#how to get rid of mosquitoes

[solaeclipse75]

I step out of the shower, my naked form displayed upon the mirror. An image only I can see. But then I remember the watchers. A million eyes pointed towards me. This bathroom is full of mosquitos.

[jamisonpestandlawn]

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[wiiusho]

going to run into the forest forever goodbye

[tanema123]

When summer is coming to Croatia, the daily battle schedule is set.

6:00-18:00 - THE FLIES NATION

*size rage - baby to giant

*will attack you randomly

*don't bite, but the buzzing damages your earbuds

*will contaminate your food

18:00-6:00 - THE MOSQUITO EMPIRE

*Size range - micro to small

*Make sneak attacks and then happily fly away while singing

*leave scratchy spots

*may carry diseases

Now excuse me.

*Spreads war paint on her cheeks and gives a determined look. Arms herself with a fly swatter and newspaper. Bug spray on standby when things get tough.*

I got a war going on here.

[instarsanddyke]

since 2020 ive consistently had my legs absolutely ate up by bugs during the summer

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒

# with trafalgar water d. law.

it was said that those trapped inside his sphere were then nothing but a helpless patient on his operating table. law made sure you, too, would experience it.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day three. medical play. glove kink. smut (mdni)! fingering (reader!receiving). freaky law. use of devil-fruit. double penetration. afab!reader.

WC: 2.5k

it was an agreement that the captain of a crew was the most valuable asset. law had matured into such a position with natural ease — powerful and intelligent; responsible and menacing — yet, his most arduous and important role relied neither on his battle skills nor on his plans. law was crucial to the lives of crew due to his extensive anatomical knowledge and the devil-fruit whose power could heal whatever ill. he was reliable, organized, logical. shame had no place within the walls of the infirmary, for law cared not for the cause of the disease or the placement of a pimple — instead, he all but strived to get rid of it.

the gratefulness and cheerful compliments thereafter were fuel to his ego, the confirmation that he had fulfilled his duties as a captain. law drew pleasure from the fact that he was one to execute a role unique amidst his crew. he had taught them concepts of medicine and surgery — to have a set of aiding hands, at least — but none of those with whom he shared the submarine were fit to nurse themselves to health. that diligent performance, more often than not, brought him a greater sense of power than the one granted by victorious battles.

it was an achievement; a task; his father’s legacy. law treated his patients with utmost professionalism, the character of their shared dynamic long forgotten if one had to be examined. it was a neutral space; undiscriminating. his ethics were thorough, his examination was immaculate. the mere thought of law losing focus during such instances was inconceivable. that was, of course, until you were the subject whose back pressed against the examination table.

the prelude itself had been virtuous. your limbs were sore during the aftermath of an arduous battle, minuscules cuts adorning your skin due to the offensive character of your opponent. law had insisted on treating you, regardless of how minor were the gashes. the memories were a vivid talon that had claimed his mind: your knee pressed against your chest as he stretched your muscles; the perspective from being atop your figure; your mellow breaths of relief whenever his fingers succeeded in undoing a tense knot. law had grown hot, then, forced to hasteness for the sudden tightness of his pants would be sure to denounce the perverted thoughts.

the second time was one of prolonged misery. a mosquito bite from a foreign island had left you bedridden; feverish. a frailer state of mind and manners, hazed by the consequences of a higher temperature. from soothing massages to the press of ice-cold thermal bags — your comfort became his most favored goal. the pain, however, proved to be overbearing, and the product of such given relieves came in the form of multiple moans. a press of his hand had you sighing; the cool, metal touch of his stethoscope against your burning skin made you beg for longer contact. whenever law dared to place a damp towel above your forehead, you’d lean into his touch and plead for him to stay.

yet, the occurrence that snapped the strained thread of his mind had been during a routine checkup. your mouth was open wide; law had a thin, small, wooden-stick on your tongue, striving to check on the health of your throat. he teased your gag-reflex, a gloved thumb pressed against your lower lip. law had lost his senses at the sight of your tears, the wild rise-and-fall of your chest, a context much too similar to that of a blowjob. the examination was cut short, and law had spent an entire hour in the shower right thereafter, fisting his cock; chasing a fleeting orgasm that had refused him, for your touch was its demand.

the infirmary shifted into a somewhat sinful ambience. the metal table was but a surface on which you could be ravaged. the stethoscope an instrument he could use to listen to the pace of your heartbeat, its increase gradual to his thrusts on your pussy. and the gloves. rubber moistened with your cum and spit; the act of stretching it near you, for it would then strike at the growing-sensible flesh. law wanted to witness the middle in which pain and pleasure converged — and you had been the chosen subject.

fleeting touches; warm breath hovering above your earlobe; the caress of your leg, under the table, with the point of his shoe. the guaranteeing of your restlessness coated in faux aloofness. when the teasing, at last, conquered its desired effect, law had the infirmary far more than prepared to receive your storm. his nape had burned under your gaze throughout the later hours of the afternoon, and when law stepped inside the maddening room, he was well-aware that you would be soon to follow.

he hid amidst the shadows, reveling in your confused-etched expression as you walked through the infirmary’s door. when you reached the center, law locked it, the force of its shutting enough to produce a loud, startling noise; echoing through the metal hallways of the submarine. you jumped, glancing at his frame placed by the door. law’s eyes drowned in the sight of you, thoughts swirling to the fantasies whose realization was of absurd importance.

“is something wrong, captain?” you inquired, arms crossed.

law’s steps were slow; calculated. he approached you as though a leopard surrounding its prey. you grew wary, retreating without forethought until your hip-bone collided with the examination table.

“how are you feeling tonight?” law grinned at the sight of your confusion, the increasing nervousness all but exciting him further.

the sound of his palms slamming on metal had you shrieking, yet law did not seem apologetic. he all but devoured your trapped figure, cursing the chaste knitting of the jumpsuit — though the sight of his crew’s symbol above your chest sent him a jolt of uncontrollable possessiveness.

“i’m fine,” you stuttered, clearing your throat and clinging to the fabric of your garment. “better than ever.”

“is that so?” law mused, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. his fingers were but a hook on your chin; curled and unyielding. “you’re a bit pale, wouldn’t you agree?”

“captain, i don’t—”

“doctor,” he corrected through rough intonation, forcing the angle of your face to match his own.

“doctor,” you echoed. while the grunt of lust at the sound had been contained, the same could not be said about his member — a gradual erection, borderline painful.

he sighed in faux disappointment, allowing his hand to wander; to hover above your chest. “you leave me no choice but to examine you.”

you were left out of words, mouth agape as your mind struggled to wrap itself around that turn of events.

“sit. you know the drill,” he commanded, and once you had done as such, law turned on his back, striding towards the locked drawer whose contents were the ones adjusted to fulfill the standards of what he meant on doing. his movements were languid, patient. at the absence of sound on your part, law tsked, angling his head so as to glare at you. “strip.”

your spontaneous gasp of bewilderment had a smirk etching on his face. “captain, i— what?”

“doctor. and i don’t plan on repeating myself,” he scolded, fishing the stethoscope from its previous spot. “i taught you the proper way to listen to one’s heartbeat. forgot it already?”

“oh,” you breathed out sheepishly, tugging down the zipper of your jumpsuit. law at last understood the root of your hesitation, for you wore nothing but a bra underneath. his mouth dried up, and he dared not readjust his gaze. “i thought, well, nothing. it was silly.”

“no, please, enlighten me,” he requested, positioning the stethoscope around his neck.

the growth of tension escaped past your pores as though a leaking faucet. “just, with the touches and the glances, i figured you were in search of another thing entirely.”

“and what would that be?”

your movements ceased midway, the upper half of the jumpsuit a dangling fabric at your sides. you hid your face from his glance, though his focus remained on the inviting sight of your cleavage.

“you know—”

“i do not,” law detached his figure from its previous support spot on the table’s edge, languid steps guiding him to you. “and a decent patient does not keep secrets from their doctor.”

you were caged, forced to lean back as law angled himself forward. the sudden exchange of energy, due to the temperature divergence between your spine and the metal, made you hiss. your back arched out of instinct; your chest pressed against his own as a consequence. mere inches separated his face from yours, his breath fluttering your eyelashes. your pupils dilated when law tossed his blue coat aside, the half-unbuttoned shirt he wore doing nothing to shelter his bare abdomen and chest from your lustful eyes.

you gulped; wild rise-and-fall of chest. “sex.”

he hummed, putting on the stethoscope’s ear pieces. its chest piece teased the warmth of your skin, movements too erratic to catch the proper pace of your heartbeat. “i can’t hear you, say it louder.”

you were aghast, stuttering as he smirked with malice. sentences sounded muffled; chaotic breathing hindering the performance of the tool. law placed the stethoscope aside, feigning dissatisfaction.

“it seems i’ll have to scan it closer on,” he stated, a twist of his wrist enough to teleport your heart to the palm of his hand.

it was a beating wonder; a rampant pace. the source of your life secured in between his teasing fingers. clutching it would have you howling in pain, stabbing it would reap your soul; an unfathomable, despising, thought. when it came to the negative consequences to a severe act of violence committed to one’s heart, law was well-versed. the soothing touches, however, were unprecedented territory — for now.

law drew your heart closer to his mouth, ever-so-tender. he blew a careful gust of air over the delicate flesh, and the kiss thereafter tore a devastating moan from your lips. droplets of sweat bubbled from your pores; your pupils buried the tone of your irises; your limbs all but trembled. law failed to contain a groan, losing balance at the blood flowing through his aching cock. he was desperate to witness that reaction yet again.

“take it all off,” he instructed, voice coming out strained due to the effort to keep himself from crumbling.

he laid your entire body on the examination table, struggling to ignore your whimpers as the fabric slid down your legs. law sliced the rubber gloves, discarding the pieces meant for the palms.

“room,” law detached his fingers, guiding them to the glove holes; covering them in rubber. he returned to you, breath catching at the sight of your body, bare and trembling, a marvel bestowed upon him. “the doctor will see you now.”

“please, doctor,” you mewled. “heal me.”

without further ado, granted the privilege of his devil-fruit, law guided his floating fingers to your cunt. a gloved thumb teased your clit through circular movements, two fingers parting your folds. he was aghast at the amount of lubrification caused by the mere press of his lips on your heart. law shoved his middle-finger into your cunt, coating the rubber with your essence. a loud whimper had his cock aching, and law grew worried, much too selfish to share your sounds with the external environment.

“silent,” he rasped, latching his lips to your heart, leaving a trail of kisses on the flesh. your back arched, a muted moan tearing through your throat.

he witnessed the squirming of your body; the violent trembling of your legs. his ring finger accompanied his middle one, scissoring your cunt as his thumb maintained a stable eight-pattern on your clit. law’s warm tongue teased your heart, and the shout of pleasure whose sound the barrier had silenced was his latest straw. law undid it, shoving his index and minor finger into your mouth.

“suck it,” law commanded, having your spit coat the rubber. his mouth dried, a wet patch visible on the fabric of his pants.

the swirling of your tongue around his fingers had his cock twitching, yet law had no hands available to unbutton the belt. he clicked his tongue, and the fingers inside your holes had switched, activating his devil-fruit regardless of the detachment.

“shambles,” his pants and underwear teleported to a meaningless spot.

law detached his cock and removed the pair of fingers from your cunt, for the particular warmth and wetness were meant to be claimed by his cum.

“doctor,” you babbled, voice muffled by his fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as he applied pressure to the entrance of your ass. “it’s too—ngh much.”

“you’re still sick,” he cooed, teasing your folds with the tip of his member. “and i must treat it. can we proceed with it?”

you nodded, gagging when he shoved his fingers deeper — unrestrained by the confines of his tendons.

“speak,” he insisted, neglecting your inability to produce proper words.

“yes,” you cried out, sending vibrations through his fingers.

“yes what?” law snapped, teasing your entrance with the tip of his middle-finger.

“yes, doctor,” you coaxed in sheer desperation, trembling with need.

law hummed with satisfaction, careful during the insertion on your butthole. the rubber had enough of your essence to serve as a form of lubricant, yet he wished not for you to feel pain. his tongue licked strips on your heart, and your throat produced but an orchestra of boisterous moans, half its sound muffled. a never-ending pace of kisses to your wildly beating heart served as decent distraction, and when law slid his middle and ring fingers into your ass, you barely ever felt it.

your high was a powerful force, drowning his floating cock in your cum. law trembled, rutting his hips out of instinct, the movement itself useless as his member was no longer attached to his body. law marveled at the sight of you, covered in sweat and spit; squirting all over the examination table. he was drawn closer as though a senseless sailor to a siren’s aria, lost in your contorting features, the pleasure written all over.

your eyes met his, wet with past tears. “can i treat you, still?”

law feared that he had crossed a line, far gone in his bliss to remind himself that, although there were no limits to what he was willing to give you, the same could not be said about how much you were capable of receiving.

yet, after a minute, your breathing stabilized and your cheeks briefly hollowed, tongue swirling around his fingers. he removed them, if only to facilitate your speaking.

your voice was meek; hoarse. “treat me ‘til the end, doctor.”

he groaned when your lips parted, head weakly moving to accommodate his fingers. law’s member started to stretch you out, making itself at home within the walls of your cunt. you trembled, sensitive, and law moaned as his cock was coated with the essence from the previous squirting. he paid attention to your expression, fingers scissoring inside your butthole as he matched the pace with that established by his cock.

law caressed your heart, busying his mouth with the press of soothing kisses on your face. he shoved his cock past what was humanly possible, brushing the tip on your cervix; returning it to your entrance and ramming it inside yet again. your moans were the most entrancing melody he had heard, and law caught himself comfortable enough to produce similar sounds.

you tightened around both his fingers and cock; cunt and ass giving in to the overbearing tides of pleasure. your voice failed you, and law had his fingers removed from your mouth in order to listen to the sound of your bliss without restraints. the veins of his members twitched; he felt the knot close to its undoing. yet, it was the bulge of his tip visible through your stomach that had his vision covered in dark spots.

his grip left your heart — out of safety — as his orgasm washed over him, converging with your cum. he rode his high, careful as to observe your face and retrieve once the stimulation became too much. you were left limp on the table, a brief vocal command of his devil-fruit returning the detached limbs to his body. he threw the damp gloves on the trash can, and helped you sit, holding your heart in order to return it to your chest.

when you kissed it — shuddering at your own touch — and observed him through your eyelashes, law, however, became more than willing to ruin the infirmary further.

— 🐈‍⬛ : dear lord this was nasty. i love kinktober.

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to know how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[crepezinhos]

hiii, ive been like binging your work and i LOVE IT!! its so hard to find yandere genshin blogs fr😭 can i request like yandere!scaramouche punishing the reader bcs of something bad, and then like after thag reader did not want to do anything and that made him more upset and tried punishing the reader again but bcs of that the reader dies (im so so sorry if this a weird request but ive been craving HEAVYYY angstt)

Flawed Execution

(REQUEST #10) POV: Scaramouche isn’t the fastest man to realize if he has hurt a person, nor does he care about them when he does it. But now that it cost your life, for how long will his ignorance last?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere and Angsty SFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER PRONOUNS

— There is NO comfort and contains graphic mentions of heavy (physical) violence

— Fatui!Yandere!Scaramouche x Imprisoned!Reader

— AU is: In-Game

“Mmmngh..!” Your legs struggled to move in direction of your bed, almost falling down to the floor within every step you took.

But you knew that if you did crumble, it’d be agonizing and difficult to stand up again or control the thick bleeding in your belly that would be favored by gravity.

You’ve been through enough reasonless torture today. First, it was him, who got mad at you for acting too shallow and not so wifely with him, and threatened you with violence. His short, harsh words about using his hands on you kept spiraling in your head, and the anxiety you’ve consequently built up throughout the hours had only made your behavior less appropriate to his high standards. That’s when his second scolding came and when his previous words about punishment were accomplished just as promised.

Glass was his weapon.

Glass from the thin wine glasses you were peacefully sharing with him before he noticed your shaky hands and timid milliseconds of eye contact.

Glass shards that penetrated your skin like mosquito bites in multiple corners of your body, and have now unified themselves to make your whole body irritated with pain. Glass shards that had swirled themselves with your locks when he hit you in your head. It didn’t even matter to him if that was his favorite haircut on you or if you had invested hours in it to make yourself presentable to him as he had always demanded from you.

How ironic, don’t you think?

And that bigger glass shard that landed very roughly in your belly when it was turn to hit your glass of wine in your body, and he didn’t seem to realize how grave the injury was.

Just remembering that moment of him dragging you through the tips of your hair down to your chamber in the basement, despite all the pain you were already going through, while he screamed horrible words at you, or you, worming in the floor in pain while banging in the room’s metal door while screaming ‘I’m sorry’ over and over like a defenseless little prey about to be eaten, made your stomach twist itself with angst.

“You useless, USELESS wife! If you can’t even look at me properly, I won’t let you look at anything else but the gray walls of your bedroom!”

That was it. You were done for.

That was why the only torture you were willing to accept at this point was the pain you’d have to feel to get on your bed and finally rest. Somehow, you were even excited for it, unlike all the other past nights that you went to sleep wondering when would you ever get rid of him, but at least sleeping deeply thanks to its softness.

With a lot of struggle, you folded and lifted your right leg, opposite to where your injury was, landing it on your bed. Then, with an uncomfortable moan and a single arm in the bed, you forced yourself to jump and lean forward, successfully landing on the bed’s wooly sheets in a very awkward position with your back facing the roof.

Due to that favorable position, you felt even more layers of blood gushing down the hand that was trying to hold it back to your guts, which made you groan in discomfort.

Now, in a situation like yours, do you consider that injury a bless or a curse? That injury could cause you to possibly lose the movement of your legs and make you even more vulnerable to someone like him. That injury could heal normally, and no permanent damage would prevail. Or that injury could lead you to death.

…

You don’t want to die.

But at the same time…

Your logical thinking couldn’t deny that it was one of the few ways you could ever gain freedom again. And if there’s any sort of after-life destiny for your soul instead of a nothingness… you’d finally rest, right? No matter how you repelled the idea of death, a man like the 6th Fatui Harbinger makes it attractive.

After that little moment you took to think and breathe, you forced yourself to swiftly turn around, your injury now facing the ceiling while the left side of your head perfectly rested at the feathered pillow.

What a perfect position.

Relaxing, comfortable, and helpful…

If you were to truly die right now, at least you’d die with dignity. You’d die in a comfortable bed after enduring your roughest beating, without any guilt of knowing that you didn’t do that to yourself. After all, suicide was never an option to you, nor would he ever let your hands harm themselves.

And if you were to survive, it wouldn’t be as honorable as death. To wake up covered in rotting dark blood, whimpering in pain and alone in that eerie chamber with him stalking you from the door’s window or the camera he has in a tall corner of the walls.

Finally, the exhaustion weighing your eyelids finally became too overwhelming for you, so they closed, and you didn’t insist on keeping them open anymore.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

.

Pancakes, juice, biscuits, cake and fruits.

These are all, right? All her favorite breakfasts in a single tray.

She’s going to like it, I know it. And then, I’m gonna slide in some apology, no matter how crappy it is, and she’s going to accept it and praise me just as I trained her to do.

Everything will be back to normal, Kunikuzushi.

It wasn’t as bad as you think.

The heavy metal door to her chamber cranked loudly as I pushed it open, immediately finding myself staring at her laying down at the bed surrounded by dark, back facing me and being highlighted by the light of the hall I came from.

“Y/N.” I called out calmly while trying to keep my worries shoved down my throat.

And she didn’t move. Perhaps my volume was too low?

“Y/N, wake up.” Her body remained frozen in its place, no matter how much I had increased my volume.

Is she really this mad at me?

Well, I know it’s not going to be a tough to make her obey me anyway, so her silent treatment is useless.

“Are you trying to do that thing where you pretend to be asleep again so I’ll leave you alone, hum?” I finally decided to put myself inside the room, still standing as far as possible from her bed.

God, what is this awful smell of blood? Has she bled this much yesterday?

“It’s ok, don’t be shy. I know you can smell your beloved pancakes from there…” I gently shook the plate from where I was, trying to tease her into waking up.

But an annoyed sigh was all that came out of me due to her stupid, unconvincing act of being asleep.

“Listen, Y/N, I know what I did yesterday was horrible and wrong, okay?” My voice finally bursted some of my worry out of my throat, finally deciding to face the moment I most wished to avoid today, actually having to apologize. “I don’t know what happened to me, I just got really angry and…” I put my palm around my face as the embarrassment of apologizing took me over. “There’s no fucking excuse, is there?” No matter how much vulnerability and sincerity I was showing to her, she kept responding me with an awkward silence.

Isn’t she scared of doing this at all? Knowing how easy it is to anger me? Knowing how cruel my punishments can be? Using the same silence of hers was what led me to punish her yesterday? And she’s doing it again?

What happened to the third law of physics?

Every action has a reaction?

“All I’ve ever wanted for us is a happy married life, ok?! This wasn’t supposed to happen! We should just ignore it, pretend it never happened, and keep moving forward, ok?!” My voice cracked a few times as I started to vomit words.

Was me being this… pathetically apologetic and regretful loser not enough for her to acknowledge me? Isn’t she noticing the sadness in my tone?

“It would be easier to achieve if you were more collaborative!” Neither did harsh, unfair words work with her.

I sighed in annoyance, giving up on both alternatives of communication.

“Ever since I met you, I felt alive. It felt like I’d found peace for once in my life. I couldn’t just let this rare opportunity to slip away from me, Y/N, you’d never understand it, but you’re what has been keeping me more sane than ever. No mater if you hate me, repel me, I need you, Y/N. The more you stay with me, the better of a man I become, the better of a husband I become, the happier you become! You know it! You’ve seen it with your own eyes! How I treat you compared to the maids?! To the other Harbingers?! To my soldiers?!” I could feel even more worry rise to my brain as she still refused to acknowledge my existence.

But I’m being romantic. I’m confessing how deep and true my passion for her is, yet, it’s like I’ve never even opened the door in the first place. Isn’t this what a common human like her would want to hear? A man who loves her every cell and is willing to do anything for a fraction of reciprocation?

Have I hurt her this bad? Have I truly broken her trust for me with I did that yesterday?

“For fuck’s sake, can you acting like a bitch and fucking look at me?! I’m talking to you!!” Not even insulting you was making you move. “I’M DIRECTLY APOLOGIZING TO YOU!” I screamed from the bottom of his lungs while waving his arms to call her attention, expecting her to at least flinch in fear since I know Y/N didn’t like it when I was screaming at her.

But as I saw her body kept itself immobile, my anger finally reached its boiling point.

“I swear to God, do you want to be punished again?! You think you can just make me speak all of that bullshit and ignore m—!” I stormed in her direction, dropping the plate carelessly in the floor, my arm immediately reaching to your shoulder and pulling it to his eyes.

And the sight that was revealed to him made him swear his artificial body had stopped working for a few seconds.

Not a single muscle of your face moved, accentuated by an extremely pale skin tone on it compared to your normal one.

But the thing that most pulled his eyes’ direction was the big stain of blood in your belly.

Scaramouche froze in his spot. He wasn’t breathing or moving, he was just staring at your body. It made it easier for his consciousness to remember more about yesterday’s incident.

“Scara, please! I’m bleeding a lot! Can you please give me one towel?! O-Or anything to stop the bleeding?! Sca—… Darling, pleeeeease!!” The bangs at the door, the desperation in your voice, your pathetic body knelt down like a dying worm, begging for his mercy…

Was this why you were calling for him? Because of this gigantic pool of blood in your belly? But yesterday, when he heard those cries, all he thought was how annoying it was, and how he proudly ignored you with a sadistic smirk in his lips. Watching you beg for his mercy was somehow pleasant to him, after all.

He quickly shook his head back to reality. Thinking about those seconds made him feel the knot in his stomach tighten with more guilt.

“… Y… Y/N..?” He shook your shoulder gently, and the result was obvious, you didn’t respond.

He scoffed.

You were a good actress, weren’t you? You might even get a prize for it after being punished for tricking him so meanly. There was no way your soul had faded away from your corpse, you were either acting or just passed out because of the amount of lost blood!

Right..?

Scaramouche’s anxious hand immediately obliged to its instinct and placed itself on top of the left side of your chest, right on top of your heart… your paralyzed heart.

“Y/N…” His voice came out as a vulnerable mewl, one that would get worse every second he didn’t see you answering him. “Y/N.” He placed both his hands in each shoulder of yours and shook them lightly. “Y/N, wake up.” His voice was firm in its order, but worry had taken his voice chords, cracking its every syllable.

But all you did was bob up and down with his movement with no resistance at all. It almost seemed like you were a real-size doll in his hands.

“Y-Y/N, I know you’re awake.” He called your name like prayer, as he still found some hope to reach a hand to your eyelids and force them open while the other barely broke your shoulder’s bones with its grip.

But the direction of your stare was far from being directed at him.

“Ha… ahaha…” He couldn’t help but scoff at you in pure nervousness. “You aren’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the god-forsaken word. The one thing he hoped you to avoid at any cost… your death.

“Y/N, wake the fuck up!” His hand gave up in your eyes and went back to your shoulder, shaking you more violently then before, his eyes hopefully searching everywhere for any bit of movement.

But you simply just wouldn’t move a muscle.

He looked down at the big pool of blood in your lower belly. Rage consumed him as he violently moved his hand to pull your shirt upwards, raging at your stupid circulation system that pumped blood out of you instead of your veins and arteries, angry at the the glass that dared penetrate your beautiful skin without his consent and take you away from him.

“No, no, no, no…” He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to think such a thing. You? Taken away from him? Like this?!

An idea rose to his mind as soon as he thought of that idea.

This was all caused by him. His negligence, his sadism, his lack of empathy and sensibility, his obsession, his thirst of blood, his obnoxiousness.

“Y/N, wake the fuck up!” Scaramouche’s patience was wearing thin. “For Tsaritsa’s sake, no..!” And his lips were starting to shake with his rising rage.

How could’ve he ignored your pleas yesterday?

How could he feel pleasure when he saw all that blood and all those tears coming out of you? His precious princess that he had fallen in love with so badly? That mere common girl that he transformed into a public figure by being his wife.

“You hid this away from me… YOU DID THIS TO ME!” Finally, his voice couldn’t be held back to a normal volume anymore as he begun shaking your shoulders up and down too. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING THAT YOU WANTED!” His own Electro delusion even tinkled in purple as he raged on you.

You were actually dead.

You had actually distanced yourself away from him to a place he couldn���t reach.

But Scaramouche was fighting his best to not accept it. It was written all over your face that your soul was gone, but he wanted to gaslight himself that you were still just asleep.

Although his hopes were admirable, it simply didn’t work. It would never work for someone as pessimistic and honest like him.

In search of comfort, he threw himself against your body and finally let those hanging tears in the corner of his shiny purple eyes to fall, and he begun whimpering nonstop like a little kid on your and screaming in your shoulder.

“Please, please, please, please..! You can’t go, YOU CAN’T GO! Not yet, please! Not yet!” He rubbed his forehead in the crook of your neck, wiping his salty tears in you mercilessly, but no sign was returned to him. “Oh, Archons, please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Anything but her, please! ANYTHING BUT HER! My love… oh, my love..!” His hands slid under your back and he hugged your body like a piece of wet porcelain as he pathetically abandoned his hatred for the Gods and begged for their mercy upon his sins.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but claw his fingernails into your skin. But he immediately regretted it as soon as he realized he was hurting you even after you died of pain. Scaramouche gave up, and instead one of his hand climbed up to your head and started fixing your hair that was so ruthlessly ruined, trying to somehow bring your dignity back.

“Don’t leave me, please..! Don’t leave me! I’ll fix you, my love… I promise! I’ll fix everything!” What was he thinking would happen as he talked to your dead corpse? That the ‘power of love’ would suddenly make you awaken again and forgive him?

Has he just realized how much your words and your forgiveness truly mattered to him? Or was it that now that he didn’t have access to it, he was starting to crave for it like a drug-addict?

He didn’t mean it. He swore on his pathetic life. It was an accident. It wasn’t his intention hurting you. It wasn’t his intention hurting you enough to permanently take you away from him.

“I’m so sorry I left you here, darling…” Just to imagine the weigh of his actions and its consequences… you in an agonizing pain, thrown in a freezing-cold floor, completely unappreciated and unloved by him despite all your previous efforts… it made something inside his chest, right where his so-desired heart was supposed to be at, to burn. “Oh, Archons!” How human of him to be unable to bare the power of his own imagination. Could he even call himself a failed puppet project anymore? What kind of puppet, especially a flawed one, cries and grieves death like this?

How come does his sister, the Shogun herself, view death as simply the end of life, while he interpreted death so much more dramatically?

After all, he could’ve avoided it. Scaramouche could’ve saved you like a true hero.

If he decided to open the door to your chamber, bring some towels and force your bleeding back to your belly, called an ambulance, and let some group of surgeons do their job, instead of neglecting you for his own pleasure, you’d still be alive. Your chest would be moving up and down to breathe, your eyes would still be blinking every few seconds and your arms would be embracing him back at this very moment.

Maybe you would’ve even learned how to be more grateful to him, or suffered some sort of amnesia that would’ve let him rebuild your relationship with him but by bit in a natural way without needing to use any sort of violence.

“Thank you for saving me, my dear!” Your voice sounded so sweet in his imagination compared to how he heard you crying last night.

Were your last words pathetic begs for help? How undignified of you. How could’ve he ever let those be your last words? You died hating him instead of loving him.

Scaramouche attached and curled his limbs all around your body like a parasite. He knew it would probably take hours for him to find energy to get up again, so at least he wanted to spend those house by your side, mourning and grieving his own choices. It didn’t matter to him if it was creepy to cling to a cold dead corpse, he still held you tight if he needed you to live. It didn’t matter if your body’s warmth had ceased long ago, or if your arms wouldn’t even try hugging him back, he could still perfectly imagine himself being hugged by you thanks to the few memories he has of you doing so.

To him, you were wearing his favorite nightgown and acting very passionate about being his ‘head-patter’, caressing every inch of head, down to every tip of his purple locks while your mouth whispered sweet words, while the both of you laid down in his bedroom’s bed, instead of the situation you were actually in at the moment. All of your hair and clothes stained and ruined, your skin smelling like raw, bloody flesh, and your unresponsive and unloving to him.

Why would he ever want to leave that beautiful, utopian dream? Only to face the reality right in front of him? No. He didn’t want that.

Could he just die there? Never open his eyes again and let himself rot with you? Could he set fire to that beautiful mansion given to him by the Tsaritsa and let himself agonizingly burn to death with you and finally find peace after centuries of suffer? Compared to the burning pain in his chest, at this point, he believed the fire wouldn’t be enough to make him feel no more pain. But he probably wouldn’t be able to anyway. Now that he’s a Fatui Harbinger, his life wasn’t as useless as before, and while he was weaker than Dottore, he’d never die and rest in peace.

More tears ran down his cheeks. He truly had no other option rather than accept all that fire in his chest and let it consume him.

Maybe he could temporarily give you away to that scientist scum, Il Dottore, and beg for his help in exchange of anything, even his own life. In the end of the day, he would prefer you living without him, rather than letting himself live without you. His preference didn’t matter anymore, though, he was already living that dystopian situation of living without you. It has been a matter of minutes and he’s already finding himself developing a depression. Was that how bad it was to be without you? Was that how the rest of his pathetic life would be like? Wanting to die every day?

Why? Why did he ever chose to hurt you in the first place? This was all his fault. The memory of him willingly grabbing that glass of wine and smashing it against your head couldn’t stop playing itself over and over again no matter how disgusted he was of it or how much he tried to replace it with better thoughts.

How ironic. He promised himself he’d hate humans forever, that he’d never succumb to the mere bits of humanity inside him, and yet, he had made the most human mistake of his life, and having the most human reaction because of it.

Not even the incoming flies that flew around the room felt comfortable of taking advantage of your dead corpse with him nearby you.

Taglist: @shyentsfoundherink @the-stinky-winky @kindofshyent @bigmantiddys @goofy-ego @sasuri123 @gaboplaydespacito @alatusorrow @luminieee @toobytub

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

[anaukeya3]

Sorry to parrot that one post but I just don't believe that ALL of the women who claim they have to get rid of body hair because they have sensory issues are telling the truth.

Waxing is straight up painful, and shaving leaves my legs so itchy I scratch them all red and swollen. Hair growing back is literally SO itchy?? I refuse to believe its just me, but all I have to hear from my peers is how ✨HAIRLESS LEGS✨ on fresh sheets feel ✨SO GOOD✨. There's literally no room for other opinions.

Personally? My legs feel numb after shaving, anr I can't enjoy the fresh sheets, because I can't feel them. And that's what body hair is supposed to do! TRANSMIT MESSAGES TO YOUR NERVES AND ENHANCE YOUR SENSE OF TOUCH. That's why its everywhere! So you can feel the mosquito before it bites you!! JFC!!!

[maimaily]

the lads boys as kittens. 🪐 ‧₊˚ xavier

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time like a dog… right?

characters: kitty!xavier (other characters will be posted separately), mc as reader.

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

rafayel 🢒 zayne 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Xavier — Ragdoll How did he get to live with you?

You adopted him. He was going to be your first cat, so you wanted to make sure you were choosing the right one, and receiving recommendations from an adoption center was the best idea. You went there and heard of a slightly older cat who hadn't been adopted yet. A single look was enough to know he was the one. His bright blue eyes stared at you, and his paws tried to reach you as you got closer. A little nervous of scaring him, you gently allowed him to sniff your finger, and he then rubbed against your hand. It is not necessary to say you decided you'd give your life for him.

On the way home, the little kitty curled into a puffy ball of fur, sleeping peacefully after feeling safe in your warm arms ♡

Little did you know what this little thing really was !!

This kitty EATS. A LOT. You can easily win his heart with treats. He can smell them even before you open any can or package, but will wait like the good boy he is, with both front paws stomping cutely on the floor. However, you had to cut back on them because your wallet was starting to suffer the consequences of a gluttonous kitten. Poor thing got upset for a while, but the food was still yummy, so he adapted (he's not that much of a picky eater…)

Eepy baby. He's a sweetheart and always, I repeat, always cuddles to take naps with you. The kind of cat who climbs onto the bed the moment you flop down on it and makes his way between your arms to be cuddled and sleep. Purrs quietly and very softly, and will rub against your hands as he does. Rarely meows, but does it when he's being needy. Has fallen asleep while eating or drinking his warm milk more than once, his little chin all dirty, so you have to clean him (he doesn't like it!).

He follows you everywhere. Whatever you're doing, if you're walking around the house, he'll follow you like a loyal knight. His fluffy tail moves gently against your legs when you're standing, washing the dishes, brushing your teeth, or cooking. Sometimes he expects you to see him (you do) to pick him up (you always do). He's a needy boy! Needs lots and lots of your attention!

Talking about attention, he climbs onto your body when he feels neglected. You were happily cooking, humming the songs on your playlist, chopping vegetables for the new dish you wanted to try- and then oop! The weight of a fluffy hairball snags on the fabric of your hoodie back without warning. "Xavi! Don't move- Don't move!" you urgently exclaimed as you slowly moved back from the hot stove. Can you blame him? He just wanted to spend time with you :(

Great hunter in every shape! A cockroach? He's already smacking it with his paws. A fly? He already jumped to catch it. Mosquitos? He saw them even before you did. If by any chance there's a mouse or rat inside, be sure he's getting rid of it! And he's so fast! (Give him a treat afterwards, he deserves it.)

Grumpy if you wake him up. He hates the vacuum cleaner with his life, and hates it even more if you decide to use it when he's just fallen asleep. When you switched to an automatic one, he smacked it with his angry paws each time it bumped onto him. Doesn't hiss at you, he's too docile for that, but will meow very loudly until you comfort him back to sleep (and give him treats-).

His favorite place to make biscuits is your chest while you're lying down. If you're watching some TV, reading a book, scrolling down your phone, or simply flopped down on the sofa or your bed, he climbs on top of you and makes his way to your chest and starts kneading very gently. He never uses his claws on you, so you allow him to do it, it's his way of bonding with you and relieving some stress after all <3.

Sulkynator 2000. Baby boy gets UPSET to astronomical levels when you even mention other cats. Do NOT play with his little heart like this! :( Why are you watching cat videos if he's right there? He can do tricks too! Or why are you petting the neighbor's dog? He's dirty and too loud! Xavi is clean, he doesn't leave mud on your carpet, and doesn't bark in the middle of the night for no good reason! :(( You'll have to face a moody Xavier for a good time until you soothe his poor feelings.

It was a quiet Sunday morning. The weather outside was hot, and that woke you up, along with the blinding sun that entered the room from the window in front of the bed. You stirred, kicking the blankets away when a gentle paw touched your cheek.

"Morning, Xavi!" You baby-talked to your little prince cat, who had just woken up by your sudden movements, stirring with you and slowly opening his little blue eyes, struggling to keep them open for too long. "Oh no, what are we gonna do? My prince is too eepy to start the day!" You giggled, taking him in your arms and cuddling him once more, kissing his little face. He didn't even need to convince you to sleep five more minutes, his mere sleepy presence was enough for you to feel lazy again and go back to the bed.

But today was too hot to stay in, and you wanted to change out of your pajamas as soon as possible. With another kiss, you sweet-talked your lazy cat to wake up and have breakfast, but he just purred in response and kept his eyes closed. Accepting the impossible, you just got up, feeling his small claw clinging to your shirt; you couldn't sleep with him anymore, but you couldn't ignore his adorable attempt of keeping you close, so you cradled him like a baby, holding him in your arms and even rocking him a little.

If Xavier could blush, he would definitely do so at that right moment. He was a big cat already! But… your arms were so warm and he was so comfy… That's how you ended up carrying him to the bathroom, brushing your teeth with one hand and holding him with the other, then you made him lie against your shoulder, taking your hair products out.

"Mwraa," he protested when you set him down on the floor outside the bathroom. "I need to take a shower. Wait outside, breakfast will be ready in a minute." It wasn't really breakfast that his meowjesty was requesting, but his comfortable sleeping spot: you! But now he couldn't bring himself to be sleepy again, so he wandered around the apartment lazily, finding a good place in front of the balcony door to sunbathe.

When you came out of the bathroom with your hair still dripping wet, the first thing you saw was that adorable bundle of fur lying on his back with his little paws stretched faaar as he just finished doing the most exhausting job in the world. And maybe he did, carrying all that beauty had to be exhausting!

"My, look what I found!" You crouched down to him with a big smile, tickling his tummy, which he quickly defended by trapping your hand. "Is Xavi the prince enjoying the warm weather? Hm?" He got up in a swift move and rubbed against your legs, his long, fluffy tail almost tickling your nose. You picked him up, peppering his face with kisses before putting him down again. "Let's get breakfast, come on."

He happily followed behind you, passing through your legs when you leaned down to pick his empty bowl from the floor. The good thing with Xavier was that no food went to waste… which was also bad because it meant that tummy seemed to never fill. He meowed only once as he saw you open the wet food package.

"Almost done, Xavi. Wait a second," and he did, his little paw ritual bringing a smile to your face. When you put the plate down, he hurriedly took the first bite. "Enjoy, baby. Ah- I forgot to take out the trash." The hurried sense flooded through your veins as you saw the hour. "Wait for me, I'm back in a minute!" Your hands were quicker to pick up the smelly garbage bag and run out of the complex to dispose of it before the truck came by.

You did it just in time, sighing in relief as you walked back, until you saw an adorable stray kitten playing with a plastic bottle cap between his paws. "Look at you, aren't you having fun?" At the sound of your voice the kitten stopped playing but didn't run away, an act you took as an open invitation to get closer. You fawned over the stray, your voice melting into playful coos as you playfully ruffled its fur.

It wasn't until a loud noise from the street scared the small cat you realized you'd been playing with it for a long time. With a content sigh you dusted your hands off and walked back to the complex. Inside your home, Xavier had already finished his food, waiting patiently around the entry for you to come back, blue eyes locked on the door as if he was afraid to miss your arrival. When he heard the soft click of it, he meowed as a greeting, until… What was that?

"Ah Xavi. I'm back, did you finish your food-?" You hadn't finished your question when his fluffy body jumped right at your arms with an angry growl. It surprised you, honestly, he was always so calm and loving that this behavior only occurred when… Oh.

"Is someone jealous over here? You don't like that I- Ow! Hey!" He didn't scratch you, but he definitely was about to chomp that teasing finger you were wiggling in front of his very upset self. He meowed in protest, trying with all his might to rub himself against you once again! How could you do this? He works so hard keeping his scent on you, and now you come back after a fifteen-minute leave, invading his sensitive nostrils with another's cat scent? Oh no, he wasn't having it.

But you couldn't contain your laughter. He wasn't even scary and wasn't hurting you because he trusted you too much to do that, but he was madly funny when he got like that. "I see, I see. I made Xavier upset. I apologize, baby," you said, cradling him in your arms as you sat on the couch. "How can I get your forgiveness, hm?" Xavier acted like he hadn't heard you, wiggling his tail still in his petty mood, squirming gently in your arms as if trying to get away. "Ah ah ah. Don't you want me to be only yours, your majesty? Gotta stay here for that, then. What about I give you a small catnip treat I got you yesterday?"

His entire expression shifted. Oh well. You were right, of course you were, mm-hmm. He couldn't be mad at you all day either, could he? And now he moved closer to you, licking gently your cheek, bringing a smile to your face. "Now who's a good boy, huh? Of course you are, you'll always be."

Xavier held no grudges against you, he never did. After all, who else on this planet would love him as you did, after facing loneliness for so long? He was your good boy, and he'd be always there for you.

© MAIMAILY. Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize this work.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

I did it! I can believe the amount of time it took me to finish this, but it's been ages since I last wrote any kind of fanfiction or content for fandoms so I'm a bit nervous. I hope you like it, and if it's the case I'm so happy for that! I'm already working on Rafayel's version so don't miss it <3

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato and @v6que

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair steps through the door after a long day of fishing, and he’s welcomed by the sight of you curled up on the loveseat, reading calmly as you were clearly waiting for him to return. 

you look up the moment he enters, your eyes lighting up. “finn,” you call out excitedly, abandoning your book on the old coffee table to go straight to his arms. 

as soon as you reach your lover, he engulfs you in his arms and squeezes you tightly without hesitation. his warm, sweaty body relaxes under your touch with a quiet sigh, and his chin comes to rest comfortably on top of your head. 

“i missed you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled as he turns to press a  tender kiss to your hair. “wish you’d come with me to the port. everything feels brighter when you’re near.”

you suppress a small groan. you have never enjoyed spending hours under the scorching sun, just waiting for some fish to finally take finnick’s bait. still, a flutter of excitement always stirs in your chest at the thought of spending an entire day with him. just picturing the gentle way he patiently would explain to you how to use the bait, the playful teasing, and the almost childlike competition you'd inevitably have over who catches the bigger fish, is enough to make you look forward to it.

life is short and fragile, especially alongside finnick. you never know when some tribute might push too far, giving president snow the perfect excuse to retaliate against all the victors, including your finnick. the two of you share an unspoken understanding. that snow was probably just waiting for the right moment to get rid of him without sparking a riot in his name. if anything ever happened to him, what you'd remember about that day would be the way finnick smiled enormously with pride after catching a big fish, not the mosquito bites or the sunburnt skin.

“i’ll join you next time, i promise,” you say softly, with no traces of dishonesty. you can’t help but cup his cheeks, gently admiring his adorable, sun-kissed face. his cheeks squishing in your hands are pink from hours spent outside. he probably skipped sunscreen again. later, he'll no doubt ask you to soothe his skin with ointment. his nose, just as pink as his cheeks, looks like it's silently asking to be kissed by you. his freckles adorning his face make you want to forget everything else and spend the rest of your days pressing soft kisses on every single one of them.

but it is his eyes that draw you in more than anything else. he has trained himself to maintain a facade, hiding any true feelings, because even the slightest flicker of disgust in the capitol could land him in serious trouble. but here, at home, not just in district four, but in your arms, is where he feels safe enough to let his emotions show openly. so when you look straight into his eyes, you see the pure adoration and deep devotion he holds for you. the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his pupils dilate makes you feel giddy, leaving you to wonder if you look just as enamored as he does right now. 

finally, you press a soft kiss to finnick’s lips for the first time since he walked through the door, and he melts in your hands. you don’t care about the strong smell of the fish he brought home, nor are you bothered by the sweatiness of his body. all you notice is the way his entire body relaxes, how his hands travel to your hips and pull you impossibly closer. his lips taste like comfort, like the peace you find in the ever-moving sea waves. his hand travels up and caresses your back soothingly, and it feels better than any sweet treat the capitol could ever offer. and his breath on your face leaves you dizzy in the best way.

when he finally pulls away, he lets out a quiet chuckle at the lovesick look on your face, teasing you playfully even though his own expression mirrors yours. “i love you,” he murmurs, his voice low. he then picks up the cooler he brought in and heads toward the kitchen, but not before you say it back. 

in the kitchen, you take charge of seasoning the fish while finnick gets the grill going. the conversation is endless, drifting from his complaints about being the tastiest meal for mosquitoes at the port to lighthearted bickering over what'd you name your imaginary family restaurant. that's when mags shows up for dinner like she always does, and finnick immediately ropes her into settling the debate. with a giggly smile, she disapproves of both names before pointing to the grill, where the fish are starting to burn. as the three of you sit down to devour the ones that didn't get burnt, you hum in satisfaction, savoring the precious moment as you quietly bury the unease growing in your chest about the approaching third quarter quell announcement.

[sawmaw]

summer scoundrel

🫀 floyd leech x (fem) reader

🫀 hate sex, sub (a bit switchy. bratty?) floyd, femdom, objectification(?), denial, riding, facesitting, 69

🫀 this takes place during the lost in the book with stitch event! this one is more recent but i was writing it during a huuuge writer’s block and it may or may not be obvious. also i know in the event they can’t take off their clothes but i really don’t care. sorry i like guy tits. anyway!

You were beyond frustrated.

Getting stranded on an island was already annoying enough, but everything else was just piling on; what the hell do you mean there are aliens? Sure, the little blue one was cute and helpful and made the bungalow to sleep in so you didn’t have to get eaten alive by mosquitoes any more than you did, but he was also so energetic and so exhausting… and the other alien was flat-out just trying to rid you and your classmates with robot sharks. Absolutely lovely.

You were also tired of fruit already. You normally loved it, but having it with every meal each day was just rough. Your jaw was sore from chewing coconut, your tongue felt raw from eating pineapple, and you had no taste for more berries and fish. You just wanted a nice steak at this point—rare, so it would be easier on your jaw.

And more, you’ve felt more pent up than you thought was necessary after a few days. Normally when you were on vacation, you would just take care of yourself in the shower if you needed. Here, you have absolutely no chance. None of you were supposed to wander off alone, especially you, being the only one without magic to fight for yourself, so that was off the table. You couldn’t sneak away because someone would eventually find you, whether it be Gantu and his shark bots, one of your schoolmates, or Stitch. You didn’t feel comfortable doing it late at night, either; what if someone hears? How could you even clean up afterwards?

Again, beyond frustrated.

The outfits that everyone were put in certainly didn’t help. You didn’t think you would be one to stare, but you really couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself. It was like that book was just taunting you when it did it. Did Riddle’s shirt have to be tied up like that? Put up just enough to make you want to pick him up by the waist and carry him off to who-knows-where?

Admittedly, you had originally thought your sights would be set on Jack—his outfit really didn’t leave much to the imagination… however, most of your attention was drawn to Floyd.

…Has he always looked like that? Sure, you’ve seen his arms during his basketball games, but (pardon your vulgarity) when the fuck did he get massive tits?

How does he even hide it? Is it just because he wears baggy shirts? Are you an idiot? You feel like an idiot.

You really couldn’t help your staring, or your mind wandering. You silently cursed the universe for it. Why it had to be right now that you see him, when you can’t even do anything about your frustrations, you had no clue.

Yet another night rolls around and you have to sit by the bonfire again, you have to force your eyes to stay on the flames again, you have to constantly bounce your leg in your seat to distract yourself again. You hadn’t said a word in what felt like hours, but it wasn’t much of an issue—everyone else filled in the silence just fine.

Even as it grew later and some of the others slowly trickled back into the bungalow for bed, you stayed put and quiet. You, Floyd, Lilia, and Ace remained—the usual night owls. The other three continued to entertain each other, and sand eventually ended up getting thrown at Ace. Normally you’d laugh, but right now you actually couldn’t give a fuck about your surroundings.

Only when it felt like your eyes would take damage did you finally tear them away from the fire… and immediately to the sand. It really felt like something was wrong with you, you just could not think about anything else. You wanted to see how he’d look with his wrists handcuffed to your bed (or even behind his back), how he’d look on his knees, how he’d look in bondage.

You wondered if he would be good at eating pussy. He looked like he would be. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re just delusional. Maybe you could teach him how to, if he doesn’t. Maybe you could teach him until it’s all he ever wants to do, to bury his face between your thighs, to slowly circle his tongue around your clit just the way you like.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the makeshift bench (it was just a log, but whatever), you could almost feel his tongue on you. You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to fight off the dull throb between them, the mental image of your hand in his hair burned into your brain. How much longer do you have to be stuck on this island like this?

You’re just curious is all. You’re just curious as to how he’d react if you rode his dick even after he’d already came, how much he’d squirm if you just sit there and edge him until he can’t even properly speak, how he’d—

“So ya stare at me almost the entire time we’re here, ‘n’ now ya won’t look at me?”

Floyd’s abrupt voice forced you back to reality, your attention snapping up to him from across the fire. You immediately realize Lilia and Ace were gone—when did they go to bed? You didn’t even notice.

You blinked at him, silent for a few moments. You thought you were being discreet enough. Still, you don’t really care much to fully deny it. How do you even respond to that?

“…I dunno.” you eventually murmured with a halfhearted shrug. You looked him in the eyes, and you still couldn’t stop yourself from imagining them welling with tears of pleasure as you…

Man, you really need to knock it off. Maybe you should schedule a therapy session soon, this can’t be normal.

He giggled in response, a wolfish grin on his face. “What, d’ya want something?”

Yes. Obviously. Is he stupid? No, he’s not, he probably knew. He totally knew. You wish you could go just one day without something poking fun at you. Fuck that book, fuck the universe, fuck Floyd. For the love of all things holy, fuck Floyd.

“Nope.” You tried to play it all off, you truly did, but it just wouldn’t work. Of course, that only made him want to prod even more.

“Your poker face sucks, Shrimpy.” he drawled.

“I dunno, your necklaces.” you lied. Curse your pride. “They’re dumb as hell and they’re loud and jangly when you move.”

His humored snort irritated you to no end, but you still managed to keep a straight face. “Really? I think they’re pretty cool.” He glanced down at the array of necklaces dangling from his neck and brushed a hand against them, just to hear the clanking of the fake pearls.

“They’re not.” Really, they looked like something you’d buy from a party store. You think, at least. You can’t really remember the last time you went to a party store.

“Should I take ‘em off, then?” He then bunched the necklaces in his hand.

“No,” you replied almost too quickly, “just saying they’re stupid.”

And of course, Floyd just ignored you and pulled them up over his head anyway, giving you a better view of his body through his open shirt. Okay, now that’s just mean. Is he making fun of you? He has to be.

Your eyes flickered down to the necklaces tossed haphazardly on the sand, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You didn’t know if you wanted to pounce on him so you could fuck him or so you could throw him into the fire.

You swear your mouth was going to start bleeding from how much you were biting the insides of your cheeks.

“You’re mad if I don’t wear ‘em now.”

It had absolutely nothing to do with the necklaces, and you knew he knew that, too. “I really don’t care.”

“Then look at me ‘n’ tell me what the problem is.”

You wanted to roll your eyes until he suddenly snapped his fingers to try and get your attention back on him.

The pure disrespect—you’re not a dog. He’s more of a dog than you ever will be, and you’ll put a leash on him to prove it if you have to.

“Snap at me like that again and you’re losing your fingers.” Truly, you didn’t have the patience for that tonight. Or any night.

“Are ya gonna bite ‘em off? Scary.” His sarcasm made you want nothing more than to shut him up in any way you could. Choke him, gag him, sit on his face, cover his mouth, anything. Just take a deep breath and calm yourself. “C’mere so I can hear ya better. The fire’s too loud.”

Oh, for the love—

“Fine.” You then stood and trudged around the fire so you could sit yourself next to him on that uncomfortable log. Stitch could build an entire bungalow, several blankets, pillows, even sleep masks all from scratch, but he couldn’t make a few couches or chairs out here? Really?

“Now,” he hummed as he leaned against your shoulder, “what’s got ya so mad, Shrimpy?”

It would probably be a good idea to shove him off, but your thoughts were a bit too obstructed right now. “I’m not.”

“Seem mad to me. Are ya mad at me?” You could feel his eyes burning into you, though you still stared at the sand below. Just don’t pay attention to him or his head on your shoulder.

“No.” you mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Then whaddya—“

“Just—just this!” You abruptly pushed him off and grabbed a handful of his shirt, giving it a harsh yank. You blatantly ignored his sharp inhale of surprise and his widened eyes. “What the fuck is this? You show up in this and I just have to try to act normal?!”

Floyd was silent for a few beats before a toothy grin slowly stretched on his face. “…So that’s what this’s about?”

“Yes,” you hissed, “that’s what this’s about. When the hell’d you even start looking like that? Have you always looked like that?”

“Like what?”

“You—you know how!” You just wanted to absolutely throttle him right now, and all he’s doing is smiling and snickering.

He grabbed your wrist and moved it to push your palm into his chest, and all you could pay attention to was how easily your fingers sunk into the flesh. Fuck’s sake. “Like that?”

“Obviously.” You didn’t hesitate to give a tight squeeze—you really didn’t have a reason to restrain yourself anymore.

Floyd visibly suppressed a wince, his fingers twitching around your wrist. “I mean—“

“I don’t actually care.” Your hands continued to aimlessly wander around his chest, his torso, his arms. Maybe you were overwhelming him, you weren’t paying much attention.

He never stopped you, though, so there’s that at least. “Got handsy quick, Shrimpy.” he mused as you squeezed and felt around his shoulders.

“Shut up.”

“‘Kay.” And then he swatted your hands away and slid himself onto the sand, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your shorts.

“…Hell’re you doing?” Despite the irritation in your voice, you still lifted your hips to aid him in tugging your shorts down. You weren’t just gonna not do that and blueball (Bluepussy? Blueclit? Whatever) yourself.

“What’s it look like? I’m shutting up.” He kept eye contact as he guided your thighs apart before leaning in, using his teeth to grab the edge of your panties and tug them down. He didn’t bother to look and see what the book had decided to put on you, and neither did you. It could’ve been the best lingerie you’ve ever seen or the ugliest pair that you’d find at an old thrift store, you didn’t know nor care.

He lazily pulled your thighs onto his shoulders. It wasn’t much longer until his tongue slowly dragged over your clit, and you were unable to stop your body from tensing. His tongue felt weirdly soft and long—is that just a merfolk thing? Oh, who cares, it feels good.

The moment your hand slid itself into his hair, he immediately dove in. His lips latched on and he gently suckled on your clit, his tongue swirling with newfound vigor in a way that had your hips involuntarily squirming against his face.

“F-fucking slow down—“ you managed to gasp out before slapping your free hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your own choked moans and squeals. You really didn’t want to wake anyone up, even if they were inside the bungalow.

Floyd deliberately disregarded your words and let out a small hum against you, the vibrations making your thighs clamp around his head. Despite your earlier thoughts, you couldn’t exactly tell whether he was actually good at it or not; he was just doing whatever he felt like, no organized movements. It worked, at least.

Your orgasm was building a lot quicker than you would’ve liked. You tried and tried again to tug him back by the hair, yet he refused to let up. His hands grabbed onto your hips to hold you in place, his tongue keeping its steady pace. You were just about to cum, until he stopped altogether.

He pulled away with a taunting chortle while you twitched and squirmed from the unsatisfying denial.

“…Dickhead.” You planted a foot on the center of his chest, shoved him onto his back and kicked some sand at him—just for good measure.

You didn’t give him time to respond before plopping yourself on top of him to straddle his hips.

“What, whaddya gonna do?” What you wanted was to beat that smile off his face, but you couldn’t really do that, could you?

The moment Floyd’s hands found your waist, you tugged them off with an absentminded ‘don’t touch me.’

His grin immediately dropped into a pout, still trying and failing to get his grip on you again. “C’mon, Shrimpy, don’t be mean…” he whined, planting his feet in the sand in an attempt to grind his clothed cock into you.

Oh, the audacity of this man. “Stop squirming.”

“I’m not squirming!”

“You are!”

“I’m just getting comfortable.”

“Well, knock it off, the stupid button on your shorts hurts.”

”Then take ‘em off—“

You gave a swift smack to his chest before he could finish his growled demand. “Don’t even try that with me right now.”

The smack made him writhe a bit more with a small huff. “…Do that again.”

And so you did without hesitation, delivering another equally-as harsh slap to his skin, which drew an odd cackle from him.

“Thanks, Miss Shrimpy.” he said way too gleefully for your tastes as he bucked up against you again.

You wanted to grimace at the name, but your attention was quickly brought back to his grinding. “I said quit that.” you mumbled, finally making a move to unbuckle and open his belt.

“You take forever.” Floyd complained, not wasting another second before helping to tug his shorts down enough for his dick to spring out. He grabbed your hips again to try and pull you onto himself. “Now get on, get on, get on, get on…”

And you didn’t let him, just yet. You kept your hands firm on his chest to hold yourself up. “I’m not getting on after what you did.”

“Aw, c’mon!” he whined, “I was being nice. I could’ve been a lot worse!”

Now, how the hell was edging you nice? Whatever. You didn’t answer him, because why should you?

You grind your pussy down against his dick, your slow pace almost agonizing for him (and yourself, but his impatient desperation was a lot more important than yours right now).

It was only a few rolls of your hips before they were grabbed forcefully with a low whimper from Floyd. “Okay, I get it, Shrimpy, I get it.” His fingers dug into your skin, hoisting you up to hover over his aching cock. “Just do it already.”

“I’m not gonna—“

“Please?”

That made your jaw tense a bit. “…’Please,’ what?”

“Please fuck me?”

You hardly even registered what you were doing before you finally let your hips sink down, slowly taking in his dick. The low whine drawn out from him almost made your breath falter, and your fingers twitched against his chest with each inch.

You had to keep still for a few seconds after bottoming out to adjust, because by God he felt bigger than you were anticipating.

Predictably, he wasn’t very patient once he was inside. “Shrimpy, are you gonna move? Please? Please move, please, please—“

“Would you just sh-shut up?” Despite your best efforts, your voice was a bit shaky while your body got used to the feeling.

“I’m just askin’ ya to move!” Again, he attempted to squirm underneath you until you smacked his chest, his hand shooting to cover his mouth and suppress a whimper.

“Yeah, yeah, be patient…” After a few moments, you let yourself slowly lift your hips before abruptly slamming them back down, the feeling of his dick immediately hitting your sensitive g-spot forcing a sharp gasp from you—fuck, it was like he was just made for your pussy. Was that even possible? You almost wanted to ask if you could get a custom toy modeled after it.

Later, though.

“No, no, don’t stop right now, Shrimpy…” His arms wrapped around your waist and you’re suddenly pinned against his chest as he pounded into you from below.

Is this guy allergic to going slow?

You weren’t even given the opportunity to reply before your hair was tugged back and his mouth was on yours, muffling any noises either of you made as his tongue slipped its way past your lips.

Again, his tongue felt so strange, so foreign against yours. Not unpleasant in the slightest, you almost wished you’d kissed him sooner than now; it just felt good.

Until it was forced down your throat. You didn’t know if he just got overly excited but it really just felt like he was trying to facefuck you with his tongue, tears pricking your eyes while you tried to suppress a gag. You struggled in his grasp, overwhelmed with both the lack of air and his cock slamming into you harder than you could process, and he snickered into the ‘kiss.’

You finally managed to squirm free and broke away to gasp for breath, planting your hips down harsh enough to pin his own to the sand. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” you managed between your panting.

“My bad.” Nothing about his demeanor was apologetic, though—not his tone, not his grin, not his hands already trying to lift your hips again.

“That’s not an apology.”

“Sorry, Miss Shrimpy.”

A swift slap to his face. “What’d I tell you about that?”

“Sorry.”

To your own mild surprise, your hand wrapped around his throat with a squeeze, though what surprised you even more was that he was just letting you.

You didn’t ask why.

Your eyes narrowed and your hips slowly ground down, trying not to pay too much attention to how your clit rubbed against his skin. “Why can’t you just be fucking respectful?”

“I said I was sorry!” he pouted, his voice scratchy from your choking him.

“Are you really sorry?”

Floyd nodded with a whine. “Yeah, sorry, I get it, just go faster…” He tugged you up again and you allowed it. “You forgive me, right, Shrimpy?”

You didn’t want to, but whatever; you just wanted to cum at that point. “Fine.”

At that, his hands guided your hips to slam down against his again. He let his own moans flow freely, though his smile made it obvious that they were exaggerated just to further piss you off. “Shrimpy, it feels so good…”

“Quit that, y-you’ll wake someone up.” You gave his neck another squeeze in warning.

“That’s their problem! Not like they didn’t already know ya wanted to fuck me.”

You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment at the thought—you really hoped nobody else actually noticed your staring. “…Shut up.” You used your hand on his chest for better leverage to pound his cock harder.

Floyd’s breath caught, his head thrown back as he tried to match your pace. His jaw clicked shut with a curse through his teeth, unable to get out any more words to taunt you with.

A few more moments, and he was already throbbing inside you from his impending orgasm. “Sh-Shrimpy—“

“Nope.” You immediately lift yourself off enough for his dick to slip out, twitching from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“What, no? No, no no no, no ‘no,’ don’t ‘no…’” he babbled as a panic immediately set in. He tried to force you back down, his hips surging up to no avail. “I said I was sorry! I did, Shrimpy!”

His hands were tugged away again and you shifted atop of him, crawling your way up his body before turning around to hover your cunt above his tearful face. “Make it up to me, then.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Floyd yanked you down. His tongue delved and writhed in desperation with mumbles of ‘sorry’ and ‘promise,’ each vibration from his begging making your thighs twitch around his head.

It was better (albeit more frantic) the second time around, which you were appreciative for.

His dick trembled and leaked with precum in front of you, crying more than he himself was. “There, good boy…” you hummed, your fingers wrapping around him to give a few leisurely strokes.

Another whine from him and his tongue shoved itself inside you. Sure, getting tonguefucked works, too, you supposed.

You leaned down to press a few kisses along his length, his hips instantly bucking up against your face. “Chill out.” you hissed, trying to hold him down.

“Wanna cum…” It took a few moments, but he eventually relented and kept still.

“Me first.” With that, you allowed his tip to push past your lips. Normally you’d take more than that, but you really didn’t feel like it. It’s not like he needed anything more, anyway.

Or deserved anything more.

His response was to pump his tongue deeper into your pussy, only pulling it out to swirl at your clit every few moments.

You tried to keep your focus on pulling your mouth off his tip each time he started twitching again, but it was getting so, so hard to with the knot in your core rapidly tightening.

You didn’t bother to warn him before your thighs involuntarily squeezed around his head and your vision went white, your hand returning over your mouth to quiet down your own sounds that didn’t really sound quite like yourself.

Once you were at least somewhat aware of your surroundings again, you felt a hand roughly grasp your hair and his dick forced down your throat again. You weren’t even able to catch your breath first, how rude.

Floyd only needed to pump a few more times, the feeling of his cum shooting at the back of your throat making you flinch atop of him and instinctively swallow. You hardly noticed his panting and his whiny thank you’s when you pull off, finally gasping for air.

“…Ask to do that next time.” you grumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your wrist as you slid yourself off of him to fetch your clothes from wherever they’d been thrown.

“I know, I know, sorry! It was taking forever!” It almost annoyed you that he was able to just zip right back up and buckle his belt in no time, while you had to slip everything on again. It would’ve been great if the book gave you more accessible clothes, but fine. “I’ll make ya somethin’ good tomorrow, Shrimpy. Iunno, I’ll catch a different fish than everyone else for ya in the morning. It’ll be a big one, too.”

“Mhm, sure, let’s just wash off in the water.”

“Nope! Don’t feel like it. I wanna go to bed.”

“Then you can go do that, I’m washing—“

“Nope!” He scooped you up in his arms, deliberately locking you against himself to keep you from moving as he trudged his way back up to the bungalow. “Bedtime.”

You grimaced. “Ulch, we're all sticky, though.”

“Yep. Maybe we’ll wake up stuck together in the morning ‘n’ everyone else’ll have to peel us apart.”

“You’re nasty.”

[tinyfantasminha]

Guest Room Trouble lines

Saw some people doing this with their OCs and thought it would be fun 🥹 (these can be read in any order) also do you like my guest room

check out /mysteryshopstl translations, the tls for the trouble lines were a huge help to guide me on how every character reacts 😭

Heartslabyul:

Vic: I feel a headache coming...

Riddle: I have zero tolerance for anyone who disrespects the rules.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

Vic: I’d be at peace without you, you brat.

Ace: Admit it, you’d be bored without me~

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

Vic: Aaw, stop being such a baby!

Deuce: What did you just call me?!

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

Vic: Wah... I didn't know you could get scary like that.

Trey: Sorry, I lost my temper for a moment. Can we pretend this never happened?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

Vic: Don't talk to me.

Cater: Sorry, sorry~! Your big bro Cay-kun will make it up with you!

Savanaclaw:

V: I don't feel like hearing the demands of an overgrown cat.

Leona: Next time you won't slip out of my claws that easily, Little Mouse.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: It's okay, it's okay! don't worry about it...

Jack: S-sorry, I wasn't looking... you're not hurt, are you?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Hey! Hands off my pocket—what’d you swipe?!

Ruggie: Sheeheehee, prove I took anything, detective.

Octavinelle:

V: DIE.

Azul: Ah, such passion! Shall we channel it into a friendly round of monopoly?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: You’re terrible. I’m glad you’re not my enemy… right?

Jade: Fufu, don't be silly. You're far too entertaining to get rid of.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: H-hey, give back my phone!!

Floyd: Aha, let's see what embarrassing conversations Lil Axolotl has been having~!

Scarabia:

V: I'm so close to losing it...

Kalim: Awesome! but... losing what?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Kyaaaa~ Jamil is mad at meee~!

Jamil: This is not supposed to be fun for you!

Pomefiore:

V: Eeeeek!

Vil: Such wasted beauty on such disgraceful form… We'll have to fix that.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Watch your tone, country boy.

Epel: I ain’t takin’ orders from no high-horse city slicker— yeowch! S-Sorry ma'am...

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Don't you ever give up?!

Rook: Oh la la, your rage is a fiery rose in bloom~! how could I look away?

Ignihyde:

V: Ugh, seems like I can't argue with you...

Ortho: My debate protocol has a 99.8% success rate. Want a rematch?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Nothing personal!

Idia: W-what is this shounen protagonist-level betrayal?!

V: You can get really hard to deal with....

Malleus: And yet, you continue to stand before me. How bold... or how foolish?

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: That wasn't funny!

Lilia: You jump like a startled kitten~

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Huh? I think I hear a mosquito buzzing in my ear...

Sebek: Unbelievable! How insolent can this human be?!

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Are you even listening?

Silver: My apologies... I must have dozed off.

Others:

V: I'm not doing your chores again.

Crowley: Abandoned in my hour of need... by my own beloved student... what a cruel, cruel world, sob sob!

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: P-please sir... just one more day...

Trein: Deadlines exist for a reason. This is your last warning.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: I—I was too anxious to present…

Crewel: Confidence is your most important accessory, puppy.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: I think this weirdo is staring at my legs.

Rollo: I pray the Lord grants you fabric. And shame.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: You tricked me...

Fellow: No, no, little scholar! I guided you to a unique opportunity!

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ✽

V: Stop eating all the tuna, you little gremlin! That was our dinner!

Grim: Nyahaha~! Too late, It’s mine now!

[bloody-heartstrings]

Need more ticcijeff in ur style they look so cutie

ask and you shall receive

If you saw my last post of these losers, this is how Toby apologises for pissing Jeff off lol.

In my AU Jeff is extremely standoffish when it comes to affection, since his parents were never the kind to show it. He just doesn’t know how to handle it, nor the feelings he gets from it. Toby, somehow, knows Jeff doesn’t mean it when he tells him to get lost, so he hugs him until Jeff gives up and “accepts” it.

Unsurprisingly they aren’t even dating when shit like this happens, because neither of them want to admit how they feel, regardless of how fucking obvious it is. If someone asks, Jeff says he’s like a mosquito, extremely annoying but you can’t get rid of him.

Also sorry this one is dogshit compared to the last, I have the most insane art block rn