#the body looked whack at first though lol

[lovelyney]

────𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒────

IN WHICH: You accidentally whack Wriothesley in the nose during a training session and feel bad !!

PAIRINGS: Wriothesley x (GN!) Reader

SCENT: fluff but gets kind of nsfw towards the end ??

WARNINGS: uh wrio makes a comment implying masturbation towards the end? that and you guys just makeout, lol.

FLORIST’S NOTE: Reader is a mix between Wrio’s and Sigewinne’s assistant !! Also happy belated new years, blossoms !!

SONG: Bang! Bang! (K,NAAN & Adam Levine)

───────────2023 !! #©LOVELYNEY

WRIOTHESLEY LAUGHS as you drag him through the Fortress of Meropide, drawing the attention of those around you. Though typically, you’d feel uncomfortable, embarrassed, or perhaps self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of others, this time, it’s different. Your attention is focused solely on Wriothesley as he holds his free hand up to his bloodied nose. Knowing Wriothesley and his job here, it’s easy to imagine it resulting from a scuffle with a particularly stubborn criminal or something along those lines. However, the truth cannot be farther from that. In actuality, you’re the one responsible for this bloody nose. . . Allow me to expand on the situation a little.

Around a week or so ago, he unexpectedly marched into your office and insisted you learn how to fight. His motives for the sudden declaration were not out of a lack of appreciation for your work at the Fortress but rather a desire for your protection while he’s away. On another note, he believes you’re too “reserved and gentle” with others—“too much like a frightened kitten rather than a fearsome lion,” as he blatantly put it. It was a comparison you found somewhat degrading, yet you couldn’t deny it did speak the truth of your nature. In the end, you decided to comply with his wishes, and from there on out, he started to teach you self-defense and train you.

Cut to the present: Wriothesley pulled you aside for your daily training session. Everything was going swimmingly at first, with you defending yourself from his attacks as usual. Then, amid it all, you accidentally hit him square in the nose and rather hard at that. The punch was neither intentional nor malicious, but it still managed to send him stumbling back and clutching his nose in pain. A tsunami of guilt and worry flooded your system as you frantically apologized to him, but he simply brushed it off and smiled. The look in his eyes was one of mild shock but also of something more. . . fond. He seemed amused rather than angry or annoyed, appearing to be impressed and even a little smitten.

Sigewinne enters the infirmary with the medical supplies you requested, stopping just inside the door to ask you a question. She furrows her brow in concern, noticing the panic in your expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of him, Mx. (Y/N)? You’re a bit pale. . . Maybe you should sit and rest for a little while,” she offers kindly.

Wriothesley observes you with a lovesick expression as you prepare a cotton swab, your tongue poking out between your lips from concentration. His heart singes when you take his hand that’s pressed to his nose and lay it gently on his lap; your skin is warm and soft compared to his, scarred and calloused, from his duties here at the Fortress.

When you assure her with that enchanting smile of yours—the same one that drives him wild—it feels like his entire body has been set on fire, and he’s certain you can feel that fire when you press your palm to his cheek to keep him still. “D—Don’t worry, Sigewinne. I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.” You answer calmly, despite your hold on him being slightly shaky.

With a brief nod of her head, Sigewinne slips out of the room, leaving you and Wriothesley alone. As you press the cotton swab to his nose, he lets out a sharp hissing sound as the disinfectant works its magic. “Ouch! Shit, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit. That was a hell of a punch. . .” he chortles, trying to lighten up your mood a little. But his amusement falters when you pout, your face a heartbreakingly adorable sight.

“I—I really am sorry, Your Grace! I didn’t expect to hit you so hard. . . In—In fact, I thought you’d move out of the way before I even got the chance too,” you lament and carefully tilt his chin up, making sure you cleaned all the blood off. “How badly does it hurt? Do—Do you want me to go get some painkillers or ice? Please, just—”

“Breathe, (Y/N).” Wriothesley’s tone is soothing as he speaks, seeming intent on consoling you. “I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with far worse scuffs than this. So, please, don’t think for a second I’m mad at you or anything of that nature. I’m more proud than anything, really.” He adds, melting under the warmth and care of your gaze. He finds himself feeling a little selfish in this moment, wishing you’d always spend so much time doting on him. You’re always so engrossed in your work, and as much as he admires that side of you, he’s also become increasingly smitten with you without you even batting an eye. Your self-absorbed disposition has made you oblivious to his adoring eyes, and he can’t help but feel a mix of heartbreak and longing as he considers how blind you are to his affections. “Hm. . . Now that we’re alone, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” he admits, humming contentedly as your hand presses to his face once more, oblivious to the surge of adrenaline that shoots through his veins with every touch. Your affectionate actions result from your nurturing demeanor, but he begs silently for them to mean something more.

Your puzzled expression, bearing a resemblance to a confused puppy, only further softens the gentle smile on Wriothesley’s face. “Is that so? Is—is there a reason you’re only bringing it up now?” You inquire anxiously, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You hope that your unexpected punch wasn’t the last straw for him firing you or something like that. The worry in your voice and tension in your body language betray your deep concern, and Wriothesley finds himself smitten by your innocence and tenderness.

The duke pauses momentarily, seeming to mull something over in his mind. “It’s been harder to get you alone these days, with you always engrossed in your paperwork or helping Sigewinne. I can’t bring myself to tear you away when you’re always so faithful.” He acknowledges. His eyes linger over your lips for just a moment too long, his imagination taking over as he considers the softness of them and how they taste. His heart pounds against his ribcage as he holds back the urge to kiss those teeth away and murmur how he’s the only one allowed to ruin your lips.

You mutter the words, “My apologies, your Grace,” as you press the bandage to the bridge of his nose. Taking a step back, you freeze under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, you have my full, unrivaled attention as of r-right now...?” You try to sound confident, but your sheepish expression gives you away.

Wriothesley hums in response, amused and enticed by the sudden color that washes over your face. Clearing his throat, he slips one hand around your waist and pulls you flush against his warm frame. His eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as he allows the intensity of the moment to sink in. “Oh? Do I now? Good,” he purrs, his voice deep and velvety as it echoes in your ears—sending vibrations throughout your core. You shudder when the smooth of his fingers glide over the exposed skin on your waist, and he almost finds it a little sadistic with how much he’s enjoying you squirm when he hasn’t even done anything.

Your breathing becomes a touch erratic as you feel the lingering touch of his hand against your waist. You attempt to mask your growing excitement, skin prickling with electricity. Despite your best efforts, there’s a faint quiver in your words that you can only hope he doesn’t notice. “G—Go on. . .”

Sadly, nothing gets past Wriothesley’s gaze, and he’s able to take note of your trembling voice and hands; he isn’t the duke for nothing, after all. He can’t help but feel the boost to his ego when he realizes he has a tight grip over you at this moment. With a swift tug, you’re suddenly pushed against his broad chest, eyes blown wide. He chuckles as you choke over your words, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “You know, (princess/prince). . . I can’t tell if you’re just dense or trying to prove something to yourself.” The raven-haired male teases. “I’ve been smitten with you for weeks now, you know,” he presses, eyes trained on your expression to read any changes. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re as aware as your actions suggest—or if you have been merely feigning ignorance. Please, explain yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the magnitude of Wriothesley’s words settles in; he’s so direct and brazen with his declaration that it sucks all the breath out of your lungs. Your mind races as you grapple with the sudden realization that he is just as enamored with you as you are with him. Your expression must speak louder than words because as you open your lips to speak, Wriothesley closes the distance—slotting his mouth on yours.

It sends all your senses reeling like they’ve been drenched in ice water after burning for too long. Like a balm and a spark, it’s both a soothing salve and a blazing inferno, comforting and ravaging you in equal measure. All the tension of your attraction has suddenly become a physical manifestation, the culmination of all the unspoken words and feelings that have gone unsaid for too long.

Wriothesley pulls himself even closer to you, his passion only intensifying the longer the kiss carries on. The feeling of his body pressing against yours ignites a primal urge within you, driving the kisses to become more intense. His hands slide further down the bare flesh of your back, tracing your waist in a possessive claim to your body. His tongue dives underneath your bottom lip; it probes between them, trying to gain access to the interior of your mouth.

A noise akin to a muffled whimper escapes your throat as his tongue pushes into your mouth with a feverish, nearly desperate need. The intensity of the sensation is overwhelming, and you feel yourself shudder with a sense of raw desire as his hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, his fingers squeezing and digging into the soft flesh. His touch is both tender and possessive, sending your nerves reeling.

When his fingers climb closer up your thighs, you plant your hands on his face and gently push his head away, his mouth chasing after yours instantaneously. You sigh softly, your face flushed scarlet from the heat of the situation. “Wriothesley. . . We are still in your office. Anyone can walk in at any time.” You chuckle, swiping the saliva from his bottom lip.

His body hums with contentment at the breathless sound of his name coming from your lips. He lets out a displeased huff as he nestles his nose in the crook of your neck, sharply inhaling your scent and drowning himself in the warmth of your body. He absentmindedly starts nipping at your skin, “And? I’ve had enough nights getting off—”

“O—Okayokay! As an. . . apology for keeping you waiting, how about after work, we fulfill those fantasies of yours?” You chuckle nervously and thread your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans his entire body onto you. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way some of the inmates looked at me when I dragged you in here. . . I don’t think I could recover if they walked in and found out they guessed right.”

Wriothesley’s laughter is like a deep, thunderous rumble that soon after swarms your stomach with butterflies. His kisses pepper your face in response, the sweet scent of your skin filling him with a sense of contentment. He pulls away and smiles down at you, the heat and adoration in his eyes impossible to miss. “After work, then,” he repeats and holds up his pinky, signaling you to do the same. Rolling your eyes, you indulge him and hook your pinky to his—a cutesy gesture veiled in a not-so-innocent promise. 

[oceantornadoo]

Hello… Uhm. This is my first time requesting, lol. I was wondering if you could maybe… do a part 3 to that one fluff thing with the reader liking Simon bigger in size? I adore it so far. You don’t have to though! I was just hoping you could.

since the holidays have a lot of eating, i decided to make this christmas fluff

previous parts here (it's called "i like you big")

tw: simon has unhealthy eating habits

"since we have to be here over the holidays, we're doing a movie marathon. christmas movies only!" you announced cheerfully to the groaning task force. it was a rare night on base where everyone was together, and you wanted to spread some holiday spirit. "and i bought cookies." that got some cheers, thankfully. you took the cookies out of the locked cabinet, a necessity when surrounded by ravenous soliders, and set them in the common room near the tv. you went all out: sugar cookies, chocolate peppermint ones, raisins for price (as part of his old man tendencies), scottish shortbread, and british tea cookies for your favorite brits.

"cheers, love," simon murmured. you tucked your head to nod, afraid he'd see how easily the term of endearment heated your face. instead, you busied yourself setting up your favorite christmas movie (elf, of course) and passing out plates to everyone. it was self-serve, so you stood back as your task force attacked the table with a single-minded vigor you only saw on the battlefield. curiously, simon only had one cookie on his plate, a british tea one. you took your usual seat next to him on the sofa, grinning as soap and gaz started debating the reality of a human surviving the north pole in only tights.

"only one, si?" you whispered, nodding to his plate. at that exact moment, you heard his stomach grumble. he didn't have his mask on so you could see how his cheeks got a little pinker at the sound. "not 'ungry." you frowned. instead of replying, you reached for your own plate, taking one of each cookie until it was stacked full. his arm was around the back of the couch so you tucked yourself in further. the chocolate peppermint cookie was delicious, and you couldn't hold back the small moan you let out at the taste. simon stiffened by your side, uncomfortableness radiating off him in waves. "sorry. it's jus' so good." your mouth was slightly full, this time with the scottish shortbread. "bonnie, ye got shortbread?" soap asked earnestly. "yeah, i figured it would be nice to have a taste from home. not sure if you actually eat these or if it's just a stereotype but..." soap smiled wide with a boyish grin. "our thoughtful girl, gettin' cookies fer all of us. thanks, bon." you smiled back, tucking yourself further into simon as he hummed in agreement.

"plus, i think everyone deserves extra treats during the holidays. animals gain winter weight, why shouldn't we?" you added as an afterthought. price snorted in agreement. gaz made a comment to him that earned him a whack to the back of his head. you snuck a look at simon, who was staring off into the distance, ignoring buddy's journey on the tv screen. "si?" you nudged him a little. "s'ppose y'r right. an' y' put all this thought into these." you gave him a small smile that he returned, a rarity from your lieutenant. he shifted on the couch, leaning forward to grab two more cookies from the table, decidedly ignoring the scottish ones. he took a bite of the sugar cookie in the shape of a christmas tree and closed his eyes contentedly. "good, si?" he nodded, his shoulders loosening and his body sinking into the sofa. "yeah, love. real good."

this was short but the rest of them has been as well so i hope you enjoy :) this was also the first time i've written holiday fluff <3

[ma1dita]

hi jo!! can i please have a ticket to here for the boos! with sylus :)))) with a ice cream and fries! happy october ;)

devil inside

[STARRING: SYLUS QIN x reader ; “I know what you did.” “Blood? Oh it’s not mine.” ] wc: 1.4k warnings: none, undercover stripper!reader, mentions of Xavier as a friend if you consider that a warning LOL, ooc!MC? if that's possible? best hunter in Linkon City but the devs play her off too ditzy for my liking so i gave her some duality and spice. but also that might just be how she is w Sylus anyway, title from inxs

monster mash-terlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Maybe he’s had a few too many gin fizzes tonight.

That, or Sylus Qin has found himself completely captivated by the sight of you dancing on stage. The leader of Onychinus is rarely impressed by anything or anyone. It’s all a part of the job, after all. 

If Sylus was ever to be caught off-guard, he risks losing everything he’s worked for.

Winning is how he survives, and ensuring that keeps everything and everyone in the N-109 Zone in order. Anyone good or bad knows not to play him at his own game. Still, there’s something in the way you look at him as you spin around that pole that makes him think you could be a worthy opponent.

He shakes his head, running his hand through his silver hair, but his eyes remain transfixed on the way your hands slither up and down your body. You’re good at what you do and everyone in the establishment can see that, dollar bills flying onto the stage like confetti as you sway your hips. But he won’t let himself be shaken so easily by a woman he’s never met before.

The song ends with the club’s roaring applause as you twirl and flutter your lashes, waving cutely at men who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat. However, you’ve already made your mark on the most feared man in the establishment.

Making your way over to him and his henchmen, you lean down and offer him a smile, “You look like you might have something I need.” And once your eyes lock, Sylus can’t fathom not getting to know you. He thinks he can hear Luke choke on his spit under his mask, or maybe it’s Kieran—one of them whacks the other but that all fades into the background as his blood red eyes roam your face and then, lower. 

He’s still a man, after all.

“Eyes up here, mister. I think I just asked you a question.”

You’re a fearless one, toying with him in front of so many unfortunate souls that will never see the light of day once he blows this place up later. 

Perhaps he’ll do you a favor and warn you. A face like yours is too pretty to go up in flames. He smirks, “Is that so? Run it by me again,” he croons, index finger playing with the pendant that hangs from your neck, “You’ve got my attention, kitten.” Your smile widens, saccharine and sinister, as you repeat yourself.

“Do you have what I need?”

Oh, he knows you’re not here for him tonight. The man you were supposed to interrogate for information is being dragged out the back entrance by the blonde guy who’s been starring daggers at him since you started talking. 

“I think your associate already has him out back. Unless you mean something else, sweetie.”

Pretty little kitty, rubbing herself up against the wrong bad guy. 

It’s not your fault per se—the mission report details told you the person you were looking for would stand out; though it just so happens that Xavier found him first. Your eyes flash, straightening your posture as you spare him another smile before turning to head out the back door, “Maybe next time then. Thanks, handsome.” You’re gone in a swish of sparkles and you don’t look back at him, not even once. But Sylus does love a game, and you’ve successfully captured his interest, even if that wasn’t your original mission.

Later, on his way out, he hears the sound of metal against metal from the alleyway. Sylus watches you fight back-to-back with your partner through the crack in the emergency exit door, slashing through Wanderers with sheer power and athleticism in every strike. 

Who knew his little kitten had claws? How interesting.

“Ugh! Xay, Tobias is getting away!” you grunt, holding your sword down by your side—and Sylus dares to wonder where you pulled that out from. There are still two Herte Knaves staggering up from the ground, ready to pounce, “You need to get that briefcase!”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

Slashing a Wanderer clean through, you take a second to wipe the sweat from your brow, “I can handle this Xavier. You need to trust me, and we need to finish the mission. He won’t make it far if you use your Evol.”

Your hunter friend hesitates, before taking off, looking back at you the whole time, “Please be careful! I’ll communicate with you!” And Sylus has seen enough, he thinks, stepping out into the darkness. If he were fighting with you, it wouldn't even enter his mind to leave you alone like this. But as he raises his faintly glowing hand to pummel the last Wanderer into dust, your sword gleams in the streetlights, hacking at its weakest points until it disintegrates. You don't see him lurking in the shadows, as you collect protocores, sheathing your sword against your hip. The beeping noises on your comms link remind you to inform Xavier of your whereabouts.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, sweetie."

You jolt, averting your eyes when you catch him at the door.

How long has he been there?

Sylus looks at you through full lashes and time stops. You don’t remember how he got so close to you, or why you let him…something pulling you to him from the depths of your core. His hand wraps delicately around the base of your neck and cheek before you even realize it, breath hitching under his caress, "Is that...."

"Blood? Oh, it's not mine," you smile as if he didn't see you single-handedly annihilate a group of Wanderers on your own, "I just got sloppy."

Your smaller hand claps around his wrist, fingers barely wrapping around his skin as you push him away and start walking. It's best to get out of here, handsome stranger be damned.

"I didn't get your name, kitten. Do you belong to someone?" he says playfully, watching your figure sashay towards the end of the street. You stop, not turning to meet his eyes. It's risky to get involved with someone while on the job, much less in the N-109 Zone.

What would the Association think?

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out."

Expensive cashmere is draped over your shoulders. You don't remember hearing his footsteps come near you at all. When you turn back towards the alley, the mysterious man is gone. Swallowing hard, you button the suit jacket to protect your modesty—who knows what other unexpected deviants might follow you home.

Mephisto caws from a nearby powerline, mechanical eyes gleaming ruby red like his master's. He makes sure you leave before the club explodes, plumes of smoke filling the night sky.

But all he can think of is you and the challenge you've presented him— a week later, Sylus has bought out an entertainment complex that you frequent in Linkon. He goes to inspect his newest business venture, making the trip out in scorching daylight and losing sleep every day that week just in case you might drop by.

What he doesn't expect to see is you standing in front of the plushie machine on your day off, eyes fixated on the stuffed animals within the glass box. You've been trying to collect the Succulent Bunny for an hour now, and he thinks even a fire wouldn't break your concentration. Sylus has tried everything—walked back and forth down the aisles, pretending to help customers nearby....he ought to stick Mephisto in there to be caught by the metal claw.

"I just need to try harder..." you mutter, the green plush slipping out of the trembling prongs. It glows red the longer you stare at it, lifting itself towards the slot, before hitting against the glass.

What?

You can feel the energy flux thrumming from inside the machine. Is there a Wanderer inside the plushie? Its new position makes it easier to capture—you can't help but scream in joy when the bells go off and the stupid thing slides into the hole.

"YES!"

You look around you frantically, hair whipping against your neck and then you see a familiar figure leaning against the doorway just like how you left him at the club. Hugging the plushie, you quickly walk towards Sylus. He watches you come towards him again with the same determination in your eyes, though the behavior you've presented in the arcade is nothing like the seductress he saw at the club. Here, you're not a hunter—just a plushie enthusiast.

"I know what you did."

"I could say the same about you, kitten. Wanna trade thoughts on it?" he smirks, looking down at your amused expression.

Two can play this game— it looks like the both of you are willing to take a gamble.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

ma1dita's monster mash is closed for requests but ongoing for the rest of october!

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot. Part 2 now out!

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy. divider from here.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn’t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[anton-luvr]

hiiiiii!! if you don’t mind could you write about ex boyfriend!anton who gets jealous of wonbin because he keeps making fem!reader laugh (they are having a staycation tgt after finishing finals). wonbin and her are currently cooking dinner at the kitchen while anton just sits on the sofa with the other friends (could be anyone tho). they look very close and comfortable with each other so anton chooses to go out to get some fresh air. he eventually decided to swim as it might help him to calm down a bit. not long after that, she comes to him to tell him that the dinner is ready but it turns out differently (anton drags her into pool with him lol and they have a long overdue convo there.)

thank youuuu no pressure tho ❤️❤️❤️

# ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU.

𖦹 ex bf!anton x fem!reader | fluff & angst 𖦹 note ; im so sorry anon i felt like this could be better but my brain is just not.. braining. IM SORRY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT + reqs closing soon!!

"Here comes the choo choo train!" Wonbin coos, steering a spoon full of mashed potatoes towards you.

"Stop it!" you shriek, laughing as you whack his arm away from you. "I hate potatoes!"

Wonbin giggles, setting the spoon back into the pot.

"You didn't seem to hate potatoes when we were at the dining hall the other day," he jokes, poking you in the shoulder playfully.

You click your tongue, stepping away to look for parsley. "It was free food, 'Bin," you reason. "Who doesn't like free food?"

The glass jar of green herbs catches your attention, resting on the top shelf of the cupboard.

"Can you help me get the parsley? It's up there." you ask, tugging at his jacket.

"What would you do without me?" Wonbin laughs, ruffling your hair before easily reaching up for the jar.

Anton wonders the same thing as he watches the entire thing from the living room, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.

The wound of your breakup from several weeks ago was still fresh, even though he was the one who called it quits.

Just because of one stupid misunderstanding over you coming home late, everything had blown out of proportion.

Amongst the tired shouting, confusing accusations, and tears shed, Anton had called it off in the heat of the moment.

He was really regretting it as he continued eyeing the both of you.

Did you really need to be so affectionate while making dinner?

Were mashed potatoes even that funny?

Why did you seem so much happier with Wonbin than you had been with him?

He feels his head spin from the jealousy and anger bubbling in his chest, and he stands up abruptly.

"I'm going out," the Boston-born boy mumbles. "Gonna get some fresh air."

Your other friends, Eunseok and Sohee, hum in response; they were too busy playing the PS4 to notice the discomfort in Anton's voice.

Frustrated, Anton ran his hands through his hair as he sat down by the pool.

How could he mess up so badly?

His mind mapped out a million different scenarios if he hadn't broken up with you, plagiarizing the poor boy's mind. If only he had just communicated with you.

"God, I hate this." he mumbles to himself.

Shaking his head, Anton yanks his tank top off and tosses it aside. Maybe a quick swim would help him clear his mind.

The serenity of the water calmed the thoughts in his head, and Anton tried to logically think of a way to solve the issue.

Maybe he could just talk to you? But if so, when and where? What was he even going to say?

Anton barely got to think of anything else when he heard someone calling for him.

"Hey, dinner's gonna be ready soon," you say, standing close by the pool. "Do you wanna go take a shower first?"

He grips on to the end of the pool, supporting his body as he caught his breath and stared at you.

"Are you okay?" you asked slowly, feeling flustered by his all-too-familiar stare.

Without another word, Anton pulls you right into the water with him.

"What are you doing?" you spluttered when you resurfaced, wiping the water off your face.

"I need to talk to you about something," Anton pleaded, his hands holding onto your waist.

"But here? Right before dinner?" you questioned, dumbfounded.

He nods, praying that you'd stay.

"Okay, fine. But make it quick." you mumble.

Anton feels his hands clam up as he clears his throat. He can't mess this up.

"Well, I'm... sorry." he mumbles, voice closing up.

A tense moment of silence passes by, only interrupted by the sound of water sloshing around as you treaded in the pool.

"That's all you have to say?" you ask. "Because if that's all, then I'm gonna head back inside."

"N-No, there's more." he hurriedly assures you.

Staring at him as if to say 'go on', Anton gulps.

"This is all my fault. I didn't mean to shout at you and accuse you of those things that night, I was just... I was worried. And jealous. And scared. I know it makes me sound like a shit person, and I kind of am a shit person, but I really didn't mean it." he starts.

"I didn't mean to break up with you, I was just so stupidly scared that you were out with someone else. I should've listened to you and given you a chance to explain your side of the story, and I'm just.. I'm just so sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault."

Tears start rolling down his cheeks, but he doesn't let that stop him.

"If you've already moved on and you're interested in... someone else, then I won't interfere," he sniffles. "But if you're not, then can we get back together?" he asks, so quiet that you can barely hear him.

Anton's hands slip into yours, and he holds on to them tightly. "I promise I'll change. I'll be the best boyfriend that you deserve."

His eyes gaze into yours sincerely, sparkly with tears and vulnerability.

"Anton, I don't know." you sigh.

"I'm not interested in anyone else right now, but you really hurt me that night." you whisper, voice laced with pain.

"Like, why would you even think I was out cheating on you? Don't you know that I love you too much to even think of doing that?"

Anton feels his heart shatter into a million pieces at your words, guilt crashing down even heavier on him.

"I know, I'm so sorry." he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. "But can you give me another chance?"

If this was with any of your other ex-boyfriends, you'd say no immediately and shove them away, but Anton was different.

He was the only one who actually treated you right; giving you his jacket when you're cold, trying his best to cook your favorite meals for you even if it's two in the morning, and helping you study when you couldn't understand a single question.

But of course, he wasn't perfect. He was still human after all.

And deep down, a part of you really wanted to stay and love him more, working together through his flaws to make the best out of your relationship.

So you sigh, gently cupping his face.

"Okay, I'll give you another chance." you whisper, smiling softly. Anton bursts into tears as he throws himself around you, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"Thank you," he repeats over and over again, pressing kisses all over your face.

You laugh at his sudden outburst of affection, gently pushing him away. "Okay, now let's go eat dinner first before we starve in this pool."

Anton nods, and with lightning speed, he's out of the pool and helping you out too. He grabs the tank top he had tossed aside earlier and drapes it around you as a towel. Then with one easy lift, he picks you up in bridal style.

"Thank you so much," he sighs, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." you giggle.

With that, Anton carries the both of you inside, ignoring the surprised shouts coming from your friends as he rushes you into his room, both of you laughing and squealing.

You grunt when he drops you onto the bed, still laughing.

Anton beams, loving the sound of your laughter and swearing to himself to never make you unhappy again.

"Alright, I'll go shower and then you can shower, and we'll go eat dinner." you chirp, getting up.

A mischievous light sparks in Anton's eyes. "Why not we shower together? We can save time and water that way, you know." he suggests, smirking.

You scoff at the boy, chuckling. "Since when were you so concerned about the environment?" you teased, knowing what his true intentions were.

"You just stay out here and wait, I'll be done real quick." you scolded lightly.

Anton smiles, nodding readily.

He'll always wait for you.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Part two thoughts on an ani x bpd reader? Like, when things get that bad, does either of them wake the fuck up and realize things need to change? Remorse or guilt? The reader leaving? Ani leaving or falling into a self loathing hole, doing bad stuff again and again whether to himself or reader) and not taking care of himself?

It’s interesting to read some of your takes on BPD relationships, because I obviously have no idea what that’s like, but you do. You can make it seem very addicting, but also very terrifying and unhealthy, depending on which way the pendulum swings (I hope you take that as a compliment. Tone is hard through text. Lol. 😅).

I personally do not believe abuse is justified in any situation, whether you have a disorder or not. There’s lots of ways to deal with feelings without taking it out on someone else. On the other hand, I know some BPD’s have described feeling horrified with themselves after an episode like that, and so I’ve never really known just how much ‘control’ someone has in that moment. Either way, I still believe it’s the person’s responsibility to find a way to deal with it. Nobody deserves to be miserable around them just because they can’t handle something.

Anyway, I kind of went off on a rant. Apologies. Lol. My main request was for a part two of Ani x BPD reader! ❤️🫶✨

Not offended at all bby.

I think after I’m done with stalker!ani I’ll write a fic on this. Just cause so many people have asked about it.

100% BPD X BPD would be a terrible pairing. Coming from me as a bpd gal.

Now, personally, I’ve never physically abused anyone during an episode. But I HAVE done lots of property damage and I also broke my hand when I used a concrete wall as a punching bag. I split a wooden bat at the tip from whacking a fence once.

When it gets that bad, I don’t really remember what I said or did. I just feel really jittery, almost like an extreme caffeine high you know? (Imagine old cartoon character drinking coffee and their whole body vibrates, eyeballs and all)

But if it doesn’t get to that point, which it rarely does now that I’m medicated correctly and have a good support system, I IMMEDIATELY feel regret. Like horrible sorrow. Bpd means big feelings and when I feel regret, which isn’t often, it feels like I’m grieving a death that I’m to blame for.

For the smaller, more snappy or short outbursts:

My mouth works faster than the logical part of my brain that tells me not to say something mean.

Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of saying something awful and then I just have to finish it because the damage is done and I may as well spit it out. Then I’ll lock myself in the bathroom for an hour until I’ve hyped myself up enough to apologize, then I’ll go back to the bathroom until the big feelings from my apology die down. I’ll be quiet, basically selectively mute for the rest of the day and be super irritable.

It’s exhausting. But it’s even more exhausting to have to continually remind myself not to spew the first thing that pops into my head or not to chuck the bag of shredded cheese at the wall because I can’t get the ziploc to open.

It’s so stupid that something so small as getting my hairbrush stuck on a knot in my hair could set me off into a teeth gritting, foot stomp and shriek. Like wtf? That’s embarrassing. But it happens before I can even think about what I’m doing.

The best way I can describe it is: I’m a bratty toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

But you’re so right tho, your illness doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. It just proves the person doesn’t want to put in the work to get better if they use it as a justifying reason.

BPD might cause my reactions, but I’m in charge of my actual actions. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to recognize that though. I’m an adult now, I’m medicated, I’ve spent my fair share of days in the loony bin. Looking back at my teenage self? It’s horrific and sad. For me and everyone around me back then.

[drachonia]

𝐮 𝐧 𝐚 𝐩 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐢 𝐜 .

Kinktober Day 26 Alfons Sylvatica x OC Insert (Marguerite)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: wooooo smut! 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @candiedcoffeedrops @candied-boys @natimiles 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: getting caught, cunnilingus, double penetration (just not the way you probably thought lol).

There weren’t many things that tasted success when it came to making Alfons Sylvatica happy. But right now? He could easily see himself as the happiest he had ever been. To some, his joy may not have been justified by how basic it was. But simply getting his own house with his lover had twisted his stomach into a cage of fluttering butterflies. He almost felt a skip in his step as he closed the door for the first time since they had moved in. Another mission with Crown, but thankfully one that wasn’t too intensive that he came home that late.

The first hint that felt off to him was how his lover wasn’t waiting in the parlor down the hall. He heard a faint noise upstairs, curiosity getting the better of him as he made his way toward the bedroom, hearing another noise and holding back a chuckle as he cracked open the bedroom door, quiet as he could be to watch the sight of his beloved curled up against their pillows, nose buried in them and one arm pulling the cushions tight to her as her other hand buried between her thighs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she was in such a state. The thought alone made his chest swell with a mix of pride and adoration.

“My my, what do we have here? Is my beloved this frustrated without my company?” He murmured in her ear as he climbed into bed between her thighs, gloved hands drifting over her sides to squeeze her hips and pull her body to his. The gasp Marguerite let out mixed with a slight groan as he gently tugged her wrist from its place against her pelvis, holding her slicked fingers to his lips and running his tongue gently over them, gently teasing each one as though he were savoring a treat.

“Imagine my shock coming home, not seeing my beloved in the parlor to greet me…I don’t know if I can bear that pain, my dear.” Alfons simpered in an exaggerated tone, tuning up the drama enough that his partner couldn’t help but whack his arm gently, her cheeks burning.

“Ah, but to come home to such a sweet sight as her delving her fingers nice and deep between her folds, murmuring my name in such a darling manner,” his lips pressed gently to her wrist as he held her eyes with his, “Now that is a gift, one that I simply must respond to in kind.” He gently pushed her back onto the bed, sinking with her and his hands gently lifted her thighs over his shoulders. Dark hair tickled at her skin as Alfons looked up at her with a mischievous grin, a hint of hunger in his eyes, “Now, let me treat my darling bluebird the way she deserves.”

His tongue started slow, gently running over each inner thigh dangerously close to her center. Light huffs left him as he took in the scent of her mixed with the feel of her skin against his. He longed to feel more, tugging off his gloves with his teeth quickly and pressing his fingers down on her thighs to hold them firm.

“It seems I might have underestimated my desires tonight, relax for me, won’t you, dear?” He rasped, panting slightly as he nipped and tugged at her thighs with his teeth, slowly slipping a finger inside her warmth and groaning at the sensation of her body tightening around that singular digit. Just this could draw that out of her, and that fact made that faint pride in his chest swell just a bit more.

“Mmf…A-Al…!” Marguerite gasped, eyes fluttering shut with every lick and curl of his tongue that teased her in just the right way, only for him to pull away the second he felt her getting close.

Just as she looked down the bed at him to protest, she caught sight of him tugging at his trousers with one hand as he reached into the trunk at the foot of the bed, pulling out a toy that she was all too familiar with at this point.

Alfons held the phallic shape up with a taunting grin, “Now, darling, what do bad girls who don’t wait for their beloved to get home earn?”

“A…punishment?” She rasped out.

“That’s a good girl.” He purred, leaning down to kiss her nose lightly as he eased the firm toy into her warmth slowly. Her lips pressed into a thin line as he slowly pushed the toy against her insides, getting her comfortable before things got much more ‘entertaining’ for them both.

Marguerite sucked in a breath as she felt alfons push himself inside her along with the toy, both lengths stretching her to accommodate them both, “Ah! A-Al!” She mewled, gripping the sheets beneath her and gazing up at him as he steadily pushed into her, smirking as he leaned above her with a chuckle.

“Remember love, this is a punishment. You won’t come for me until I tell you.”

[tokuteasings]

Dating: Kureshima Mitsuzane, Kureshima Takatora

Warnings: Gaim spoilers, Micchy’s VERY questionable behavior...I love these bois more than I love myslef okay???? Don’t judge me, Micchy is also one of my first KR crushes lol. 

Kureshima Mitzusane

Micchy is such a sweet boi okay?? Dating him is a dream. Depending on whether or not you know his background, it doesn’t change much other than where you meet him after school. If you know who he really is, you tend to wait for him at the school gates where he perks up and runs to you with a brisk step, ignoring the stares he gets and the first thing he grabs is your hands. “I’m back, thank you for waiting for me.” he would say, like he’s coming home to you. If you don’t know who he is, you tend to meet him at the Team Gaim hideout and similarly, he perks up way more here. The first thing he grabs when he sees you is…well…you! He brings you into a sweet and saccharine hug that is tight and his cheeks are flushed that he’s showing this to the people around you (Kouta and Mai are fist-bumping and the rest are giggling) but he whispers to you that he’s so glad to see you!!!!

Micchy is also a pretty good cook, and tends to make his own lunches and for you! He brings like these decorated couple bentos to the Gaim hideout for you and him and others pout and whine that they can’t get his cooking but he has extra food for them. You just get the cute and best ones! Sure, he has fine dining experience but Micchy adores more so lowkey dishes that aren’t full of like the best of the best but like…shit that just fucking tastes good. It’s why you often catch him munching on chips or something because he rarely has them back home in his manor. You tend to carry around new whack ass flavors for the two of you to try together! It almost becomes a game for you two, to find new things you both can try and how to react to them lol. Secretly loves it when you feed him even though he’s blushing and dying. 

This isn’t me projecting (it is) but Micchy looks so good in earrings!!!!!! He has his ears pierced and he tends to wear like simple studs but if you have other earrings for him to try out, he’s happy to do so! He actually has a collection of stuff you buy for him, kept locked away in a little jewelry box and sorts them out daily. Shopping trips together always end up going to like some sort of artsy store with handmade earrings and Micchy picking out matching things for the two of you to wear! He’s also kind of obsessed with matching couples things. His fave pair are these grape shaped studs (lol) that you got for him for his birthday! Micchy never fucking takes them off and they’re his most prized possession. You will pry these damn earrings off of his COLD DEAD BODY-

Oh dude Team Gaim is your family now. Dude they have to give Micchy the "talk" and Kouta is just right there sitting down with Micchy, slightly shaking his shoulders and saying: “Treat them right, okay, Micchy? Like, we all trust you but here’s the ins-and-outs of dating. You need to do this and not that-” Listen Kouta sees you as his baby sibling now, he’s going to ask every day if you two are treating each other right. Mai is like your personal hype girl because whenever you and Micchy share like a kiss in front of the others she’s like “Kyaaa~!” and hides her eyes but peeks through her fingers but also she helps you get ready for dates! The entire team has your back now and are those kinds of friends that are like: “GOOD LUCK GETTING LAID TONIGHT!!!” or “YEAAAH YOU GET ‘EM!!!” and are just over the top embarrassing siblings. Micchy highkey keeps dates away from them for a reason because you two will end up a blushing mess. But blushing Micchy is a sight lemme tell ya-

Public affection!!!!!!! He isn’t really shy about it since he loves you ooooh so much but it’s more along the lines of he’s reserved. He does get all blushy whenever you do public affection towards one another but he’s happy to do it! He has this cute n giddy lil smile to him that makes him eager for more! He’ll lean into each and every kiss you give him and it’s so cute?? Like a puppy or cat just trying to never let you stop petting them. He also demands holding hands whenever he goes, fingers laced together. He will also uh, keep you a secret from his brother and family…and in general, he won’t tell Takatora shit so….yeah. He’s very protective of you if Takatora is in the picture. Also you need to give him kisses at timely intervals. He’s better at hiding his poutiness than say like…Kouta but he’s much more direct with it via texts. Sending you little emojis and kaomojis, asking when he’ll see you again.

Speaking of! Micchy is in general, protective of you. Not just because you two are Riders but because of…well…his darker traits. I mean we all saw how he acts. He has half considered taking your belt away in order to keep you out of this entire fight but listen, you are going to fight with him until the fucking end. In the everyday scenario, Micchy tends to put himself between you and whatever aggressor you have. You can take care of yourself thank you very much. It’s similar in battle, really. It’s very obvious that Micchy is looking out for you. He trusts your skills in battle, don’t get me wrong, but Micchy simply wants to be there for you. He has his weapon in hand at all moments, you in the corner of his eye, and shoots down any and all opposition that attempts to attack you. He’s scared of losing you to this invasion, yes, but perhaps even more so because…he had something to do with it. The sins of his brother are his own, in a way. But Micchy sends out praise during your fights together, lil quips to ensure you keep going.

Actually, arguments are going to become a problem between the two of you. Especially if Micchy goes downhill. He’s desperate to keep you safe and this will turn into a screaming match or even a fight between ideals with possible belts in play. Normally, Micchy will need a moment to himself to plot things out and come to you to talk things out. Because he’s a thinker most of all and most of his issues are kept in his head. Half of the time he doesn’t want to bother you with things he’s thinking. But if he does have a problem, he will let you know after thinking it over and how to best approach a situation. Normally he wants to come to the best conclusion with you, looking for a solution. But like this? With his head thinking of humanity and betraying you…it’s going to be difficult. There will be tears shed, hoarse throats and things left unsaid. It’s an almost break-up at this point. You can see that it took a lot of guts for Micchy to do this, and he doesn’t mean to hurt you and but…it’s what he decided. He offers his hand to you, to join him and whether or not you take that hand is up to you…

Back to cute stuff, Micchy enjoys cuddles in all forms! He has to have you in his arms whenever you two are together. He has his arm wrapped around you in some sort of manner, around your waist so he can pull you into a quick hug but hand holding is his fave! Micchy’s fave dates are lowkey ones and sure he may have like loads of money to gift you shit, his prime forms of affection are “words of affirmation” and “time spent together”. Micchy loves private dates and sure he may take you out to eat but most of the time he asks you to pick an idea for a date. Sure he has lived in Takatora’s shadow but is also free to do his own thing, but Micchy loves the lil look in your eyes whenever you get passionate about something. If you ask him to pick a date, Micchy will want to do something chill. Maybe a walk in the park or an arcade romp together if he’s feeling frisky. Study dates can also be a thing if you two make it possible! Kisses are his reward please and thanks!

Slow dances between you two are…well…something Micchy secretly adores. Sure he dances extra hard whenever you watch Team Gaim dance and has a kiss from you before each and every session! It’s like a “break a leg” but in the form of a kiss. Those are hyped up and full of excitement but here? With you in his arms, dancing to a slow rhythm of a slower song, Micchy can let himself float and relax. He sways with you to a beat only you two know and he can let all of his worries disappear. You’re here with him, close to him. You’re not going to leave and he won’t let you leave. It’s a music to his entire soul, having you against him like this. You’ll do like lil twirls every now and then and maybe Micchy will dip you or you dip him but…just let him have this for a while alright?

Loving Micchy is like a soured wine. You think it’ll taste good but it’s sour to your tongue but finishes off smoothly and it gets the job done right of getting you drunk. Micchy…doesn’t believe he deserves forgiveness after what he has done - done to hurt his friends and you especially. So there is a good chance you two have separated by this point. He just…fades. He doesn’t want to bother you with him and his sorrows anymore, to atone for these sins is something he must bear all alone. But you need to remind him that he isn’t alone. He may grieve alone, atone alone, but you want to be there for him. He’ll cry, sob and keep this uncomfy distance between you two. It’s up to you if you want to forgive him or not, or even stay by his side because he knows he doesn’t deserve you. But even then, it doesn’t hurt to still be by his side. He’s still human, he makes mistakes, and most of all…Micchy is Micchy. It’s going to be a healing process for the two of you but Micchy still loves you, that’s why he had to let you go…

Kureshima Takatora

It’s going to take a loooong ass time before Takatora even dates someone, let alone has feelings! He falls in love slowly and he has so many things to do that romance really isn’t in the forefront of his mind. So if anything, it’s this blurred line between friendship and romance and even Takatora doesn’t notice that he loves you until it’s either too late or Ryouma or Sid points it out. That’s when it clicks to him. It’s those moments when he stays up late just to talk to you, chuckling into the phone or smiling softly through texts. Or just when he’s looking forward to his super rare off-days to be with you and how his eyes tend to wander and wonder to your lips and your hands. It’s when he notices little things about you and buys you lunch or you bring him lunch at the building. It’s the smiles and butterflies you give him or the twinkle in your eyes when you talk about something you like - and it hits Takatora all at once. 

So really, dating Takatora is going to be fraught with difficulty. He’s an exceptionally busy man after all so dates will be very sparse. He will always make time to text you “Good morning.” and “Good night.” he doesn’t send emojis and tends to be rather formal all things considered. But he also tends to send you texts with updates that are short and sweet, or sometimes photos (badly taken lol) of things that remind him of you. Sometimes it’s just the skyline of Zawame City on a particularly sunny day and you may be confused by Takatora. Takatora will just probably say something corny without realizing it (it took him a long time to figure out what to say) “It reminded me of you, bright and beautiful.” or “We should go on a picnic the next time I am off.” just simple random thoughts that flow through his mind. 

Speaking of off-days, those are EXTREMELY rare but there is nothing that is going to get between him and you. Sure he has emergencies but he is always trying to find a way to make up the dates. It’s no secret that he tends to take you to a fancy dinner every now and then and picks you up in his own personal car, dressed in his best suit and maybe a flower/bouquet for you (he’s traditional) and kisses your hand reverently when you come to greet him. Okay sure, you may get some looks but like…Takatora doesn’t fucking care. Let the rumors fly, let the paparazzi come after you (if they try, Takatora will just shut them the fuck up), and let them try to separate you. You’re a power couple. Though at first, Takatora will honestly try to keep the relationship on the down-low. It’s not like trying to keep you a secret (half of the staff are aware already and ship it anyway) but more so love happens. Plus, why the fuck are people trying to pry into your personal relationships anyway? It’s dumb and stupid. So Takatora will take things in stride and of course, protect you from the media whenever possible. 

If you’re a Rider like he is, Takatora personally takes time out of his day to train with you. It’s a date in a way, sparring and all (you’re treated to his gorgeous visage after all and this is an easy way to lead to makeout sessions uwu) and patching each other up afterwards, sharing water bottles and grabbing bites to eat (feeding each other). But Takatora trusts you to watch his back and for him to watch yours. It’s a synchronized dance that only the two of you know and you don’t even need to communicate verbally to do so. But seeing as Takatora has a shield on him, he tends to toss it towards you more often than not whenever you’re in a pinch. It’s not his weapon, not yours, but ours. He tends to also dive in to take hits for you, hiding you behind his shield more often than not. You do the same to him and the two of you cover each other’s weaknesses oh so perfectly. It’s practised ease and almost psychic how the two of you can mold together so well. 

As the traditional man that he is, Takatora tends to keep an arm around your waist or a hand against the small of your back. As such, public affection is a warm sensation that really is kept at a minimum. Though Takatora can’t help but let his eyes dart towards your form every now and then. It’s not so much kisses (other than the occasional pecks in the hallways or his office) but more so existing in the same space together. It’s sort of first nature for him, to place his hand at the small of her back and be a support for you because he’s a support to the city and he wants to help you as well. But if you do the same to him he has this slump to his shoulders, these wrinkles that disappear and he leans into your touch just slightly. It’s tiny little things for Takatora. That being said, you gotta initiate most of the public affection if you want lol. You have to be his support.

Dates are mostly when Takatora needs to leave his mansion. Sure he doesn’t mind staying in but more often than not, he wants to spend time outside with you or some space with you. It’s probably sometimes at your place because there are not many places where Takatora can lower his guard. Your home smells like you, has you in it, and Takatora tends to spend nights there whenever he can. Other than that, dates will consist of hand-holding and long walks in the park, or going to a very quiet cafe and hiding in the most hidden booth. If you two do go to a fancy dinner date, Takatora ensures complete and total privacy for the two of you. But more often than not, dates are your home or out somewhere in nature. He loves going to museums and botanical gardens the most, wanting to preserve human life and its memory as much as possible. Also because he just likes flowers lol. 

Takatora’s love language is time spent together, gift giving, and touch no matter how small it is. What his touch and kisses convey are better than his words or texts without tone. Of course he takes his time spent with you seriously but gift giving is a strange sort of thing. You could think that he’s buying your affections but it’s the little gifts that are full of sentiment that you appreciate. Sometimes he thinks about buying you the most expensive jewelry that he knows will compliment you but he will take a picture and ask if you want it (you decline most of the time) but the gifts are mostly take out foods from places you both like and are balanced healthy meals. He neglects to eat sometimes himself and he appreciates it whenever you show up on his lunch break with actual food for him to eat (or together) and he tends to eat out more often than not. So his gifts are things that are practical like a mug or a warm jacket but more often than not it’s food. 

Takatora’s bed is always so empty and expansive, the weight of the world threatening to overtake him and swallow him into the deep dark abyss. It’s why he can never sleep, or like…doesn’t fucking sleep. He can only really sleep whenever he drinks a little or when he’s straight up dead. Because everything haunts him. His sins, his future, you…what would happen if…no, he doesn’t want to think about it. But he does. He thinks of what-ifs and the dreaded ends and worst-case scenarios so you need to quiet him. It’s why he can only sleep whenever you’re by his side and not in his mansion home but in your bed. It brings him comfort, lulls him to sleep because it’s you. Let him be the little spoon, let him relax, let him just be Takatora - not Kureshima Takatora, not Kamen Rider Zangetsu. Let him listen to your heart and let it lull him to a dreamless slumber. You’ll wake up in the reverse position sometimes, you in his arms and he kisses you awake because he’s an early riser but the moments when you wake up with him in your arms and kiss him awake…or just watch him be at peace…are the best moments. 

Arguments are going to be tough. It’s a calm experience and Takatora tends to keep to himself most of the time. He’s honest so he’ll tell you what’s wrong but he tends to let it…simmer and bubble within him. He’s worried he’ll cause some distress to you in any sort of aspect. The arguments are mostly about him trying to be better or to let you carry his burden too! He cannot do this alone. It’s going to make him crumble one day. They end with a mutual agreement and he makes good on these, to be better for you. It’s going to be a slow process but he’s doing his best.

Oh, loving Takatora is loving an aged and perfectly fermented wine. It gets you fucked up, but it feels so fucking good drinking it. Takatora’s a careful lover and one that wants to go steady once marriage is on the table. Of course, he tends to wait a long time before it can occur. He’s…scared, to jump these lines. But he’s working on redemption. He’s working on bettering himself, bettering this city you both call home. He’s recovering from wounds and scars that litter his entire form and you’re going to grow with him and heal with him. You two are flowers that bloom out of concrete, strong and powerful and nothing is going to stop either of you. You still fight together, do everything together…but Takatora has this weight lifted off of him now. He smiles more, he’s more affectionate, he eventually asks if you want to move into his home or him into yours. He wants to be with you, no matter what. You are his wine at the end of a long and hard day…someone to come home to and relax with. 

[cypreus-and-willow]

2, 8, 29, 43 For the fic asks if u wanna

2. Where do you get your fic ideas?

Honestly, just from random places. I tend to theorize a lot. But sometimes the theories border on headcanon and are kinda whack (hence my other name 'The Crack Theorist') even tho they're mostly based on actual observations. For example, my Digimon Survive Highschool gang came to me when I was wondering abt the job of Shuuji's dad - is he a doctor? A politician?

Then i remembered his dad tells Shuuji he doesnt have the 'qualities befitting a Kayama son'. So I thought well what are the opposites of Shuuji's natural qualities? Possibly strength, ruthlessness, cunning, blah blah. And the stupid area of my brain concludes that his dad works for the mafia. And thats how the Gang AU was born.

As for my non AU fics, I try to stick as close to canon as possible... but they're still centered around some headcanons.

29. What's something about your writing that your proud of?

That they're self indulgent. Ive spent a lot of time, worrying abt word count thinking that its only good if its 1000+ words every chapter.

But now, esp w/ my shorter fics, i try to just write whatever feels right for the story. To let a story end at 300 words because its what feels right to me. Sometimes I sit down to write one memo and 2000 words come out and its fantastic but Ive stopped trying to force that feeling every time I write.

(And also that I can somewhat effectively mix purple and biege prose together even tho ive never heard of those terms until recently)

43. Is there a trope or idea that you'd really like to write but haven't yet?

Coffee Shop AU? Or maybe the florist and tattoo artist? Lol

Im mostly an angst writer. So sometimes I get curious abt what its like to write the cheezy cliche stuff. It doesnt have to be romance, I just want them to be happy.

(I cant believe Pet Shop AU is canon in TokRev - I feel blessed)

Oh, I was watching the first Pacific Rim the other day and wanted to write something on that. That drift compatibility is really something huh?

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip

CW mentions child death

The boy of red hair and twenty years looks up to the sky as a creature of thundering swords swoops down from the heavens. The strike of his blade cleaving the ground in two. From afar, he watches Ifrit crawl with the last of his strength towards the open ground bubbling with grief's plague. Raindrops hang on the tips of red eyelashes. Refusing to blink as the water falls over smouldering rock. There he sees the body of his keeper burning atop the lifeless earth. And remembers the day they drowned his mother. Fire is the essence of life in Solheim. In the temple of Ifrit, his mother taught him the ways of fire. Of healing warmth. Water. Rain. Is the herald of death. “Tianna.” “Yes child?” Though now his height inches over hers, she calls him child all the same. And it gives his heart comfort that some things remain the same. Even in this strange new world where fire burns under the rain and children are taken from their beds to their graves. “Stay with me.”

From the first ever fic I wrote in June 2018 but never published. I wrote like 3000+ words in one night. Also based on a crack theory.

Tho maybe I misunderstand this question...

Spoiler: Aoi slaps Shuuji’s brother while saying "How f*cking dare you"

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 98

Swap Meat/The Poison Sky

"Swap Meat"

Plot Description: While investigating a school, Sam is the target of a teenager's body-switching spell

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died.

"I would like to purchase and alcohol please" this kid who has freaky friday'd Sam is already precious to me. Sorry. This kid...is me when people roughly my age are subtly dropping hints that they're flirting. This kid was already a gigantic nerd (affectionate), but now he has Sam Winchester's frame to match the...giant-ness...i have an English degree...

Look...*I* know Sam and Dean are taking this seriously and aren't bad guys, it's obvious their old babysitter and her husband know that, too, but even if a poltergeist carved "murder (child)" onto my stomach, if i were a teenage girl, I'd be really uncomfortable about having to pull up my shirt to show that to the 26 and 30 year old strange men in my house.

I know this isn't a McDonald's but remember when McDonald's had those salads you shook??? What a weird time...

That kid just hit Sam with a blow dart and knock him out??

This kid has NO IDEA what he's gotten himself into. Also, could this have been a weird loophole to the whole Lucifer Wearing Sam to the Prom problem? If it's not really Sam in there/if it's Sam but not his body? Just something to consider

Sam. These are a lot of judgements...they might be accurate, but fuck you anyway

Why does this kid's dad loo like Great Value Tom Wambsgans?

Is this going to end up being one of those "you better appreciate the brother you have" episodes??

Kiddo...you gotta be way better at being Sam. I wish we could see Jared say these lines, though...

WHY DO THESE KIDS WANT TO KILL DEAN???? Omg...these kids are idiots playing around with LITERAL DEMONS

It was purely a breather episode, which is oddly nice to get with the fate of humanity on the line. Yes we got some small info drops, like apparently, you don't have to be Sam's consciousness to consent to being Lucifer's vessel. You just need to be in Sam's body. Seems worrisome.

"Been On My Mind...": Does it count if it's Sam's body but not his mind??

"The Poison Sky"

Plot Description: With planet Earth choking under the poison sky, the doctor mus stop the Sontarans' threat to the planet

I would have HATED to wait a week to see them get Wilf out of the car.

Evil Martha doing evil things.

[Insert "I've Had Enough of This Guy" meme here re: Rattigan]

I don't like that so much of Martha's time was taken up with jealousy over Rose, and now in order to...I dunno, make it up to her? She's hopping in on a WHOLE bunch of Donna's adventures. And I know part of that is David getting ready to leave, too, but still...5 out of 13 episodes Donna gets without someone who is, was, or will become important to the Doctor tagging along. 4 if you count the fact that Peter Capaldi's appearance in The Fires of Pompeii gets added into the canon of the Twelfth Doctor.

Literally every fucking time this fucker opens his mouth, I feel like he's an Musk stand-in but from like 2 years after twitter launched. His tantrum over how clever his is after everyone from his institute leaves, everyone he chose to continue the human race after the Sontarans killed everyone else. He had a MATING PLAN AND THOUGHT THAT WAS NORMAL.

Moms fucking HATE the Doctor lol

I love how much the Doctor believes in Donna <3

YES YES YES, GIRL. Whack the Sontaran with a fucking hammer

NOT THE "ARE YOU MY MUMMY?" REFERENCE

This...probably shouldn't work exactly the way it is. I'm no scientist, but I feel like setting fire to even just one toxin overtaking the whole Earth's atmosphere would have a much larger effect

The Doctor saves the whole day, avoids dying, and Donna hits him upon seeing him again. Love them

I'm gonna cry SO MUCH at the 60th anniversary special, won't I? I just love Wilf a lot.

[whatisshelties]

Random dog angsting/progress?

I really want to play agility with Mud again. :( I don't think I'm going to push for it full time but ugh, there are so many dogs that look less sound than Mud and run on a regular basis. I still have to work through his crating stress, but like, I need to do that for any sport at this point. :( Well....there are online options for NADAC so we could do that if I can't get over the crating bs.

It really frustrates me that his body is so....delicate?????? It's ridiculous how easily he gets out of whack. He doesn't look awful right now and actually has pretty good posture for fitness exercises, but his weaves were wonky today. I have no idea if it's surface though, because my ground is way rough, rocky, and filled with weeds that can have prickles. I'm curious to see how his back is doing, since we've got a massage this week. I'm pretty sure the back is from he and Anza playing, since they both had ouchie backs. Mud's back has been pretty good most of this year, so that's the big change.

I'm still so torn on if I want to get another dog soon. Like, I want another dog to play sports with, but they are pets first. So the home situation is what we're doing 95% of the time, and what matters most. I really do think Anza is a lot more comfortable now that it is just her and Mud. She's acting more like a "normal" pet dog and not spending as much time alone in her crate. She enjoys training and is participating a bit more in toy and personal play/interaction with me. She actually slept in my bed most of last night!!!!

Mud has been like "wtf is this" when Anza's in the bed, but he would need to acclimate to that if I were to get a new dog. Sometimes I think he'd need more work than Anza to accept a new dog. So much has me leaning towards not getting another dog in the near future. I just don't feel like dealing with this. My mom told me she actually kind of likes having one dog, though she still really misses Anza and thinks Sasha would like to have another dog to play with.

And on the next dog front, if I did end up getting another dog in the near future, the rescue I have a hold on actually would probably fit my current "budget" better, lol. She's spayed/vetted and will have had some foundation training. A puppy is gonna be multi-k to purchase, then I have to alter them if I want to do that, and vet them and everything. I don't think I've got the cash for that right now. I'd probably need another year or two to save up for a puppy.

Which with my current feelings/situation, honestly probably is the best thing to do. That said, it's tough, because a 1-3 yr old is what I would like to take. You have passed the puppy bs and you know if they're physically sound. I also have respect for the rescue owner's evaluation of dogs. Though there are a lot of young adult shelties around here that need to be placed, so maybe that's an option, too.

I can't remember if I've word vomited about some of these points before, but I felt like doing it. Especially because it's like, I'm angsting about this, but also Anza is like...making some progress? It's tough because I don't want to halt or undo her progress. She really doesn't have any realistic options if she can't stay here. And all for what? So I can throw money at dog training/events? (They are fun. And that's been my social outlet for 20 yrs.)

I keep thinking this: "Why can't dogs just be fun?"

[donuts4evry1]

turns out one of my friends is afraid of jellyfish so i'm trying to help xem out a bit, do you have any suggestions on cute + harmless jellies i could show xyr? other than the obvious moon jelly lol

in lieu of me not being on my laptop right now, I've compiled a list of harmless looking jellies in nonthreatening positions to help you and your friend on your journey :)

The first types of jellies I'd like to recommend are Rhizostomeae jellyfish, which have relatively mild stings and short oral arms, absent of long tentacles, and thus look nonthreatening (though I'd recommend showing shots of them from the side- Rhizostomeae means "many mouths" and they can look kind of scary from a bottom view)

Here are some examples!

From top to bottom:

Cauliflower Jellyfish (Cephea cephea), Fried egg jellyfish (Cotylorhiza tuberculata), and Cabbagehead jellyfish (Stomopolus melagidaris)

We also have the famous Palau jelly (Mastigias Papua), which is even more nonthreatening and cute thanks to their mild stings, if any, and the yellow zooxanthellae that lines their body, giving them food

At the end of the Rhizostomeae category we have the Upside down jelly (Cassiopeia sp.) and this specific picture of the Flame jellyfish (Rhophilema esculentum)

I suggest showing xem exclusively side views of these jellies, as a full view of their oral arms is probably a little freaky, ehe...

The flame jellyfish usually only looks pretty scary but this particular one (paired with the caption "Orphan no parents") makes me pity it quite a bit, lol

I'm going in assuming that your friend is scared of most "conventional types of jellyfish", so I'll stay away from Sea Nettles and Lions manes (they do have numerous, long, and painful tentacles anyway)

Comb jellies (specifically the Lobed and Beroe varieties) are also a great option, granted you don't tell xem the creepier parts of them. Comb jellies are also aggressive proponents of queer rights, constantly displaying the rainbow with the movement of their cilia and many being simultaneous hermaphrodites (or male and female at the same time). These guys just don't do gender.

They also have no nematocysts, instead trapping prey with "sticky trap" cells, as Lisa-Ann Gershwin likes to call them.

Now for the final stretch, I'll show you some Hydroazoan jellies (categorized by the numerous peripheral tentacles on their bell, much like a moon jellyfish). They can vary on how scary they look, so I'll just put the nonscary images I have readily available to myself

Here, we have the freshwater/peach blossom jellyfish, found pretty much worldwide, and the snow globe jellyfish (a picture I took myself at the monterey bay Aquarium ehe 😎).

I think they're just cute, haha.

One last jellyfish for the road:

This one's a screenshot because the phone I took it on doesn't save files as png or jpg for some reason?? Whack. Anyway this is a juvenile purple spotted jelly (Chrysaora colorata), classified by the darker spots, small oral arms, and a lack of peripheral tentacles. It's just,,, a lil baby... I love it.

alright, I think that's all I have for now, but I'd like to add some words of my own ehe:

Jellyfish are, regrettably, creatures that aren't often conventionally attractive. Their movements may be rhythmic and hypnotic, but some are off put by the tentacles and their toxicity. I compiled the list with criterium such as "short tentacles" or "small body" but the reality is that the term encompasses an extremely diverse group of animals, and they can be quite freaky or scary.

I don't blame your friend for xyr fear. Jellyfish can be dangerous, and touching them is never recommended (unless you're me, bc you know most of the venomous jellies already lol /j). In that sense I kinda feel a kinship with them, since I don't really like being touched either (sometimes I wish I had deadly venom to prevent other people from making unwantef contact with me ehehe). Anyway, these are definitely species that are a "look, but don't touch" kinda deal.

Still, even just a surface dive in jellyfish lore (ugh, can't believe I'm saying that) makes you step foot into a surprisingly interesting and foreign world. Invertebrates are infinitely interesting, and jellyfish, being one of the oldest, are sure to reveal hidden powers and abilities that one would not even be capable of fathoming.

The optimistic side of me hopes that your friend overcomes xyr fear of jellyfish, but at the very least, I hope that xey can learn to be comfortable with the idea of jellyfish, haha.

[seiyasabi]

Bulls in the Bronx

(So…. long story short, I’m now a hucow simp. Thanks a lot @/biskywrites and @/dark-side-blog2 for making me this way (ﾉД`) lol, all jokes aside, I wanna suck some tiddy milk from a buff man ;)) Anyways, this is Yandere Hucow(Hubull?) Bokuto x Fem Reader ;0 This fic allows me to flex my farming knowledge lol, bc my grandparents owned ponies and dogs. 

TW: !Noncon!, !dubcon!, creampie!, he hits you twice!, somnophilia!, predator vs prey?, manipulation!, cumflation!, breeding kink!, size kink!, ur a farmhand!, lactation!, tiddie sucking!, Asshole farmer Ushi, etc.. 

Please don’t proceed if any of the above are triggering! Also, sorry if Bokuto is too OOC lol) 

“Bokuto got into the lackweed again,” You can’t suppress the laugh that explodes from your mouth. The idea of the biggest hucow (hubull??) on the ranch freaking out (again), because he’s now dripping milk is hilarious. 

“Where on Earth does he keep finding those damn weeds?” The other farmhand laughs as well, stooping down to fill two buckets with water. 

“I think those grass seeds were cross contaminated, the other hucows also started to lactate a lot more than usual. But, it’s kinda funny that our best breeder is dripping like a heifer,” Chuckling in acknowledgement, you can’t help but feel a pang of pity. Poor Bo, he’s probably really self conscious at the moment. 

“Maybe I should go check on him-” Your coworker almost drops the bucket she’s filling, looking up at you as if you just grew three heads. 

“Why would you do that? Did you forget that he’s going in rut soon?” Frowning, you glance down at the floor in mild shame. 

“Well, yes, but he isn’t supposed to start until next week! Plus, I’m not ovulating right now, so I won’t trigger him,” The other girl thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly. 

“I suppose it’d be fine. If anything, he may calm down if his favourite handler is there,” Nodding, you grab two buckets from the shelf beside you. Squatting down next to your coworker, you place a bucket underneath a faucet, turning the circular handle to the left. A gush of cool water rushes out, quickly filling the plastic pail. Quickly switching it out for the empty one, you wait a few more moments, before turning off the rushing water. Grabbing the handles of the buckets, you lift them whilst standing to your feet, using your legs instead of your back. 

Nodding towards the other girl, you bid her farewell. Turning on your heel, you tromp towards the bull pens. The large red barn is quite a far distance from the shed you were once in, causing you to break out in a light sweat. It doesn’t help that it’s mid spring, causing the farm to be quite warm. 

Setting the buckets down on the dirt ground, you wipe your brow with the back of your hand. Huffing out a deep breath, you quickly move the concrete slab keeping the barn closed away from the sliding door, before shoving it open. The sound of the cowbell on the red and white door handle on the inside clinks noisily, queuing a symphony of deep ‘moos.’ 

Picking up the buckets with bent knees, you hurry inside, relishing the feeling of the barn’s fans on your sweaty skin, “Hey guys, is the barn cool enough for you?” Grumbles and shifting of large bodies are all you get in response, causing you to laugh, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gunning it for a certain grey haired bull’s stall, a bright smile makes its way onto your face, “Hey, Koutarou, how’re you feeling?” 

He’s currently laying on his bed of compact hay, tears sliding down his handsome face. His cute ears are droopy, his bell earring not jingling with life like normal. His tears drip between his septum piercing, and drop onto his well defined abdomen, “Not good, (Your Name).” 

With a small gasp, you set down the pails rather harshly, some of the cool liquid sloshing onto the wooden floor. Hurrying towards him, you sit on the prickly ‘mattress,’ “What’s wrong? I heard that you’re lac-” A small sob leaves his lips at your words, causing you to grab his hand reassuringly, “Are the other guys making fun of you? I can go yell at them if you’d like!” 

The buff bull-man sits up, one arm covering his chest self-consciously, “No! They’re not being mean,” He grips your hand almost to the point that it’s painful, “I-it’s just… my chest hurts, real bad.”

Nodding in understanding, you motion towards his covered pecs, “Let me see, Bubs. I’ll see what I can do.”

His face flushes bright red, “But it’s embarrassing!” You shush him sweetly, releasing his hand to coax his arm away from his chest. 

“It’s okay, I won’t make fun of you! I just wanna help you,” After a moment of hesitance, he obeys, revealing his swollen, red nipples. 

The area around his nipples is raised as well, showing just how much his milk is backed up. 

Eyes softening even more, you delicately rub both pecs, “You’re alright, Bubs. This happens to the cows sometimes when we don’t milk them as much as we need to. If you’d like, I can go find a pump!”

“No! I don’t wanna pump!” You jump slightly, and move away from him, only for his hands to trap your own to his chest. More tears gather in his eyes, as he becomes distraught, “I don’t want my milk to go to waste!” 

Taken aback, you nod, although you don’t understand his reasoning, “Kou, why’re you acting like this? You know we don’t get rid of milk, we sell your guys’ milk at the market.” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t want you to sell it. I want you to drink it,” The look of shock on your face is mistaken as disgust, causing him to cry even more, “Do you think I’m weird? Why do you look like that?” Seeing the bull act so sensitive is adorable, but you feel as though you have to comfort him.

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m not weirded out, I’m just surprised. I’ll go get a bucket-”

“No bucket!” Sighing at his weird behaviour, you cock an eyebrow at him. 

“Then how am I supposed to collect it?” A big grin crosses his teary face. 

“Drink from me! I promise I’ll be good!” Shifting in discomfort, an anxious sweat starts to form on your brow. 

“Ahaha, that’s funny, Kou. You know I can’t do that,” More tears well up in his eyes, squeezing your heart painfully, “Don’t look at me like that, Bubs. I don’t think your owner would like me getting so close-” 

“I don’t mind,” Ushijima’s voice booms throughout the barn, scaring the living daylights out of you. Whipping your head around, you make eye contact with the large male, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, “As long as my star bull is happy, I’m happy.”

Kou releases your hands, only to grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “See! He doesn’t care! Please, (Nickname), please help me! My udders hurt so bad!” 

With Ushijima’s eyes on you, and Koutarou’s sad and pain filled face, you finally relent, “Okay, okay! Don’t freak out, Bubs, I’ll help. You just gotta let me go.” 

He releases you quickly, before shoving your head towards his chest. The jingling of his earring is heard, telling you that his ears are no longer pressed down on the top of his head. You hear heavy footsteps walk away from his stall, probably gathering the bulls to let them graze outside. 

You try to push away from where your head is being smushed, but the bull gives you no leeway, “Why aren’t you drinking?” The male practically whines, as you whack his shoulder lightly. 

“I’m being smothered in between your tiddies, Kou,” You chuckle in slight discomfort, but he finally allows you up. Moving towards his most swollen nipple (the left one), you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, causing a small stream of milk to come streaming out. 

A small moan leaves the large man’s lips, as he shoves you once again face first into his chest, “Don’t tease, (Nickname), I feel like I’m dying!” A flash of empathy goes through your heart. 

Removing your hand from his nipple, you take a deep breath, and latch yourself onto him.Your chapstick covered lips are soft against his sensitive skin, causing him to keen. When you suckle, a tidal wave of milk bursts into your mouth. Luckily, it doesn’t taste very bad; his milk tastes like vanilla, causing you start to slurp it up like a babe. 

Your one hand kneads his other pec to soothe him, “Fu-fuck, you’re making me feel so good!” You don’t bother trying to say anything, instead, you just suck harder. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his tit that you’re currently nursing on, causing him to pump out more of his yummy milk. 

After a few long moments, you release his nipple. A drop of milk trickles down your chin, which the large bull laughs at. A thick finger wipes off the excess, pushing itself into your mouth. A tender look is in the grey haired man’s eyes, as he kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you, pretty girl. Can you do the other one, please?” Now that he’s no longer in a painfilled state, he’s back to his normal, boyish self. Nodding, you lick your lips, before latching on to his other nipple. He barely chokes back a moan, his hand gripping the back of your head. 

You suck as hard as you can without hurting him, pretending his nipple was a straw to a thick ass milkshake. Between your massaging and sucking, his teat no longer feels as painful as it once did. 

Pulling away, you give him a wry smile, “There, all better. Well, I should pour your water into your trough now,” Standing up with wobbly legs, you move towards the filled buckets. Picking them up one by one, you pour it in with unsteady hands. Why are you so shaky right now? “Well, I should get going now. I hope you feel better later,” You try to walk out of his stall, only to be yanked back into Bokuto’s lap. Both empty pails fall to the ground unceremoniously, clattering loudly through the empty barn. 

“Don’t leave me, Lovely, I need you,” His warm skin against yours feels nice, and you suddenly feel sleepy. 

“Kou, I’m tired. I think-I think I’m gonna take a nap,” He runs his fingers (through your hair/over your scalp), tantalising you into drifting off. 

“That’s alright, (Nickname), I’ll watch after you,” With a muffled ‘Mhm,’ you fall into a deep slumber. 

-

When you awoke, you woke to your body shaking. Brow furrowing, you blearily open your eyes, only to see a tuft of grey hair in between your bent, spread legs. 

His long tongue is currently fucking in and out of your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit. 

“Ku-Kou? Wha-“ He looks up immediately, a look of shock on his strong features. 

“I-It’s Not what it looks like! I-I just wanted a taste!” You groggily push at his head, catching his ears slightly, causing a small jingling to sound throughout the empty barn. 

“You didn’t ask, why, why are you-“ He grabs your hand, kissing each knuckle with a slobbering kiss. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Let me make you feel good! You taste so good,” You yank your hand back, trying to kick off the hand that currently wrapped around your right thigh. 

“Get off of me! Bokuto, you-you’re doing this without my consent! I thought we were friends!” You shout, pushing at his face harshly. He grabs one of your hands, trying to kiss it, only for your other to clap him upside the face harshly, “Don’t! You’ve already done enough.” 

Kicking him away (even though he’s much larger and stronger than you, meaning he just moved away), you stand to your feet, pulling back up your halfway down jeans and panties. 

Snatching up the buckets previously discarded, you don’t even shoot the crying bull a glance, just turning on your heel, and stomping away. 

Tears of your own drip down your face, humiliation and betrayal weighing down your aching heart. 

Forcefully sliding open the barn doors, you run from it, catching the eye of a certain green haired farmer. 

It seems Bokuto fucked up. 

But that’s okay, when he goes into rut, there’ll be nothing keeping him from breeding you full of his massive calves. 

-

You avoided the bull barn like the plague for the next week. The hucows are very pleasant company. They treat you as if you’re their young, making you feel well loved. 

That is, until Hachi asked you why you’ve been avoiding Bokuto. She’d told you that he hasn’t acted the same, in fact, he’s acted depressed and withdrawn. 

Since then, you’ve stuck with aquatic life. The fish, swans, and ducks don’t give you that much trouble. 

But, when you come back from the pond and fish pools, the farm is ensued with panic. Apparently, Bokuto’s finally gone into rut. 

And, unfortunately for you, he’s on the prowl for you. 

So, when your coworker runs up to you, begging for you to calm him, you turn on your heel, and start walking back towards the pond. They can figure this out themselves, you’re not going to sacrifice yourself to someone who tried to take advantage of you. 

Sadly, that doesn’t work out. 

You’re immediately stopped by Ushijima, his broad form blocking you from advancing forward, “Where do you think you’re going?” His arms are crossed, an angry scowl on his usually handsome features. 

“I forgot something at the pond,” You lie, smoothly, “I’m going to go grab it real quick-” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” His strong voice booms, “What you’re going to do, is march yourself into the barn, and make my prized bull happy.” 

Your own scowl forms on your pretty face, “I will do nothing of the sort. Interspecies sex is illegal! You can fire me for all I care, I’m not going in there!” You try to move around his large form, only to be manhandled into a chokehold.

His left arm is wrapped around your neck, your back to his chest, and your face being held in a large hand, “Interspecies sex is legal when a human and hybrid are mates,” He hisses through gritted teeth, and you struggle in his hold, “If you don’t go in there, I’ll drag you in.” 

“Fuck you,” You spit, “I’ll fucking castrate you!” You kick backwards, landing a solid hit on the large man’s groin. With a loud yell, you’re let go, allowing you to run towards the farm’s parking area. Pulling your truck’s keys from your pocket, you haul ass, not bothering to look behind you. 

The barns and sheds fly past you, as you run through the open field leading to the car park. You suddenly hear loud footsteps follow after you, and you assume that it’s Ushijima, that is, until you hear them, “(Nickname)! (Nickname), where are you going? Why are you running away from me?” Bokuto’s voice rings out at top volume, hurting your ears. His voice a lot more gravely than before, and without looking at him, you know that he most likely looks crazed. 

You don’t respond, trying to pick up the pace. You click the unlock button one time, only unlocking the driver’s side door. Because you had a head start, you cleared the field in less than three seconds, allowing you to hop into your truck, and lock the doors. Shoving the key into the ignition, all whilst buckling your seatbelt, you press on the brake, and turn it, only to hear the spluttering of your failing ignition, “Come on! Don’t do this-” Bokuto slams into the driver’s side door at top speed, rocking your large vehicle harshly. His hands and face are pressed against the window, his expression looking like that of a kicked puppy. You then notice the fact that the buff male is completely naked, his impossibly large cock bobbing against his toned stomach. 

“Why are you trying to leave? I need you so badly, pretty-pretty. Why don’t you open the door, and we can figure this out? I promise I’ll make you feel good, after all, us bulls pride ourselves in taking care of our mates,” You cringe in disgust, not bothering to answer him. Instead, you continue to fiddle with your ignition, muttering expletives under your breath. His large hands start to beat on your driver-side window, trying to gain your attention, “(Nickname), come out already! Ushi already cut your fuel line, so you’re not going anywhere! Come on, I just wanna make you feel good-”

It was your turn to cut him off, “Shut up! We aren’t friends anymore, Bokuto, much less lovers! Just leave me the fuck alone! I’m sure many of the cows would love to help you through your rut, why can’t you just ask them?” Tears of frustration dot your eyelashes, as you pop open your glove box and search for your phone. Catching sight of the black cased (phone type), you snatch it from its confines with a loud ‘Aha,’ “Don’t make me call the Farmer’s Union, Bokuto. I’ll report you and Ushijima for-”

“You won’t! You love me too much!” His frantic words raise in volume, as he hit the glass even harder than before, “You wouldn’t put me down! Come on, (Nickname), why won’t you call me ‘Bubs’ anymore? I love you!” You swipe open your phone, and go to the contacts. Pulling up the Farmer’s Union phone number, you go to press ‘call,’ only for the shattering of glass to halt you. 

You scream in both fear and shock, throwing up your hands to protect your face. This, in turn, causes you to drop your phone. In this time, Bokuto is able to grab you by your arms, and drag you towards the broken window. Your seatbelt keeps you in place, causing him to pull you even harder, and making you scream in pain. 

You use your arm to whack his against the broken glass on your truck’s window area. He releases you in a moment of pain, allowing you to unbuckle yourself, and throw yourself to the passenger side. Once there, you unlock the door, and bolt towards the road. 

“(Your Name), come back here! Stop being so difficult!” You pay him no mind, a few meters away from the busy road. Noticing a car speeding towards the area you’re running to, you push yourself even harder, trying to throw yourself into the road. Unfortunately, you’re grabbed by two buff arms that encircle your waist. They use all of their strength to smash you into their chest from behind, knocking the air from your lungs, “Are you crazy? You could’ve been hurt!” You thrash and try to bite at him, causing Bokuto to backhand you across the face, “Now look what you made me do! If you’d been good, I wouldn’t have had to do that!”

To be completely honest, you’re in shock. Bokuto has never raised a hand at you, and that slap wasn’t a warning tap. No, that was him using a good majority of his strength, causing your cheek to throb painfully. 

You continue to thrash and curse after freezing for a moment, drawing the eyes of concerned coworkers, “Let go of me! What the fuck is wrong with you? Put me down!” You try to kick him in the junk, only to kick him on the inside of his thigh. In retaliation, he backhands you again, this time on the other cheek. Gasps and whispers are heard from those around you, drawing the large hucow’s eyes. 

“There’s nothing to see here, guys! Just my mate making a scene,” He shakes you a bit to shut you up, causing you to become disoriented. The farmhands and other hybrids look like they’re about to step in, only for Ushijima himself to show up. 

“What Bokuto said is correct,” His harsh gaze is on you, his hand gripping his dick, “She’s just making a scene. Let them through.”

They reluctantly go back to their business, as Koutarou guns it to the empty bull barn. Ushijima only watches as you’re dragged to the large building, as tears drip down your face in fear, and his fist at his side clenches in fury.

Stomping into the barn, Bokuto makes quick work of getting to his stall. Once inside, he tosses you on the hay mattress, and straddles your waist. With pawing hands, he rips your t-shirt and jeans off of you, leaving you in your bra and underwear, along with your boots and socks. Yanking off your boots, be tossed them out of his ‘room,’ as you try to throw punches at his muscular chest. He grunts, but doesn’t stop. 

With beefy fingers, he yanks off your bra, ripping it in two. Your tits jiggle at his harsh movements, making him lick his lips in enjoyment. He then rips off your cotton panties, exposing your cunny to his hungry eyes. 

“You’re beautiful, pretty-pretty. I can’t wait to see you stuffed with my calves,” You shake your head no rapidly, pushing his hands away from where they rest on your hips. 

“No! Stop it, Bokuto! I thought we were friends!” He tightens his grip on your pelvis, forcing your legs open. 

“That’s Not my name, (Nickname), you know that. Now, you know that I’m way more than just your friend-I’m your mate, and you know that I’ll provide for you and our calves,” With grubby fingers, he rubs at your clit, trying to draw a good reaction from you.

You squirm in response, trying to wriggle out of his one handed grip. You shove at his chest, but he remains unmoved, choosing to press down harder than before, “Stop it! Let me go!” 

He inserts his middle finger into your moist cunny, forcing it in and out. You try to kick him in the head only for him to catch your leg with the hand that previously held your hip, “If you wanted me to eat you out that bad, you should’ve just said so, pretty girl,” Before you can refuse, he throws your legs over his shoulders, and dives in. 

His long tongue fucks in and out of your hole, one of his thumbs rubbing your clit. A loud whine escapes your throat before you can stop it, making you feel a wave of disgust for yourself. Bokuto shouldn’t be making you feel good, he’s assaulting you, after all. 

But, when his tongue brushed against your g-spot, you can’t help but convulse in pleasure. Thighs quaking, you try to stop yourself from cumming. 

“St-stop! I’m, I’m gonna-“ He stops before you can cum, instead, pushing your hips down to where his cock lays against his abs. Forcing the bulbous head against your tiny hole, he pushes harshly, trying to fuck into you like an animal, “No! No! You’re too big! You’re going to tear my-“ With one powerful thrust, he forces his way inside, and you can’t help but scream. 

Tears drip down your face at the feeling, your pussy feeling like it’s been ripped open. Bokuto grabs your head, and forces it against his chest, practically making you take one of his pink nipples into your mouth. You’re immediately met with the taste of his vanilla milk, drinking it up as the hucow starts to buck into you at a lightning fast pace. 

Your teeth bite down on his nipple, but instead of being angry, he just moans in lust, “Yes! Yes, pretty girl, you’re taking me so well!” 

His hand that isn’t cradling your head goes to your tummy, feeling his huge length moving underneath your skin. He presses down a bit, causing another wanton moan to leave to both of you. With this thought in mind, he picks up the pace, practically fucking you into unconsciousness. 

Eyes rolling back, your ruined cunny gushed pathetically, coating you and the bull with your juices, “(Nickname), you’re so pretty when you cum,” He continues his breakneck pace, getting close to orgasm himself, “I’m gonna fill you up so good, that you’ll be dripping with my fun for days! Your little womb will be bloated with my fertile cum!” 

You try to speak, but you can’t, just continuing to suck his yummy milk from his teat. Walls fluttering with another orgasm, you feel yourself clamping down on his enormous cock. 

With one last mighty thrust, he seats himself fully inside of you, cumming directly against your unprotected cervix. A muffled scream erupts from your chest, as you feel your womb expand with copious amounts of beeile cum. Releasing his nipple, you throw your head back, a loud cry echoes throughout the barn, as you squirt once more around his cock. 

Now completely filled to the brim, you pass out from the trauma. Entirely exhausted, Koutarou grins down at your bloated form. He rubs your tummy like a Buddha statue, kissing it tenderly. 

“You’ll be a good Mommy, I’m sure of it,” he then trails his hand up your abdomen, groping your right tit, “You’ll look so pretty all milky and filled with my calves.” 

The sound of a throat clearing gains Bokuto’s attention, as he practically throws his naked body over yours. A loud ‘moo’ of warning escapes his chest, even when he notices that the person is just Ushijima. 

“I see that she mates with you well,” His eyes trail over your sleeping face, not straying downwards, “I hope this means that you’ll enter more shows.” 

Bo smiles, “Yes. Now I need to show off, so my mate thinks I’m an eligible male.” 

Nodding, Ushijima turns on his heal, making his way to leave the barn, “I hope your children take after you in strength. (Your Name) is a lot prettier than you are, so maybe they’ll be pleasing to the eye as well.” 

Snorting, the grey haired man’s ears twitch, jingling throughout the room, “You bet she is. She’s perfect.” 

[trulybetty]

My reading the last couple of months has been thrown out of whack and I lost my pace with this series! But I was glad to have some time today to re-visit the bakery! 💕

But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon.

That is Ezra right there!

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?” 

Something decadent like this really feels very much like Ezra. The parallels of the intricacies of harvesting aurelac gems and the trickiness of getting a soufflé to rise successfully is a great analogy with this dessert.

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.” 

He’s not giving up on the nickname thing is he? Lol, I think I snorted at this one.

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.” 

I want to go there. I want to eat this.

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.” 

Going back through this for my reblog, at the time this didn’t stick out really. But now, this makes my heart ache a little knowing the ending.

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.” 

The little hip bump gave me a stupid grin 😄

As did this…

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.”  He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.”

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch. 

I’d just like to be Baker Girl, just for a day… a day where all the Pedro boys turn up in succession of one another.

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.  “I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses.  “You take such good care of me, honey.”  “That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.” 

I’ve never really been one for Ezra, even though I enjoyed the movie. But I may be coming around. 

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

Sobbing in the club.

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.   I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true. 

Even more crying, I want to know his story *scrambles to the poll* I know I haven’t finished the series, but I need to know more about Ezra! 

I mean, I’d love to see them all revisited at some point. This series just keeps getting better and I love dipping into this little world you’ve created and how you dot little references to the original media and stay true to their characters in this setting.

It really is a joy!

You did such a great job leveling the salty angst with the sweetness here and I'm itching to get into more of these visits!

A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you. 

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl. 

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush. 

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention. 

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen 

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?” 

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.” 

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed. 

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.” 

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something. 

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you. 

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?” 

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing. 

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,” 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.” 

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you. 

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?” 

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you. 

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on. 

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.” 

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.” 

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day. 

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.” 

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases. 

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.” 

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. . 

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.” 

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.” 

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.” 

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised. 

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again. 

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile. 

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.” 

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service. 

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.” 

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you. 

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook. 

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.” 

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you. 

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.” 

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods. 

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?” 

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”  

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.” 

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile. 

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.” 

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown. 

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs. 

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.” 

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave. 

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.” 

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head. 

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.” 

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street. 

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing. 

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.” 

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head. 

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.” 

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?” 

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch. 

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé. 

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs. 

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile. 

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.” 

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?” 

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction. 

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.” 

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise. 

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.” 

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection. 

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.” 

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows. 

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.” 

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table. 

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.” 

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head. 

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.” 

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter. 

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?” 

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.” 

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises. 

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.” 

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.” 

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head. 

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.” 

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.” 

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.” 

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong. 

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.” 

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”  

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel. 

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.” 

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.” 

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him. 

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you. 

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!” 

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back. 

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.” 

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.” 

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin. 

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.” 

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on. 

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler. 

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter. 

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins. 

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites. 

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer. 

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate. 

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.” 

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head. 

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat. 

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.” 

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it. 

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?” 

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.” 

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?” 

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue. 

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens. 

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction. 

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales. 

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch. 

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it. 

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.  

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.  

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…” 

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up. 

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.” 

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound. 

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.” 

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven. 

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen. 

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him. 

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.” 

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste. 

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate. 

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.” 

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand. 

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it. 

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”. 

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist. 

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you. 

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses. 

“You take such good care of me, honey.” 

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.” 

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.” 

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.” 

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder. 

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music. 

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.” 

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own. 

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.  

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door. 

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?” 

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins. 

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door. 

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. 

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights. 

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop. 

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?” 

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you. 

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”  

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face. 

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.” 

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach. 

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her. 

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you. 

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself. 

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind. 

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.” 

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.” 

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves. 

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain. 

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door. 

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand. 

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.  

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true. 

Always yours, 

Ezra 

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

[notepadsandtealeaves]

K. Bokuto || Say My Name A Thot’s Thoughts 💦

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | hq tag | m.lists | main blog ||

↠ Requested By: This damned thirst dream that won’t leave me be until I write it out ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: So very NSFW ((*whacks minors on the nose with a rolled up newspaper* No! Not for you!!)) ↠ Chronology: Post time skip. ↠ CWs/TWs: Any applicable warnings can be found in the tag list under the cut. ↠ Betas? Lmaoooooo… ↠ Total WC: 2.3k~

“I know you know it, sweetheart—so say it. Say my fucking name, right the fuck now.”

He’ll get what he wants—even if he has to fuck it out of you…

I want this man to snap my spine like a gd glow stick. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

((p*rn with v. little plot ahead, in case you somehow couldn’t figure that out lol))

💦 Tags: Reader uses they/them pronouns (tho I don’t think Reader’s pronouns actually come up in this? dk how I managed that *shrugs*) | Reader has ambiguous anatomy | Penetrative sex (missionary that turns into a mating press, Reader receiving) | Rough-ish sex (some grabbing of the face, and like he’s really laying into you, but it doesn’t get too heavy) | ((so maybe it’s more ‘hard’ than ‘rough’?? idk, I’ll let you lot decide)) | ((also, Bo’s a lil bit feral in this one, ngl)) | Some dom/sub undertones | ((my subby ass is predictable as hell, so are you even surprised at this point?? lmao)) | A smattering of ✨ ~Size kink~ ✨️ | ((Bo’s a big, big boy with a big, BIG dick, but I digress)) | Use of petnames (pretty baby, sweetheart, that kinda beat) | Also Bo’s got a bit of voice kink—who saw that one coming?? | ((me, I did, because I just made it a thing lol)) | Unprotected Sex because is fic, and is hot in fic. Don’t the thing irl unless you take proper precautions and discuss it with your partner well beforehand, mmkay? Mmkay… | Also what probably amounts to an unrealistic amount of cum, but look—I’ve got my kinks, okay? Lmao | Also, also—potentially OOC Bokuto if you canon him to be soft ‘n’ sweet in bed. He can be, and is a good portion of the time, but like… sometimes he just wants to bully you a bit while he fucks you into the mattress, yanno? | Also, also, also—unintentional cockwarming | Sappy ending because OP is a giant bb that just wants to be loved

“Bo-Bokuto, gods, please,” you damn near sob, the pleasure coursing through the whole of your body setting your hands to feebly grasping at the sheets, your face, and anything else you can reach in an attempt to ground yourself.

For his part the man above you is distinctly unamused, though for the life of you, you cannot figure out why that is–

“That’s not my name, baby. Not when I’m taking you like this.”

Oh. That.

In all honesty, you don’t think anyone can blame you for the slip up—after all, the pair of you were little more than acquaintances just a week ago. Sure, you’d been keeping up a line of friendly banter on those not-so-rare occasions when he decided to grace your little deli with his presence, and yeah you could reliably call him a regular at this point, but still you’d hardly been expecting him to ask you out when he bounded through the door last Friday. What’s more you didn’t think that your very first date would go so well that he would be taking you on another just a few days later, and finally a third one two days after that. To say that the pair of you are speed running your relationship is an understatement, and yet somehow things don’t feel rushed in the slightest.

This is more than likely due to what you’ve now dubbed the ‘Bokuto Effect’.

Said effect seems to lend an air of stability to actions that would otherwise leave you recoiling. And how can it not when he’s just so… him. Kind and sweet, caring and compassionate… You may not have known him for long, but you’re thoroughly convinced that there’s not a malicious bone in this man’s body. This is why you allowed him to follow you up to your apartment tonight, despite it having been technically less than a week of your being together—gods, are you even together? You have no idea as you’ve yet to actually talk about anything even remotely close to that, much less bothered about putting a label on it. There’s no time to consider something that ultimately feels tangential when you’re in the middle of falling at a breakneck speed.

(You can only hope that he feels the same, this quickening that has you casting aside a lifetime’s worth sensibility and letting him in like this. It’s hard to tell when he’s always smiling, always laughing, always keeping it light and bubbly and wonderful…)

In the now Bokuto—no, Koutaro—parts his lips around a particularly vicious looking grin. “I know you know it, sweetheart—so say it. Say my fucking name, right the fuck now.”

You try, you swear you do, but when he’s drilling so deeply into you, his thick head scraping against that one spot with every drag of his thick cock… words become understandably difficult. You slur out something with roughly the same composition as the appellation (you think) but valiant though they are, your efforts are not enough to appease him. The sound of his laugh paired with the glint in his eyes has you shivering underneath him. Who knew he could wear ‘cocky bastard’ so well?

“Aww, listen to you,” he coos, condescension dripping from every syllable. “Cock drunk already, baby? Can’t say my name because you can’t remember it, huh? Well lemme help you out.”

Suddenly the legs that had been tossed over his broad (so, so damn broad—fuck) shoulders are being pushed up against your chest with the whole of his impressive weight following closely behind. Your resulting scream is loud enough that you’re sure to get a noise complain or several, and maybe even a visit from the cops if your neighbors confuse your bliss for a legitimate cry for help. But those are all distant worries, things that cannot find a permanent home in a mind that is far too clouded with lust and a resounding chant of more-more-MORE.

You claw at his back as he bottoms out over and over again, marking territory that you’re not entirely sure is yours to claim; the sounds that are pouring out of you all the while would be mortifying, you’re sure, if you weren’t so lost in the sex fog. For his part, the man above you is just as vocal, with a series of hisses, groans, and chuckles falling past his lips as he works at dismantling you, piece by needy piece. It seems to take him a few moments to remember his original goal—or maybe it’s more so a case of an artist admiring his work—but once he does…

“Kou- “-tar- “-o.”

He fucks the syllables into you, growling them directly in your face each time his hips come to press flush against the plush of your ass and thighs. He repeats it again and then a third time before he palms the bottom half of your face. That he can cover such an impressive area with just one hand should probably unnerve you, but as it stands the size disparity only makes you hotter. You moan into his grasp only to have the sound scale up into a squeak when he smooshes your cheeks inwards with a flex of his fingers. The movement sees your lips jutting and puckering in what you’re sure has to be an extremely unflattering matter, but if he minds the view he doesn’t show it.

“Come on, pretty baby,” he starts, voice surprisingly even (or maybe not, given his job’s stamina requirements), “I know you’re feelin’ good, but that doesn’t excuse your bad behavior. Now say it with me—Kou-tar-o.”

“Kou- Kou—ahh~! Fuck, so good–”

He tuts at that, his grip going that tiny bit tighter. “Focus, baby. Kou-”

“Kou-” you repeat, the breathy quality of your voice reducing the sound to little more than a pant.

“-tar-”

“-tar-”

“-o.”

“-oo-ooo shit!”

When you feel the first brush of his fingers against your sex the only thing that keeps you from vaulting straight off of the bed is the sheer size of him. You’d been so focused on getting things right (on giving him what he wants) that you hadn’t noticed his free hand moving to what little space there is to be found between you. Years of honing his craft has left the thing roughened with thick callouses; they had felt a bit odd against your own smoother palm when he’d held your hand earlier in the day, but feeling them now… The scrape is addicting, adding an extra delicious layer to the pleasure of him working over your core with a precision that shouldn’t be possible as this is the first time you’ve been together like this–

Just yet another result of the Bokuto Effect, you suppose.

Koutaro kisses you deeply then, greedily filling up his lungs with your moans even as he empties out your own. When he breaks away with a growled pant some long seconds later he’s all wide, wild eyes and pouring praise.

“That’s good, baby—fuck, it sounds so good when you say it like that. K-keep doin’ that f’me, yeah? Keep screaming my name and I promise I’ll make you feel so, so good– Gods, you’re so good…”

And he’s as good as his word.

Every utterance of his name sees him taking you harder, impossibly deeper, and faster. It’s a loop of pleasure that is all too easy to fall into; your whimpering cries giving him what he wants as his rolling hips work hard to give you what you need. Sweat darkens the lighter strands of his hair at the base turning the pale silver into something more akin to slate, with the salty liquid occasionally breaking past his hairline to slide down the chiseled contours of his face. Knowing that he—a professional athlete who is in near godly shape—is fucking you hard enough to actually break a sweat is a heady thing, one that draws you yet closer to your end.

With your orgasm so close at hand your brain’s higher functions all but cease. All there is in this moment is you and him and the one word that is left to you: Koutaro.

“Sound so pretty,” he tells you before pressing a quick kiss to your mumbling lips. “Gods, babe, I’m close—so damn close, I– ah-ah-ah shit!” A particularly decadent roll of his hips nearly sees you both shaking apart right then and there, but he pulls back some—just a bit, just enough to draw things out a little longer.

“‘M close,” you tell him a short while later, your declaration sounding more like a lament than anything. You don’t want this to end, but at the same time you need it to if only for your poor battered hole’s sake. “Fuck, Kou, please…”

He softens a bit at that, those molten pools of gold syruping with something tender as he takes in your fucked out expression. “I got you, baby, I promise—you cum when you need to, ‘kay? Do it and I’ll be right there with you…”

This touch of gentleness is well at odds with the way he continues to take your body through its paces, and that dichotomy is the very thing that finally drives you over the edge. You manage to eke out his name one final time, and the choked cry is enough to see him falling into bliss with you. His hips stutter compulsively as rope after hot, thick rope of cum shoots into you. You can feel it squelching out of you every time he pulls back, the liquid gliding warm and viscous over your skin to drip down and pool underneath you in a small puddle that’s only going to get bigger when he pulls out—if he pulls out. It certainly doesn’t seems as if he plans to anytime soon, not with the way he’s kissing you all over your face and neck, the ministrations cut through with praise and little love-drunk giggles.

Once he’s come back to himself, Koutaro flips you both over so that you’re resting against his chest—single-handedly, a thing that’s way hotter than such a simple action should be—with his softened cock still tucked snugly inside of you. You can tell the exact moment his skin makes contact with the cooling wet spot because he yelps before jerking you both over to the left. You’re just as love-drunk as he is apparently because you cannot stop giggling all the while, giddy at the return of the silly antics that had drawn you to him in the first place (not that you mind seeing this other, darker, more mature version of him at all).

He tilts your head up towards him for a short, sweet kiss before asking, “What ya laughing at, pretty?”

“You.”

“Wow, rude.”

“Whatever, you like it,” you tease as you prop yourself up against his chest.

“I mean… yeah,” he concedes with a laugh, “but only because it’s you.”

There’s a tenderness to his gaze that turns the simple phrase into an admission and you find yourself ducking your head in an attempt to conceal just how flustered it’s left you. Suddenly the scar underneath his right pec is the most interesting thing in the world, and you find yourself lightly tracing over it as you mutter out a quiet, “Oh really?”

“Mmhmm.” As the onomatopoeic sound vibrates through his chest and up into you it somehow manages to carry far more truth than something more elegant could ever hope to—because it’s real, because it’s him.

“I like you a whole helluva lot, ____,” he continues on, “and if I’m being completely honest I’m really hoping that I didn’t screw things up.”

That’s enough to get you to look up again, and Koutaro takes in your confused look with a sheepish expression of his own. “Yanno, with all of this.” He gestures vaguely over the length of your still naked bodies. “I, um… I have a tendency to go full tilt when it’s something I want, but that’s not always the move when it comes to relationships—or am I presuming too much in calling what we’ve got a ‘relationship’? I don’t think I am, not with the way you’re smiling, but…”

You swat at his chest and earn another heart stopping kiss for your troubles. The man—your man?—underneath you gives you his signature megawatt grin, though it fades into something softer and more intimate as he regards you.

“I think you’ve already given me your answer, but just to make sure—can I call you mine?”

You trail your fingers over the expanse of his well-defined jawline before cradling his cheek in your palm as you tell him, “Only if I can call you mine, too.”

He huffs out a laugh as he nods a bit before nuzzling into your hand. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Good.”

“Great,” he amends.

“Fantastic, even.”

“Stupendous.”

“Amazing.”

“Wonderful…”

The pair of you carry on like that for a good while, exhausting your vocabularies and arguing over synonyms in between laughter and sweet kisses until rumbling stomachs demand their due.

|| Bonus

Imagine sitting in Bo’s lap while he feeds you your snack of choice. You’re both still nude because why the fuck not, tho he has opted to get you a nice, soft blanket to burrito in. So anyways, he feeding you while you guys are watching something on the television, and he finds said something v. interesting—so interesting, in fact, that the next morsel he feeds you gets shoved damn near into the back of your throat.

Cue him laughing out an apology for gagging you—“I didn’t do it on purpose, baby, I swear!”—and kissing away the compulsory tears that are streaming down your cheeks from nearly having your life ended by a set of ridiculously long fingers and a fucking Dorito or whatever the fuck he was feeding you lmfao…

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

chained, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You ever fuck someone wearing a collar and a chain... that's attached to the hot girl with the demonic grin? No? Just Min Yoongi? In his defense, he really likes a bad bitch.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; yup, there are Marilyn Manson and Slipknot references; D/s smut (fem reader, black leather collars and a chain leash, [a lot of] choking, saliva everywhere, handjob, m-receiving oral, slight edging, hair pulling, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - rapper, sub!Yoongi x goth (also kinda his manager? lol) dom!reader; kinda PWP; Yoongi's POV

--

feel like I'm hexed, yeah, that bitch bad collar on her neck and her ass real fat

Most people would say, “Nah, dude, don’t mess with girls like that.”

Most people would say, “She’s fucking scary, why the hell would you think she’s hot?”

Most people would, but Min Yoongi wasn’t most people.

“I want to play a game.”

He tilted his head. “Then let’s play a game.”

She grinned, wild hair over her left eye. “Yeah?”

The first time he met her, he was at a bar and a woman was chatting him up, engaging him in conversation he didn’t want to be in. Fuck. The only reason he came was to accompany his friends, but they were all much more extroverted than he was and had already wandered off with potentials of the night. He didn’t want a potential. He just wanted a damn shot of whiskey and then he was going to slink into a corner and pretend nobody existed.

He minimized his responses to, “Mhm” and “Yeah,” but the woman wasn’t getting the hint and the bartender was busy. Sigh.

All of a sudden, a short man with a white, mannequin-like mask appeared. The white mask was painted with black streaks. He had stringy, long black and red hair and was wearing black coveralls.

Yoongi and the woman jumped away from each other, disconcerted by the appearance of the strange, tiny man.

“Bartender! Hey, real quick, can you get my friend here a drink?”

And then, fuck.

Black leather jacket, silver hardware. Tight fitted white top, so shredded the black bra underneath was visible. Short black pleated skirt. Ripped tights. Thick black boots with chains. Yoongi felt his eyes widen, looking up and down at this curvy frame. Wild hair, lush tits, juicy thighs, an ass that could put anyone in a trance with the way those hips swayed. Dark makeup, playful grin with red-stained lips.

A black choker with at least eight-centimeter spikes.

A pure white contact lens in her left eye.

“Hey, you can’t cover your face here,” a patron interrupted. “That’s creepy.”

The small man in the mask didn’t reply. The woman in black, however, swatted a hand like she was whacking away a fly.

“He’s part of the entertainment. Buzz off.”

“Oh, yes, you’re the band’s drummer, right?” The bartender rushed over. “Sorry, sorry. What will it be?”

The masked man said nothing.

“Double shot whiskey on the rocks,” the woman replied for him. “Did I get it right this time, Hana?”

A single nod from that stringy head.

“What about you?”

Yoongi jumped, startled the woman in black leather was addressing him. She cocked her head to the confused bartender. “You’ve been standing here ignored for the past ten minutes. I noticed because I was waiting for the guys to suit up to bring Hana to the bar.” She waved her hand. “Come on. Give me your order. I got you.”

“O… Oh. Same thing.”

She nodded. “Ya heard him. And don’t just only pay attention to cute girls, bartender.”

The bartender’s cheeks flushed. “A-Ah, I apologize! I’ll have them ready right away.”

The woman sighed and shook her head, completely ignoring the chatty woman who was making eyes at Yoongi, trying to get near him again. Yoongi pretended not to notice, stepping closer to the short, creepy man. The white mask didn’t move. The woman leaned down a bit because the man was shorter than she was with her height and platform boots.

“Don’t be takin’ nothing with the whiskey now. I’m treatin’ ya,” she chuckled under her breath.

Yoongi noticed the slight satoori. It made her voice a little deep and gruff.

“Shut it.”

She snickered. “Made you talk, Hana.”

The white mask went back to being silent.

She sighed and stood back up turning her attention to Yoongi. “Sorry about my friend here. He doesn’t like talking or people. I’m trying to get him to be more personable. Is it working?”

Yoongi blinked.

“Uh.”

Damn, every time she smiled, he felt a thrill shoot up his spine. White teeth showing, pink tongue peeking out between them.

It just seemed a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.

“I know it’s not working. Can’t say I didn’t try.”

The masked man might as well have been a mannequin with how still he was.

“You’re his manager?” Yoongi found himself asking.

She shrugged. “Kind of? I actually just own the studio space the band records. But I like coming to the gigs sometimes if I can. Good excuse to get a little drunk, eh? Plus, I’m trying to find musicians to rent out the other spaces.”

Fuck.

Was it his lucky day or what?

“I’m looking for a studio space to record my music, actually.”

Her eyebrows raised. “No shit? You wanna talk some business?”

Oh, they talked business to bass and drums thundering the bar.

Later, they talked about some… other things too. What could he say? Yoongi liked a bad bitch. She wore leather, she owned cluster of studio spaces – “well, they ain’t mine, they’re my dad’s, but he’s never here, he’s off gambling and chasing booty, I think” – she gave him a fair price, and she loved to suck dick.

Yoongi didn’t find out about that last bit until later.

Right now, she was clipping the end of a silver chain to the collar around his neck.

It was heavy, probably metal. The collar he was wearing was thick black leather, with a steel ring resting against his collarbones. Yoongi was pretty sure she was doing a number on him. He wore a lot of black, yeah. He liked leather jackets too. But being around her presence was messing with his head and he was pretty sure he was being influenced by her energy. He used to hate his eye shape and his dark circles, but when he saw himself in the mirror with her tangled around him, riding his dick, he found himself thinking he didn’t look so bad after all. He looked good standing with the woman with the white contact lens and the demonic grin.

Maybe he was a little crazy, but everyone was a little crazy. Yoongi wasn’t worried about something like that.

Right now, she licked her teeth with that lithe, pink tongue of hers.

The other end of the chain was connected to the collar around her neck.

“You wanna play?” she drawled.

Fuck, he loved that shit. Her voice got slightly deep and throaty when she spoke in satoori. He wasn’t sure if she noticed it or not. It must be from her father. She mentioned that she had been raised by her dad – “sporadically, he liked to travel and, by travel, I mean gamble and chase ass, although surprisingly he didn’t come back with more kids, so I guess he learned his lesson” – but she was kind of the same way.

Not the gambling bit.

He didn’t really mind it though. She didn’t try to hide anything and he encouraged her to be herself. Plus, no one was getting the treatment he got. Yoongi was pretty sure about that, because when she fucked around, she did it in public. He had to be the one to tell her to take it upstairs and go for the throat.

Alright, not the throat. The dick.

In some way, Yoongi felt that was her way of asking if he approved, because she never took it upstairs and out of his sight unless he gave her the go ahead.

Right now, her tongue extended and wiggled in the air, glossy and slick with her saliva.

He smirked, open-mouthed and with a flick of tongue at the edge of his teeth.

She gripped the chain and yanked him by the neck to her face, crashing that demonic grin to his lips.

Like an injection or a spell, it gave him a rush, the firm leather snapping against his neck, chained to her, both wearing the collars, but she was always in control, always, and he liked it like that, liked the way she traced his lips with her powerful tongue, her saliva his aphrodisiac, before she captured his lips and rolled her body into his lap, skin to skin, moving like a snake, his gasp against her devouring mouth, her bare ass sliding on his thigh, fuck, so sexy, so soft, so bouncy, one hand on his face and another on his shoulder, fingers spread out and tendons flexing.

He liked to say she was the angel that held up her blinding halo with devil horns.

She yanked on the chain and Yoongi sucked in a breath, closing one eye as she licked his cheek, ending with a kiss on his brow. Cold air chilled his wet skin, making him shiver.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”

Pretty sure neither of them believed in a god but it got the point across.

He raised his hand and she smacked his wrist down, pinning it to the bed.

“Nuh uh.”

Yoongi wasn’t really expecting her to let him.

He raised his other hand. It was immediately swatted down onto the bed, her eyebrow cocking.

“Naughty, naughty.”

He cocked an eyebrow back, defying.

She leaned down and snatched the chain in her mouth, tugging on it with teeth and neck, narrowing her eyes. The white contact lens on her left eye gleamed under her lashes. She always wore it except right before sleeping. He once asked her why and she had shrugged.

“Mental security, I guess.”

Now, she growled like an animal.

“Down.”

She looked like she was about to headbutt him. He wouldn’t put it past her.

He lowered himself slowly, her mouth holding the chain taut until he was laying on the bed. She grinned, pleased at his obedience. Yoongi was quite sure that she was probably the closest being to a succubus that he would ever encounter with the violent thrill of arousal she was giving him with those plush lips and white teeth around the silver chain, pink tongue circling around the metal to tease him.

Maybe he was the crazy one for being turned on by it.

She dropped the chain on his chest. He flinched, the wet, heavy metal thudding onto his sternum, right against his pounding heartbeat. She rubbed her thigh against his balls and hardening cock, raising her head, chain following, higher, higher, letting go of his hands, arching her back, tits up, until it was fully taut between his neck and hers, the sides of the collars forcefully digging into his neck and hers. Yoongi did not lift his head from the bed to reduce the tension. Her devilish smile widened. A chain tug-of-war between collar to collar, both of them choking the other.

She lifted her hand and licked her palm, saturating it with saliva.

She reached down and wrapped her long fingers around his stiff length.

Didn’t say he could touch her though, so Yoongi didn’t.

“Think you can last longer than last time?”

He clenched his jaw. “Maybe.”

She pulled harder and he locked his neck and shoulders, clutching the sheets with a sharp gasp, pleasure shooting up his core, firm, strong strokes up and down his cock, fuck, fuck, every damn time, that second of cold as her saliva soaked his skin and then it warmed up fast to hot, slippery ecstasy, hard and getting harder, his pre-cum mixing with her saliva, staring at her hard nipples and juicy hips, knees around one of his thighs, shaking her ass when she noticed him looking, changing the pace, addicted to the feeling of her hands. He could feel the bones and the hard muscle of her grip and, sure, that didn’t sound sexy, but it felt incredible, adding stimulation in that inescapable hold and paired with slickness, choking his cock slightly and he craved every second of it, thighs tense and hard, growling in his throat as he dug his head into the mattress, pulling the chain for all it was worth, lightheaded now, the leather cutting in, probably leaving a mark, locking eyes with mischievous orbs and an impish smirk, the sides of her collar also cutting into the sides of her neck, choking herself as she was choking him while jacking him off.

Black haze threatened the edges of his vision.

He was going to pass out or cum. Yoongi didn’t care which happened first.

“F… Fuck!”

Yoongi snapped his jaw shut and shot up her forearm and down his length, strained groan of her name leaking past his teeth, bolts of pleasure invading his nerves all the way up to his scalp, blossoming into an erotic haze. She snapped her head forward. Oxygen flooded his brain, his jaw going slack with a moan, his eyes rolling back, high so high his whole body shuddered, barely registering her movement, hearing the lewd slurps of her drinking up his cum.

Wet.

Hot.

“Shit!”

Her mouth enveloped his twitching length, burying it deep into her throat, slathering tongue and satisfied hiss, chain clinking against his stomach and hitting his trembling balls, twisting her head so the chain wouldn’t cause any damage to them as she began to suck, flashes of tongue flickering out of the edges of those plush lips, grazing his crotch and scrotum, pointedly staring at him with an arched eyebrow.

She bounced her hips when she noticed him looking, shaking her ass as she sucked his dick.

Yoongi grinned.

His vision was barely focusing, trying to recover from orgasm in the midst of the intoxicating pleasure of her soft and tight mouth, tongue rubbing under the head of his cock, causing it to jerk and swell in the back of her throat and then she thrust it all the way back in there, taking him impossibly deep, sinfully moaning around his cock, vibrating it with lust. He glanced at her hands, fingers spread out and joints locked, tendons flexed, pointed black fingernails clawing into the sheets.

The heat flaring over his abdomen and hips was rising to his limit once more.

Yoongi panted her name, hoarse and breathless, realizing his Daegu satoori was suddenly more prominent in his disheveled state.

“I’m gonna cum–”

She popped her mouth off his cock and he snapped his teeth, snarling.

“You bitch.”

She grinned, wiggling her tongue, thick plops of saliva dripping down and hitting his flinching hips and throbbing cock, the head an angry purple-red from being so roughly stimulated after orgasm. The white contact gleamed alongside the devious glint in her right eye, black pupils blown out, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.

It didn’t matter who was on top because she knew she was always on top.

To be clear, Yoongi didn’t take shit from anyone without a fight. It got him in trouble sometimes, but this particular brand was trouble was the kind he liked. She gave him a long period of two seconds to roll the condom down before tangling one hand in the metal chain and the other in his black hair, pulling both in opposite directions. He hissed dangerously, plunging his hard cock into the wet, waiting heat, scorched by her roughness and his desire, one of her legs on his shoulder and the other around his waist, smacking their bodies together with violent force.

The tip of her tongue traced her teeth, grinning demonically.

“Come on, you said you were gonna play the game with me, Yoongi,” she chuckled, naughtily mocking him, voice deep and rough from her satoori.

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” he growled in kind, low and gravelly.

She pulled on the collar much harder than his hair, but both were equally arousing, prickling pain on his scalp and circulation cut short once again, brief flashes of oxygen bleeding through with his aggressive thrusts, the excess chain knocking against her collarbones, just another layer of sound along with slapping hips and squelching juices, her velvet walls clenching around him with every descent, not going fast so he could last, burying deep and hitting her hard. She winced, guttural growl at the base of her throat and the side of his lips quirked up.

“Too much?” he taunted.

“I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” she grunted, jerking her hips up and brutally squeezing the head deep inside.

“Fuck…”

He knew she wouldn’t let him do anything she didn’t want, so he kept going, her wrist flicking up with every thrust, leather collar snapping into his skin, thinning his breath to gasps at the stinging pain, the hand in his hair releasing him, messy black strands invading his vision, but he had no time to complain, groaning as her nails dug into his back and dragged up, inflamed hot lines that shot into his system and fed his adrenaline. His fists bunched the sheets, locking his shoulders, clenching his jaw, flexing his neck, and now he was being choked again, consistently this time, oxygen thinning out once more, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Her smile sent thrills up his spine and they split at the base of his head, tendrils of vicious desire numbing all sensations except lust, gluttonous for the pain that nourished more pleasure, greedy for everything she forced him to take, too prideful to ask her to loosen her hold, desperate not to give in to her wrath, usually slothful but now using every fiber of his strength to push himself to the limit, high getting higher knowing that anyone would be envious of how good he got it from that fiendish playful grin and hot delicious body under him, collared together in joined sin.

She let out a low moan, basking in him, feeding his need to satisfy hers.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”

He managed to get out half of a breath, staring into those irises, one real, one covered in white.

“Fuck, your voice gets me off every time,” he hissed.

He slammed his hips down and she clamped around his entire length, releasing the chain, both of their heads tipping back, his in the air and hers into the pillows, moans in unison as he shot into the condom and she released onto his twitching length and skin, coating him with slickness. The scent of sex permeated the air, his previous orgasm soaked into the sheets already and hers smearing with it as their hips descended, his throbbing cock pulsed by her flinching walls, her thighs tense around his waist and his hard ones against her ass, making sure to lean forward so he didn’t fall out, savoring every second of their joined bodies.

The hotel room was certainly getting some important use.

Yoongi remembered he had been annoyed when she said he should rent one since the potential gig was rather far away and transportation so late at night was going to be a bitch. He almost didn’t do it, but she rolled her eyes and booked it anyway, triumphant when he sold out the venue. Not a huge venue, but bigger than he had ever performed before.

He still said she had to make it up to him for making him travel farther than he originally wanted.

As usual, Yoongi was not disappointed.

“Housekeeping is gonna be pissed,” she chuckled. “Smells like sex.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“How’s your throat?”

“Pretty sure rapping strains the inside of my throat, not the outside.”

She chuckled. “Now you hurt all over.”

“Good.”

Yoongi closed the distance and kissed that smirk, metal chain sandwiched between their hot, sweaty skin, the steel rings of the black leather collars clinking against each other.

--

masterpost

-

the lyrics in the beginning are from hot demon b!tches near u!! by CORPSE ft night lovell