?”

Your blurry vision missed a flicker of change in his expression. When the tears escaped and the world came into focus again, all you saw was Simon locking his jaw, irritation radiating from him. He turned and began to walk away.

You followed him, quickening your pace to catch up. “Simon! Simon, wait!”

Despite your best efforts, he continues to keep his back turned to you, refusing to even spare you a glance. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly hell-bent on creating a vast gulf between you. You called out his name once more, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night, but he kept right on walking.

“Yes, I deserve an explanation! I don’t know why you’re being like this. We were fine the last time we were together. What happened? Why did you just disappear on me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket to get him to stop and face you. He came to a halt. A jolt of electricity surged through you as he encircled your fingers with his own, but it soon faded as he let go of your grip on the leather. Something inside you dropped away, leaving a shameful hollow space inside.

Simon towers over you, his stature imposing and intimidating. He locks a hard glare on you. “I asked you a question, didn't I?” His voice fell to a dangerously low tone. “Why the fuck have you been following me?”

The dam holding back your tears broke, leaving you choking on your own sobs. How could he not know? All these tears, all these cries… how could he still fail to see that it was all for him? To be stripped bare only for him to overlook it. Should you skin yourself alive then? To tear your heart out, to hold the raw, bleeding organ in the palm of your trembling hand as an offering?

“Because I want to know where you are,” You settle for the simpler version, hyperventilating as you take a breath. “You know my place, my workplace... You even went to my cousin’s wedding. And yet, I know nothing about you, Simon. Nothing.”

“You think just ‘cause we fucked a few times, that gives you the right to pry into my life?”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. The world was ruby-colored, either from your boiling anger or the hemorrhage from the sharpness of his words. Your jaw clenched, your gaze sharpened.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you spat. “You know we’re not just fucking.”

The clenched fists at your sides tremble, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or hurt or the weight of your own expectation to make him see it. Or perhaps it’s all three. How could he speak like this when there's a specific section in your dresser for the clothes he frequently brings and leaves, when he constantly returns and stays longer even as the morning has risen, when he drove you to the countryside and dances and twirls you around like those old couples do? Not when he embraces you until your tears subside, nor when each of his kisses offers that one thing you've chased your whole life.

There’s no way this isn’t love. He just needs to stop denying it.

Simon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Then you read it all wrong, darlin'."

The way he said it was cold, without a shred of sympathy—but nothing was colder than the way Simon continually turned his back to you as he continued to walk farther and farther away, as if all he wanted was to get as far away from you as possible. Disgusting woman in love. But you never got the hint, did you? You kept following him, running after him like a stupid little dog created solely to love, love, love, and never be loved back.

“Is that the reason, Simon?” You cried, voice cracking. “Is that why you fucked that woman—Hayley?”

“Who?”

“Hayley. The woman you fucked in the back of that pub alley! Was that why you left me?”

For the first time, Simon was lost for words, gears turning behind his brown eyes. He let out a frustrated sigh, jaw clenched tight. “You fucking stalked me?”

“I did,” you admitted, but this wasn’t an admission of guilt, nor an act of taking accountability. The words falling from your lips lacked the necessary remorse for either of those things. “I know it’s wrong, but—”

“Wrong?” Simon scoffed. “Christ, you’re bloody mental if you think that’s just wrong.”

You try to draw a deep breath through your mouth, your shoulders stuttering with the effort. The pain and the anguish are written all over your face, reddening your skin. But then, something shifts—and when you open your eyes, you are someone new.

Simon watched a thin smile spread across your swollen lips. “Do you think she's a good kisser?”

The question slipped out of you in a voice that was just barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, Simon heard it, caught your quiet words. There was no faltering in your voice, no quaver, no stutter. He felt your pupils searing his skin hotter than the mansion’s fire.

“What?” He asked again, making sure he hadn’t misheard.

You were more than happy to repeat. “Do you think Hayley is a good kisser? Because I know she is—I kissed her. How did she taste? Did you enjoy it?”

“Fucking hell, you’re a fuckin’ psycho.”

“Did she moan when you kissed her, Simon? Did she wrap her arms around you, pull you in closer? Did you run your fingers through her hair—her body? Did she moan your name the way I do when we’re—”

You cut yourself off, your breath hitching again. The numbing agent has worn off, and now you're paying the withdrawal tenfold. Like your own personal hell, the memory of your intimate moments together replays, leaving nothing but a bitter taste and more hot, salty tears streaming down your face.

 “Did she feel as good as I do when you’re buried deep inside me?”

Simon didn't respond, remaining silent. Or perhaps this very silence was his answer. He was always a man of few words, preferring to act instead. Right now, his actions spoke louder than anything.

“Or was she better?” You hissed. “ANSWER ME!”

Nothing. Even when you scream in his face, he keeps giving you nothing. This is the man you love—only able to take, take, and take until there is nothing left to fill the cavern he leaves behind.

You take a step towards him, hands trembling by your side. “Can she love you like I do?”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your love and pain. You caught the way Simon’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly returned to their stoic stare, and the mask—that damn mask—hid too much for you to make any conclusions about him. The unfairness was palpable: you were tearing your heart out, vulnerable and all exposed for him—while he was hiding behind a mesh of polypropylene.

Always guarded, always unreachable.

Simon’s shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath, gazing up at the sky before turning back to you. “You need to go home.”

“What?”

Before you could really process his words, Simon had already turned and was walking briskly to his car, his broad back starting to move away from you. Hurriedly, you ran after him, your hands outstretched to grab anything of his. Stop. Stop walking away. Stop trying to leave me.

“Simon!” You called out—God, how you hated how weak and pleading it sounded. “Simon, wait! Listen to me!”

Simon reaches his car, already grasping for the handle. Panic rises in your throat. He yanks the door open, ready to get in. Your mind is gripped with desperation, scrambling to find something—anything—to keep him here with you, and yet the only thing that can act fast enough is your voice.

“”Go home,” That’s your response, Simon? After everything I just confessed to you? I just laid my heart bare—I told you that I love you, and your answer is to tell me to go home?!”

You flinch at the sudden slam of the car door. Simon whirls around to face you, chin held high, imprisoning you under his angry gaze. “YES, I'm tellin' you to fucking go home!” He roars, his booming voice quickening your pulse. “I don't want this sappy shit you're tryin' to dump on me. Go home an' leave me the fuck alone!”

“NO!” You shouted, voice cracking as you dangled on the edge of control—on the verge of crumbling. “I won't go home! I-I love you! I don't want to go home!"

You stepped forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. "Is it because of me?" you questioned, as if this was the only possible explanation. “Because if it is, I can fix it! I can be whatever you want me to be—I don't care! You don't even have to love me back! Just please, don't leave. If you want, you can always use me—just keep using me. Just don't go, Simon. Please, please, don't leave me."

Because there will always be a really bad part of you that ruins everything. No matter how deeply you love or how faithful your devotion is, it will taint it. At the end of the day, it will be worth nothing. So, if your body is the only thing that would satisfy him—distracting him from your inability to make him love you—then so be it. You were always the cheap and vulgar daughter, after all.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed under his breath. “Stop. Fuckin' stop sayin' shit like that 'bout yerself.”

Despite all your pleading, Simon remains the same man he always was. A rotten one, selfish—a stray dog who loves to wander. He hasn’t changed—his dead heart has no room for your love, for you. The more you try to hold him, the more he eludes your grasp. Perhaps he has grown so accustomed to sadistic things that a woman tearing out her heart for him doesn't faze him anymore.

Or worse: he loves things like this.

A raw, throbbing heart—the soft feast of organs for a home-fashioned dinner. The beautiful swan—you, heart enlarged and sweet from your consumption of his deceit. His prized delicacy, just the way he likes it.

You felt Simon’s hands wrap around your wrist, prying your fingers off him. “No, please! Don’t go, don’t leave!”

But he was unyielding, his mind pinpointed on one goal: to get away from you. He pushed you back. You watched as he turned and opened the car door, sliding inside. Hastily, you tried to wrench the car door open—he had locked it from the inside. You slam your hands against the window.

“Simon! Simon, please!”

The glass vibrated under the force of your blows; your palms stinging with the impact. Tears streamed down your face as you continuously hit the window. Simon turned on the ignition.

“GET OUT!! I’ll die if you leave! I’LL DIE IF YOU LEAVE!”

The car lurched forward; Simon's face remained obscured from view. Your hand slides off the glass as the vehicle speeds away. The sound of the engine faded into the distance, taking with it the last piece of your shattered heart.

You stood there, frozen, alone on the empty street. He was gone.

The bitter realization hits you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You sank to your knees, hands clutching at the fabric of your coat as uncontrollable sobs wracked your body. He was gone, and your last memory of him was his dark eyes staring at you as you begged to mean something to him.

But would it make a difference if the last recollection of him stayed on that sunny day in the countryside? Would everything have been better if you hadn't come here?

You dig your fingernails into the back of your hand, hoping the sting will distract you like it did before. Yet, even after collecting your own skin beneath your nails, the long-awaited numbness never comes. Or is it because no amount of bodily harm can relieve the agony?

(It feels like a kind of living death, doesn’t it?)

Sometimes, you get jealous of euthanized dogs.

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[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS IN THE ANIMAL CARE INDUSTRY BECAUSE WORK HAS BEEN MAKING ME SAD

scout: scout is new to the industry. a year at most. the fastest bather you could find in town. doesn’t want to start his own business, so works for a mom and pop shop. personality hire, but he’s getting better and better every day. has no interest in learning how to groom, though. he doesn’t have the right eye to make an animal look good.

soldier: soldier is more likely to be an owner of a very blank salon that he rents out booths for individual groomers. only takes enough from the money pool to maintain the building. doesn’t really care what goes on otherwise. his tenants LOVE him, because any issue is solved within 48 hours and they can do whatever they want as long as they take care of the place. handles sharpening because he knows the sharpener.

pyro: runs a luxury doggy daycare; and is VERY serious about the job. is up almost 24 hours a day during holiday seasons taking care of up to 30 dogs a day. has a handful of full time, live in employees, but they get so nervous when they’re not there they just stay at the daycare all day, watching. loves their employees. pays like, double the average wage as a start, because pyro expects nonstop work. consistent raises and bonuses, AND pizza parties.

engineer: a man of many hats. is actually a farrier. but if you got a sheep that needs shearing or something that needs to be tinkered with or a blade that needs sharpening or a dog that just needs a bath and nail trim he’s also your man. is the ONLY LICENSED AND CERTIFIED SHARPENER IN THREE FUCKING STATES. busy, busy man. soldier sends wealthy business and hearty workers his way in exchange for a monthly sharpening for his little shop. they’re friends, and soldier has always been a man of his word, so of course he agreed.

heavy: specializes in extra large dogs. 70 pound minimum to book with him. he runs a one on one fear free grooming experience called “Giant Spaw For Giant Dogs”. his website to book an appointment is full of pictures of him holding these massive dogs like they’re puppies. he’s smiling so wide in each picture. heavy loves dogs. has numerous certifications. is dog cpr certified. regularly attends dog shows. his salon is BEAUTIFUL. sleek, modern, lavender and navy theme. you enter and the reception area smells… so good. charges an arm and a leg though. but he sends you like… pictures of your dog on photoshopped backgrounds. it’s so worth it, his clientele is DEVOTED to him. one time he got sick and had to cancel his appointments and one of his clients broke down on him, praying for his health over the phone.

demo: demo is the best worker in the state, and he cycles through salons and clinics often based on where he’s needed. every business wants him so bad when they don’t have him. is getting paid VERY well to do what he does best. enjoys the process of bathing a dog without the stress of the haircut. fast, efficient, able to juggle multiple groomers as ONE bather. he’s a vital asset to any team he’s with, and he doesn’t even need the money. also likes working kennel. will help pyro during the holiday season for a break.

spy: i have two ideas. spy either has like, celebrity clientele, or spy exclusively grooms cats. requires his clients on a monthly schedule either way. his salon is also one on one quiet luxury pet care. brown and cream colored salon. never remembers to take pictures of his work. to book with him requires prepayment. website is sleek, and his portfolio is sorted by breed. doesn’t ask what anyone wants done on their pet, just does what he thinks is best. they always come out stellar. even his worst grooms are westminster worthy. has a wall of pet colognes and finishing sprays.

sniper: sniper is a mobile groomer and his business is called “Come Wash My Dog”. fast, efficient. doesn’t do anything fancy on any dog, and charges accordingly. does keep bows and bandanas to put on his favorite clients. likes terriers. occasionally gets caught up talking to his clients. it’s like his human interaction for the day. don’t come up to him making any requests, he is very frank that he is not one of them fancy groomers. he gives the dogs a trim if he can. that’s why his prices are so low.

medic: see, medic might make a really bad and unethical human doctor. but i think he’d make a phenomenal avian veterinarian. i think if medic became a veterinarian he would be a much different, much more ethically fulfilled man. known for his passion and dedication to the job. practically sleeps in his office so he is on call, at all times. probably wouldn’t have interest in tending to anything past the birds, but because he is known as one of three exotic vets in the state he’ll occasionally see reptiles and rodents. only has passing thoughts of joining an illegal pet trade, but he loves his job so much. he couldn’t forgive himself if he squandered it. keeps every feather that falls off his clients, and keeps them in organized files. when a client dies, he’ll give them the feathers and keep one for his clinic’s gallery wall. has a clinic cat because he thinks the irony’s funny. much more at peace with himself. at his worst he’s like house but with birds and without the drug addiction.

[candz13z]

ok but hear me out all the life series winners have a little bit of an additional part of them plus their celestial symbol, based on the series they won.

Grian is the 'watcher'. Although he can see everything, he is particulary attracted to fights. While others chalk it up to him being chaotic, its because he won a fight for his series win. Its like a sixth sense, he can basically smell blood in the water. His knuckles are perpetually bruised from it. He smells of freshly drawn blood and lilacs. His wings are never really the same after the tussle in the cactus.

Pearl and Scotts come as a pair, they are the 'Soulmates'. They can drift their ways into eachothers world at will. Pearl always has atleast one dog at her heel and her cloak in permanently stained in blood at the edges. Since last life was the first time the boogey was active, he gets random flares of bloodlust every once in a while. Pearl doesn't try to calm him down, they are far past the calm.

Martyn is a 'Listener', as the name suggests he listens. But hes also very obsessive about checking the time. He carries a pocket watch with him at all times, sometimes he'll just stare at is as the time ticks down, its his version of rebellion. Hes also constantly calculating how worthit it would be to kill someone, he wouldnt want to waste his time would he?

Scar is the 'Merchant', hes always selling something or trying to buy something, despite having next to no time to gather resources. He always manages to get people to buy his wares with his eternally silver tongue. Theres also the odd pang of lonliess every once in a while, and theres atleast 1 sunflower on his person at all times. Hes been known to smell like magic.

Joel and his car would maybe be the 'Traveller', iykwim? Hed show up at different places in times that really made no sense. He can also travel to other times, not just places. His favorite to visit had to be the limited life series, with his bad boys. He takes the leather jacket now soaked in blood and it stays with him. He also meets martyn there. They dont find it in themselves to look eachother in the eye. To acknowledge this is to talk about these curses gifts.

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, more to be added.

Chapter Nine

The silver earring glinted out of place in her jewelry box, amongst all her strikingly gold pieces. She shouldn’t have taken it, she knew that much but she couldn’t help it. It sat there like an unnerving prize for her dedication in snooping about where Kirk had specifically told her not to. But why? If it was a random girl he had fleeting slept with she could stomach that. There was something incredibly disconcerting however about its place tucked away with his knife, hidden from view like a secret.

“You good baby?” Kirk’s voice called from behind her. Quickly she snapped the wooden case closed and turned to meet him where he leant against the doorframe of her bedroom. It had been a week since she had found it. She had spent nearly every day since then with him, she hadn’t gotten a single call since she had devoted her time to Kirk under the pretense of his protection. It was just one of many glaring concerns that she had been willfully ignoring.

Her parents were unfortunately out of town this weekend, on a business trip. They had begged Y/N to come along with them, and for good reason. What parent in their right mind would leave their daughter alone during times like these. However there was something about the look in Kirk’s eyes when she told him that made her insist to her parents she would be fine alone, plus someone needed to look after the dog…right?

Which is how she ended up with Kirk staying here. He had gotten comfortable a little too quickly for her liking. Moving through her house like he had been there plenty of times before. He hadn’t… Her mother would never willingly let him come in here. Something was wrong, and she couldn’t place her finger on it, nor did she really feel like she wanted to. It was easier to ignore the unsettling behavior and focus on how sweet he was, how warm he made her feel.

She smiled at him and leaned back against her dresser as he approached her. He looked a little out of place in her soft feminine room. “Yeah I’m okay, just zoned out.” She lied easily to him. Why ruin a good thing right? She closed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. Her fingers gripped the edge of her dresser. Kissing him had become like second nature to her now, as easy as breathing. He took from her whenever he felt like now.

His hands slipped down across the curve of her waist before settling in the dip of her hips, tugging them forward to press flush against his. He let out a sweet needy moan that had her eagerly twitching against him. Y/N slipped her hands up to cup the back of his neck and pull him in deeper. “Please,” He spoke against her with a growing desperation she had begun to get familiar with. It scared her to a degree. “I want you so fucking bad.” He tightened his fingers against her.

Y/N had been avoiding this for a while now, maybe too long, since the night she went down on him in the back of his car…the night the last victim had been found. The images came rushing back to her, the alley, the smell of blood, the brutal way in which her body had been found. Quickly she broke away from him with wide eyes, her chest heaving as a panicked fear gripped her tightly. It settled against her skin, making her break out in sweat that cooled instantly against the air in her room.

“Woah, woah hey.” Kirk’s voice softened, going all sticky and sweet the way she liked. There were fingers cupping her face, forcing her to look up into his eyes. Nothing felt quite real, like he was pulling her from cold water and forcing air back into her lungs. “Y/N? What's going on, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to freak you out!” His voice was laced with apologetic undertones that she didn’t know if she really believed was genuine.

Blood, Dismemberment, pure gore. The brutal descriptors of each murder that had taken place. The venomous threats from the phone calls for her, the familiarity in which the man on the phone had addressed her with, his taunting calls that this was all her fault. Her brain thrummed painfully against the confines of her skull. She gripped at her hair in a desperate attempt to distract herself from the painful pounding. Her fault, her fault.

Finally she was snapped from her trance by gentle shaking of her shoulders. Kirk’s panicked eyes finally came into focus in front of her. “Breathe, please.” He pleaded. Oh, she was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. Slowly she nodded and inhaled one large shaky breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it and falling forward to rest her head against his shoulder. “There you go,” He mumbled, his heavy hand coming to rest on the small of her back and rubbing a gentle pattern against the fabric of her shirt.

She took another moment to fill her lungs until she no longer needed to remind herself how to breathe. “Sorry,” She whispered, her voice sounded distant to her own ears. She pulled away from his embrace, moving past him to sit herself on the edge of her bed. She watched his lips pull into a frown before quickly shaking it off and moving to sit beside her. “I just- I’m still…” She swallowed hard and looked towards her bedroom window. That ever present feeling of being watched in her room had dissipated with Kirk around…was it the feeling of being protected or…

“You’re still not ready to have sex with me?” The man's words cut through her thoughts, striking at her. They sounded more bitter, accusatory. It caught her off guard greatly. Her eyes widening as her face scrunched up into a mixture of disbelief and disgust. He took notice and quickly tried to cover his tracks. “Sorry I didn’t mea-”

Cutting him off Y/N shook her head. “This has nothing to do with me wanting to, or not wanting to fuck you Kirk” She said in exasperation. Her hands went limp in her lap as she scrutinized him under her gaze. “God can you…can you think without your dick for one second?” She snapped at him, she had never snapped at him. She had never needed to. Lately however, no, since the beginning actually, his actions had been consistently driven with a lustful undertone. It flattered her at first, but every single action he made towards her now seemed to be with the intent to consume her. “I was thinking about being fucking murdered, y’know the very real threat I'm still dealing with!”

Kirk furrowed his brows, his eyes going…blank. Like all the shine and life had been sapped from them. His hands twitched, furling and unfurling his fingers repeatedly in what looked like a motion intended to soothe his nerves. She shivered, for all the comfort he offered her, he induced fear within her tenfold. It felt silly when there was nothing outwardly intimidating about him, he wasn’t strikingly tall, or muscular, he didn’t look scary. But the way his face went void of all emotion in the drop of hat, the inherent way he reacted with violence before correcting himself.

The push and pull between her desire to keep him near and run far away from him had left her in a constant limbo state of anxiety. Her eyes flicked across him waiting for him to speak once more. She opened her mouth to apologize, she didn’t feel she was in the wrong for her observation but she would much rather keep the peace. “Sorry I… I’ve been a little pent up, I shouldn’t make you feel like it’s your fault.” He finally broke the stifling silence. “I do…I do care, you know, about all of this. You’ve just been so good at putting on a brave face I kind of forgot.”

Had she been playing it off that well? She didn’t think so in the slightest. The nightmares, the dissociation, the very fact she was staying with him all week out of fear? Was that really putting on a brave face? Still it was a better explanation than none, an apology to settle the tension. She would take it. With a sigh she nodded and offered him a small smile. “Yeah, sorry.” She whispered. “Didn’t mean to yell at you like that.” One ingenuine apology for another.

In a way that was so tender it nearly made her forget her anger, Kirk cupped her cheek and leaned down to push his lips against her forehead. Y/N melted against him, resting the weight of her head in his hands. “It’s okay you can yell at me whenever you want, I can take it.” He cracked a crooked grin and his eyes sparkled with warmth. Flip of a switch, two sides, she needed to not get lost in it. Slowly he pulled his hands away and her head dropped with a whine of protest.

She grasped at him, curling her fingers into his hair and slipping her lips along the underside of his jaw. “It’s not that I don’t want to, y’know, sleep with you.” her breath ghosted across his skin. “I just can’t seem to let my guard down.” She admitted softly. Every time she tried she was struck with debilitating fear. Her whole body tensing up and shutting down. Her brain was running into overdrive in fight or flight mode.

Kirk nodded with a sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He cupped the back of her head keeping her pressed into his neck, a soft breath escaping him as her lips latched onto his skin once more. “been waiting a while, I can wait longer.” He hummed and tilted his head back further.

Been waiting a while? It had only been a few weeks, maybe a month since she had come home for the summer, since they had started talking. Sure maybe that was a while for most impatient men looking to get their dick wet. But his voice was filled with the longing and melancholy of someone who had been yearning for a long time, too long. “What do you mean waiting for a while?” She asked gently as she pulled away from the bruise she had been painting onto his tanned skin.

He looked down at her, his eyes nearly boring into hers as if searching for something, recognition? When he seemed satisfied in his findings he shrugged. “I thought it was pretty obvious I had a pretty big crush on you before you left for college.” He shrugged against his admittance. “I was pretty disappointed I never got up the courage to ask you out before you left me.”

Left me, left me. The voice on the phone, ‘waiting for you since you left, you left me’. Her smile faltered for a brief moment as she looked up at Kirk. Digging into her skin were the cold grimy hands of primal fear. Tracing across her body like the scattering of spider legs. She was being pulled down, the floor beneath her given way to an empty grave. Gone was any uncertainty about the way she felt towards him. She knew how she felt, terror.

Quickly she brightened her smile once more, beaming up at him in an awe and admiration fit only for a god and he preened under it. “Really?” She asked sweetly. “I'm sorry I really never knew, I guess I'm a little oblivious,” She laughed and hoped that she had kept the nervous edge out of it. He didn’t seem to notice. “You should have asked me out,” She nodded and swallowed hard. “Probably would have saved us both a lot of trouble.”

Kirk shrugged and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh well, we're making up for it now.” He sighed none the wiser. He tugged her against his chest and laid back against her bed, their legs dangling over the edge of it. She shivered with the irrational fear of a monster gripping her ankle and dragging her down below. But really it wasn't all that irrational was it, not when that monster was cuddled up against her in a falsely protective embrace.

She was lying with death himself.

[nodoubtily]

Your favourite moments with Niki as your boyfriend

Drabble 4/6: Thank you, Prada!

I FEEL SASS RADIATING

TW:// REALLY WHOLESOME, Y/N is off with the fairies, Niki enjoys it too much. Idol!Niki x Non-Idol!Reader, just really cute considering I was listening to such a freaky song while writing this out. NOT PROOFREAD.

Upon the sight of your boyfriend, you’ve become officially unresponsive. No one knows what’s wrong other than you. All everyone is aware of is the fact you, for the love of god, cannot take your eyes off your 6-foot-something pretty boy. He, Niki, is determined to find out, but for some reason, you back away whenever he moves towards you, confusing the fuck out of him.

“Baby, you’re scaring me now..” he says, done with playing. His voice is laced with concern and worry, which snaps you, momentarily, out of your powerful trance.

“Need you in this outfit more. I’m begging you. I’m begging your designer. Where is she, like seriously.” You mutter, your eyes scanning the small room Prada granted the group. You can’t find her, and your shoulders slump. Staring at him again, your eyes take down his tall frame. He shakes his head slightly, chuckling. Now he knows what wrong. And like HELL he’ll miss out on this moment.

“Baby.” He grabs your attentions, only slightly, so you hum in response. “Did you know that my dog is cuter than yours?” You only nod.

“Yeah, of course. Way cuter…” it’s like your brain was crashing down.

“Did you also know your mother loves me more than you?” He’s lying straight through his teeth, but you only nod quickly.

“Sees you as the son she never got.” You say, hands shaking as they fidget with Niki’s glasses. He only lets you play with them, and you’re not even realising you’re getting your fingerprints all over. Niki does, but he doesn’t mind. He’s enjoying this too much.

“I love you more.” He leans closer and you kiss his cheek absentmindedly, you’re hands now feeling the fabric his clothes.

“Such beautiful material.” You mumble, feeling the softness. You, like always, praise Prada for this. Niki, satisfied, wraps his right arm around your waist, pulling you snug against him. He kisses your forehead.

“You’re so cute.” He pecks your lips, awakening you from your timely trance. You gaze up at him.

“You look so nice. You smell really good too.” You properly face him, your arms wrapping his waist, the side of your face palming his chest. His arms cozy around your neck, pulling you impossibly close as he kisses your forehead.

“I love you, baby.” He mutters lowly, only so you could hear.

“I love you too.”

FUNNY THING IS THAT FOR MAJORITY KF THIS I LISTENED TO ‘WET THE BED’ BY CHRIS BROWN. Then by the end, ‘No Pole’ came on.

@jyikeu my fucking wifey. ILY

[gothicxreylover]

I loved the kitsune y/n au. Could do a Yandere hashiras plus Kamaboko squad (your choice) maybe Aoi and Kanao where the S/O is a Dog Yokai. The have dog ears, tail, super sense of smell but they don't transform into their real form not because of they're keeping it a secret but because when they transform they have huge soft paws though good for attacking (claws) not good for holding things. Like this: *not mine*

Plus maybe they have dog instincts like chasing squirrels, digging, burying this. They just can't help it even when they aren't transformed. Plus they have beefs with cats. Maybe they climb up trees and don't know how to get down. (Can see obanai climbing up to retrieve them). Since they're Yokai they don't eat humans but protect them. They could be kakushi.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Hello! Here’s your request and I kinda went overboard and wrote the whole cast of hashiras and the Kamaboko squad. Sorry if some scenarios are longer than others but overall enjoy!

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Rengoku

Rengoku had a booming laugh that echoed across the training grounds as he watched you dart after a squirrel during one of his lectures on courage and bravery.

“You’ve got the spirit of a warrior, my friend!” he cheered as you returned, sheepishly wagging your tail, squirrel long gone.

One day, during a mission, you lost focus, distracted by the scent of flowers in the forest. You began chasing after it, only to trip on a root and land ungracefully in a bush. Rengoku hurried over, lifting you effortlessly. “You’re quite a handful, aren’t you?” he teased, brushing leaves off your tail.

Later, during a campfire, you accidentally wagged your tail into the flames. Panicked, you jumped up, and Rengoku was quick to extinguish the embers. “Be careful, precious companion!” he said, helping smooth out the singed fur. From then on, he made sure you sat far from the fire during their gatherings, ever the watchful protector.

Sanemi

Sanemi was harsh with you, initially skeptical of your intentions. “A Dog Yokai? You expect me to trust you because you wag your tail?”

But his attitude shifted during a mission. You were part of the Kakushi crew cleaning up after a battle when you caught the scent of a lingering demon. Without hesitation, you charged, your claws extended, and tore it down before it could harm anyone. Sanemi, watching from a distance, couldn’t deny your loyalty or strength.

However, that respect was tested when he found you burying his sword in the dirt. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he roared. You froze, ears flattened and tail tucked in shame. Despite his shouting, Sanemi sighed, eventually helping you dig it back up. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges,” he muttered, patting your head roughly before walking off.

Giyuu

Giyuu didn’t say much when you first joined the Kakushi, but he always seemed to be quietly watching you. You often got distracted during missions, sniffing out scents or chasing small animals. Others would scold you, but Giyuu never did.

One evening, you chased a cat up a tree and found yourself stuck at the top, your paws too clumsy to climb back down. Giyuu stood beneath the tree, staring up at you. “Do you need help?” he asked calmly. Embarrassed, you whimpered softly. Without hesitation, he climbed up, his movements smooth and practiced.

“You need to be more careful,” he said as he helped you down. Though his tone was stern, his touch was gentle. Later, you found him brushing leaves off your tail in silence. You realized then that, despite his reserved demeanor, Giyuu cared deeply for your well-being.

Obanai

Obanai constantly pretended to be annoyed by you. “Do you have to chase every single cat?” he’d grumble, Kaburamaru flicking his tongue in agreement. But he was always the first to climb up after you when you inevitably got stuck in a tree.

One day, after you’d gotten yourself stranded yet again, Obanai sighed heavily, muttering under his breath as he scaled the tree. “You’re hopeless,” he said as he lifted you into his arms. Kaburamaru slithered onto your shoulder, nuzzling you reassuringly.

Back on the ground, Obanai brushed the dirt off your fur. “You’re lucky I’m patient,” he muttered, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his words.

Tengen and His Wives

The flamboyant Sound Hashira and his wives adored your playful energy. Suma would squeal in delight whenever your tail wagged, Makio would scold you for digging up the garden, and Hina would quietly smile as she helped clean up the mess.

One afternoon, Tengen decided to “train” you, setting up a flashy obstacle course in the yard. “Come on, show me what those Yokai instincts can do!” he cheered. You tried your best, but halfway through, you got distracted by a butterfly and wandered off.

“Distracted already? You’re hopeless!” Makio shouted, hands on her hips. But Suma rushed to your side, giggling as she brushed dirt off your fur. “Don’t be mean, Makio! They’re just adorable!”

Hina quietly handed you a water bottle, her calm presence soothing your embarrassment. Tengen laughed, ruffling your hair. “You’re perfect the way you are, fluffy tail and all.”

Mitsuri

Mitsuri absolutely adored you. She would often gush about your ears and tail, squealing in delight whenever you let her pet them.

One day, you were sparring when a squirrel darted past. Instinct took over, and you bolted after it, leaving Mitsuri behind. By the time you returned, out of breath and empty-pawed, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“You’re just the cutest!” she cried, pulling you into a tight hug. Later, when you got stuck in a hole you’d dug too deep, she was the first to help you out, her strength surprising you. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” she reassured you, patting your ears lovingly.

Shinobu

Shinobu was endlessly amused by your quirks, often teasing you with her sharp wit. One day, you accidentally dug up her medicinal garden, your instincts getting the better of you.

“Ah, I see you’ve decided to help me replant everything,” she said sweetly, though her smile sent a chill down your spine. You spent the rest of the day helping her fix the damage, her playful taunts keeping you on edge.

Despite her teasing, Shinobu always made sure you were well cared for, quietly bandaging your paws after a long day of digging.

Gyomei

Gyomei treated you with a calm reverence that made you feel at peace. One evening, after a particularly chaotic day, you sat beside him as he prayed.

“Your heart is pure,” he said softly, resting a large hand on your head. “Your instincts may lead you astray, but your loyalty is unwavering.”

When you got stuck in some ropes during a mission, Gyomei untangled you without complaint, his patience seemingly infinite. You couldn’t help but feel safe under his watchful care.

Muichiro

Muichiro didn’t react much to your antics, often staring blankly as you chased after squirrels or buried random objects. But one day, during a mission, you found yourself cornered by a demon, unable to use your paws to defend yourself properly.

Before you could call for help, Muichiro appeared, dispatching the demon with ease. “You should be more careful,” he said, his tone indifferent. But later, you caught him brushing dirt off your tail, his actions speaking louder than his words.

Aoi

Aoi tried to keep you in line, but your instincts always seemed to get the better of you. One day, you buried the medical supplies she’d just unpacked, thinking they were meant to be hidden.

“Why do you always do this?!” she shouted, dragging you back to the garden to dig everything up. Despite her frustration, she couldn’t stay mad for long. After you gave her an apologetic look, she sighed, scratching behind your ears. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Kanao

Kanao was endlessly patient with you, often helping you manage your instincts. One day, you proudly presented her with a “gift” you’d dug up—a shiny rock.

She smiled softly, accepting it without hesitation. “Thank you,” she said, placing it in her pocket. From then on, you made it a habit to bring her little treasures, and she kept every single one.

Tanjiro and Nezuko

Tanjiro always guided you gently, helping you stay focused during missions. When you got distracted, he’d patiently lead you back, his kind smile reassuring you.

Nezuko adored playing with your tail, often curling up beside you for naps. One day, when you got stuck in a tree, she climbed up with surprising ease, pulling you down with a giggle.

Genya

Genya pretended to be annoyed by you, but he was fiercely protective. During a mission, when you charged at a demon to protect him, he scolded you afterward.

“Stop acting like a dumb mutt!” he snapped, though his concern was obvious. Later, he quietly thanked you, patting your head awkwardly.

Inosuke

Inosuke saw you as a rival, constantly challenging you to digging contests or races. “Let’s see who’s the better beast!” he’d shout, only to get frustrated when you inevitably beat him with your Yokai strength.

Despite his competitiveness, he was fiercely protective of you and would fight anyone who tried to harm you. “This mutt’s part of my pack!” he’d declare, puffing out his chest.

Zenitsu

Zenitsu adored you but was also terrified of your Yokai strength. He’d often panic when you got too excited, especially when you chased after squirrels or started digging up random objects.

“Wait, wait, stop! You’re going to get us in trouble!” he’d wail, running after you. Despite his fear, he couldn’t resist patting your ears and marveling at your fluffy tail.

[akumaparker]

Color Me Pink -Nishimura Riki

Summary: you and Riki are childhood friends. But when Riki is approached by a guy at school asking about you, unexpected feelings rise to the surface.

Content: mild swearing, jealous!Riki, he's oblivious to his own feelings, feat. 02s

Work count: 1.4k (sorry)

Author's note: hihi! This is my first enha fic! I haven't written in a while and I also wrote this at 1 am so I'm sorry if it's bad 🙏 anyways thanks for reading byeee

Rain beat against the window of the history classroom, and Riki was watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window pane. Mr. Lewis was droning on about some war or something or other, he wasn’t quite sure. History was never his strongest subject.

He turned to you, nudging your shoulder.

“Do you want to go to the arcade after school today? I need to get enough tickets to collect that limited edition Pokémon figure.”

You turned to him, nodding.

He grinned, and returned to his grueling task of betting which raindrop would win the race.

The bell rang signaling the end of another boring lecture.

Riki grabbed your hand, dragging you out of your seat.

“Come on!”

You giggled at his enthusiasm, and Riki grinned. He loved it when you laughed like that. And he loved that he was the only one who really got to see it.

The neon lights and the robotic sounds of the arcade games radiated around the enclosed space. Kids ran from machine to machine, as tired parents chased after them, piles of tickets and sodas in hand. A group of teenagers were playing a car racing game, and the smell of greasy cheese pizza floated in the air.

Riki raced over to his favorite game- Dance Dance Revolution. He was pretty good at this game, if he said so himself. He put the tokens in, and selected his favorite song to play- Replay by Shinee.

He began to follow along, flawlessly hitting each step.

You watched him from afar, sipping your soda.

His face was contorted in focus, sweat dripping down his black hair.

Riki finished the game, and turned to look for you.

You waved to him, and he hurried over.

“Y/N! I finally have enough tickets!” He jumped up and down while hugging you, which caused you to laugh.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back after I exchange these tickets!”

He approached the counter with prizes, his eye on the best prize of all- a limited edition Pokémon figurine that he had been trying to get for months.

Behind the counter was someone he recognized from school. Kai, he thought his name was.

“Hey Riki.”

“Hey Kai! I’ll take the limited-edition Pikachu figurine please”, he said, slapping down the pile of tickets on the counter.

“You got it.”

Kai turned to the wall behind him, and grabbed the figurine.

“Here you go. Hey, by the way, you’re friends with Y/N, right?”

Riki was confused by his question but nodded in response.

Kai blushed, a hand creeping to itch the back of his neck.

“Do you think you could introduce me? I’ve had a crush on her for the longest time, but I don’t know how to approach her.”

Riki felt his stomach churn a little, but he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the questionable hot dog he ate earlier from that street vendor.

“Uh... sure. How about you sit with us at lunch tomorrow and I’ll introduce you?”

Kai let out a relieved breath.

“Thanks so much. I owe you one.”

As he walked away, Riki was apprehensive about introducing you to Kai. What if he was a bad person? What if he only wanted to use you? He would have to keep a close eye on him.

The next day at school, Riki kept his promise. He found Kai in the lunch line, and brought him over to where you were sitting.

“Everyone, this is Kai. He’s going to join us for lunch today.”

A chorus of hellos echoed around the table.

Kai sat next to you.

“Hi.”

“Hi. We have English together, right?”

“Right!”

Riki watched as the two of you engaged in an animated conversation. You laughed, one of those genuine laughs that only he got to see. What could Kai be saying that’s so funny? He’s way funnier than that guy.

He was broken out of his trance by Jake, who tapped his shoulder.

“Dude, you’re going to burn holes in Kai’s face from your staring.”

Riki scoffed, “I am not staring.”

“Uh-huh...sure.”

“I’m not. I’m just...curious as to what he’s saying that could be that funny.”

Jake gave him a knowing look before returning to his sandwich.

The time for history class came around again, and Riki was utterly bored out of his mind.

Nudging your shoulder, he passed you a little note.

Do you want to do a movie night with the guys tonight?

He watched as you scribbled a response with your blue fountain pen.

I can’t, I’m going to see a movie with Kai tonight :( Maybe another time?

He nodded, and you gave him an apologetic look before returning your attention to the lecture.

Riki was disappointed. You always went to movie night, and now you’re suddenly bailing? For this guy you just met earlier?

He rested his hand in his palm, resuming his intense daydreaming session.

There he was, at Jay’s house, a bucket of buttery popcorn in hand, and his favorite movie playing, but he couldn’t focus. His attention kept drifting to you- what were you doing? Were you laughing at something Kai said? Were you dressed in that pretty floral dress you looked so pretty in?

Riki felt a discomforting pain in his chest that he couldn’t quite place. Jealousy, maybe? It was probably just because he had been single for so long, that he was jealous of your love life. Yeah, that was it.

Sighing, Jake grabbed the remote, pausing the movie.

“Hello? Earth to Riki?” He waved his hand in front of his face to break his trance.

“Hmm? What?”

“You’ve been distracted all night”, Jay said. “Do you want to watch something else?”

Riki shook his head, “No I like this movie.”

“Then why aren’t you watching it? Is it because Y/N is with Kai? On a date?”, Sunghoon asked.

Riki opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated.

Jake gasped.

“It is, isn’t it. You’re jealous!”

Riki let out an awkward chuckle, “No of course not! I’m just... worried about her.”

Riki looked down at his hands as he said it.

The older boys shared a knowing look, but decided not to press him further on it.

Riki pulled out his phone, clicking on your messages.

R u done with the movie yet?

He tried to refocus on watching the movie, and he eventually fell asleep.

The next day, you still hadn’t responded to his message.

He texted you again to ask if you wanted to hang out, but you said that you couldn’t- you were studying with Kai.

Red-hot anger bubbled inside him.

You were his best friend.

Suddenly you don’t have time for him now that another guy came into the picture?

The next day, Sunday, was your usual arcade day, but you bailed on that too, saying you had too much homework this weekend and Kai was helping you with a history project.

All of Monday, Riki decided to ignore you. See how shitty it felt.

After the last class of the day, he hurried out the main entrance of the school.

“Riki! Riki! I know you can hear me!”

You were calling after him, but he kept walking away.

He made it all the way to his house before he felt a hand grab his own.

He turned to see your panting figure looking at him with pleading eyes.

You dropped his hand before asking, “Did I do something wrong? You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

Riki rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you go hang out with Kai, isn’t he your boyfriend now or something?”

You were shocked at what he said.

“No, why would you think that?”

Riki let out a frustrated groan, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’ve ditched me all weekend to go hang out with him?”

Now it was your turn to be mad.

“Are you serious, Riki? I didn’t spend one weekend with you and you’re mad at me?”

“Yeah. You know how important our arcade days are to me, and you bailed on me for that stupid guy! I don’t want to be your friend if you keep seeing him, because clearly, he’s more important than our friendship!”

Riki turned on his heel and stormed off.

You scoffed, and followed him inside his house.

“You don’t get to tell me who I can hang out with Riki!”

Riki slammed the door shut behind him, setting his bag down by the shoe rack in the hallway, before he turned to face you.

“Yes, I do!”

“Why, why do you care so much?”

“You’re my best friend, that’s why!”

You dejectedly sighed, running a hand through your hair.

There was a beat of silence before Riki spoke again.

“Why don’t you go hang out with your new boyfriend? Don’t waste your time here with me.”

“What is so wrong with me hanging out with him? Is it so hard to believe someone might actually think I’m attractive, or want to go out with me? Is that it? Cause that’s what it fucking feels like you’re saying, Riki.”

“No, of course not! I just... I just-”

“Just what Riki?”

“I’m in love with you okay! I’ve been in love with you for my whole life and I was stupid to not realize it until now."

His voice softened as he continued.

"I love the way you laugh, and the way you eat the head off the gummy bears first. I love everything about you.”

There was a silence as you processed his words.

“Y/N.. please say something.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words.”

With that, you walked towards him before placing your lips on his. Your hands found their way to his neck, as one of his hands cupped your cheek.

The kiss was slow, but electric. He gently kissed you, all of his love pouring out into this one moment.

You pulled away slowly, blushing.

Riki cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So... does this mean that you feel the same?”

You let out a giggle before ruffling his hair affectionately.

“You’re such a dumbass. Yes, Riki. I love you too.”

Riki grinned from ear to ear, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

You were lost in the kiss, when you heard someone clear their throat.

The two of you broke the kiss, pulling apart quickly.

Jake, Jay and Sunghoon were standing in the entryway of the kitchen,a smug, satisfied look on their faces.

They exchanged looks before Jake exclaimed, “Fucking finally!”

[autisticfaun420]

More on HSN autism and poop I guess

My most popular post by far is my one about my struggle with fecal smearing not sure why. I guess I’ll give you guys a follow up cause I want to talk more about incontinence and how it has affected my life. Sorry new to tumblr and I don’t remember what tags to use so OCD people can filter so I hope this intro is enough of a trigger warning.

I’m gonna be blunt about it, what’s worse then smearing though is just being in public stuck in a shitty diaper really for a couple reasons. I can’t stop myself from having bowel accidents in public, and when I’m having them too I *look* like I’m having one, I can’t stop my legs from squatting like a little kid and there’s often an accompanying sound to go with it. I wish I could say this in a nicer way but I basically go from the tolerable quirky R word to the ew so disgusting R word real fast. People go from smiling at me at least to going to openly degrading me and making comments like I’m not in the room. People get bothered real fast, I can’t blame them it smells bad but it doesn’t change the fact on how I feel inside once I became old enough to realize this was going on. It’s hard for my parents and caregivers to find a place in public to change me and it’s often impossible. The restaurants I eat at, the places so visit, are all dependent on me having a single room bathroom because a proper adult changing station is a pipe dream.

God forbid I have a diaper blowout (where poop goes up the back and out the diaper), then whatever small amount empathy people have goes quickly out the window. I used to like taking the bus with my dad, I can’t do it anymore. I had one blowout on the bus and people acted like their life was in danger “ew ew ew oh my god the r word shit everywhere ew” from someone not even close to where I was sitting, people telling my dad how my mom should of handled her pregnancy, I learned what an abortion was that day. People become blunt when they are mildly inconvenienced with a bad smell and they think it gives them a right to dehumanize someone. I know it’s disgusting but maybe there’s something wrong with me but I don’t think the reaction warrants it. Not when I’ve been at people’s houses and the dog shits everywhere and people go aww he’s just a little guy to the dog. I wish I got that kind of reaction as an autistic child, infantilization is at least better then telling me I should have never been born.

I wanted to write more but sorry I’m crying now. I guess I’ll end it on a positive note. I mentioned in a previous post how one of my high school friends, who grew up with little brothers and cousins, had no problems changing me so we could hang out. I’m not saying that’s an accommodation I expect anyone at all to make for me who’s not a parent or a caregiver getting paid for it, but the fact that he never acted grossed out when cleaning me healed something in me. I would be so embarrassed shitting myself in front of my “cool” neurotypical friends, I would be tearing up and I opened up about it and how embarrassing it is and he basically told me fuck the haters and it’s not something I can control. I didn’t ask for it. A part of me believed I was doing on purpose and carried guilt and guilt leads to meltdowns and smearing incidents. “What do you mean all the cool kids poop their pants” he would say sometimes to make me laugh. During our hangout sessions I would whisper to him “cool pants” or text him that so he could discreetly take me to the bathroom. He’d do it wether he was drunk, stoned, or sober. And like I said in the other post, he was the only reason I was able to have the freedom to hang out without a caretaker or parent in high school and we could all smoke weed together without my parents knowing. I think they did know what I was doing and just let me have my teenage fun, I think my parents thought the weed chilled me out too, which is true, so they let me do it but my cannabis use is a topic for another day.

[to-be-spared]

@the-aqueerium thank you so much for the prompt! i hope this is. written in a comprehensible language.

some kind of tenderness (on ao3 too)

Lunch rush is new, and Fadel would take credit for it if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s not supposed to care. The pride blooming in his chest, rooted in some fucking burgers and fries, is often accompanied by a mocking laughter in his head. He’d call it cruel, if he didn’t owe Mother as much as he does.

Bison has a serious expression on his face every time he uses his feet or his shoulders to push the swinging kitchen door open, and that’s how Fadel knows that the place is packed.

There is sweat collecting under his hat, and he can feel the oil and the smell of food seeping into his skin.

For a moment he’s tempted by the idea of making himself laugh thinking about asking Mother to hire some help for the kitchen.

That’s what you get for being an overachiever, Bison would tell him.

He still wants to share when the door opens again, pushed forcefully enough that it hits the wall, but the words fade on Fadel’s lips when Style is the one in his kitchen instead of Bison.

Style looks warm from the sun, bridge of the nose and high cheekbones slightly red, skin glistening under the kitchen lights.

The sound of sizzling oil spills in Fadel’s ears like a waterfall. “Shit.” He lifts the basket, movements sharp, perfectly golden fries on the verge of being too crisp ready to be served.

“Something distract you?” Bison asks, clever smirk on his lips as he moves the fries to their plates.

“Go fuck yourself,” Fadel mutters back, wiping his hands on his apron just so he doesn’t have to look up.

Bison isn’t fazed, one plate in each hand. “Your boy looks pissed,” is what he leaves Fadel with, and it gives Fadel an excuse to keep glaring at him until the doors swing closed behind Bison’s back.

And then, once he’s out of excuses, he has to look up again.

Style is leaning against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Style says, quiet and burning with a kind of restlessness Fadel is unfamiliar with.

Fadel should tell him that he really doesn’t have time right now, but he doesn’t want to.

“Bathroom?” Style asks, unmistakable. A smirk sharpens the corner of his lips. “We’ll be quick.”

It’s not the playfulness Fadel is used to. There is no luring, and he knows there would be no point in playing trapped. It feels like Style wants to be hunted.

“Half an hour,” slips out of Fadel’s lips before he can think better of it. Fuck, he can’t just give in and not figure it out, and the mocking laughter in his head is what he gets for caring.

The smirk falls from Style’s lips, and Fadel can tell he’s about to say never mind, then, he’s about to walk out by himself with the mess in his head that’s making him still, so Fadel uses a word that’s never held much weight in his life. “Please.”

Style’s eyes are bright. He seems taken aback as he leans back against the wall, looks down as neither of them quite knows what to do with himself or the other. “Okay.”

*

Style ends up staying in the kitchen, sitting quietly on a chair as he watches Fadel, even though Fadel knows he hates ending up smelling like food.

Bison, who’s still alive in spite of his astonishing lack of self preservation skills, takes one look at Style and says, “He looks like a pissed off guard dog,” he waves a finger in front of Style, who pretends to attempt a bite. At least, Fadel thinks he pretends. “Best to keep him in the kitchen,” Bison nods, all fingers back to safety, “He’ll scare all our clients.”

But then he brings Style a plate of crisp, still too warm fries.

*

Style doesn’t wait for Fadel to take off his apron, cold fingers closing around his wrists as he drags him towards the staff bathroom, and it’s probably been thirty minutes on the dot and Fadel feels the wall against his back and hears the lock of the door, and then Style’s hands are everywhere on him.

Fadel’s hat falls to the floor when Style’s fingers run in his hair, nails to his scalp, and Fadel can taste the salt of the fries on Style’s lips, can touch the grease from the garage on Style’s arms. And Style knows him, so his hands are terrifying under Fadel’s shirt because he doesn’t want to stop thinking yet.

Fadel grabs Style’s wrists.

Breaths heavy, Fadel knows rejection is Style’s weak point, so he’s slow and intentional as he brings Style’s wrists behind his back, crossed and soft, and he kisses him because he always wants him.

He can tell Style is frustrated, teeth grabbing Fadel’s lower lip, leg pressing between Fadel’s thighs, breaths quick as he just throws himself against Fadel, impatiently chasing relief like water against a dam.

Fadel doesn’t let him crush through. He walks Style backwards until their hands are touching the opposite wall.

“Fuck,” Style says, exasperation and frustration turning his eyes bright and his voice fragmented, “just let me – ”

But the words die on his lips as Fadel lets go of his wrists and places his hands on Style’s face, framing his features awkwardly, thumb too close to Style’s mouth as Fadel tries to hold him, hold whatever is going on inside his head.

Style’s lips are parted when Fadel kisses him, slowly. “We have time,” he murmurs, thumb stroking Style’s cheek. “And beds at home.” He doesn’t know what he’ll do with all this tenderness once he’ll have to let Style go, where he’ll store it once it’ll turn sharp with regret, but he tells himself wounds have always been the easiest part of the job.

Style lets his head fall against the wall. His breath is warm between them. “I really wanted a quick fuck in the bathroom,” he says, but there is half a smile on his lips.

“It’s a charming place,” Fadel agrees. And Style chuckles, half moon eyes settling in Fadel’s as his hands smooth over Fadel’s chest, shirt thin between skin and skin.

“Did something happen?”

Style doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what Fadel is talking about. “Something stupid.”

Fadel kisses him, quick, lips against lips like he could steal the words from Style’s mouth. The dismissal so unlike him. “It usually is.”

Style rolls his eyes. He takes the bait, but he wants Fadel to know he knows what’s happening. He curls his hands on Fadel’s chest. “This lady at the garage accused my dad of scratching her car. Which, he obviously didn’t,” he adds, firm, frowning. “When I tried to intervene she didn’t think much of my manners.” He pauses. “She asked me who raised me.” He shrugs. “Mum’s death’s anniversary is tomorrow.”

Fadel’s thumb is gentle under Style’s eye. He might say something stupid and pointless. I’ve got you.

But he says, “Poor excuse of a human being.”

Style shrugs again. He looks away. He murmurs, “I’m proud of the way my dad raised me, anyway.”

And Fadel knows it’s not something Style wants acknowledged as much as it’s something Style wants spoken out loud.

“If you have her name we could ask Bison for a favour.”

Style laughs, head thrown back and eyes bright. His hands move on Fadel’s chest, low and then lower. “I’d rather hear more of those beds you were talking about.”

[ddeserteagle]

The Emperor: ok, he is hot. I'd fuck that. But he's also the dumbest smart person to ever exist, so obviously not a hubby material.

Lion: somehow I don't find him sexy enough, but I also love him (who doesn't?), so marriage it is - a quiet hubby that doesn't bother you much.

Fulgrim: fuck yeah 🔥 Anything for you, darling! I can fuck you, you can fuck me, we can fuck someone else or let someone else fuck us. Role play? Say no more!

Peter- Perturabo: hmm I don't know, dude. Literally, don't feel much about this character. But he's a bit of an arse, so death it is then.

Khan: would never marry him, he doesn't strike me as a family guy. However, I love him still. ❤️

Leman Russ: I AM SO SORRY!!1 I really got stuck here. I mean, he is deffo not a husband material - too unrefined for my taste. He's HOT and wild, but the problem is, I don't like the smell of dogs lmao. So the only option left is... sorry. Can someone take this wolfie before I kill him?

Dorn: the hottest ice mountain ever 🔥 I mean, have you seen those arms??? Those pecs??? I'd fuck him 6 ways to Sunday. Top or bottom, BDSM or vanilla, all options are welcome. I can be a good dominatrix for him 🖤

Konrad: the dude needs therapy. Considering killing him as an act of mercy.

Sanguinius: the perfect man doesn’t exi- ...oh WAIT! HE DOES! Fuck, marry, TAKE MY HEART DRINK MY BLOOD I'll start a fucking religion in your name. The most loveable character to ever exist. I'll fight anyone who disagrees.

Ferrus: emotionally constipated bulky men are my type. 🖤💔 (Fulgrim, you're such an idiot!)

Angron: my poor baby! It's not his fault! He was exploited and abused! He also needs therapy, just like Konrad. However, since such option is not available, it's the love that's left.

Rob: you can make fun of him as much as you want, but Rob is the only man among these 19 with a functioning brain, capable of building an Empire (much better than his father did). Isn't this sexy? It is. Absolutely fuckable and a 100% husband material. I want a baby from him.

Mortarion: he was planning on killing Garro. This is unforgivable. Nope.

Magnus: I'm from the He Did Nothing Wrong crowd, so of course I love our red cutie pie. He is SMART but also BIG. Size matters, gentlepeople, size matters. (I just hope he's not into tantric sex)

The bold guy from Brazzers Horus: this fucking man...! *draws breath through her clenched teeth* I want to apply all three options to him at once. Fight me but he is HOT. And charming. An alpha-male in the best meaning of this word. But his Daddy Issues are so massive, they enter the room before Horus does. Since his daddy is a bit of an idiot himself, I can be his mommy instead.

Lorgar: you made such a mess, dude. Just fucking die. And take that cunt Erebus with you.

Vulkan: 200% hubby material. Loving, caring, warm.

Corvus: my goth hubby 🖤 We would visit Gothic castles together, wear black nail polish and share playlists with each other.

Alpharius: honestly, I don't even know what I want more: fuck him or kill him (just like Alpharius doesn't know what they want either). I'll be like a Black Widow spider - will kill him/them right after sex. And yes, we're not talking about traditional monogamous sex here, obviously! Gonna be fun!

Let's play FMK the Primarchs!!!

Did a fmk w/ all the boys 💖 I'll include a clean copy below in case anyone else wants to add theirs 😁

Also guest appearance by Big E himself He gives me stress ulcers

OG art is from this reddit thread

💋 - fuck

💍 - marry

💀 - kill

The 🤷‍♀️ are because I don't know enough about said primarchs (and ibr I don't wana fmk Shining Twins McGee over there. And Dorn is... Dorn)

{Leman Russ is not escaping my grasp}

[rat-rosemary]

Mmmmmmmm Dnn au where Sapnap and George are both selkies and they haven't told Dream but he knows, and he doesn't blame them for not telling him, he gets it, and they always keep their furs hidden until one day someone breaks into their home and steals their furs, and while the two of them are freaking out because this is literally the worst case scenario ever and what are they going to even tell Dream, Dream goes after the guys and just kills them

Except Dream fucked up and now he's freaking out because he got fucking blood on their coats! He can't give the coats back with blood in them, that would be so rude and gross and what if the blood sticks to it after it dries????

So Sapnap and George suddenly feel a new pair of hands touch their coats, different from the ones that had grabbed and thrown it around and hidden. No, these hands tremble slightly as they touch their furs and they feel so familiar and then there's the feeling of water which... is very weird? What the fuck is happening to their coats??

But yeah, Dream washes the blood off and them puts the coats in the drier on a low setting with a bunch of towels (which is a very very weird feeling to Sapnap and George) and he leaves the coats on their beds without them seeing and now they kinda smell like the laundry cleaner Dream uses and it drives George and Sapnap insane (/pos)

[sciderman]

amazing spider-man #95

[roman-roy-apologist]

i love you animal symbolism