#its like when your dogs or cats at home scratch at their ears but you can't clearly see why its itchy

[brainrotcharacters]

deadclaws where Logan is not at all, shut the fuck up why would you say that, jealous of the attention Wade gives Mary Puppins

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan arena beasts/fighters + handler reader. Reader is an average human working at a zoo/shelters abducted and thrown into a life of caring for a galactic tyrant's playthings due to their experience with animals. Not an idea choice for the job, but with everyone who's had the job before being maimed, killed, or worse they were running out of options. Reader does the best with what they're given. They find solitude with the other captives to an extent and some of the more feral creatures remind them of stray cats and dogs they knew back home. They treat those who allow as those same poor creatures out of habit and to cope with their new life. Others are so aggressive they have to be blindfold and sedated to even get close. Reader still tries to comfort them despite the many scratches and bites they receive

A little mix up happens where a warrior meant to fight the big bad of the area had already been slain by the beast. With no alternative, reader gets sent out instead as sacrifice to appease the blood hungry masses. They cower in the corner as the beast's mask is removed, praying their battered body at least gets shipped home so they have a proper burial and their family has some clue to what happened to them. They cast their small dagger away still unable to defend themselves against what they only see as a frightened animal protecting its own skin. The beast lifts them off the ground like a ragdoll holding them high for the crowd to see as its fangs draw from its scarred lips - breaking the band around its wrist that would seal reader's victory.

The beast ties the rope around reader's neck as the announcer declares them victor by default. The crowd boos, but as the beast snaps the neck of one of the guards and throws the limb body into the arena their demands are met. Reader quakes from the sheer disbelief of the whole ordeal, and still being trapped in the beast's arms as it coos. It takes over a dozen guards to get them to separate the two. They try again with another beast reader has care for and the same thing happens. Watching the live footage closely it's clear to experts the skilled fighters allow themselves to get injured to be coddled and tended to by reader. When rations are given they try to feed reader a share of their meals. The number of casualties skyrocket when reader's taken away or new caretakers are introduced. The beasts demand their head pats and ear scratches for their winnings and they want it from one source alone.

-

The emperor is quite amused by this revelation. It perfectly masks his paranoia in the case of his pets rising against him for whatever reason and choosing the earthling as their new overlord which few have spoken of in whispers. He's torn between killing them to null his fears and befriending them to puppeteer his pets craftfully from the shadows. He decides on the latter since getting rid of them would only anger his pets. That and it would be so easy to trick the human with his charms. Few can resist the words and body of a king, after all.

"Y/n, darling, it's so good to see you! So glad you could make it. How have things been, hm?"

"I'd like to go home, please."

"Hahaha! Oh, you're so cute with your little jokes! You may enjoy your meal in due time, but I have a favor to ask of you from a friend to a king. In the case of I don't know - my pets slaughtering my entire legion and storming my castle walls to behead me and crown you ruler - would you pretty please ask them to - not do that?"

"That....sounds like it would be out of my hands."

"Right. Changing subject, you are aware I have been topless this whole conversation and my bed is right behind me. Why haven't you attempted to have your way with me by now? Not saying you could - but you can always try."

The emperor upgrades their room to one right next to his, but they hardly sleep there favoring their time caring for the others and because they'd rather stay there than see him in a state of undress on their mattress. The emperor mimics the cooing that gets wounded beasts extra smothering from their handler, but reader mostly ignores him. He grows jealous seeing them fast asleep in a cell kept warm by the body heat of the battle scarred creatures around them. He's been scarred by attempted assassinations in the past - why doesn't he get cuddles too? Combats this jealously by making a royal decree that reader has to sit with him during every battle and on his lap if they wish to stay out of his sight afterwards. Requests for reader's fredom and hand in marriage and when a champion is chosen are banned almost immediately.

[pixxiies]

reliever

madison beer

ꜝ haven’s notes / this is kind of like ‘tense’ but a very much advanced and madison version 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

ꜝ genre / smutty smut smut

ꜝ pairing / madison beer x fem!reader

ꜝ warnings / oral (f receiving), soft dom!madison, fingering, praise, pet names (baby, princess, angel) and 2nd person pov

you finally got to your house after a long and tiring shift at work. you hooked your raincoat onto the rack next to the multiple jackets that were waiting for you to pick them up. you sigh, greeting your cat that was waiting for you to get there and feed it. you walked over to the kitchen and poured some kibble in the small pink bowl that sat next to the white one that was filled with some water.

you let the cat take a nibble of its food before you walk over to your bedroom. flicking on the lights, you immediately sit down on your bed, laying down and taking in the comfort that wrapped around you. you put your bag on the floor before you heard a small buzz coming from your phone. you slowly sit up and lean over to pickup the tote bag. you saw that it was from madison, your girlfriend. a lazy smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

mads 🤍

〡 hi baby!

︱ are you home from work?

you

︱ hey mads

︱ mhm, i js got home

︱ whats up ?!

mads 🤍

︱ i js wanna see you!!

︱ can i come over?

you

︱ of course

︱ see u soon <3

read 7:23pm

you notice that you were still in the same clothes that stunk from working all day long. you pulled yourself up and walked over to your bathroom. you peeled off your clothes and threw them into the laundry bin. you ran yourself a hot shower, the water splashed against your back as you start to wash your body with a wash cloth.

after your relaxing shower, you stepped on the white fluffy carpet and walked over to the sink. you do your haircare and skincare before walking back inside your room to change into a pair of comfortable pajamas. a few minutes go by before you hear your doorbell ring, automatically running over to see your girlfriend. you open the front door and smile warmly to see madison, two leashes in hand for presely and toast. “hi angel” she says softly while walking in and letting her dogs walk in. “hi mads.” you say back, pulling her into a hug. “how was work?” the brunette asks while closing the door and walking into your living room. “terrible, i got yelled at today and i almost fell from someone spilling their coffee.” you sigh while sitting down on your couch, presely jumping up on your lap. “aw im sorry.” madison cooed gently, sitting down next to you.

“it’s fine, how was your day though?” you reply, changing the subject. madison shrugged slightly. “it was alright, spent my morning in the studio, then me and nick went to go get lunch.. then i just spent my time back at home.” she stared to ramble about her day, you listening closely as you scratch behind presely’s ear. “you want to go to your room and just watch a movie?” mads suggested as she noticed how exhausted you had looked. you nod lazily, picking up presely and putting him on the floor. the two of you walked over to your bedroom and flopped down onto your mattress. she picked up the remote and turned on the tv. “what do you wanna watch? you pick.” she hummed gently. you shrug slightly to her question. “pick whatever you want, i don’t mind.” you reply, getting closer to madison. “hm, you cool with adventure time again?” she giggled softly. you nod lazily, still visibly exhausted about work.

madison smiled gently as she hit ‘continue playing’ on the tv. you two got into a more comfortable position where you laid on top of her chest, close enough to hear her heartbeat. “keep telling me about work.” madison said softly, her hands going up to your hair and playing with the strands gently. “well, i had to help this girl find this book for thirty minutes because she didn’t even know the name of it.” you start, giggling a little. “then i almost fell on a coffee spill when i was trying to get through an aisle.” you sigh. “sounds exhausting, baby.” madison hummed while scratching your scalp with her acrylic nails gently. “yeah, ‘m probably gonna quit soon.” you say softly, melting like butter in her hands. “you want me to help you relax?” she asked in a bit more suggestive tone. you drag your head up and looked up at madison, not really understanding what shes talking about. “what do you mean?” you ask curiously.

madison smirked softly and pushed off of you, trying her best to not hurt you. after a few seconds, you finally realize what she was hinting at. madison cupped your cheek and pulled your lips into a warm kiss. you shut your eyes and kissing the brunette girl back passionately. her tongue grazed your bottom lip gently, asking for permission for her to slip her muscle into your mouth. you parted your lips slightly, just enough for madison to let her tongue explore your mouth. you let a soft hum come out into her mouth before she pulled back. madison started to plant soft kisses against your cheek down to your neck. your hands find her back, your fingers kneed her skin gently. madison nibbled on your collarbone softly, her fingers tugging at the hem of your sleep shirt.

your own hands goes down and pulls the shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere in your room. the brunette girl immediately starts to work on your chest. madison took in one of your tits into her mouth, her tongue circling your bud teasingly. you feel a shock run down your spine as you look down at her. “mmh, feels good.” you breathe. madison looked up at you with soft doe eyes to your small praise. “yeah?” she whispered back, her mouth trailing over to your other tit to give it the same attention. she used her thumb to run over your hardened nipple softly, rubbing it gently. you hiss in pleasure, your body melting into her mouth. her mouth leaves your chest and she continues to plant kisses down your body until she reaches the waistband of your pajama pants. “can i take these off baby?” she asks softly, her fingers already hooked onto the band. you nod eagerly, trying to hold yourself up with your elbows. “i need words.” madison giggled gently. “mhm, please.” you reply almost instantly.

she pulled your pants down slowly, just to tease you a little more. she tugged them down entirely, neatly putting the article of clothing on the floor. she pressed her finger tips against your core that was already begging for attention. madison bit her bottom lip and let it bounce back, seeing how desperate you were. she slowly pushed your lacy black panties with the little bows (i had too LMFAOOO) to the side and licked a small stripe from your entrance to your clit. a shiver ran down through your whole body, leaning your head back slightly. madison pulled the underwear off and tossed them back on the floor. she let her tongue run flat against your heat, collecting all of your arousal. “taste so sweet f’me angel.” she hummed, starting to suck on your sensitive clit. a small whimper left your lips as you bucked your hips up forward into her mouth. your hands raked down and tugged onto madison’s brunette loose wavy curls gently, having her groan against your cunt. her tongue flicked over your heat, slowly tracing two of her fingers to insert into you. your back arched off of the white comforter, you moan out her name gently, your stomach muscles tightening. madison’s finger tips rub your g-spot gently to stimulate you as she enjoyed how you tugged onto her hair. her free hand went to squeeze on your inner thigh gently, her acrylic nails leaving small crescent marks.

“mmh, ‘m so close mads.” you hum in pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “want you to cum when i say so, you can handle that, yeah?” madison purred softly against your pussy. you nod quickly, not wanting to disappoint your lovely girlfriend. her two slim fingers left your entrance and replaced them with her wet muscle. you clenched around her tongue tightly, an automatic response to her actions. your thighs close around her head, having her free hand to slap your thigh gently. “careful.” she warned, immediately going back to suck onto your clit harshly. you whine out of slight frustration as you look down to see her plump pink lips to suction your sensitive area. madison’s thighs clenched together, getting wetter and wetter from how sweet you both sounded and tasted. “pl-please! need to cum!” you plead, your hips rolling in circles against her mouth, her nose hit your bundle of nerves just perfectly. “alright angel, go ahead, let go f’me pretty girl.” she hummed on your core. almost instantly, the knot in your stomach quickly coming undone. you release all over her mouth, your hips stutter as you now try to move them away. “hold on baby, let me clean you up.” madison giggled, her tongue lapping up your mess. she moved in between your thighs, putting her fingers in her mouth to lick then clean. you look up at her with soft eyes, still trying to catch your breath. “you feel better?” she asks, placing her hand on your ribcage and kissing your cheek softly. you nod slowly, enjoying the feeling of her hands on your body. madison sat up and picked up your clothes that were scattered around your room before she walked over to dress you up. “i love you pretty.” she hummed, kissing the top of your head. “i love you too.” you sigh back. you two lay down and get comfortable, and try your guys’ best to continue watching the cartoon.

ꜝ taglist : @flouvela @hearts4werka @bambi-slxt @mattscoquette @mattsluttywaist @her-favorite @conspiracy-ash @sturnsloverrr @luverboychris @mxqdii @sweetstars-posts @xoxo4chrisss

[vxiphoid]

SERENE SHENANIGANS

❨ summary ❩ twst › waking them up to tell them stories that don’t make sense

tags ✧ fluff, crack, savanaclaw boys, defo not proofread its like 7 am, cursing but nothing out of the ordinary, ooc(?), ruggie calls you a little shit like once (affectionate), jack is whipped for you

amanuensis’ message ⊹ I LITERALLY LOVE DOING THIS??? my friends hate me for it. but anyways hiii im back after like my month hiatus, how are thy sleeplings?😋 mb guys writers block has been really kicking my ass, i was spitting blanks on paper… i’m gonna hopefully post another pastry emporium soon for scarabia so stay tuned for that‼️

⌜ 300+ e/chara ⌟

♫ sunset boulevard - hohyun

twst masterlist

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

— “leona… pspsps….”

— he hums gruffly when his name was called the first time, only opening his eye thinking you called him a second time when it was really just noise that you would make to get the attention of a house cat. he instantly pins his ears back. how dare you. “hmm?”

— “so i took our snail for a walk and i had accidentally left my feet here to wash the dishes because the grass was blue.”

— huh? you could see him trying to process everything you just said as you explained, his lips parting and eyebrows furrowing. it took everything in you not to laugh. he does one of those blinks, the really delayed ones, one eye opens before the other…

— he’s half asleep too so the confusion is just adding up altogether. if chicken scratch wasn’t a writing term, this is literally it in words. its like the books back at home he picks up to read (derogatory) its, what, 4 am? dont do this to him😭

— you’ve never seen him so expressive💀 this definitely makes his eye and ear twitch at the same time. what type of fucked up fever dream is this?? its usually a blessing seeing you as the first thing he wakes up to, not when you wake him up with some bull strung up in a sentence with your beady eyes staring at him while he sleeps. he loves you, yes, but what does he even say to this…

— “what…”

— your forehead met with his chest as you struggled not to laugh at the uncharacteristic break in leona’s voice. how many cups of coffee did you drink? he asks you to repeat yourself even though it kinda a mind mush decision so you did and by the end of it, he looks absolutely restless.

— “that’s… yes. that’s great, herbivore. can we go to bed now?”

— you note that leona is surprisingly patient when half asleep

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

JACK HOWL

— deep sleeper. tug his ear. though he practically springs up before your hand makes contact, giving himself whiplash.

— “jack?”

— almost instantly relaxes when he realizes its you, tail wagging subtly☹️ “hi, baby. s’something wrong?”

— “hiii, do you remember a year ahead ago when i had to go to the dentist to get my spine fixed and the cats were barking at the flying dogs because the sky was in the water?”

— bro feels like he just had a stroke💀 he’s blinking rapidly, rubbing nose bridge as you explain. he really wants to understand, he does, but wtf did you just say??? it was the innocent “hi” before you unapologetically bashed his head in with the entire dictionary. its so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh.

— “jack, this is serious.” even as you told him that, your voice was not steady at all which made his shoulders shake violently in silent laughter.

— “im listening, i swear. tell me one more time?” yk his ass is not listening. he pulls you into his lap while his thumbs idly rubbed your sides, responding to your stories with “uh-huh” and “yeah?” with a lovesick smile on his face.

— eventually holds your face and starts pressing heart squeezing, fluffy kisses all over your face which truly made you more tired then you were. you honestly start forgetting what and where the story was going.

— jack only pauses his kissing attack to respond when you take a small break but even then he doesn’t pull away fully, he’s just speaking against your skin

— “—and the duck had my arm while i was taking it on a walk because gran tammy was in a flying shopping cart.”

— “oh wow. and then?”

— he’s listening but he’s not, mostly because he’s like two seconds away from dreamland and his brain isn’t registering half the shit you’re saying. he wants to see how many stories you can jumble up.

— “yeah, i think it’s bedtime for us…”

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

RUGGIE BUCCHI

— omfg he wakes up like a mom. like yk how you would barely touch them and they would gasp like they were just given cpr?? he wakes up like that.

— and you’re just standing there awkwardly 👁️👁️

— takes a quick look around before looking at you. “what happened? is it time to wake up leona already?” you shake your head and ruggie flops back, an arm draped over his eyes. “you scared me… come, lay down with me?” he held his free arm out for you and you did take your place cozied up against his side. to your surprise, you did actually scare the living shit out of him from how fast his heart was racing.

— “ruggie, yk i just found out you’re related to turtles, right? and i had to take uncle bobby to the vet to get a dna test because the fish drowned in air.”

— slow roblox turn towards you but instead its his head as he cranes it down to stare at you. you can practically hear the gears in his head turning and you literally could not look at him or you’d blow your cover.🧍🏾

— “i’m sorry,, what the fuck??”

— he’s genuinely confused, asking you questions about your story while his brain tries to put together the pieces. each question he asks, the more its harder to speak in full sentences other than wheezes

— “what are you laughing at, ya little shit? explain this to me!”

— “i’m trying!”

— and you are😭 its like when you have to explain the family tree really slow bc you cant say, “my father’s girlfriend’s son” without him like ???? and you’re trying to explain it to him slowly, eventually forgetting what you said in the first place…

— “…and the fish drowned in air.”

— “yes.”

— “sweetheart, you still haven’t explained how i’m related to turtles—”

[twoheartedfool]

Tell me a random hc you have about Ghost👀

I see a lot of talk about Ghost being a dog guy or even against the idea of pets as a whole, but that is a cat man if I have ever seen one. I don’t know if he actually has one himself but the cat distribution system loves him. To the point where he’ll be sitting in a tent in the middle of the desert and a dust covered cat is rubbing against his leg as he cleans his gun. Soap is sputtering out, “Where the hell did that come from?!”

But Ghost doesn’t say anything, just lets the cat sniff his gloved hand. He likes their calm, confident energy and the way they can take care of themselves. He likes the way they fuck off when they no longer want anything from him.

Or when he’s home?

He’ll be in the garage working on his car or bike or whatever that weekend has planned, and a small kitten has climbed its way onto his shoulder and then the top of his covered head. Again, he’ll just let it be if it’s not trying to dig its nails into him or eat his tools. He’ll give it a can of food from the stash he has for these occasions.

Until you come out to check in and start crying over cute they both look. Simon can’t hide his small smile as he lets the kitten nibble on his large finger.

“Reminds me of you, this one. A biter.”

You half-heartedly slap his arm before scratching behind the kitten’s ears.

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll find your home.”

When he’s home and has the time and effort, he’ll help the cats that find their way into his life by fostering them or getting them to people who can take care of them properly. Then, eventually, he might indulge and keep a couple when he knows that they’ll be safe and cared for with you while he’s away.

[slut4thebroken]

Space wolf

Pairing | Keith Kogane x reader

Summary | Keith brings home a wolf, cat person!reader is not happy

Warnings | cringe worthy fluff

Words | 1.5k

Notes | I’m not used to writing fluff so I’m sorry if it’s bad lol. I made this in November and it’s been done for a while and I’m trying to get over my fear of posting my fics lmao

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“What the fuck is that?” Was the first thing you asked when you finally returned to the castle. You were on a mission with the blade, so you weren’t there when he arrived. 

“It’s my wolf.” Keith smiled, petting its head. “His name is Kosmo.”

“Why do you have a wolf??” 

“Is this her?” The woman standing next to him gave him a knowing smile. Keith blushed and introduced you to her before turning back to you. 

“This is my mom, Krolia.” He told his mom about you? No, don't be silly… He probably told her about everyone on the team. 

“It’s really nice to meet you.” You smiled, trying to act normal after Keith just came back and all of a sudden had a mom and wolf. Speaking of…

“Why do you have a wolf?” You whisper yelled at him. Krolia excused but neither of you acknowledged her.  

“We found him! What was I supposed to do? Leave him?” You stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Yes!” You said in disbelief and he looked at you like you were crazy. “It’s a wolf-“

“First of all, don’t call him “it.’” You rolled your eyes. “Second of all, it’s okay for you to adopt an animal but not me?” 

“That’s different.” 

“How?!”

“Princess is a dignified, intelligent, actually useful cat. That,” You pointed at the furry beast sitting obediently by his side, “is a wolf. Not even a dog- a wolf!” 

“Kosmo is a thousand times more useful than Princess!” He touched Kosmo and all of a sudden they were both standing right in front of you. You tried taking a step back but he wrapped his arm around you and put his hand on your lower back, pulling you into him. 

You gasped and stared at him wide eyed. Partly because of what the wolf just did but mostly because Keith was different. You didn’t notice at first that he was even taller than you now, or that he just seemed to be bigger in general. You put your hands on his chest to ground yourself. Yep. Definitely bigger. 

“I missed you.” He said before leaning in to kiss you. You snaked your hands up to grab his hair and the back of his neck. His other hand reached up to grab your hip. You pulled back but stayed close to him. 

“It hasn’t been that long.” You laughed breathlessly.  

“It has for me.” This time, when he leaned down, he put his head next to yours and wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you. You tightened your arms around him. 

“How long?” You asked quietly.

“Two years.” That made you pull back just enough to look at him. 

“What? Where were you?” 

“Quantum abyss. Long story.” You frowned, running your hands through his hair and lightly scratching his head. 

“I’m sorry.” You wanted to know more, but knew he’d tell you when he’s ready. 

“Don’t be. I missed you a lot, but it was nice being able to get to know Krolia more.” He gave you a small smile. 

“I can’t believe you found her.” You smiled back at him. 

“Wait so you’re- you’re half Galra?” Your eyes widened at the realization. He did not look half Galra. You probably would’ve guessed maybe ⅛ Galra? But not half. You moved his hair out of the way to look at his ear then moved his lips to check his teeth. 

“What are you doing?” He chuckled. 

“You don’t look half Galra. I would ask if you’re sure she’s your mom but she looks exactly like you. It’s kinda freaky actually.” 

“She does?” 

“I’m serious, you guys look almost identical. Like if you were full Galra and a girl, that’s what you would look like. Don’t worry though, milfs aren’t my type.” You said teasingly and he pouted. God he’s adorable.

“I only have eyes for one Galra Kogane.” You smiled at him, playing with his hair again. “Spoiler alert: it’s you.” He smiled sheepishly and looked down. 

“I really missed you.” He hugged you again. After a beat he pulled away and gave you another kiss. 

He managed to convince you to let Kosmo meet Princess. That’s how you found yourself walking to your room, Keith beside you and Kosmo trailing behind him. You opened the door and Princess ran up to Keith. He picked her up and scratched her head a bit, listening to her purr. 

“I missed you too.” He chuckled when she started trying to rub her head on his face. “Kosmo, stay.” He waited outside the door while you sat on your bed with Keith and Princess. You gave each other a nervous look before he called for Kosmo. 

Princess immediately became hostile, jumping off Keith and hiding behind you. You just hoped that she’d calm down enough to sense that you didn’t see him as a threat. You don’t really know why, or how it happened, but you have a similar bond with your cat as Allura does with the mice. 

You turned around on the bed and put her in your lap, hiding her from Kosmo who was getting curious and starting to move closer. You closed your eyes and lightly pet her head, trying to let her feel your emotions toward the wolf. She was like this with Keith at first too, and it didn’t help that he was apprehensive about her also. 

You felt her start to calm down and become more curious rather than scared. She stood up on her back legs, resting her front paws on your chest, and peered over your shoulder to investigate. 

Keith had Kosmo sit, so the only movement was his panting and his tail sweeping across the floor. 

“It’s okay.” You whispered and she dropped down into your lap then started walking toward the space on the bed between you and Keith. Kosmo leaned forward as far as he could without getting up and Princess flinched back. When she realized he was only sniffing and not trying to attack she moved closer and sniffed him as well. 

“This is going a lot better than I thought it would.” Keith whispered to you. 

“Good thing too. Cause if they hate each other, Princess isn’t the one to go. Seniority and all that.” You whispered back, lightheartedly. Out of the corner of your eye you watched Princess jump to the floor. 

“I hate to break it to you… but if we’re going by seniority, Kosmo and I aren’t the ones leaving.” He leaned into your space and gave you a small smirk. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

You lunged at him, pushing him back on the bed until you were laying on top of him. He immediately started laughing alongside you and fighting back. He got you on your back and you started tickling him so he grabbed your wrists and held them down. Both of your laughter died down until you were just breathing heavily and smiling like idiots. A sudden weight being dropped on top of him, making him fall onto you, forced a breath out of you. 

“Ow…” You watched as Kosmo fell off of Keith until he was laying next to you, panting and ready to play. You gave him a faux glare. 

“I’ll let it slide this time, wolf. But if it happens again, especially if we’re in the middle of something, you will be banned from this room.” You tried to keep the serious expression on your face but broke out into a fit of laughter when Kosmo responded by tilting his head and looking at Keith. 

“She’ll warm up to you soon, don’t worry.” Keith whispered and Kosmo seemed content with that answer. He yawned and then put his head down on your arm. 

“He better not drool on me.” You said when he closed his eyes. There was a beat of silence and you looked at Keith who had a guilty expression. 

“He’s kind of a drooler… sorry.” 

“Remind me why I let you and the cosmic wolf in my room again? Let alone on my bed.” 

“Because you love me.” He smiled, releasing one of your wrists to tuck your hair behind your ear. “And by extension, him too.” He added and you scoffed. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yep.” He rested his chin on your chest and you brought your free hand to his hair, playing with it and scratching his head. He closed his eyes and he- 

He started purring.

You had to check to make sure it wasn’t just Princess but she was laying down on the other side of the room and you could feel the vibrations on your chest. 

“I do love you.” You whispered. “And I guess, maybe, the space beast too.” 

“You know you can just call him Kosmo.” He turned his head so his cheek was on your chest now. He was still laying on top of you and even if he crushed you to death, you wouldn’t even consider moving. Kind of like when your cat lays on you. 

He opened his eyes to look at you before saying, “I love you too.” You smiled and he closed his eyes again, continuing purring. 

“You better not drool on me either.” You could feel him smile against your chest. 

“No promises.” 

[babydollmarauders]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

request: “hey! can you do something with prompts 19, 43, and 44 with jack hughes please? love your work btw!”

19. “OH you’re jealous!”

43. “give me attention.”

44. “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”

summary: in which y/n gets jealous, but not in the way you’d expect.

notes: after reading these prompts, this idea immediately popped into my head. i apologize if this isn’t really what you had in mind, anon. no affiliation to the song “Jealousy, Jealousy” by Olivia Rodrigo. and this one shot is not meant to be taken too seriously, it’s just a fun twist on the jealousy trope! <3

to be fair, i’m not a very big dog person to begin with. Jack knew that well enough, i mean, i did bring two cats with me in this relationship. Jack however, loved dogs. So i shouldn’t have been surprised when i came home last week to find out that Jack agreed to dog-sit for Shara while he and his wife and baby took a trip. but now it’s been two weeks of pet-sitting and i’m sorta over it.

i step out of Jack and i’s bedroom, in search of my boyfriend of two years, after waking up alone. padding into the living room, i find him lounging on our couch, the dog curled up next to him in the spot that i usually take, and even the cats are laid down by his feet. he’s watching a random movie off netflix, absentmindedly running his hand up and down the dogs back like he usually does to me.

it’s stupid, right? to be jealous of a dog? but unfortunately, i am, because this is what it’s been like for two weeks now. i’m not very high maintenance, but i do look forward to his attention, and i love the mundane things like waking up next to him in bed, or cuddling on the couch and watching tv. but those things have not been happening. i know it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t seem like he even realizes what he’s doing. like yesterday, i got home from a bad day at work, and usually he’s quick to realize my sad state and give me a hug to cheer me up. but when he still hadn’t noticed three hours later, sat on the floor, playing catch with the dog while he asked me what we should do for dinner, which was only the third time he had spoken to me since i had gotten home, it only solidified my jealousy.

he’s loving having a dog in the apartment, but i can officially say that i’m not on the same page.

“oh, hey. when did you wake up?” Jack’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and it’s only now that i realize i was glaring at the dog.

“a few minutes ago.” i avert my gaze over to him while i talk but look back at the dog before speaking again. “you weren’t in bed. again.”

“yeah, i didn’t want him to get lonely.” him. the dog.

“he’s a dog. he’ll be fine while we sleep.” i’m able to control the bite in my voice, keeping it at an untraceable amount.

“he’s not like the cats, love. he requires attention.” he laughs, but due to my poor sleep, i don’t find the joke very funny.

“so does your girlfriend.” i grumble to myself, side-eying.

i wait for him to speak again but when i realize his focus is back on the dog, scratching its ear and kissing its head, i huff and discreetly stomp into the kitchen to make some coffee. but apparently it wasn’t as discreet as i thought, because not a minute later, Jack is in the kitchen with me, the dog trailing after him.

“hey, what’s up with you?” he asks. i send a side-eyed glare towards the dog that’s now nudging my boyfriends hand with it’s nose.

“nothing.” i say, pouring cold brew into my cup of ice before adding my creamer and stirring with my straw.

“oh, no. no, no, no. i thought we got out of the ‘nothing’ phase over a year ago.” Jack shakes his head and leans against the counter. “it’s obviously not nothing.”

oh, so now he can tell i’m upset?

“seriously, Jack, just drop it. i didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” he shakes his head again and pushes off the counter, walking over and placing his hands on my hips, pulling me against him.

“i don’t believe you. what’s actually wrong?” i can’t control myself, my gaze drops from his, down to the dog who’s sitting patiently, waiting for Jack to go back to loving on him. i look back up at Jack and i can tell he’s thinking hard, before his eyes go wide and a smile splits across his face. “OH you’re jealous!”

he laughs and it makes me go red with embarrassment.

“of the dog! oh, babe.” i can hear the pity in his voice and i lift my hands to my face, seeking shelter behind them.

“you’re giving him all your attention.” my words are muffled. “i want you to give me attention.”

his fingers wrap lightly around my wrists, pulling my hands down before he cradles my face with his own hands.

“babe, you get all my attention, all the time. he’s only gonna be here for two more days. and then i’ll be so clingy, that you’ll get sick of me.”

“i don’t get sick of you.” i mumble, nuzzling my face closer into his touch.

“oh trust me, you will. you’ll be all like ‘Jack, omg give me some space!’” he ups his voice a couple octaves, making it squeaky and high pitched, and i laugh, pulling back and playfully hitting his arm.

“i do not sound like that! and did you just say ‘omg’? i don’t say that!”

“uh what are you talking about? i sounded exactly like you! Luke can vouch for me.” i roll my eyes and laugh again and then act serious, gazing up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“be honest, was it pathetic of me to be jealous of a dog?” i ask jokingly.

“honest? yeah, kinda.” he smirks and i let loose a mock gasp, lightly smacking his chest repeatedly, making him bark out in laughter. “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”

“that was so rude! you were supposed to say ‘no, you could never be pathetic!’” i join in his laughter as he grabs my wrists, stopping my weak assault.

“that would be lying, y/n, and lying is immoral.”

“you know what else is immoral, Jack Rowden Hughes?” i ask. “calling your girlfriend pathetic!”

he pulls me into a hug, planting a light kiss on the top of my head.

“i love you. you know that, yeah?”

“yeah, i know that. i love you too.” i feel a nudge on my butt and look down to see the dog gazing up at me. “eh, i guess you’re not so bad, boyfriend stealer.”

[dadsbongos]

possession

6.5 k words // warnings - suicidal ideation/tendencies, gore/blood + body horror (miscarriage imagery), vomiting, implied cannibalism, geographical errors, not beta read, you wear skirt, not in canon

summary - Grief is ugly, you knew that. The hole where your husband used to be just keeps growing until you can't take it anymore.

@ghostlykeyes i finally finished the possession fic!! like months after talking about it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve seen the funny things that grief does to people. Your father refused to rise from bed for five days when your mother passed. Your kitten would search the house for her mother every day when the older cat was no longer around. Your aunt bleached her hair and moved to the states when her husband served divorce papers. Your baby cousin faked ill for a whole week when his dog ran away. Your best friend admitted that when her brother died, she drove far out to the country and parked over train tracks… She admitted that she waited for an hour before driving home.

Yes, you’ve seen the bizarre and stomach-churning behaviors that grief can bring out from a person, but you’ve never seen something like this. And the most stomach-churning thing about it, is that you’re the one behind this.

It isn’t someone else you can psychoanalyze or rant about -- it’s your hands settling over the chilly doorknob. It’s your hands twisting around the knob. It’s your guest room that’s occupied by this… thing.

You release the metal as its cold exterior burns a hole in your palm. You step back, and you stay away.

…

When you were younger, you liked to draw yourself far into the future. Where your crayoned head would scratch at the sky, and you would have a car with a lumpy hood and mismatching tires. And, of course, your very own house with a grand front door: a welcoming, circular window, and a lemony handle meant to be gold, and thick mahogany wood. You used to be embarrassed by the squiggly lines and uneven shades when your mother would keep and display the dog-eared pages, but Mahito would insist. Mahito pressed the contractors how dire it was that the entryway to your shared home matched your childhood depictions.

So how strange it is that Mahito’s mission partner and close friend, Kento Nanami, stands in this grand, gaping doorway with a firm downturn of his lips. Tingling wells from the bottom of your gut, tangling with your intestines and latching onto each rung of your ribs. Thick knots lodge in your throat -- your questions choking you. You swallow them. You spit them back up.

“How…?”

Kento blinks, honey eyes dripping to the floor and sticking there, “I can’t tell you.”

Chunks replace the words in your throat, spittle wetting the inside of your mouth. You try to suck it all back, suppressing the bile, “Can I see the body…?”

Kento shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “I can’t show it to you.”

“Is there anything you can give me?”

“I have nothing,” Kento mutters it, gaze finally flicking back up to your face, “Only my word.”

You’re uncertain of how to respond to Kento. Thoughts swiped off your brain, like a dreary mother clearing her counter of kitchen scraps into the garbage. There’s a thin film of powdery flour clinging to the surface, remnants of things you wanted to ask. Information you’d beg for. Details of the mission. The dreary mother blows hot air over the counter, scattering flour up into the air.

Kento reaches into his front shirt pocket, the azure material stretching around his hand. He pulls out a thin, bleached cloth with tattered edges and extends it towards you, “Well, I do… have this.”

It was once purple. The shade of sweet raisins. It was once part of his uniform.

“It was all I could grab,” he watches your face as you focus on the cloth being pressed into your palm, “If you need company, or the house is too quiet…”

“I know, Nanami.”

You survey the cloth, it barely takes up your palm with a stretched, floss-like texture at each side. So worn the purple is churning into gray. Or is it marinated ash? Or dried curse’s blood?

“I’m here for you.”

“I know, Nanami.”

Kento sends himself on his way, stepping back from your doormat with dirt clots following after. He crunches over them again on his trek down the front steps. Your stained mahogany door clicks shut gently, golden handle nipping cold at your flesh. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoes through your home’s foyer.

Mahito’s frayed uniform strip is rough in your hand. Slim. Thin. Hardly protective at all.

Just as the door shutting, and the lock pinning it, your gasp makes rounds through the empty house. Quiet. It’s already too quiet.

You used to like that. Peace away from Mahito’s missions and cursed humans and terrible spirits and even…

Gaze falling across the vase displayed on a frail, dark wood end table, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with contempt. Every bright sunshine sheen and painted pastel flower petal aches like a knife in your back.

As you lift the ceramic vase, it’s thunking off the table fills your ears in the silent house. Too big. Too quiet. You hurl the decorative vase into the farthest wall and cringe at how overbearing the song of its shatter is. After the offending art piece is out of sight, the cloth in your free hand regains sensation. You can feel the tile under your feet again. You can hear the birds chirping outside like there’s something to hope for this spring.

Legs shaky and thighs burning from the stress, you rush towards the vase’s new graveyard and cradle the shards you’re certain won’t tear your hands apart. You feel your heart burn a hole through your chest. Its fire blares and feeds until the hole extends far into your viscera. Guilt seeps into place -- molding around your organs to keep them from collapsing into each other.

Kento’s gift vase is scattered around your knees. And you cry into the pieces you hold.

When the only surviving shred of Mahito cannot dry your face, you cry harder.

…

“I don’t know when,” you answer honestly. Shaking your head. Your nails rake into the stretch of skin over your thighs. So sharp it's as if you’re ripping right through your tights, but you don’t hear the telltale popping of fabric.

Though it’s louder in your boss’ office than at the house. That, you suppose, is one good thing here.

“I understand,” she nods slowly, hands folded calmly over her steel desk. A glass vase, tinged like precious jade, holds white lilies. You think they used to be yellow. You wonder when they changed, “Take your time. And drive safely, please.”

Wallowing eyes trail after you. Shame bleeds into that guilt pothole inside you as your coworkers watch you exit the building. For what, you couldn’t answer reasonably. Because, reasonably, there is no cause for such shame. You’re unfit to return to work. Your boss sympathizes. Yet, you feel that humiliation of eyes squinted and narrowed and curious all the same. It doesn’t sink when you’re in the parking lot, nor when you climb into the driver’s seat of your car.

You never liked taking public transport without Mahito to keep you company. And even then, he would often drive you home when he wasn’t sent away with work.

So you needed to adjust the seat upon initially settling in.

The memory of your clueless fiddling, unfamiliar with the layout of your own vehicle, makes your hands shake against the wheel. Your knuckles twinge at the stretch, and perhaps when you release your grip the leather of the steering wheel will have left indents. Your foot feels heavier than it used to, you think it drags the gas pedal down.

Surprisingly, the road is not clogged with cars. Vast asphalt paints the scene ahead, lined by inactive streetlamps and sagging telephone cables. You and the road.

You could let your foot sink. Find out how far down the pedal goes. You could ease the tension in your hands and let the steering wheel go altogether. You could turn on the radio and fall into a blissful, noisy sleep.

Slowly, you slip a hand off the wheel and reach for the radio knobs, slowly swerving the dial far right. You leave that hand off the wheel. Your foot slumps into the gas and your car jolts down the road. Waning wires transition into beams of black rod separated by blurry lamps. Tires jerk to the left and your heart bumps out of your skin, you now notice how unsteady your hand remaining on the wheel is.

But peeling that hand away seems impossible. No matter how you lift or pry, as though you’ve been suction sealed to the leather. A weight pressing your final tether firmly into the real world.

Your foot lightens on the pedal until you’re below the speed limit, and you return both hands to the wheel before gliding it over and off the side of the road. Between two street lamps, your car rests -- you keep the radio high. Better that than droning silence occasionally interrupted by birds and crickets wailing for carnal attention.

With the car immobile, you’re left to stare across the clear azure sun. As spotless as it had been days before Mahito left, and, perhaps foolishly, you’d taken that as a good omen. Now it just burns your eyes, leaving you to blink back welling tears: the tears do not stop, though.

No matter how hard you blink, they will not stop.

…

You no longer eat at the table. A shame because it was crafted by hand at Mahito’s pocket’s expense, but everytime you eat there you think of that fact. And you think of breakfasts ruined by his crude humor. And you wish you hadn’t let such minuscule words dictate those mornings. So, to avoid that chain of thought, you consume your measly meal at the kitchen island in the dark. And in the trash can immediately to your left is a crumpled sheet from your calendar -- the month of May.

(You’ve discovered your days go smoother this way.)

A collection of harsh thuds vibrate against the kitchen counter. Masamichi Yaga’s stern face igniting your screen, underneath are two buttons; one ruby and one emerald. Having never been a sorcerer yourself, the only reason Yaga ever had your phone number was for trivial matters. Occasionally, he’d use it if Mahito hadn’t answered his own phone. A sharp sting eats away even more of your insides at the thought. So, you swipe the ruby button.

You decline Yaga’s call.

Stubbornly, he redials your number. Again, you decline.

He calls again, so you decline.

He calls once more, so you decline.

When he calls for the fourth time, you blindly throw your phone through the kitchen doorway. The absence is bliss for a short-lived second before the silence is interrupted by a bang and shatter. You jerk against the counter, hesitation anchoring you there for longer than the quiet’s lifespan before you explore the living room. Finding your phone’s grim resting spot takes no effort.

It’s surrounded by ceramic that glints in the few, thin ribbons of sunlight poking through your slatted windows. Shards you should’ve picked up weeks ago, but the shame of having an unkempt home fails to inspire any cleanliness. You merely retrieve the cracked phone (screen flickering with a pale greenish glow at the bottom) and ignore the jagged pieces.

…

3:34PM

“What even happened?” Utahime cradles your extended hand between hers. Thin, cardinal lines are split into the delicate skin of your fingertips. Some are lighter in color, and some are much, much darker. She frowns and curls her fist around yours as if to melt the wounds back together with the warmth of her palm.

“My screen’s broken.”

Her deadpan stare slackens as soon as it arrives, she bites her tongue and quietly sighs through her nose, “I know that. I meant: how did your phone even break?”

Slipping your hand out from her grasp, you pick up the display phone to your right. Roughly the same size as your current one, but a cursory glance at the tag confirms it’s a (moderately) more recent model. Therefore, apparently, it must be double the price.

Before you can replace the phone on its stand, Utahime snags it without so much as a glance at the price, “I’ll get it for you. Save your money.”

“I hope that’s not pity.”

“You’re my friend,” she insists, but her words don’t make you feel any better, “So was Mahito.”

You nod slowly. Her oxblood eyes linger over your face, the attention spurs nausea gurgling through your throat. Saliva wells along the velvet walls of your mouth, throat burning, “What?”

“Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes,” you blink away the faint throbbing in your stressed eyeballs, turning your head away towards the front of the store, “Yeah, I’m fine, don’t… just buy the phone, if you’re sure you want to.”

“‘Course I am,” she hushes herself, solely to avoid frightening you off. Like you’re some abandoned kitten soaking in a cardboard box under rain, “I can always come over, too.”

“Utahime.”

“I’m sorry.”

You let it go rather than try explaining the sore, tender, exposed nerve away. You cannot fathom how you would even begin telling her that you don’t sleep in your bed anymore. And, furthermore, you don’t wish to share the couch. Can’t even consider the notion.

Utahime bites her tongue harder.

5:30AM

The digital clock sitting beneath your television has lighting like olive’s skin, making it easy to stare at even in the pitch black of your living room. Without the hum of the air control, your dismal little makeshift sleeping quarters are even more still than in the day. Silence makes it hard to sleep. Thinking about how little you’re sleeping makes it harder to sleep. Thinking about how Mahito would usually wake you in two and a half hours for breakfast before he went to work made it impossible to sleep.

Maybe, if you squeezed your eyes tight enough then you could slip into an alternate timeline where you get to rest in your own bed. And after breakfast at 8:30, there is the shopping excursion to a marketplace you two frequent at night when he gets home. He likes to carry your bag.

But, oh, you will have to go alone in this timeline, won’t you?

And, oh, everyone will ask where your Mahito is, won’t they?

Sweetly, they will tease that he’s making you carry all the groceries home. Curiously, they will titter about his whereabouts. You will be forced to answer.

Will you lie? Or would that be too pathetic?

The alternate timeline is making your head hurt. The pit inside you gnaws further on its surroundings until you’re sure that your entire stomach is swallowed and torn and burned into sickness. You open your eyes again.

5:31AM

…

With how mousy your appetite has been lately, you barely notice when the back of your pantry becomes more apparent than its contents. Utahime, you’re sure, would be giddy to run such a tedious errand simply because it would mean that you’re still alive and capable of speech. Her current location across the country in Kagoshima argues back, though.

So you found yourself on the long trek to a new store with new faces at midnight on an otherwise abandoned railway. Nothing in the store roused much inside you, except for the ever-growing rot in your gut when you’re ashamed by how you wander to the alcohol. One of few things you’re certain you can keep down now is, ironically enough, wine.

You were never much of a drinker when-

You swallow hard and make for the selection of breads.

At least now you can hopefully rest in the night, however unorthodox the methods may be.

Does it matter at all? When you really, truly think about it -- as long as you’re sleeping, does it matter what puts you there? With a full night’s rest, you could finally be motivated to look through the piling mail. Or return Yaga’s missed call. Or get more bountiful groceries.

Will it be from this new place? Or your usual?

You could be energized enough to go anywhere, you suppose.

Anywhere tomorrow. Moving forward and upward and without Mahito.

Do you want that?

Does it matter?

It’ll happen anyway. Time will move anyhow, your only real choice is whether or not to fight the flow. You can be without Mahito and struggle or be without Mahito and scrape by.

Either way, you will be without.

Until you die yourself, potentially decades from now.

And suddenly, you wonder what you will do when May comes. The thought brings you to a full stop. Your heels click their final echo in the empty train tunnel.

Nothing, you suppose.

When May comes… you’ll be at home. Maybe? Or work.

Yes, you have to go back to work eventually, right?

But you won’t have friends over.

But what if they insist?

Because they want to drink and play games and be loud, and you’re their friend and it isn’t like you have any other plans. So why wouldn’t you have friends over?

(It’s not like you’ll be getting married.)

Your shoulders go lax, the glass wine bottles rattle together like dice, the haphazardly packed bread is crushed. Your eyes refocus, the little stick figures of men and women and the arrows and the directions plastered on tall boards hit you. They don’t leave. Your gaze drifts to the tracks below.

(You could jump in.)

Why wouldn’t you have friends over? It isn’t as though anyone will have an important mission the next morning.

You blink. You can hear yourself breathe. It’s obnoxious. It’s too loud and too soft at the same time. You feel your heart pump between your ribs. You feel each fiber in your bag’s strap pull on the soft skin of your hands. Burning away at your flesh.

Mahito usually carried your bag.

Your shoulders jerk back to life, the wine bottles clink and the plastic wrap over your bread squeals for mercy. You stumble on the height of your heels. The fibers nip sharply at your tender fingers.

Your breath is too loud. You hold it. You need to breathe.

Your breath is too loud.

So you scream to cover the sound. You wretch your eyes closed, your hands tighten around the bag and it burns again.

Mahito never told you that holding the bag hurt his hands.

You double over, suddenly nauseous.

You open your eyes and stare down at where the bag peels your skin. There is no blood; you think there should be.

(You could make it so.)

You stumble back again, but this time, when you regain your balance you let the motion sweep you away. The momentum carries you in a circle and you stretch out your arms to swing the irritating bag into the wall at your side. You hear the glass clang and chip apart. You see the dark plum stains blossom along the bottom of the bag. You watch the wine pool and drool from the seams, but you cannot hear the droplets over the shuddering, ragged breaths you suck in. And each exhale rings out as more of a throaty, feral groan than human huffed dioxide.

Swirling the other way, you bang the remaining glass bottles into the wall again and when the grapes have soaked halfway up the bag, you find yourself grinning.

A groan is interrupted by a giggle.

So much for a warm buzz. Alone.

(Alone.

Home alone.)

The giggle stops suddenly.

Alone now. And alone tomorrow. And alone in a week. And alone in a month. And alone in May.

And alone after May, too.

The festering rot carving into your guts claws up and up and around until you fear that all of your meat has been shredded through. Tighter and tighter, even squishing high into the shell of your skull. Bubbling, the rot consumes until finally -- it bursts. A sharp cramping in your stomach that shoots through your hip bones and all down your thighs.

You harshly drag the bag up above your head before hurriedly slamming it back down. The scattered glass shards tink and crash, only faintly dulled by the squished loaf. The wine leaks onto the floor.

You watch it seep out and you watch how the fabric plops with a wet little splash as you release the handle. You watch it dribble out on the smooth, albeit spotty floor. It soaks into the grouts and rolls smoothly to the toe of your heels.

You watch it merge with another tinted liquid.

Red. Mulberry, almost.

Your fingers dip into the secondary substance, and you note how thick it is. Yet slippery. Tracing your fingers through the puddle, you find it leading to your ankles.

Heart thundering up into your throat, you graze your fingers up the divots of your socks and along the plain of your calf. The red liquid is pushed into your skin, smearing along the smoothness. You continue to follow the trail up to your thigh and under your skirt, your hand is enveloped by warmth as you finally make contact with the source.

Your underwear is wet.

Your fingers are shaking when you unveil them to your eyes, they are shaking and coated in that thick, yet slippery, red hue.

The puddle grows under your feet. The mulberry overtaking the grape.

You aren’t due. You don’t…

You don’t think…

No, you weren’t sick. You weren’t aching. You and Mahito

It isn’t

It isn’t, no, not at all

You aren’t due at all

Your nausea swells and the sound of your own hurried breaths is quickly overwhelmed in your ears by the sound of your blood. By the cinching, hard drum of your pulse.

Suddenly, your knees buckle and your hands lurch forward with the rest of your body -- shooting out to the ground to keep you standing. Jagged glass scratches through the material of your grocery bag, raised incisions slowly blooming red. Your mouth is hot, and wet. Too wet.

Your stomach squeezes, throat loosening uncomfortably. It stretches around nothing, and the roof of your mouth tingles unpleasantly. You belch. Your palms burn worse than your fingers now.

(This never would’ve happened if Mahito had carried the grocery bag.)

Your stomach tightens again and your jaw snaps open, throat squelching as a rush of bile gushes through. It lands in the mulberry-grape mix, tainting it with a murky, pale swirl. The scent burns your nose and sends you rocketing back onto your feet. You stumble for the third time in your heels, but this time you do not catch yourself. Floundering on uneven footing before slamming your back harshly into the wall at your side.

Another groan shreds your throat, dredging up more acidic fluid to the full of your lips. You spit onto the ground. You can hear your breathing mix with the push of your blood.

Mahito would’ve held an arm out for you. He would’ve taken the bag. He would’ve gone instead. If he knew what was bound to happen in this tunnel, he would’ve just gone instead and you would’ve insisted he didn’t go alone and he’d pretend to put up a fight before you both would have decided to stay in and he would sleep next to you through the night and he would be there again when you woke up.

The mulberry juice has trailed after you. Trail thickening as it heads for your twitching legs. Your socks are red and squishy in your heels.

Both legs now engulfed with the bloody trickle.

For a moment, you forget yourself. You bring your hands to your thighs and cup the inside softness, blood ponds in the wrinkled depths of your palms. You scoop the blood upwards, as if to shove it back; return it to its place and erase this terrible night altogether. Somehow that makes perfect sense.

All you succeed in is staining your skirt.

A sharp twinge spikes from the joints between your legs through your abdomen, it pulls a rippling scream from the base of your chest. You crumple to your knees, skidding them against the floor. The blood beneath you is cool and sticky, quickly overtaken with the fresh flush leaking from your underwear.

Your hands shake, previous cuts bubbling with crimson of their own, as you curl them into the material of your skirt. When you subconsciously twist your feet at the siege of pain, that squelch of blood filling your shoes infests your ears again. Fitfully, you kick out your legs, flinging off your heels, before tearing your hands down the sides of your legs and ripping off the bloody socks. In their wake, you sear your nails over your skin and the path continues to burn even when your hands return to your pelvis.

Briefly, you consider the possibility that you could be crushing your own bone under the hefty pressure in your hands. When another wrack of cramping wagons over your pliant insides, all concern is tossed aside.

Mulberry vines its way up your body, clinging to your skin.

And later in the night, when you’re scrubbing ruthlessly against your skin -- attempting in vain to rid yourself of this catastrophe, you will give birth in the guest bathtub. A pulpy mess of blood and muscle strands will writhe and wail for you by name. It will call to you with Mahito’s voice and you will run because the familiar warmth in your chest at his song is overwhelmingly horrifying.

Yet, when you sit against the closed bathroom door, you hear nothing. For a moment, you’re certain you hallucinated during a genuine emergency.

But you creak the door open again, just enough to get an eyeful of the cornish yellow room before slamming it shut. A malformed creature resembling the top half of a medical dummy is wrapped in lashing strips of steaming intestine and exposed muscle. You wretch and scramble out to where you’d haphazardly thrown your purse over the couch in your rush to the nearest bath.

Wisely, you call Utahime over the police.

It rings and rings and rings until it boops and beeps into voicemail. You dig for Yaga’s number, when suddenly you hear your name again. More clearly. More enunciated. More obviously him.

So, you let the phone slip from your palm and ignore how it buzzes loudly and beams with Utahime’s contact.

The golden glow seeping from under the closed bathroom door slices your home’s darkness -- it flashes over your skin and illuminates your fresh, changed socks. Sweeps over the hollow of your open palm against the golden knob. Which jiggles noisily under your unsteady hold, rattling in its socket. You can barely hear the sound of your name repeated, smoother. More careful.

Deeper. Kinder. Sweeter. Lovelier.

You squeak the door open, just barely pressing the side of your face into the crack to glimpse upon the creature in the tub.

Soft powder blue hair that stretches down to a pale, naked chest. One icy blue eye and one coppery fire. Clean face bisected both ways by silvery, glittering stitches -- otherwise unmarred. Blood splatters and hand print smears still decorated the rim of the bathtub. You’re sure there’s a draining pool of crimson at the bottom, too.

But there’s Mahito.

He grins at you. His right front tooth sits slightly over the left, just like you remember. And he has an unnerving lack of dimples, like you remember.

“Are…?” you squint your eye into the bathroom -- the old bulbs buzz vaguely overhead, “Mahito? Are you real?”

Slowly, he nods. Inoffensively blue tresses gliding like silk over his shoulders, “I’m real, honey.”

Your knees shake, bones smashed into paste. The door opens wider with how you lean into it.

“Can I touch you…?”

Again, he nods.

Creeping across the frosty tile, you kneel against the porcelain tub before crossing one leg over the other into the wide bowl. Blood soaks into the padding of your fresh socks and hem of your oversized shirt. You skim your hand over the expanse of his chest, fingertips dipping over the divots and raises of his new stitches. Soft lashes of hair tingle under your skin. His muted chuckle rumbles through his chest at your glazed over, mesmerized state as your caressing moves to his arm.

Below his chest and arm are mush and guts tethering together with peachy, pink sheets of fat and muscle forming over the innards. You pinch yourself. It stings.

Mahito chuckles again, “See, honey? I’m real.”

It’s over half an hour later that you’re finally redialing Utahime’s number.

“Sorry, I was just missing Mahito, but… I went onto the porch and got myself together. I think I’m okay now.”

Utahime inhales sharply, and she’s speaking, but your focus is solely on the guest bathroom door.

Mahito waves at you sweetly.

You don’t sleep that night, but you don’t visit the bathroom either. You sit on the couch and ignore the voice of your dead fiance singing your name until sunrise. Only then, does the Siren song lure you back.

Mahito’s legs remain stumps, pulpy at the knees and sharp, jagged bones barely poking out from the mess. So, he remains in the tub -- where rot and iron are thinly masked by the sickly floral scent of cheap, generic brand air-freshener. Dried blood crusts against the bath with gushes of fresh, oozing crimson consistently re-wetting the porcelain bottom.

“Honey,” his fingers dance over the apple of your cheek, lids low over eyes that singe straight through your chest, “can you give me flesh?”

As if he can see every twinge in your heartbeat, he’s grinning at you as soon as you look into his face.

“What…?” your brows furrow, his own draw sympathetically -- grin snapping into a gentle frown, “What do you mean?”

“I want to be a full man,” he coos, “Just the way you remember. And I need flesh.”

“Okay.”

He nods sternly, “It’s exactly what you think.”

“Okay.”

,,,

You’ve seen the funny things that grief does to people. Your father refused to rise from bed for five days when your mother passed. Your kitten would search the house for her mother every day when the older cat was no longer around. Your aunt bleached her hair and moved to the states when her husband served divorce papers. Your baby cousin faked ill for a whole week when his dog ran away. Utahime admitted that when her brother died, she drove far out to the country and parked over train tracks… She admitted that she waited for an hour before driving home.

Yes, you’ve seen the bizarre and stomach-churning behaviors that grief can bring out from a person, but you’ve never seen something like this. And the most stomach-churning thing about it, is that you’re the one behind this.

It isn’t someone else you can psychoanalyze or rant about -- it’s your hands settling over the chilly doorknob. It’s your hands twisting around the knob. It’s your guest room that’s occupied by this… thing.

You release the metal as its cold exterior burns a hole in your palm. You step back, and you stay away.

Away, and nervous. So nervous it makes your limbs shake and twitch.

Kento hovers a gentle hand over your shoulder, “Are you sure you’ve been well?”

“I’ve just been… out of it.”

“I can understand why. I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” you wonder if that’s all he can say, “I can… Is there anything more I can do? Change the lights? Clean the glass in the living room? Replace your vase?”

“Just this,” you turn away, facing the turquoise of Kento’s button up. Physically incapable of staring him in the face as you continue, “There’s something wrong… seriously wrong with the bathroom… Just checking this will be okay, Nanami.”

“Anything,” Kento whispers softly, stepping around your cemented body to grasp the golden handle. He smiles down at you, despite the way you’re still unable to look him in the eyes -- he opens up to speak, but decides against whatever additional sympathies he felt indebted to, “Anything.”

You can’t so much as squeak out a ‘thank you’ before he slithers out of your life.

…

“I’m worried. I don’t want to pretend I’m calling for any other reason, or that I don’t notice something wrong. You’re worse than ever, and I… I just don’t know…” Utahime sighs loudly over the phone, “I’m so worried.”

“I’m okay,” you’re itching to hang up, to more thoroughly monitor Mahito’s growth.

“Nobody’s seen or heard from you!” she cries, “And Nanami- we still don’t- !” she stops abruptly, “Nothing’s been the same since…” Utahime sighs again, quieter, “You have to be running low on money now.”

“I’m okay, Utahime.”

“Do you want me to stop by? I can come with more groceries…”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m coming by.”

You’re opting to refuse when two fingers poke into your side, Mahito grins brightly with a thumbs up. For a moment you’re left stammering into the phone, staring into scorching eyes. Ice and copper, like burning flame. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss into your cheek, just as he used to before leaving for work. Just as he did that morning, before you never saw him again.

Not until now.

Mahito kisses you again, skimming his hand over your temple and brushing back hair so he can soothe his lips there, too.

“Ah, okay…”

Utahime, much more excitedly, responds, “Oh! Yeah, okay! I’ll be there soon. With groceries!”

“With food,” you murmur back dumbly. Mahito nods against your face, soon after nuzzling into your neck, “Okay…”

Hours later, you will be on the other side of the house, desperately trying to scrub the sound of wet slurps and chews from your memory.

…

“Why do you stay in the bathroom?”

“It’s comfy,” he teases, stretching out his bare legs over the rim of the tub, “Why? Are there comfier places?”

“Our bed,” you should probably be more alarmed that he cannot recall that, but he tilts his head so pretty.

“Why don’t you show me then?”

Your eyes drift to the clots of blood and matted hair by the bath drain, blonde and raven black tangling together with crystals of bone flecked over the mess. You try not to look or think about it because you’re not so delusional as to think you can justify this.

Mahito tilts his head, grinning, “Hm?”

Or maybe you are.

“What’ll you think of the house…?” you murmur to yourself, “It’s different now.”

Mahito laughs and kisses your cheek, right below where tears well against your lashes, “When have I asked anything of you except yourself?”

He nuzzles into the warmth that spreads over your face and flows down your neck. When you grasp his hand and lead the man -- naked and rich with the scent of iron -- out of the guest bathroom to the dark hallway, he’s delighted. Down the hallway, are multiple gaping doorways with similarly unlit rooms. Both hands bite around one of Mahito’s as you take him into the master bedroom -- the one you used to share.

“It’s hard to see you in here,” Mahito makes no effort to lean away from your touch, though he does search for a source of light to flick on.

“Sorry…” you frown, dragging Mahito to the bed -- sheets messy and yet frozen cold to the touch. Shakily, you reach out for the drawstring of your bedside lamp. You clench your eyes as the bulb clicks to life, digging your nails into Mahito and praying, silently, that he’s still real. That the darkness hadn’t somehow fooled you so thoroughly into believing your Mahito returned.

His hand squeezes in return, you open your eyes. Mahito stares back. Ice and copper burns straight through your chest.

“Mahito…” his face creeps closer at your whisper, voice liquifying into a soft coo, “Mahito...” your eyes inch below his navel, to where any possibilities of him being a mere curse die, “You’re real? You’re back? Mahito’s back?”

“Mahito’s back,” he parrots, less affectionately than you said it, but he nods calmly nonetheless. He backs you against the mattress, your knees buckling so your back meets the springs. His eyes close and you’re tempted to claw them open again, “Don’t you want me back, honey?”

“Of course!” you cry hopelessly.

“Don’t you want to be happy, honey?” he slips both hands up your shirt and the ruthless buzzing in your heart numbs you to how cold his fingers are over your ribs. You open your mouth to question him, but he slots his lips over yours before musing into the sweltering air, “I want you to be happy.”

Beneath the raw blood, you can pick up hints of cedar wood -- how Mahito’s clothes smelt until you sucked the life from them, too.

“I want you to be happy, too,” you mumble against Mahito’s cheek. He’s so close you can’t breathe without inhaling him alongside oxygen. Your gut twists unpleasantly, and you will the knotting sensation down as Mahito nods into you.

“Of course, honey, I know you do,” he rolls his lips against the nape of your neck and sucks harshly where your shoulder begins. His teeth are sharp, you almost feel them stinging into your bone.

His teeth were never so lethal before, and yet you feel the indentation that revokes Mahito’s status as a curse. A penis.

As juvenile as it feels to have something of brainless flesh hold so much weight, you recall Mahito’s own words on the matter years ago.

“So, are curses like… naked?”

“Yeah,” he’d shrugged carelessly then, yawning soon after, “But they don’t have any,” he grinned at you, apparently eager, “Genitalia: to put it nicely.”

“None at all?”

“None at all. So it isn’t weird that they’re naked.”

(But his new stitches are so…

And, well, the teeth…)

His body itself is much colder.

The pit in your stomach returns as Mahito sears his teeth over your skin until he’s pointed over the ripe point of your pulse. Juicy and fat with hot blood. Mahito slips his hands over your sides again, as if to remind you of the softness he intends. It eases you.

“Will you -- well -- if you’re back…” you swallow, you suppose there isn’t a gentle way to ask this, “Will you ever return to sorcery?”

He shakes his head, long hair webbing over his shoulders and netting onto your chest, “I need to stay home. It’s safer at home.”

“Ah, okay,” you regret the question, momentarily fretful you may have offended him, “Will you be okay like this? Can you eat- can you eat food? I don’t think there’s anybody… else.”

His hands squeeze your sides, a soft sigh breezing over your neck, “That’s okay. As long as I stay with you, I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” sharp teeth pierce your neck shallowly, and this time Mahito’s hands do not rush to remedy the ache. But you push down the budding nerves and string your fingers through Mahito’s hair. It’s still as soft as you remember,

“Good,” he copies, with much less love than you said it with.

[babyleostuff]

could u do the vocal unit reacting to your cats, like cuddling them or taking a bunch of pictures :)

sorry if i got anything wrong, but i’m a big dog person and i’m a bit scared of cats (😭), so i have no experience with them. still i hope you’ll enjoy 💜

seventeen with your cats | vocal unit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ YOON JEONGHAN 

Jeonghan loves everything that’s small, cute and fluffy, which is the perfect description of a cat that you've recently got and to be honest you weren’t sure who was more excited about it - you or him. 

You’d tease him anytime he’d come over to your place, that he came only for your new, adorable kitten, but to your defence, that’s how it looked - the second you opened the door, he was pushing you aside to go and find it. 

You didn’t complain though, they were so adorable together it was almost sickening. Anytime he’d carry the small fluffball, pet it gently on its head or simply watch it sleep, your heart would melt at the sight, making you fall in love with him even more.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ JOSHUA HONG

Joshua can’t help but coo anytime he sees you with your cat, thinking how adorable you two are and how he wishes he could freeze this moment forever. That’s why his camera roll is not only full of your pictures, but also your cat’s. 

He always looks back on those pictures while he is on tour. You also send him some new ones, even the most random ones and you always joke that your cat misses him more than you do. 

He also loves how it always lays itself in his lap, when he’s over at your place. The second he sits on the couch, it is already beside him, waiting to be scratched on its head. And for some reason, Joshua always found it very calming, which was one more reason why he should move in with you. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WOOZI 

He loves the calmness of your cat, how it always sits next to him, while he is working and how it purrs, when he scratches it under the chin. It’s his best working buddy and when Woozi is having a hard time finding a beat or finishing lyrics, he always has someone to turn to. 

You could swear that Woozi was more affectionate with your cat than you (obviously he wasn’t), but 99% of the time that you’d walk on them in the living, he was holding it close to his body, while your cat had the most satisfied expression.

He quickly realised how much he actually missed it, when he was away. He’d shyly ask you to send some pictures of you and your cat, so he could set it as his new wallpaper, so he would be able to look at both of you whenever he opened his phone. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ DK 

Oh my god, Dokyeom and your cat are seriously the two cutest beings you’ve ever seen. You melt every time he picks it up, scratches it between its ears, plays with it - as long as they are in the same room you feel like there can’t be anything cuter than them together. 

He loves to play with it so much, every chance he gets, he’s off to your apartment to play with his favourite being (aside from you, of course). He’s the one who bought like 80% of the toys that your cat has and no matter how much you ask him to stop, because it gets spoiled way too much, he does not listen to you 

Your cat is the best when he has bad days, when all three of you cuddle on the couch, while a kdrama plays in the background. One hand is scratching the cat's head and the other is tightly holding yours. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ BOO SEUNGKWAN 

At first he had to get used to your cat and he was really afraid that it wouldn’t like him and that would be the last thing he’d want. He knew how much you loved your precious pet and he wanted it to like him so badly. But there isn't a place in this universe where someone wouldn’t like Boo Seungkwan, so they became friends very quickly. 

Like Dokyeom, he loves playing with your cat and your home is always loud from his giggles and laughs whenever they are doing anything together. It takes his mind off his burdens and work and the time spent with your cat is the perfect healing time for him. 

But as much as he loves when your cat is all energetic and playful, he also loves when it’s tired and becomes cuddly. When it's about to fall asleep, he lays next to it and puts his head in front of its little one. He lays one of his hands on top of its head, petting it gently. Seungkwan always has the softest smile when he does that and you wished you could keep him smiling like that forever.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star

[bwabys-scenarios]

I love wholesome Kurapika! If he and Darling were to ever get a pet together what kind do you think he'd prefer? Horse, bird, cat, etc

Kurapika is definitely a cat and dog person. He’d probably prefer a cat though, they’re low energy and don’t make too much noise.

When picking out the cat, he’d prefer looking in shelters or even rescuing a stray off the street. It’s more likely for the two of you to randomly adopt a stray that you’ve both been feeding than to proactively go to adopt a cat.

And I hate to inform you if this, but the cat will absolutely love Kurapika more than you. He’s not even at your shared apartment enough for the cat ri like him that much!!

Kurapika is on missions more often than he’s home, so why the hell does the cat adore him so much?! Well, animals adore good Hunters… and you love Kurapika with your whole heart too, so you can’t blame the feline for having a preference that you share.

You find yourself walking into Kurapika’s study when he’s home to see him looking over plans while absentmindedly petting your cat. He’ll scratch under its chin, pet behind its ears and down its back as he crosses out something and scribbles down a phone number or address.

Then your boyfriend is up and kissing your cheek, leaving for a meeting with an informant, leaving both you and the cat to mourn his absence.

If you were to get a dog it would be something big. Kurapika would get it because he’s paranoid about your safety and wants a big scary dog for your security, but the pup ends up being an absolute sweetheart that couldn’t hurt a fly.

Although it’s a large dog, it nearly crushes you both attempting to lounge in your laps, often causing Kurapika to scold it. Though the blonde feels bad when it looks up at him with those puppy eyes… he’s not a good trainer, he’s too soft.

I also think Kurapika would like having a snake or some kind of reptile as a personal pet that he keeps in his room! This entirely depends on you and how comfortable you are with having that in your home though!

He would not like a bird, any kind of rodent, or turtles/tortoises. They’re just too messy, smelly, and/or loud. He especially dislikes hamsters. They’re so cute, but don’t make great pets in his personal opinion.

Overall he’s not really a pet sort of guy, the animal will be your responsibility since he’s gone most of the time, but when he’s around he’ll take over and give it plenty of care and affection. So just know that if you get a pet you’ll be the main caretaker since Kurapika is a very busy guy.

[jungle-angel]

One cold, cold night (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob share a beautiful moment when you're finally able to settle in Montana

Warnings: Light smut (18+ ONLY)

You were shivering uncontrollably when you got out of the bath, emerging into yours and Bob's shared bedroom. Your teeth were like machine gun fire, even as Bob pulled your warm flannel pjs off the heater and handed them to you.

"You get in those sweet pea," Bob told you. "I'll get the woodstove going downstairs."

"You sure?"

"Positive," Bob answered assuringly. "I'll load it up so that it'll burn all night and we can reload it in the morning."

You trembled horribly as you dropped your towel and tossed it in the laundry hamper, slipping quickly, first into a fresh set of underwear and then the pale pink and black flannel pjs. It felt like heaven, the warm material heating up your skin which caused goosebumps to rise. It felt good to turn down the thick duvet and the flannel sheets, crawling into the one spot in your house that truly felt like home.

You heard a familiar meow in the hallways as Thunder, the Siamese cat, poked his head in and jumped up onto the bed with you, purring happily as you scratched his pointed ears. Bob returned a few minutes later to crawl in beside you, turning on the tv that was mounted on the wall near the bed.

"Wanna do a Disney movie?" he asked, pulling you close to him.

"Whatcha thinkin?"

"Well," he said. "Since it's snowing and it's already November, I'm thinking, Nightmare Before Christmas?"

"Deal!"

You both settled in to watch the movie with Thunder in between you both. The dogs had been crated for the night, kept warm in their kennels as they went to sleep, leaving plenty of time for you and Bob to relax.

"You happy here in Montana (y/n)?" Bob mumbled.

"Of course I am," you answered. "Why?"

"I was just trying not to think about California on the way home from town today," Bob explained. "I know it was a big part of our lives but...."

"But what?"

"Well," Bob sighed. "I keep thinking about the rest of the guys. I worry that they're not gonna make it up here."

You shifted up and kissed your husband sweetly on the lips. "They will," you said, your voice full of promise. "You know they will."

Bob kept hoping so. He knew deep down that moving to Montana was what was best for both you and him. The rest of the squad was beginning to see it too. Hell, he had gotten a FaceTime call from Rooster the other day saying that he and Rusty wouldn't be able to afford the Navy housing and neither would Maverick and Penny who had Amelia and two more little mouths to feed in the house. No one knew what would happen to The Hard Deck either. It broke Penny's heart to even think about it, her livelihood having to be sold to Jimmy in order to make the move. Phoenix and her fiancé Cole didn't have it any easier either, the stress of his frequent missions creeping its way in, even when they weren't that long to begin with.

You moved to straddle Bob's waist so that you were laying on top of him, kissing him deeply along his jaw and down his neck. Your hands roamed up and down each other's bodies with yours slipping under the hem of his pajama shirt and undoing the buttons so that you could kiss his chest.

"Oh baby," he moaned. "You're so good to me."

You smiled into your kiss as you pulled the covers up over the both of you. "We're good to each other Bob," you cooed, kissing him again. "That's all that matters."

And he knew full well that it did and always would.

[tired-biscuit]

thinking about introducing kiba to your pet cat after you invite him inside your home for the first time ever since getting together.

he’s all unenthusiastic about it because of the whole dog person thingy that he has going on, of course, but he is still trying to appear interested just to appease you, his girlfriend.

so being the good boyfriend that he is, he crouches in the hallway after he kicks his shoes off and lets the cat sniff at his hand, grumbling something about how you should get a dog instead of this ‘lil’ shithead’ under his breath the whole time as you try to calm down your snickering.

he’s just about to stand back up to his full height again but then he pauses and blinks in surprise as the kitty bumps its little head against his palm, clearly portraying a sign of affection neither of you expected to be there so soon.

his fingers curl upwards before he scratches it behind one ear, maybe even reaching out for the other before he dips them under its chin and tickles it there. it’s the same motion he does with akamaru and with most puppies that his sister hana takes care of at the clinic, but the funniest thing is that he acts like he doesn’t like it at all; the purring to ensue to said petting even makes him scowl.

“i think he likes you.”

“yeah, whatever.”

his eyes roll as he says the words, but you don’t miss the way one corner of his mouth kicks upward with it. he’s always been a sucker when it comes to being liked by everyone and everything.

weeks pass after that and kiba keeps on insisting that he doesn’t like cats, yours included. however, the more he visits your home — sometimes spending the night, other times just hanging out throughout the day; especially the rainy ones — the more he befriends your little pet.

before you know it, your cat is suddenly sprawled on his lap during movie nights, clawing at his sweatpants with pure delight and yet he doesn’t say a word about it. it insists on sleeping on his chest or curling up beside him because of his body heat whenever he spends the night in your bed. it sits on his shoulder, half-wrapped around the back of his neck whenever he’s standing next to the stove in the kitchen, cooking a meal you’ll later complain about having too much spice in it.

the cat follows him wherever he goes, even going as far as to scratch at the door impatienly when he goes to the bathroom to shower or whatever and doesn’t allow it to accompany him inside. and it’s not only that; even the bedroom door needs to be shut closed when things get heated and intimate between you because it’ll otherwise jump on his back or the bed and start meowing while he’s balls deep inside you, folding you in a tight mating press.

he carries it around like a baby and sometimes wraps it inside his hoodie where it’s extra warm even though he swears up and down that it somehow got there all on its own when you muse and give him a look in response. he starts taking silly pictures of it and texts you ‘what da cat doin’, asking you for updates when he isn’t able to visit you for a couple of days.

they become buddies even if he doesn’t want to admit it. it’s always ‘stupid cat’ this and ‘goofy fuckin’ bastard’ that, but sometimes when he thinks you’re not paying attention, he boops its little nose or coos at it or pets it with a fanged smile that melts your heart. animals just love him, it comes naturally.

he still insists on calling it a shithead though.

[lizzie-is-here]

bucky barnes oneshot

the white cat

bucky barnes x fem!reader

a late night stop at the animal shelter, a truck, and a dinner date

a/n: not bucky’s cat being named after the place he died 💀 anyway sorry i’ve disappeared i got busy lmao. BUT. i have an idea for a new series based entirely off a winterguard show i was told ab this year by dupont manual so we’ll see if it goes anywhere 👀

the white cat pt. 2

Working at an animal shelter had its benefits.

For all the sad stories you often had, you also got to save pets, watch them get healthier, and most of the time, go to a loving home.

Plus, every so often, a very attractive customer would come in, and, seeing as you are the only employee constantly in the so-called “meeting room” for potential adoptees, you would help them.

Today was one of those days. Or, rather, nights.

Technically, you were closed. Everyone else had left earlier and you’d stayed to clean up. You were sweeping up fur and treats, listening to the radio as you worked.

The man outside the window showed up around 8:56.

Normally, you’d be creeped out. A woman, alone, while a man stared at her through a window? It’s the plot of, like, every Scream movie.

But you recognized this man. He’d been showing up the past few days, not to ogle you, but to ask questions about the cats you had, what he’d need to buy, what kind of care they needed.

You’ve only seen him, never actually talked to him, but he seems sweet. A bit shy, very nervous.

“Hi.” You wave and the man looks behind him before pointing at himself. Laughing, you nod. “Yes, you.”

Setting down a cup of pens, you unlock and open the door for him.

“Sorry about coming in so late. Are you guys even open?” He fiddles with his glove-covered hands, turned a bit awkwardly so his left side is further away.

You shrug, not wanting to scare him off. “We can be. What can I help you with?”

He scratches at the back of his neck before pointing towards the back. “Can I get a cat?” He pauses before barreling on. “I’ve done all the research, got all the stuff set up back at my apartment, and honestly…”

He trails off a bit. “I think it’d help with some… stuff.”

You understand. Plenty of people need company, and you could confidently say that animals provided plenty of that.

“No problem,” you smile. “Come with me.”

Leading him back, you don’t comment on the fact that he makes no noise when he walks, or how a soft, pleasant whirring like quiet machinery has reached your ears.

The meeting room has a few beanbag chairs, a table, and cat and dog toys scattered around. The mystery man sits cross-legged on the floor, looking up at you with eyes that make you think he might be the puppy.

He looks around, a little lost. “So, what do I…”

You pick up where he leaves off. “Are you looking for anything particular?”

He shakes his head, and some of that shyness seems to shake away too.

“No, I trust your judgment.” He smiles. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks and whisk away to the back, looking into the kennels until you find what you’re looking for.

A young cat, only a few months old. Just came in last week. Every time that man has come in, she’s been excited.

“Alpine, sweetie, c’mere.” You gently coax her into your waiting arms, cradling the white fluff as you head back to the room.

It’s impossible to miss how his eyes light up when he sees you, even more so when he spies the cat.

You sit across from him, so close your knees touch, and pass off Alpine.

“She’s so small,” he whispers, almost reverently. You chuckle, watching her climb unceremoniously into his lap.

“She likes you. Been trying to see you all week.” His eyes are still fixated on the little white blob that contrasts his jacket. “Her name’s Alpine, unless you wanna change it?”

He pauses, laughs a bit like there’s some inside joke there, and shakes his head. “No- no, Alpine’s perfect.”

A few minutes later, he’s filling out the paperwork and making small talk when you finally notice his name and age.

James Buchanan Barnes, age 106.

The ex-Winter Soldier. The Howling Commando. The Fallen Sergeant.

He notices you mentally smacking yourself and holds out his right hand.

“Hi, I’m Bucky. Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he chuckles.

You wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry if I made you feel weird.”

Bucky shakes his head and readjusts Alpine. Steeling his nerves, he gives you his best smile and finally does the second thing he was hoping to achieve tonight.

“No, no, you didn’t make me feel weird at all. In fact-“ He meets your curious gaze. “-I was wondering if you like to go out sometime?”

You can feel the blush you know he can see, but manage to respond anyway.

“Yeah, I’d really like that, actually.”

Apparently, he isn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly, and pauses for a bit.

“I- Uh, what’s a good time?”

You gesture around. “I get off work tomorrow at 7:30?”

“I’ll be here.”

The two of you enjoy the moment, Alpine purring softly in Bucky’s arms. It’s perfect.

Until a car horn honks from outside. Heading out, you see a truck with three other people in it.

Three other Avengers, to be exact.

“Thought you’d never be done!” Sam Wilson jokes from the driver’s seat. From the passenger’s, Natasha Romanoff waves while Steve Rogers opens the back door for the soldier next to you.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, they’re being stupid,” he grumbles. “But, I’ve only got a motorcycle, so I needed some help.”

“It’s cute that they came along,” you say. “Still on for tomorrow?”

He laughs and gestures to the truck. “If those heathens haven’t scared you away, then yes. Absolutely.”

“I’ll see you then?”

“See you then, doll.”

[127luvr]

hey 🩷 i just moved to a dorm since my uni is in another city and i’m a little bit down cause i miss my cats and dog (and my home in general) 😭😭😭😭

so can i request a mark fic where he’s your roommate, he notices you’re kinda sad and tries to cheer you up?? 🥺 it’d be pretty awkward cause mark and reader are two strangers but it works and makes them closer 😞

maybe i can romanticize my stay here lmao

Make your day ₊ ⊹☼

Mark Lee x Male Reader

There are still unpacked boxes that litter your half of the room. They’re halfway open—a sign that you had started to unpack only to give up after not finding your new bedsheets. You glare at the cardboard from the bare mattress that you lay on—curled up into the smallest shape you could accomplish while still being comfortable. There are too many emotions that sit heavy on your chest, the more prominent one being anger.

Angry at your family for leaving you to fend for yourself in this dorm room—angry at how you packed the boxes with no particular order—angry at your roommate who has yet to show their face.

It makes you uneasy. The bare wall on their half of the room. The bare mattress that mirrors yours, only a few feet away. It wasn’t that your side was any better—still just as bare with nothing but boxes to decorate your side of the flooring. It was that there was no one to inhabit it yet.

You don’t know how long it had been since you closed your eyes, but when you came to you could hear another voice in the room. It was quiet—cautious almost—as they paced back and forth from the door and halfway into the room. You kept your eyes closed, making sure to keep your breathing even as the discomfort of your position finally settled in.

“I have to go, Johnny, I don’t want to be loud and wake my roommate up. It’d be such an asshole move.” He’s trying his hardest to whisper, to bring the phone close enough to his mouth where he barely speaks audibly but he fails. His voice still carries its way to your ears as you stir. “Dude you should’ve seen how he was sleeping—all scrunched up like a baby. I couldn’t tell if it was comfortable or not.” You scrunch your face up in embarrassment, finally feeling the blanket that was covering your body. It’s hesitant—almost as if it was floating above you rather than keeping you warm. “I’m not taking a picture that’s creepy. Byeeee I’ll text you.”

It’s not your blanket.

You can tell that much by the way it smells. Unfamiliar—but comforting.

You finally open your eyes, blinking several times to get well accustomed to the overhead lighting. You can see him from where you lay your head. He’s standing with his hand on top of the dorm’s desk, balancing himself while he scrolls endlessly on his phone. He’s unaware of your (e/c) eyes watching him—maybe it’s better that way. It lets you take him in on your own time. Study how he moves without it being weird. New people always made you nervous but your first impression of him was hard to describe. He sounded nice—an interesting tone to his voice as he elongated his words with whoever he was on the phone with.

He moves his gaze from his phone to you. The sudden eye contact startles you. His eyes are wide—curious—as they move back and forth from you to his screen. He decides to put his phone away, giving you his full attention. This makes you sit up, fully alert as you let the blanket cover your legs.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to be woken up—or if you had any blankets in your boxes but I didn’t want to rummage through your stuff so I just gave you one of mine. I hope you don’t mind, I don’t want you to think I’m weird—haha—but I didn’t want to leave you cold or anything. Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck, pulling at the cross necklace that sits high on his collarbones. “I’m Mark.”

Mark.

“I’m (Y/n). And I really appreciate it. I didn’t mean to fall asleep—but here’s to my first nap in this dorm room I guess.” You hear Mark chuckle, a smile making its way to your lips when you hear it. It’s an unusual start, not your typical meeting with someone you’ll be living with for the next chapter of your life but it makes it worthwhile.

“I can help you unpack if you want, get settled in. I love that kind of stuff.” He’s lying. Mark noticed how all of your boxes were open—rummaged through halfway before you decided to give up since everything reminded you of home. Some of the stuff still had a few pieces of your pets’ fur and although Mark didn’t pick up on some of it, he was still very perceptive. He knew just exactly what you were going through while you sat with your shoulders slumped, still gripping his blanket on your lap. “I also brought some snacks, if you want to share. They’re going to be in the bottom drawer next to the desk. My parents send me a few things in bulk every now and then. They take their Costco membership very serious.”

You stare at him in awe, unable to hide your admiration for this complete stranger. But you don’t care. Mark was one of those people that made you feel like you’ve known him forever. He provided a sense of comfort you didn’t know you could feel away from home.

“I’d like that a lot, Mark. You’re already a lot better than the friends I have.” You manage to get another laugh out of him, his nose scrunching up with the rest of his face as he’s unable to contain himself.

Cute.

[the-s1lly-corner]

OMG HIHI superr duperr sorry i was Like the anon that like requested “kitsune! Reader” and i just realized like OMG.. I NEVER TOLD EM THANK YOU?? How rude of me 😞

BUT THANK YOUU FOR THE HCS and I was wondering if you would be comfortable enough to do a Pomni x Fem! (Or gn ofc) Kitsune! Reader? OFC IF YOU DONT MIND BOOKIE🫶 HAVE A GOOD DAYY THOOO

Pomni x kistune!reader !

dont worry about not thanking me! im kind of not used to people not thanking me if they dont do it in advance when not sending it with their ask (this is not a gripe at anyone by the way, i kind of get it plus i dont really expect it) with that being said i hope you enjoy! post being referenced

oh... youre mischievous just like a certain someone else... oh boy

okay but this does make me have to think, how does pomni handle little tricksters? i mean we dont see her suffering jax's wrath much within the pilot so i dont have much of a basis

with that said i think she would have some level of tolerance for it, i mean she has much larger issues with being new the circus. shes going to have to either accept that this is her new home for the rest of her life, or try to find an exit so she can return to her old life in the real world

but with tolerance comes limits, so there will likely be times where she may get a little irritated with you. nothing too too terrible, but she might strain her voice trying to tell you to give her space or knock it off... speaking of space, that might be something she will need if you go a little far

as for your fox bits! i think she would pet and scratch around your ears! do foxes like ear scratches like dogs and cats do? well for the sake of the post lets say yes! thinks its cute when your ears start twitching

mutters a soft "oh no..." when she sees you start doing the airplane ears. love the idea that you as the reader do that when youre cooking something up in your brain; be it mischief or otherwise!

probably messes with your tail when youre nearby and shes feeling anxious; mostly just petting the fur and running her fingers through it

youve probably accidentally smacked her in the face with it when turning... you didnt mean it! shes just so darn short!

[kib-ble]

ok so im here again i hope u still have requests open SO:

lets say konig gets back from a mission RIGHT? andd since its hes busy with missions he forgets its his birthday. ok and he comes home and reader surpises him :') WITH A CAKE AND EVERYTHING

maybe a pet cat or dog as a present??? who knows 😋

(i personally see him as both a cat and dog person)

YES ABSOLUTELY YES OMG

THIS IS SO FUCKING CUTEEE I CANTTTT

*ps, all translations were made in google translate, if they’re wrong, i apologize!!*

(könig x reader)

the amount of decorations you had managed to put up in the span of 2 hours was quite surprising. the other hour you spent making sure a cake would be ready when könig got home. he was unexpectedly put on leave and he had texted you to let you know since it would most likely be dark by the time he got home.

the small cat you had picked out from the animal shelter sat on his small bed next to the couch, watching the balloons move in the air.

the smell of the take out you got for the both of you wafted through the air, making you hungry and the small cake you got with the correct number of candles to match his age sat on the counter.

he told you he’d be home in about half an hour, giving you time to fix any small details in the decorations you could find. the food was laid nicely on the table and you put the cat back in the carrier ti surprise him later.

with your back turned away from the door and you too focused on the table setup, you never noticed the door open and close. you did notice, however, the sound of a large bag hitting the floor, which made you turn around. you were supposed to have 10 minutes left before he came home.

konigs brown eyes looked around at all the decorations that surrounded you. his hands took off his mask as he walked over to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“schatz..” his voice broke and he pulled you tighter to him, “you didn’t have to do all this..”

you pulled away slightly to look at his face. some tears swarmed his eyes as he looked into yours, a smile had appeared aswell, making you smile.

“anything for my king.”

konig pulled your face close, pressing his lips softly against yours. the kiss lasted a while with both of you pulling apart breathless.

“why don’t you get changed and i’ll grab your present, then we can eat?”

“you got me a present?” his eyes lit up once again, earning a small laugh from you.

“yes, but you need to get changed in order to get it.”

konig nodded then quickly rushed to get changed. you grabbed the cat carrier from the other room, setting it on a chair where it would be hidden from konig until you gave it to him.

he came back soon, all changed and comfy. “couch. sit. close your eyes please.”

he sat in the couch, closing his eyes. you grabbed the carrier and set it next to him. “open.”

his eyes opened to see the small black carrier. his hand opened the door and the kitten came out almost immediately.

“oh, honig (honey, i didn’t know that either).” konig picked up the call then placed him on his lap. the kitten snuggled into him, purring as konig scratched behind his ears.

“i can’t believe you remembered..” he spoke quietly.

“remembered you liked cats or remembered your birthday?”

“my birthday.. even i forgot.”

you sat next to him on the couch, holding onto his arm as your head dropped onto his shoulder. “baby, i would never forget. i love you so much.”

“i love you too, schatz”

“happy birthday konig.”

“thank you.” he kissed your head, then laid his ontop of yours.

“oh! i almost forgot.” jumping off the couch and running to the kitchen, your grabbed the cake. konig stood and watched you, still holding his new kitten. “surprise!” you held the cake down so he could see the writing, ‘happy birthday, king!’

he continued to smile as he watched you set the cake back down. slowly, he made his way toward you, setting the cat down in the process, and picking you up, holding you as close as possible to him. “danke meine, liebe”

(thank you, my love)