#letting him dangle for a while and taking his time

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ chris is obsessed with the bulge in your throat when sucking him off

you lay on the edge of chris’ bed, your head tilted back just enough to nearly dangle off, while he stood above you, his tip grazing the soft curve of your lips.

he looked down at you with a grin, his eyes darkened with desire and intensity that sent a shiver through you, every glance seeming to drink in the sight of you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

he shifted his stance slightly, his movements deliberate as he sought a better angle. his breath hitched for a moment before a low, husky groan escaped his lips. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice heavy with list as his gaze locked onto you.

“look at how perfectly those lips wrap around me…” his words trailed off, his eyes darkening further as he watched your tongue flick out, teasing him with a slow, deliberate taste that made his grip on your boobs tighten slightly.

you parted your lips slowly, inviting chris to slide his length past them, the warmth and softness drawing a low groan from him as he pushed forward.

a satisfied hum escaped you, vibrating against him as you adjusted to the length and feel of him, your lashes fluttering shut while your hands gripped the sheets beneath you. each inch felt deliberate, his movements slow and controlled, as if savouring the sight of your mouth taking him in.

his fingers slid into your hair; tangling gently as he guided your movements with a firm yet unhurried touch, letting you set the pace while he watched. each subtle pull and shift of his hand was deliberate, steering without forcing, as his gaze fixated on the way his cock disappeared between your lips.

the sight alone was enough for small noises to pass his lips, but what had him completely undone was the sight of the bulge forming in your throat as you took him in so deeply.

his free hand moved down, trailing over the curve of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly to feel himself beneath the skin. the sensation made his head fall back for a moment, a guttural groan escaping his lips before he looked down at you again.

“fuck,” he rasped, his voice low and full of raw hunger, “look at you…so perfect, taking me like that.” his thumb stroked gently over the bulge as he bit his lip, savouring every second of the sight before him.

one of your hands trailed down your body, trembling slightly as you found your way to the heat between your thighs. pressing over your baby pink thong, you began rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, the thin fabric doing little to muffle the growing ache.

a soft, needy moan slipped from your lips, vibrating around chris in a way that made his head snap back, a sharp hiss breaking from his mouth. his grip in your hair tightened, not rough but enough to hold your attention as his gaze flicked down to where your hands worked against yourself.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained and full of awe, “you’re so good…so fucking good.” his free hand slid down your cheek, brushing over your jaw as he smirked, his hips stuttering slightly from the sensations you were giving him. “keep going,” he urged, his tone dripping with want. “i’m so close, ma.”

chris’ hips began to move faster, each thrust more urgent as his need to release overtook him. the rhythm was relentless, and you felt the intensity building with every movement. your eyes squeezed shut, tears prickling at the corners as your throat worked around him, earning a guttural groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

"fuck, baby... look at that," he rasped, his voice thick with awe and desperation. his hands moved from your hair, sliding beneath your neck to cradle it, his thumbs brushing tenderly over the bulge that formed in your throat each time he pushed deeper. the mix of his rough desire and gentle touch made your head spin, and the way his eyes darkened as he watched you rub over your clothed pussy.

“fuck, fuck, fuck," chris chanted, his voice breaking as his head fell back, every muscle in his body tightening as he teetered on the edge. his grip on your neck faltered for a moment, his fingers flexing as his hips bucked forward.

"i'm gonna come, baby," he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as a sharp hiss escaped his lips, the sound raw and desperate.

with a final thrust, his release hit, thick, hot ropes of cum spilling into your mouth. his body trembled above you, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he struggled to catch his breath.

"shit, baby," he panted, opening his eyes as he slipped out your mouth, his chest heaving as he smirked. "you're fucking perfect." his thumb brushed against your swollen lips, his gaze locked on you as you swallowed every drop, sending another shiver through him.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can u do a Bayverse family au oneshot of Raph being a girl dad and hanging out with his girls?

Dad’s Monkeys (Fluff)

Children Series

Bayverse!Raphael x reader

A/N: It’s about time I give Raph and his daughters some time to shine❤️ The whole Monkey Tree thing is inspired by a came the children in my kindergarten have started playing, where they pretend to hang and climb on the adults. However we usually do it while sitting down, and do not actually allow the kids to hang from our arms in order to protect our backs. But it's fun and they enjoy it. Hope you’ll enjoy❤️

Ages: Joan - 7. Minerva - 3. Ragnar - A few weeks.

Warning: None that I can think of❤️

Sometimes, having a newborn along with a 3 year old and a 7 year old could be very hard. With your newborn son Ragnar, taking up most of your attention, it was hard to provide Joan and Minerva with the same attention, especially when Ragnar seemed to cry whenever he wasn’t carried or strapped to you. Luckily, your husband was there to help you with that, often taking your daughters off your hands, so you were able to provide for the young boy, who still wasn’t able to hold up his head on his own.

It was not hard for Raph to keep his daughter's attention. They adored him, with both of them willing to be described as their father’s girls. Joan being a force to be reckoned with, proving to be the biggest fear of Raph’s punching bag, and Mini always sticking around or on Raph whenever she could, like a monkey in a tree. And so, Raph would often bring his daughters to the weight room, where all three could take turns on the punching bag. Both for fun, and as a form of training. Two birds with one stone!

“Dad! Watch this!”, Joan yelled out, making sure she had Raph’s attention, before using her boxing glove covered hand to punch the large bag, hanging in a chain from the ceiling, causing it to swing back and furth. Raph was impressed. It felt like yesterday he first taught his oldest child how to swing her fist at a bag, and at the age of 7, she was already throwing a punch that Raph had no doubt could rival both Casey and Vern.

“Wow, well done, Jo”, Raph said, watching his oldest daughter while letting Minerva crawl up on his lap, letting her use his arm for balance. “Where did ya’ learn that?”

“You taught me that!”, Joan exclaimed with a big smile, throwing her arms up in the air, the large gloves looking comical on her hands.

“Ya’ sure? I don’t remember doing that”, Raph said with a small smile, knowing that his light teasing would get a joyful reaction out of Joan.

“Yes, you did, dad!”, Joan called out, almost bouncing over to Raph and Minerva, who had finally gotten comfortable on Raph’s left thigh, with his left arm wrapped around her, her head resting against Raph’s chest, watching her sister jump in her steps in front of Raph.

“Me? I think ya’ must have been dreaming. I couldn’t have taught ya’ that. I’m not that strong”, Raph said, acting like his arms were heavy and tired, slumping his shoulders. This seemed to get a reaction from Minerva, who looked up at Raph like he was crazy.

“That’s not true!”, Minerva called out, almost like Raph’s comment had personally hurt her. “You are strong!”

“Mini’s right, dad!”, Joan said, grabbing onto Raph’s other arm that wasn’t wrapped around her little sister, pushing it up over her head, where Raph kept it in place, allowing Joan to dangle from it like a monkey climbing in a tree, once she had taken her boxing gloves off, throwing them across the room. “See!”

Raph was about to say something along the lines of him just being lucky with his arms, only to get interrupted by Minerva, jumping from Raph’s lap to the floor, pushing the arm that had just been around her, up over her head.

“Me too!”, she yelled, pointing at Joan, still dangling from Raph’s arm. “I want to try too!”

“Only because you two are my favorite climbing monkeys”, Raph said, holding out his arms for Minerva, just low enough for her to grab a hold.

“Yay! Monkeys!”, the two girls exclaimed, laughing and giggling as they swung back and furth on Raph’s arm, kicking their legs underneath them. However those laughs and giggles quickly turned to screams of joy and excitement, as Raph stood up from his seat, bringing the girls higher up into the air, dangling from his arms as we walked around the weight room.

“Ya’ know what?”, Raph asked over the joyous sounds of his daughter. “I might be strong after all”, he said, lifting his arms up and down, like the two girls were nothing but weights, causing them to scream and giggle even louder.

—

With small Ragnar pressed against your chest, his small face scrunched up as he snuggled against you for warmth and comfort, you sat down on the couch, draping a blanket over you, pulled up just high enough, to cover the lower half of your son. Ragnar let out a small sound of comfort, his breathing growing calm as he seemed to fall asleep against you, listening to your heartbeat.

It was here, feeling the exhaust from looking after your newborn slowly take over you, that you heard the unmistakable sound of your daughters’ laughter, echoing against the walls, coming from the weight room. With a smile you listened to your daughters chanting the phrase “Monkey tree! Monkey tree!”, over and over again, followed by your husband’s bombing voice, declaring that he was in fact, a walking monkey tree, with Joan and Minerva laughing loudly at this declaration.

It may at times be hard to take care of a newborn, a 3 year old and a 7 year old, but it was at moments like these, hearing the joyous laughters of your husband and your daughters, provided you with a feeling of comfort, letting you know that everything would be alright in the end. You and Raph were trying your best, and in the end that was perfect.

[cxffecoupx]

dear santa

lee seokmin + jokingly going up to the santas at the mall and embarrassing the other one wc: 645 warnings: written in a rush to finish the series, seokmin being painfully embarassing author's notes: I'm so sorry I keep posting such mediocre stuff i really don't wish to😭😭 also this should preferably be read before chan's drabble 'wrapping errors'. but I hope you like it <3 winter wonderland masterlist

"i think the store over there has some good gifts," you point towards the store with one hand to seokmin around who you've wrapped your other hand.

seokmin's still in awe over all the christmas decorations done in the mall when you look at him. red sparkling decor hangs from the high roof, glistening when light hits it at particular angles; lights arranged in the figures of reindeers and pandas; arches made of green leaves, with stars dangling at points; santas standing at various places in the mall, talking and playing with the kids that have come to the shopping center.

christmas is in full swing here.

however, you're falling behind because the two of you have spent days procrastinating and postponing buying the gifts for people you're meeting on christmas. like every year, all of you are meeting at seungcheol's place for the big bash he throws regularly, and for you, staying away from your family, they have become a second family to you.

you head over to the shop and look around for a while, contemplating whether to buy the most beautiful things you see there, even though they're basically useless to anyone. you manage to purchase a few presents, and when you're leaving, you notice that seokmin is nowhere to be found.

hands full of bags and gifts, you exit the store, mind wandering just like your eyes trying to spot him in the crowd. couples and families thronged the place, kids walking around with balloons and candies possibly gifted by the santas.

how the hell were you gonna find him?

the thought didn't stay for long when you hear his voice from somewhere, "yn!!"

"minnie?" when you look over though, you instantly wish that you hadn't.

there he stood, a few feet away from you, wearing an exact same white beard like the santa standing near him. the prop looked odd with the rest of his clothes, and his pose suggested that he was clearly losing some marbles. even the santa nearby seemed to ignore the embarassing creature standing near him.

you'd always had the fantasy of him role-playing as santa during sex, especially around xmas, but if this is what it's gonna be, you'd rather take up chastity. seriously.

"yn! wait why are you walking away- YN, c'mere. this is so fun," seokmin calls out to you again, this time louder, and the people nearby follow his gaze to see a shy you, face the colour of a ripe tomato. you could only wish that the ground would swallow you up.

and if all this wasn't enough, your boyfriend decides to laugh in an obnoxious manner, a distinct 'ho ho ho' echoing through the mall even in the chatter of the crowd.

that's when the mall starts playing one of your favourite songs, a song he'd start singing whenever, wherever you were. when you turn around to look at him, you see him already watching you, eyes searching yours for the silent message that comes with the song.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

you walk over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before taking his extended hand to pull him away from the crowd. you return the beard to the santa with an awkwardness you're sure he understands as well, and return to seokmin, who's now decided to entertain a few kids who'd thought he was santa indeed, and the sight melts away any urgency you'd felt. it replaces with a warm and cosy feeling that slowly settles in your tummy.

"the kids loved me; i make a pretty good santa, don't i?" he asks when he sees you near him.

"i don't know about santa, but you'd make a pretty good dad. now let's get home quick now, we have to wrap the gifts."

prompt by @novelbear; dividers by @adornedwithlight

[darlingsfandom]

I’ve always got you.

Pairing: AU Cillian x GN! reader

TW: oral(reader receiving) illusions to mental illness, swearing and fingering .

The nights were long, the weather getting colder and everything around seemed to just get worse and leave a sour taste in your mouth. Your head hung low as your hands ran over your face slowly with a grunt falling from your lips before you stepped out of the car and walked up the driveway.

Rain fell heavy from the sky, pounding against the cement while you held onto the doorknob before you pushed it open. To your surprise the living room was lit up by candles surrounding the room, soft music playing in the background and a bottle of wine sat on the coffee table. You slid your jacket off slowly before approaching the scene. Your fingers traced along one of the candles that had melted slightly. A soft hum caught attention, you looked over your shoulder to see Cillian walking holding a plate with some cheese, crackers and various fruits.

“You’re home already? I thought I had a little more time to finish setting up.” He set down the plate next to the wine as you stood there holding the lump in your throat.

“What ? What is all this?” You asked quietly as you felt your heart race.

“I know ya’ve been working hard, a little too hard and dat yer doin it to distract yerself from what’s really goin on in here” his finger tapped gently on your forehead making your bottom lip quiver. A single tear rolled down your cheek before your arms wrapped around his torso tightly. Cillian wrapped his arms around you tightly as he could until it felt like he was squeezing the air out of your lungs. His lips met the top of your head while his fingers drew little circles into your sides.

The feeling of him holding you like this calmed your nerves. He wasn’t wrong though. Cillian knew when you were getting into that dark mindset and did what he could to help you.

“It’s goin to be okay.” He mumbled before slowly pulling away and helped you sit down on the couch. His hand rested on your thigh, his finger tips traced little patterns into the fabric of your pants. “It’s been a long day, let’s get you out of those.” He fumbled with the button of your pants before pulling them off allowing a sigh to fall from your lips. Cillian leaned in and pressed his lips into yours gently. His kiss made you melt every time and this time was no different. Your lips against his, soft , gentle almost like it would be your last.

“So… breathtaking my darlin.” Cillian stroked your cheek with the back of his hand as he pulled away from the kiss. Your eyes focused on his, so full of love , kindness and a hint of lust growing. You tilted your head slightly as he sat up and pulled off his on shirt before helping you get rid of yours. Soon the two of you sat naked surrounded by the candle light, the sweet sounds of the music and pouring rain as background noise making you feel at ease. Cillian poured the both of you a glass of the red wine that was slowly disappearing.

A plump strawberry dangled over your lips as Cillian feed it to you. Juice dribble down your chin just enough that made him lean in and lick it up. A little moan escaped your throat as he did it which made Cillian lay you back on the couch and sit next to you as he kissed the side of your jaw, down your neck and inbetween your chest. The soft warm open mouth kissed left your skin covered in goosebumps as his lips left little love bites in placed only the two of you would ever lay eyes on.

“Let me take care of you.”

You nodded slowly as Cillian got down on his knees in front of you. He had placed a pillow down on the ground for his comfort before he grabbed your knees and spread them apart. Your heart was beating hard against your chest because it had been a minute since you shaved but Cillian never cared. His lips trailed up your plush thighs while keeping eye contact with you. Your fingers ran through his hair keeping you grounded. Your eyes tried to close until you felt a soft bite on your flesh making you yelp!

Cillian laid his tongue flat before licking a long strip your hole making you gasp before a quiet moan followed. He repeated this a few more times, he loved tasting you on his tongue. His tongue switched so the tip was now inside of you while his nose pressed against your pelvic bone. He would give you oral every day if he could.

As his tongue swirled around inside of you, you couldn’t help but rub your own nipples which added to the pleasure waving across your body. Your hips bucked up into the warm air before Cillian snaked his arms around your waist and yanked you back down making you whimper. The little noises you made were music to his ears, well what he could hear since your thighs were wrapped around his head. Cillian devoured you making your toes curl, your fingers pulled on his hair harder making him moan into your core. Cillian pulled away slightly to spit on your hole before diving right back into it.

“Fuck! Just like that!” Your words trembled as you watched him through hooded eyes. His fingers dug into your thighs making sure to leave bruises. The build up of pleasure was swirling in your abdomen as Cillian did a number on you.

“You’re so close aren’t ya baby?” He spoke while licking his lips as he peered up at you with glazed eyes and glossy, swollen lips.

“Mmhmm so close!”

Cillian gave you a soft smirk before his index finger slipped inside of you making your mouth drop open with the perfect “O” shape. He reattached his mouth back onto you while he fingered you faster.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck! Yes!” Your fingers gripped onto the back of his head while you shoved his face further into you as you thrusted your chips forward. Cillian hummed in pleasure as you used his face to get off. “FUCK!” You cried out as your thighs shook around his head. Your orgasm hit you hard making you cry out his name. Cillian swallowed every drop that you released like the thirsty man he is.

Slowly Cillian pulled away licking his lips as you laid flat against the couch covered in a layer of sweat. Your eyes were closed as his lips kissed along your body until he reached your lips.

“Just relax, I got you…” Cillian looked into your heavy eyes as he cupped your face. “I’ve always got you, on your good days and your bad days, I’ve always got you.”

[ao3-rex1223]

𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕬 𝕶𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖉𝖞: 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: SFW, pure fluff, warm Christmas vibes, family photos, Leon being a good dad, raising a child, child's first Christmas, present opening

Summary: You and Leon have a lovely baby girl and she gets to experience her first Christmas. (This takes place in the same universe as my very first Leon Kennedy fic, To Be A Kennedy)

“Smile!” The chipper photographer directs, hoping that the simple word will be enough to get your one year old daughter to look at the camera and look even slightly happy. Her chubby cheeks bunch up even more as her mouth widens in an adorable grin, not at the direction of the well meaning camera man but at the jingling stuffed bunny with bells around its collar being dangled by the flamboyantly dressed elf. Jingle Bell Rock plays softly in the background and snow falls outside, covering the city in a fluffy, white, but frozen blanket. 

Click!

You relax your face and let out the breath you held. One good picture. You just want one good picture of your family. You, Leon, and Annabelle. Your husband nuzzles the crown of your daughter's head affectionately. “You did so good, pumpkin!” he coos, rocking her slightly in his arms. She's such a daddy's girl, always happy to have him holding her. Of course, she loves you, too; hell, you feed her with your body - at least part of the time since she started baby food. But when she's truly distraught, Leon is always able to soothe her. 

And Leon is wrapped so tightly around her tiny, little finger, you're surprised there's any circulation. It's hardest when he's away on a mission, though he does his best to only take ones that are a few days or less. You have pictures and videos of him so Annabelle can look at him whenever she wants. You even took one of his old T-shirts and fashioned it into a shirt for her teddy bear so it smells like him. You spray his cologne on it every time he leaves for an assignment.  

“Would you like to see?” The photographer asks gently, offering you the camera. You glance at the small digital screen, smiling at the sweet picture, Annabelle’s bright smile lighting up the entire image. You pay for a few nice prints to send to friends and family and continue perusing the mall. Annabelle babbles as she takes in the sights, Leon bouncing her occasionally. You both take note of the things that seem to catch her eye; ideas for her Christmas presents. Mostly, she awes at the big ornaments and lights decorating the walls and ceilings. 

Later that night, you and Leon begin setting up the Christmas tree while Annabelle plays with her toys. Eventually she crawls over by the tree and grabs a part of the string of lights, beaming at their bright colors. She makes an adorable babble and puts one of the lights in her mouth. You and Leon chuckle. “Ah, the unique methods of children for discovering the world and its flavors,” Leon comments. He hooks another ornament on the tree. 

“And textures,” you add with a chuckle. You gently pick her up, kissing her cherubic cheeks. She reaches for the glass balls decorating the tree but you quickly shift away, just out of reach. 

“Ah!” Annabelle cries in protest, reaching even further for the tantalizing orb. “Ball!” She adds, chirping one of the few words she knows so far. 

“Sweetie, that's glass. Not safe for you,” you gently explain, knowing she can't fully understand you. She starts to cry, reaching for the shiny, colorful ball so much, she's practically dangling from your arms. You bounce her gently, attempting to soothe her. Walking to her pile of toys, you pick up a baby safe ball for her to play with. She ignores it, continuing to scream and reach for the thing she can’t have. 

Leon walks over, sitting down next to the two of you. Annabelle crawls into his lap, needing her papa to make her feel better. “It's okay, pumpkin. Daddy's gotcha.” He lightly kisses the crown of her head. “You have so many nice toys here to play with!” He wraps his arms delicately around her, offering her the warm snuggles she wants. He gently rocks her and soon her cries begin to wane. “That's my brave girl!” he praises and nuzzles her forehead, eliciting a soft giggle from her. 

The beautiful scene makes you smile lovingly. Watching Leon be there for her, comfort her, and care for her is one of the greatest gifts you could ever receive. Crawling back down, she grabs her baby blanket and crawls under the Christmas tree, laying on her back and looking up at the faux fir. She giggles as she grasps the metal branches, securely in place, and the plastic green needles. Eventually, she grabs her toes and sways back and forth. 

Your heart swells with love and affection as you and Leon stop decorating and simply watch her absorb the world around her. Once her bedtime rolls around, you scoop her into your arms and feed her one last time, rocking gently in the recliner. When her tiny tummy is full and her eyes begin drooping, you simply hold her as she falls asleep. With a delicate kiss to her forehead, you gently lay her in her crib, tucking her blanket next to her. 

The weeks before Christmas fly by as you and Leon try to finish up everything at the D.S.O. and get all of the presents wrapped. On Christmas morning, you bring a sleepy Annabelle out to the living room where lots of shiny presents lay illuminated under the soft, inviting glow of the lit Christmas tree, just waiting for her to tear them open. 

“She's still booting up,” you joke as you and Leon both watch her rub her eyes and try to process the scene before her, expression blank. After a few minutes, she begins to wiggle and squirm in your arms, reaching for the brightly colored wrapping paper. You chuckle and set her down. She begins tugging and chewing on the smaller presents. 

You hand Leon a present to him from you. “Merry Christmas, my love,” you coo with a soft kiss to his lips. 

Leon smiles, happily returning your kiss. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He swiftly unwraps the box and reveals a beautiful, light brown, leather jacket with wool trim. His eyes widen in recognition, its appearance strikingly similar to the jacket he lost in Spain all those years ago. “This is…”

“I found it a few weeks ago while I was out shopping. I thought you deserved another one.” You wink playfully. Annabelle crawls into your lap and continues nibbling on wrapping paper. 

Leon examines every inch of the jacket, in awe. “Thank you, sweetheart. This is incredible. I love it…and I love you.” He kisses you tenderly and hands you a present from him. It's a gorgeous white gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a key, accented with small diamonds. Your eyes light up at its beauty. “Oh Leon! It’s perfect!”

“It’s the key to my heart,” Leon explains with a cheeky grin and a wink. His cheesy lines always were a favorite of yours. 

You brush the tears away from your eyes. “Corn dog,” you tease and kiss him lovingly. He chuckles. You turn your attention to the happy child in your lap. “Should we help you open your presents, now, sweetie?”

The rest of your morning is spent helping Annabelle open her Christmas presents; clothes, toys, books, and some winter wear. Sharing your first Christmas as a family brings you joy you never thought you’d experience. From the first day you stumbled into Leon’s arms at the office, your life changed irrevocably, an adventure you never knew you needed, never in your wildest dreams expected, but here with Leon and your precious baby girl, nothing could be better. 

[whatdoidosatoru]

crybaby

farmer x sebastian (stardew valley) wc: 1.4k it's raining and you're crying in sebastian's spot. that's it, that's the plot. cw: smoking, general feeling of inadequacy

“shit,” the water splashed as my feet came down on the surface repeatedly. “shit shit shit SHIT!” rubbing my hands over my tear-stained face, i kept disturbing the ocean, sitting on the end of the deserted pier in the rain throwing a tantrum like a child, very unlike what a ‘functional adult’ is expected to do. “FUCK!”

i let out my frustration, days of held-back emotions because ya gotta keep on truckin’... at least that’s what my dad had started saying when i’d call home in anger and despair, venting about how i must be useless, how my crops aren’t growing the way they should, how the damn crows just picked apart my most successful plant, how i don’t have time to shower, and not to mention eat proper food. ya gotta keep on truckin’ - fuck you, i don’t even have a truck.

“you think you’re gonna be here long or…?”

the sudden question caught me off guard, coming from an unfamiliar male voice. with the damn rain muffling every and any noise, i didn’t even hear the footsteps coming from behind me.

i sniffled, lowering my hands to grip the edge of the pier, contemplating just pushing myself off into the moody ocean, letting the current take me wherever, just far enough away from this life i’m messing up.

“i dunno.”

my voice cracked as i turned my head to the side to confirm my guess, the figure standing slightly behind me was none other than the town’s moody loner. at least that’s what i’d heard from some people. some name starting with an ‘s’.

my answer to his question didn’t seem to deter him, instead of leaving me to at least keep some of my leftover dignity, he stepped forward, coming more into my line of vision before sitting down beside me, his legs dangling off the edge just like mine.

i thought about introducing myself, but i doubted i could string together a coherent sentence without sobbing. nevertheless, i opened my mouth, ready to embarrass myself by whining out my name, but he just kept looking out into the horizon.

“i’m-” “i know.”

the abruptness of his words cutting me off shocked me enough to stop crying. my brows furrowed and my feet stopped splashing into the water while i gathered my thoughts.

he simply kept looking out, now taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it while holding a hand over the end, keeping the flame from being extinguished by the slight breeze and the drizzle. i shook my head when he offered me a cigarette, so his hand was quick to put the pack into his pocket again so it didn’t get wet.

the smoke was almost enchanting as it came out of his mouth and i had to force myself to look ahead, for the love of yoba, don’t stare at his lips. i tried again, this time clearing my throat before attempting to at least pretend to be civil.

“you di-” “we don’t have to talk, just shut up and enjoy the weather.”

this time his words made me close my mouth instantly. i couldn’t remember the last time i was spoken to like that. back home, everyone wore their fake smiles, they called you sweetie, said ‘no worries’ way too much, and expected the same in return.

even here, where everyone knew my grandpa, i was only a replacement for the old farmer. a failing replacement. a whole set of expectations already placed on my shoulders before i even stepped onto Pelican Town soil.

i took the time to steady my breathing, to stop these fat tears streaming down my reddened cheeks. after several minutes of silence only broken by the soft noise of raindrops meeting the surface of the water, i took a few deeper breaths and turned my head to the side again, this time letting myself look over his features in the least obvious way i could manage.

“so…” i started, giving him a second to interrupt me again, “do i have to look for a new crying spot?”

the perfectly raised eyebrow used to respond to my, admittedly stupid, line was nearly enough to make me choke on my own tongue. his face showed very little other than slight annoyance, probably at having ‘his spot’ taken by a messy-haired crybaby with stupid muddy overalls and dirt under their nails.

despite the sour expression, i had to admit to myself that he had a pretty face, along with a tempting set of lips that looked soft as they housed that nearly finished cigarette between them. he swore under his breath, lifting his lighter again to relight the end, trying to finish those last few drags before stubbing it out.

that last stream of smoke changed directions, now blowing towards me for a moment, a sure sign that he turned his head to look at me… or at least in my direction.

his voice carried a little less irritation than before, but he still didn’t sound too friendly.

“depends. you plan on crying a lot?”

i snorted. i actually snorted, immediately feeling mortified at myself and covering my mouth, in utter disbelief at myself. from the corner of my eye i saw his lips twitch, like he was a little proud of himself for my reaction.

though still a bit shaky, my voice seemed to be coming out fine, no stutters, no breaking.

“can’t say i have it in my calendar.”

and just like that, a pleasant silence envelops the air around us. he lit another cigarette, offering me one from the pack again to which i shook my head, instead picking up my feet from the water, sitting cross-legged.

the sky didn’t clear and the rain started coming down a little harder now. my hair was sticking to my forehead, doing the same to him though he didn’t seem to mind it. if anything, he looked right at home with darker spots of raindrops on the shoulders of his hoodie and his long side-swept fringe dripping with water.

the rain suited him.

he smoked another cigarette, stubbing it on the dark planks of the pier before putting the end into a small tin that i hadn't noticed before. it disappeared from my sight back into his pocket.

despite not needing to speak, i still felt a little odd not knowing his name.

sam had mentioned it, they were best friends, but much like a lot of things the rest of the townspeople had said through overcheerful smiles, it seemed to have vanished from my memory. i gave my throat a little hum before speaking with a pointed question in my tone.

“so uhm…” “sebastian.” “right.”

i couldn't cry next to him, but somehow it didn't feel suffocating. it wasn't weighing on me. i could breathe. so i pulled a wrinkled tissue out of my pocket and wiped my nose, clearing my throat a few more times before settling with my fingers absentmindedly tracing the stitching of my overalls.

sebastian was still looking out into the distance, looking like he was contemplating all of life’s mysteries at once with his bare feet slowly moving just under the surface of the ocean. his dark jeans were rolled up to the middle of his calves.

we sat like that until the sky got even darker and the bats started calling out to their friends. i noticed how sebastian’s head snapped up to look for the source of the noise, his lips curling into a small smirk in appreciation of the animal nightlife.

he sighed and took his feet out of the water, shaking off the droplets before putting his socks and shoes back on.

“you don't have to look.”

finally, his voice didn't sound like i was a nuisance to his peace. i looked up at him, my eyebrow raised in question, to which he rolled his eyes, though not unfriendly.

“for a new spot, i mean. i didn't mind sharing.”

he turned and left. for a while, my eyes were on his back, watching as his figure got smaller and smaller, but as he disappeared with only his footprints left in the sand, i felt like i could smile again, even just a little.

i sat on the pier for a little longer before getting up and padding barefoot through the damp sand and wet streets, making my way to the farm. the entire way home i thought about him. the entire time swearing to myself that i’ll try again, learn from my mistakes, and make sure i live to honour my grandpa’s memory while bettering myself. and next time i see sebastian, i won't be crying.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hello I would like to personally put that ribbon with a bell on catboy Ray's tail :3

Ray's expression was incredulous as you held out your hands. There was a small gift package meant for him to open, but he seemed more caught up in the fact that you made something for him rather than trying to figure out what you made. He mentioned to you once before that he hadn't had the chance to celebrate anything before... nobody ever thought to give him a gift for "no reason".

He didn't know what it felt like to receive a gift "just because"! In your eyes, that was sad. Sure, nobody was entitled to a gift out of the blue, much less on their special day, but it just felt... unfair to think that he hadn't been able to experience the wonder of someone wanting him to feel special because they thought of him. There was no obligation to give him a gift, but you wanted to give it to him all the same.

As he tilted his head to the side, his ears perked up. "You made a gift? For me?"

"Of course," You reassured him with a nod of your head. "I wanted to make something special for you! It's been a while since I've seen you and I thought you might want a reminder of me when you're working hard."

How could he say no to that? What Ray craved more than anything else was the chance to be doted on, after all. You knew it from the moment he lit up when someone complimented him for the first time. That person being you, of course, but still, nevertheless, you wanted to make sure he never forgot what it felt like to be doted on.

Out of anyone trapped in this place, he deserved to have someone tell him he was worth much more than what his Savior told him he was. Nobody else was going to go to the "trouble" of trying to brighten his day, but you weren't some kind of "nobody". You were his precious game tester, and you weren't going to let him forget it. Just as he had decided you were precious to him.

"Do I... do I open it here?"

You chuckled. "I don't mind if you open it with me, but it's okay if you would rather wait to open it when you're back in your office. Though, if I'm being honest... this is a gift I'd love to see in person... I won't be greedy if you want to experience this gift by yourself first!"

Ray thought about it for a moment. You didn't want to rush him into deciding one way or another, knowing that your gift might spark him into a troubled heart, but you were eager to see his reaction when he realized what his gift was. Even if he decided to open it by himself, it wouldn't take long for him to call you and ask question after question about what your gift was meant to do.

But, much to your delight, he took the gift from your hands and began to quietly unravel the bow you used to close the box. Ray's hands trembled in what could either be nerves or excitement. He took his time, setting the bow to the set before lifting the lid and digging past the pink and purple tissue paper to procure the gift hidden underneath.

"...A collar?"

As he held up the present, a pink ribbon with a bow tied in the center knot, his cheeks began to burn the same rosy hue. It dangled from his fingertips as he tried to make sense of it. He was as charmed as he was perplexed. You didn't expect him to call it a collar, though. It took a while to find something that wouldn't remind him of those old nightmares he told you about...

But, if that's his first thought... is it okay to continue from here?

You shook your head. "Oh no, dear. I wouldn't ask you to wear a collar for me. I know your history with them... the last thing I would ever do is gift you something that would bring up bad memories. This is very different! If it's alright with you, could I... show you what it's intended for?"

You expected him to be reluctant. But, he wasn't. Ray held out his hands so you could reclaim your gift. Even if his first thought was something akin to his worries, you knew this gift was different. He could opt out of it at any time, and you wouldn't insist he continue wearing it if it truly reminded him of an oppressive collar. So, with a tug, you spun Ray around so he was facing away from you, and he gasped.

It was the sweetest sound, so cute and awed by how easily you could sway him.

"Now, Ray, if you don't like it..."

"I know, [Y/N]... you won't force me to do anything I don't want to do even if I would go along with it."

It was better to reaffirm his consent.

You twirled the fabric from the base of Ray's tail all the way to the tip, making sure not to compress the skin beneath the fur but making it just tight enough to keep it from falling. Unlike Saeran who would flick his tail at the smallest bit of indignation, when Ray swished his tail faster and faster, it was because he was feeling... nervous about this or that. It wasn't that odd to see him tuck his tail around one of his legs to keep it from showing.

But, as soon as you pulled your hand away, his tail began to swish back and forth, tempering the newfound weight the ribbon added with glee. The jingle, jingle, jingle... carried a tune that reminded you of what his heart sounded like when you kissed him in the gardens. It was methodical, slow, and sweet.

"There we go," you patted his head. "Now, you're looking like a very pretty kitty, Ray."

Ray peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his tail, only to spin around in place to hunt a better view of it. You pressed a hand to your lip to stifle the sound. He looked more like an eager puppy trying to catch his tail than a kitten who received his first bell! But, the more he spun, the more delighted you became.

You caught him by the arm and held him in place, lifting his tail around his center so he could watch his tail twitch in excitement. There was no way he could hide what this made him feel. He wasn't a good liar, something always gave him away, but seeing his tail show it felt the most satisfying. Every rattle of the bell was a reminder of how excited Ray was.

"I'm a pretty kitty?"

With a gentle ruffle of his hair that forced his ears to sway under your touch, you grinned. "You're my pretty kitty... that's better than just... a pretty kitty, Ray. Thank you for wearing my bell... this way, you'll hear the sound of my heart every time your tail moves."

Jingle, jingle, jingle...

[mattsinclairvo]

While I wait for a response from Tumblr about my predicament about my posts not showing in the tags, I wanted to share some stuff I'd been writing for Noel and Rose! The OCs from my G/t show pitch (art by @miniature-knight) If you want to read more about them I've written some posts about them like this one or this!

The scene below features the two at a party they'd been dragged to but things take a turn for the worst when an Anti-Xionic extremist shows up to try and start a row

“Are you the whore who’s sleeping with one of those alien freaks?”He called angrily. 

A quick jog through a few databases showed he was Anti-Xionic talking head and extremist, Drew Brondson . It seemed the synths were activated by the disturbance. The Anemones swarmed toward the front to attempt, slowing him down. It must’ve been quite the sight to the few party goers close enough to see the formation of multicolored women.

“W-What? What’s going on? Was he screaming at me?” Farah asked.  

Confusion flashed through her drunk flush face.

“You need to keep moving, understand?” I said low and clear. 

The heavy bass and drums reverberated in time with our steps through the wood floor.

“Stupid cheap bots! Get these dumb things offa me!” Brondson howled. 

He was slurring his words, just as drunk as everyone else in attendance. This wasn’t some well planned strike. Farah or one of her ‘friends’ must've told Max about the plan to get us here. Max is the kind of clout chasing hustler to brag about having a NeoSapien hybrid at his party to anyone in his massively vapid social circle, and one of those people happened to be Drew. How ridiculous. Even more dramatic than a staged TV show. But still a volatile situation nonetheless, that I needed to get Farah and Noel out of.

“Keep your head down. And stick close to me.” I instructed, “We’re just two girls fucked up at a party.”

A loud thud rang out from the foyer.

 I took the liberty of peeking into one of the cams in the front. Max, despite being a ‘big tech guy,’ didn’t have very good firewalls in his home security. Brondson, with the help of his suited bodyguards, managed to keep the wildflower synths from throwing him out of Max's home but they weren't making much progress into the actual party. I doubted that would last long however. A wildflower synth, the one who was manning the bar, lay crumpled on the ground in a pool of artificial blood. A suited man stood over her. The synths let out inhumane hisses of agitation toward him. 

That was all I needed to see.

While we still had a head start, I ducked for the stairs. Noel was still in the upper part of the villa and needed to be briefed of the situation and secured.  Farha clung to me desperately, now on the verge of tears as we made it to the base of the spiral staircase. 

“You go up first, I’ll be right behind you.” I instructed.

Farha tearfully followed my command, taking wobbly heeled steps up the staircase. I followed, watching for the first signs of Brondson and his boys to breach the party proper. My internal communications system made contact with Noel’s smartwatch and I pinged an urgent message.

 “Hostiles at party. We need to clear out.” I said sternly. “Found Farha, approaching your location.” 

We’d both made about 76% up the stairs when another Wildflower synth was sent flying just over the heads of the partiers below. Her limp body crashed into the bar, hanging half-way off of its surface. One of her arms was slack in its socket from the altercation. It dangled just above the floor, dripping more bright neon green blood.

Then Brondson howled, “Get your ass out here freak!” 

Farha froze briefly in terror, right as we’d both made it to the second floor, and out of Brondson’s sight. She and I caught glimpses of his entrance into the main party as we retreated away from the stairway and the balcony to avoid detection. Some people had flocked to the synth corpse left strewn across the bar, while other party goers booed Brondson and his lackeys. 

“He’s trying to find Noel isn’t he? He’s going to kill us like that girl.”

“Trust me. He won’t touch you without getting through me. And no one’s gotten through me… yet.” I assured her. Then, I placed a hand on her back, to continue coaxing her forward. 

Noel’s smartwatch pinged back with his exact location in the house and a short text message,“Ah. That's what's happening downstairs, then.”

 I steered us both hard to the right, down a beige corridor with strangely bland standing floor statues and doors along the wall, that other party-goers occasionally popped between, scantily clad. 

“Can’t believe they’re having orgies at a time like this…” Farah muttered bitterly.

“They still think it’s a party, to be fair.” I responded. 

Everything about the environment that this Max guy had us hostage in felt so vapid. I'd almost consider it a form of psychological torture if there were any actual thought put into the supposedly thought provoking twisted stark white rectangles. Thinking back on it now, it almost reminds me of Xion planet homeworld. Stark and neat but not nearly as imposing. Sapiens are the same on any planet I suppose. 

We kept walking through this “tiny” labyrinthine villa, catching more brief glimpses of piles of bodies writhing in the middle of lavish rooms. Though I knew Noel was located at the end of the corridor, Farah felt worried. 

“He’s not, in one of those rooms, is he? I never brought this up, but some of the girls at the agency say Els likes to ‘spread the love’. I just thought it was baseless chatter…” She was prodding me. Even in her drunken, half-panic state Farah always had some other motive at play it seemed. 

           “He's in the master bathroom… not any of the bedrooms. I'd prefer if we stayed focused on trying to get out of here.” 

The hallway curved, obstructing the end from full view, but I could just see the top of the grand frosted glass entrance to the master bath. 

We were far enough from Brondson for me to take the lead from there. Still, I kept a close eye on Farah as we made the final approach, and smartly she stayed in near lockstep not far behind. The bathroom door was that same rot iron and glass design from the foyer and entrance, just more frosted to prevent-

…wait. 

    Why would you make a bathroom door out of glass? From what I understand humans treat it as a very private affair. Noel certainly made it clear early on, following him to the bathroom was not necessary or appreciated. 

     This guy is really stupid.

     We entered the master bathroom. The drastic change in lighting caused Farha and I to naturally shield our eyes. 

     “Hell of a washroom!” Farha yelped. 

     “You're telling me,” Noel’s voice called. 

     It echoed off the white tiled and mirror lined walls. ���This whole thing is giving me a massive migraine. And I've been stuck with these obnoxiously bright lights,” 

I did my best to follow his voice, while my eyes were still adjusting. “I'm certain several liters of alcohol also might have a hand in it…”

  It goes without saying the master bathroom was absurdly huge. Nearly a rugby field in size, with a row of ornate sinks and toilets on one half of it.  

     “Heh, speakin’ of the drink…” he began. 

My eyes swept to the otherside of the bathroom. It took a moment to process exactly what I was looking at. I was still getting used to such high contrast.

 There was a deep oval shaped pit, carved into the marble adorned with golden fixtures around its edge. It was large enough to do laps in.

 But currently it was being totally and completely occupied by Noel. At the time my height estimation of him was 4.85 meters. His entire back side was sunk into the giant tub, while his limbs hung awkwardly over its edges and sprawled uselessly on the ground. 

His clothes were neatly folded on the ground next to the tub, leaving him in just the compression expansion suit mk II, a shimmering white garment made out of a Xionic material that was light weight and went underneath almost every outfit. 

The last thing you needed while having a stress induced growing fit, was to be totally naked during it.

However, being clothed didn’t soothe the total embankment of this particular situation. Overall it looked ridiculous and extremely unpleasant.  

Noel's face was flushed and his expression seemed glazed over.

“How long have you been here?” I began softly, trying to truly swallow the totality of the situation before me. 

“Not too long…” he responded vaguely, “Wasn’t this big when I-” 

“Tell me you fell in…” I interrupted. 

His face went blank, and he looked at me. At his size, we were still eye level.

“Tell me you got blinded by this bathroom's stupid lighting, and you drunkenly stumbled into this situation.” 

In response, a drunken bemused smile spread across Noel’s face. 

“Still a bit cheeky, huh? Well, I like your version of events, Gogo. So let’s go with that. Course, fact still stands… I’m a bit stuck. Where's the bloke?” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and took another look through Max's security feed. 

“He's on the patio with his posse… being hounded by Max to leave, but I don't think he's leaving till he's found you. So there's that. Think shrinking back is possible at the moment?” 

     Noel thought for a moment, closing those big lilac eyes,”Just give me a sec… think i can manage it.” 

Sure enough, with a single deep inhale through the nose he managed to shrink to a size at which he could wedge himself out of the marble tub, though not by much. 

 Pressing his palms and heels against the ground, Noel lifted himself from the tub’s base, then ungracefully rolled out on the cold marble floor before us, face down oversized limbs and torso thumping around loudly.

“You uh- you alright there bud?” I leaned in close. He was still breathing thankfully enough.  

Noel gave a shaky thumb-up, still face-planted.

My confidence in our ability to escape this situation began to sharply decline. Even as my oversized charge slowly rose back to his feet and collected his clothes, I could see on the open feed, Max and Brondson's attention had been caught by what must've to them sounded like several people falling down the stairs at once.

“That face means bad news…” Noel mumbled. 

“Bad news?” Farah said breathlessly. 

She walked up to me on trembling legs, “What's he on about? What bad news, Rose?” 

“They may know we're up here….” I said slowly, watching as Max clung to Brondson's torso like a cheap belt. 

The first of the wildflower synths had finished their regeneration cycle and quickly re entered the fray. Brondson's security crew was somehow still blindsighted by the whole, 'androids don't die’ thing, and were brought down one by one and ejected. 

By the time the thugs who were left caught on, they were outnumbered. And they barely won numbered. They would’ve needed at least twice the number of people they came with to stop a team of wildflowers, but bless their hearts they tried. 

They yelled to Bronson for some sort of support, but Bronson had already taken off for the thumping, completely abandoning his security to their fate. Logically, they realized his help was paying them money for services. That that wasn’t enough as their skulls caved in under the weight of flesh and alloy fists was not Bronson’s concern. No, their lives were no concern at all. 

He had a big boy to yell at.

“YOU FUCKING THAT GIANT FUCKWIT OF YOURS?!” He bellowed, repeatedly.

 I could hear the distant sound of doors being flung open, Bronson screaming, and some hapless orgy screaming in response, on loop in that order. Noel and Farah heard this too, and the latter started to shake like a goddamn chihuahua.

 One o’ these days… I definitely did not say out loud. 

“Hate to be a bore luv…” Noel said to his date, “But this is why I don’t care for these. Rose, I’ve got an idea.” 

“Hm?” I had a hard time believing he did, but I didn’t, other than spraying Brondson’s brains on the wall behind him. 

Again considered a ���vibe killer”. 

“Call the Rebel ‘round to our location. There's a balcony in the bedroom across the way. We'll have to make a jump for it…”

“A-And just how do you know that huh?” Her tone was accusatory. 

And Noel’s patience was just about up. 

“Cause, I've spent the better part o’the nite with my arse stuck in that tub, and I watched about a dozen naked jackass run in and out of that room.” 

Tensions were mounting, worse Brondson was getting closer. In a two birds one stone effort, I tried to fix both of these problems. 

“Alright! I'm calling the car! Let's get moving before he can corner us.” I said. 

It was enough to shut them both up for the moment. 

Keeping my pistol drawn, I marched back to the frosted glass door. Heavy footfalls and the click of heels followed close behind my own. 

Brondson was only a couple of doors down. We needed to time this perfectly. 

My hand went up to give the two behind me a silent three count.

Brondson lifted his leg, in preparation of a great stomping kick at the door.

3…

Bam!

2…

I waited for him to go bursting in on another group of drugged out naked people. 

1!

Right as he crossed the threshold of the room and the chaos of yelling started, I bolted through the glass door. 

All the confusion was the perfect cover. Brondson couldn't untangle himself from the people he was harassing fast enough to catch us. 

Of course now was the problem of us dropping in unannounced on a group of horny drunken party goers, but Noel seemed to be prepared. 

“Close your eyes!” He said bounding at the both of us. 

His arms were elongated and outstretched while he crouched low to the ground. In an instant both Farah and I were swept up in Noel’s grasp. Once we were pinned tight against him, Noel put every living neuron not soaked in booze into bolting out of the balcony door. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes, as naked party goers flashed by all blurred together in a sweaty mess. 

Then, we were on the balcony. 

I could hear the steady hum of the Rebel’s engine. It’d managed to pull up just below where we stood, on the gray cobblestone driveway. Noel released us from his arms and shrank to something that could fit in the front of a mid-sized sedan.

“Good going running us through that sex-pit…” Farah hissed, “Now we’re trapped!”

“The car’s right there.” I corrected, “Now all we gotta do is jump!”

The glare Farah gave made me double check my list of known Earth swears to make sure I hadn’t accidentally said something deeply offensive. Farah certainly wanted to reply with something deeply offensive, it seemed, but hadn’t the time while plummeting into the waiting vehicle.

 Noel did not appreciate being this drunk, this tired, and having his heroics spat upon. He jumped right at the word, taking Farah and I down one more leg of the Noel Express. 

Speaking of legs, Noel decided, mid-fall, against diving headfirst into an open convertible. He kicked, straight down. His legs shot out, quickly extending. He braced, tensed his thighs, bent his knees, and crumpled like a summer tent in a hurricane as he hit the ground. 

“Damn it! Where'd you go…” snarled Brondson from above.  

Noel’s face radiated agony. Worse was another flash of those bright red eyes of his.

We’d landed on the ground next to the Rebel. He released us from his chest in a notably mechanical motion. His body, seemingly giving up, deflated back to normal size.

“What the hell was that!?” Farah shrieked at a face-down-in-dirt Noel.

“That was me trying to get out of this mess you’ve led us into! But you don’t appreciate anything I do and you never listen to what I say!” he was blinking back drunken tears. His eyes cooled with the water, returning to the familiar lilac.

 Then came the violent retching as several liters of alcohol, now thoroughly unsettled in Noel’s stomach, spilled out of his mouth and into the grass and gravel.

“Ugh, you're piss drunk!” she spat, stepping away from the growing puddle of spew. 

I looked up and made direct eye contact with Brondson, leering angrily over us. He took a large step, as if to climb over the railing.

 That was enough. 

I pulled the pistol out of my clutch and leveled it on my wrist. Brindson would be an easy kill from that position. By the time my finger was touching the trigger, that brain in his thick skull was only just beginning to register his own demise.

[bonefall]

You could play with the dirty part of the canon description by having Slash and his people roll in mud to hide their scent.

Parts of the Code labelling using weapons/traps as dishonorable could have started as agreements made that Slash's people wouldn't keep using their old tactics, maybe forced on Thunder's Clan to keep them from becoming too powerful, if they DID fuse.

I'm more liable to just remove the "dirty" thing entirely honestly; I just think it's so shitty I'd like to nuke it from orbit, you get me? Every single time they want you to hate someone, they make them fat and/or stinky. I'd rather just put that kind of rhetoric in the mouths of cats like Clear Sky and The Wind Runner, a lie to demonize their enemies, not really based on truth.

I think I might take the trap stuff though; that actually fits in nicely with how ThunderClan's the only one that uses spears. I won't have it be code yet, though, that's going to come a lot later. First two commandments of the code are Borders + Mercy, followed by Law 3 when Riverstar dies in some decades.

Also gonna need a name for Slash's new group. Hey, maybe THESE guys can be called Warriors, actually. Warriors of the Forest, like what the first arc used to be called before it was renamed TPB.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, mating press, soft dom choso, squirtīng, p spanking, dirty talk, size kink, praise, mdni.

you tell choso it’s practically impossible to make you orgasm – and he ends up making you squirt instead.

“really?” he’d huff in a ginger cooing voice, sucking his teeth together as he watches a thick portion of his cock disappear between your sweet soddened folds. you let off a gasping moan once you glance down, getting a wide view of him easing his hefty weight into you. choso’s got you in mating press—a position he’s been wanting to try with you for a while, and with the way you were easily clenching around him had his entire body twitching. as he’s being as gentle as possible, he lets off a soft grunt before placing a bare hand on your tummy. “so you mean like . . never, baby?”

“n- never,” you inhale an incoming breath. your legs were sprawled ‘n spread — creating a stretched ‘v’ shape with your trembling feeble limbs. choso’s got a hand wrapped around his aching shaft before he starts to gradually sink inside of you deeper. “u..ughhh,” you hiss out, hearing your own wanton squelches shriek right out of your sopping pussy. choso smears a thumb down your entrance and you could see the cunt drunken grin starting to warp against his lips. “fuck, jus make me cum choso. like that, harder.”

“okay,” choso gruffly groans, his swollen sack already starting to mercilessly slap against your entrance. it’s loud numerous ‘thwap!’ ‘s and your glassy eyes widen the moment he slowly lifts up your leg just a bit higher, sexily throwing his head back with a carnal eye-flickering-roll. “just hold still,” and with one hand, he softly caresses your chin. “ ‘n keep those pretty eyes on me. gooood girl.”

intently, dark mousy eyes bore into you whilst he’s slowly driving his inside of you. you’re whimpering, already starting to hear the growling snarling creaks of the wooden bed frame ring against your ears.

“t- thaaat’s it,” choso grunts, and you can feel his honed hips tilt inward. he’s big, and with the gaping stretch he’d always create—it’s got invisible cogwheels spinning ‘n turning at the insides of your empty brain. it doesn’t take him long before he’s sensually pounding you with deep loving thorough thrusts, making sure he’s buried at the hilt. choso’s heavily panting with raspy breaths, clawing a hand through his shaggy black strands. he’s so pretty, and you couldn’t help but stare at him whilst he’s tenderly ravaging your sweet gripping walls. choso’s hair flawlessly of his flows down his narrow shoulders before he moans. “goddd, so good. doin’ so good.”

with a cute shrilling ‘oh!’ the moment his bulbous tip meanly slams into your sweetened sensitive spots, your jaw dangles agape.

he’s already reached it, and every time his body crashes into yours at full speed at such miles per fucking hour . . your skin sticks to stick against his like glue. smacking smacks of fleshy mounds gum against each other as he’s jackhammering his slim hips up and down before you shriek. “choso… ohmygod, right there. fuck me, fuh—”

“quiet,” he whispers, grabbing your chin. your eyes meet his, and as raven bangs string down his eyes, choso gives you a quick kiss. it’s sloppy, and you moan while he’s still buried balls deep. each risqué stroke has you dizzy, craving for more and as his tongue curls through the layout of your sweltering hot mouth, he briefly pulls away. choso huskily grunts, his powerful hits against your cunt creating loud squelches that resounded off the thinly-made walls. “f- fuck, hear that, baby? think she’s trying to hah . . get a word in.”

choso’s weight remains hovering over your body as he’s pounding into you. you moan, feeling his hot breath waft against your skin as he buries his face into the cove of your left shoulder. a hand reaches between your legs, and he starts to smear all kinds of circles ‘n shapes against your glittery wet cunt. wetly, he’s lightly smacking his palm against your stuffed full entrance, droplets of your honeyed juices splattering against his hand.

‘psh’ after ‘psh’ and choso grunts, hearing how you were not only vocal from your mouth, but in between your legs too. “so pretty,” he whispers, licking a stripe down your neck, softly nibbling a playful munch at your skin. “c’mon, baby. ‘m gonna need you to make a mess for me.”

oh, his hips were just the definition of fervent though.

your pussy’s hysterically gurgling out desperate sloppy pleads of want and need as your nails decorate his toned back with many many scratches. choso’s back was your own personal canvas—and he loved whenever your fingers would drag down his skin—painting areas of his flesh every single time. “cho- chosooo,” you whine out, tossing your arms over him. you could feel his back muscles tense, feeling his askew hips deepen its strenuous hits against your pussy. it was orgasmic – his rhythm alone, and your toes were already curled, mouth dropped, eyes bulged. “ ‘m gonna cum, make me cum choso.”

“uh huh. like that, you got it,” he purrs, feeling your cute legs starting to grow limp. he’s so nice with his hips, making sure he’s got the perfect angle. choso’s cock runs through you languidly, it’s slow but steady but also speedily fast. you could feel his stout cock repeatedly trying to kiss it’s way at your fluttering g-spot before you let off a trilling whine. “easy, easyyy girl,” he cups your face, a fat thumb stroking the right side of your mouth. “hey. look at me, baby. you got it,” choso repeats, and as he’s lewdly moaning right with you, bodies slamming in such luscious rapture, choso sprinkles kisses near your chin. “give it t’ me. be my messy baby, thaaaat’s it.”

right at his exact words—you felt yourself tightening up. . although something within you bursts, and you bite down on your jaw. it’s sudden, it’s so sudden that your eyes start rolling the second you realize you’re gushing down on his cock. a shaky breath leaves out of choso as he instantaneously pauses his hips—stilling his cock inside of you without moving anymore.

pretty doe-enlarged eyes with hearts swarming in his irises focuses primarily on you, and you could hear him whining out a ‘holy shiiiit’ while you mewl out your oh-so euphoric release.

it felt like forever but it was only for about three seconds, and you’re stupidly cross-eyed, moaning once choso starts to gradually pull out. “h- heh, baby chose to be wet today, huh,” and you let off a sobbing whimper once you feel him starting to smear his tip against your leaky cunt.

you’re drooling from your glossy puffed slit, and as he’s starting to politely smack his hardened cock onto your twitching heat, choso grunts. ‘you’re sooo pretty like this,’ the exact phrase that repeats in his brain like a mantra.

“let go, good girl. keep goin’. make me just as messy as you, princess,” and your brain merely short circuits. the elatedly shocking friction of his plump tip playfully hitting your soaked cunt has nothing but cute babbles departing from your babbling lips. choso drags his swollen cockhead down further, stopping at the bottom of your clit before letting out a shuddering, ‘phew.’

“c- choso, fuck,” you moan, still feeling staticky tingles roam through every vein of your body. that was unlike any feeling you’ve felt before. as his eyes soften, meeting your gaze—choso’s nudely glistening body shadows over yours. seconds later, he slowly trails his head down, propping himself between your legs. through hazy lensed eyes, you peer down, peeping at him while finding a hand of yours pawing its way through his tangled inky strands of hair. “mhh.”

“baby,” choso whispers hoarsely, his voice a bit rough and gritty from moaning for so long. such detail made you throb and he knew it too. leisurely, he’s beginning to lick a straight slope up your weeping cunt.

he can’t help but give it a open stare for a few seconds, taking your beauty from between your legs alllll in. it’s so pretty ‘n puffed — dribbling from the sides of your slick own arousal that shot out a shimmering geyser just a few seconds ago.

you’re tender, and he can’t help but slather his hot pink tongue between the crevices of your folds. “think . . you can be my sloppy girl one time?” and as he gives your pussy one quick french kiss, he pouts at you with a wry pussy drunk grin.

“pretty please?”

[rxmye]

" 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊 — a confident athlete who turns into pathetic putty at the thought of you . . .

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / masturbation / pervert yandere (he literally breaks into the locker room for your shit) / olfactophilia/osmolagnia (scent/smell kink) / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / breath play / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: haven't wrote smut in awhile, so im a bit rusty . . .

Lucas dangled the keys in his hands, a grin playing on his face as he walked towards the locker room—using the key to unlock the door—it was pretty easy grabbing the keys from the janitor's room, not that this school was particularly secure with their locks. It would be pretty easy breaking in, if he tried hard enough . . 

Lucas scanned the area, looking through each locker trying to find which one was yours . . he had your lock combination memorized, though he did get a little help from a friend in order to figure it out.

His hands reached for the clothes that you had left in your locker, lifting it up to his face, eyes going half lidded as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, he felt his face growing warm and his body growing weak. Lucas leaned down onto the lockers for support, almost losing balance as he slid down onto the floor.

Lucas pressed the flimsy piece of clothing further onto his face, engulfing himself in your smell—so much so that he could almost taste you—all the while his other hand travelled downwards, clumsily unbuckling his pants in a hurry . . hasty movements contradicted his rational mind, not bothering to care if he'd get caught.

He slid his pants down, just enough to reveal his semi-hard cock—a soft whine escaped him at the feeling of the cold air—his free hand now teasing his tip, as he relaxed his body, closing his eyes shut . .—imagining how disgusted you'd be seeing him in this pitiful state— . . that really turned him on, he cussed under his breath at how pitiful and pathetic his thoughts were . .

Lucas wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down—his vision growing hazy—as he let out breathy sighs of pleasure—whines growing louder when he moved his hand faster.

Lucas stuffed the clothing he took, and pushed it into his mouth—drool escaped the corners of his mouth—blocking his ability make a sound, as he moved his hand faster around his cock—little tear droplets stinging his eyes, as he felt his legs shake slightly at the sheer pleasure—he used his now free hand to pinch his nose, closing his only source of air . . .

All he could taste was you, the clothing taking away all the moisture in his mouth, as tears begin to escape his eyes, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his clothing—his legs began to convulse—his back arching slightly, as he finally came, all over the floor . . .

Lucas spat out the fabric, "fuck", the bell rang . . How is he gonna clean up this mess fast enough? . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

-

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen. 

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet. 

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. 

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold. 

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed. 

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation. 

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave. 

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out. 

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different. 

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer. 

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up. 

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he—

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver. 

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave. 

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it. 

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down. 

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen. 

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again. 

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch. 

When the door opens, it startles you awake. 

“Mr. Price?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you. 

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water. 

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink. 

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room. 

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you. 

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip. 

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers. 

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking. 

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer. 

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side. 

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss. 

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you. 

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you. 

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear. 

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place. 

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered. 

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck. 

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind. 

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus. 

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead. 

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat. 

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.  

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’—fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum. 

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices. 

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap. 

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject. 

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again. 

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned. 

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so. 

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything. 

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes. 

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest. 

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed. 

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold. 

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh. 

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in. 

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous. 

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping. 

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up. 

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt. 

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat. 

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.  

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon. 

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—” 

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out. 

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth. 

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak. 

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard. 

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts. 

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue. 

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.   

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think. 

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby. 

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift. 

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him. 

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.

[churipu]

YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

[izvmimi]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go��good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.