#WHY. WILL. THIS. BITCH. NOT. PUT. ON. CLOTHES

[theamberparadise]

what would your hcs be for tim/masky and/or toby with a silly reader who is reaaaaally inexperienced but desperately wants to try a bunch of freaky stuff out... what would be their first thing to try? do they like playing a certain role? just stuff like that!!

also your writing/headcanons are bomb. dont die ever

MASKY AND TOBY x SHY BUT FREAKY! READER

SYNPOSIS; when a shy little sweetheart makes a lewd statement, Masky and Toby are taken aback… how do they react?

TW; d3gr4d4t10n, b0nd4g3, embarrassment/humiliation k1nk, sp4nk1ng, sl4pp1ng, ch0k1ng, b1t1ng, bru1s1ng, m0ck1ng, mentions of using hatchets in s3x

A/N; i am going to assume that this was a fully nsfw request……….. To this anon, i genuinely am so sorry

MASKY

You were sweet. Sweet as candy.

You loved Masky fully for who he is. You never hesitated to embrace his rough edges ever so gently like cotton. And when he inches even just a step towards your face, or when his gaze lingers on your face a little longer than he usually does, the pink glow on your cheeks reveals itself and you shuffle a few steps back.

So when you said you wanted to be tied up and ruined by nobody but him, a force blocks his body from screaming into the air, like an animal chained by a leash shaped like silent victory.

The moment you tell him your dark little secret, he is grinning under his mask like a maniac, which he absolutely is one.

Masky wouldn’t waste any time dragging you by your forearm in the bedroom. He doesn’t care if he leaves a bruise. You wanted this.

First thing on his mind is to restrain you. By any means possible. Scraps of dirty clothes? Perfect. The handcuffs in his pocket? Thank fuck he didn’t leave it. Tough rope he brought home after a mission? It would leave scratches and rope burns, but he likes seeing you ruined.

He wants to see you regret everything you said. And he’s going to enjoy it all with a low scoff and a glint in his eye.

His second action would be putting you in a position wherein he’s making you watch everything he does to your body. Masky wants you ashamed, ridiculed. Everything to make you feel dirty, because in his eyes, that’s what you are now.

Third? He wants to see your innocent body swell in pain, marks of paddles used for spanking being imprinted on your hips and ass sets him on fire.

Because if you turn out to be in the same fucked-up things he is? You’re not getting praised. You’re being punished. And Masky? He’s going to make it hurt.

He likes playing this fucked-up version of a teacher that doesn’t tolerate shit. And you’re a rowdy, trouble-ridden student that needs a good session of discipline.

The moment he sees you crying out of pain, desperation, and overstimulation, he spares no mercy. He might even mock you. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, his imitation of a girl's voice sending strings of embarrassment up your spine. “Little bitch didn’t get what she thought she wanted all along? She wanna stop?” your sobs are like heaven to him. Your tears strayed along your cheeks while you frantically shook your head. “No? Don’t wanna stop?” he swears he can’t stop smiling when you nod. “Then stop fucking crying!” your face was met with a harsh slap before he continues fucking you at a mind-numbing pace.

Masky honestly feels betrayed. Why didn’t you tell him you were such a fucked-up whore in need of a filthy fuck session? 

That doesn’t matter now. You can tick off all the dirty little things you’ve always wanted to try, because there’s no stopping Masky from giving you all the experience you need– whether you like it or not.

TOBY

You were an angel to him. An angel who despite all his gnarly scars and unsettling jolts, you still wholeheartedly place a kiss right on his pale, cold face.

He loves the way you blush when he snakes his arm around your waist. He loves the way you almost whine at even the most mundane body contact. He loves the way your eyes water when you’re overstimulated by his affections.

He’s been through a lot of things multiple times and sometimes he can even predict what might happen during difficult situations. But when you admit all your filthy little fantasies to him on a random Friday night, time seems to freeze and the air gets a little too stuffy.

Next thing you know, you’re trapped under him like a caged animal.

Thank god it’s Friday.

As soon as you finish off your bucket list of… oddities. Toby’s body jolts once before turning away from the tea you asked him to make. His head twitches to the side while the gash in his face emanated gentle jittering.

He’s quiet. So quiet. You could hear the crickets croak.

Then Toby beams. He beams like never before.

“D-damn, baby. Di-didn’t know you were into sh-shit like that,” he giggles, a shiver running down your back. “You get under my skin just right, don’t you naughty girl?” and with that, he hauls your body on his shoulder, giggling at your pathetic little hits.

For all his life, he has always been treated a dumb little twitching bastard that doesn’t know how to do anything. And that has extended to his proxy life, with Masky trailing behind him like a leech, sucking out everything Toby has in his body.

So when you tell him you wanted to do the dirtiest things despite not even having your first makeout, it was like divine intervention. No longer was he the rut of the litter. Right now? He’s the rabid fucking menace that was gonna ruin you tonight.

Toby would be the kind of guy that will swear that he’s going to be gentle on you– yet he never is. He would let you take the lead at times, especially if you’re getting a little needy, and when he wants to see all of you.

He wants to try something that can instill fear in you first. Maybe it’s him growling in your ear to fucking behave when you squirm too much. Maybe it’s him threatening to take a chunk of meat off your skin. Maybe it’s him bringing his hatchet into the game.

Then he’d like for you to take the wheel, allowing you to choke him while you bounce on him vigorously, spitting in his face whenever he tries to keep your hips down. Toby hates being told what to do. But when it was you who’s telling him to lick your cunt faster? He’s on it.

And after all that, he would take his power back and leave disgraceful marks on your body, be it his bites, his hickeys, bruises caused by him. He would laugh at your pathetic-fucked out face, mocking at the way you plead for him to slow down and make you cum, only for him to go agonizingly slow and deny your orgasm. “Please Toby, please I’m sorry please go faster,” you babble, watered-down mascara trickling down your temples and staining the pillows.

“Pwease Toby pwease,” he mocks, giggling at your pleading. His hand was on your neck, squeezing so deliciously while your eyes rolled back both in pain and in pleasure while he took his sweet, sweet time on hitting your g-spot. “Come on, baby. I thought you wanted this– unless you’d like me to stop?” you shook your head, frantically saying no, no, no and faster, faster please. Toby snorted, snapping his hips so harshly against your cervic, the tip of his cock throbbing at the new and sudden pace.

In short, Toby is ecstatic. He loves how secretly filthy you are, and while you kept it hidden from him all this time, it makes it as an excuse to go even rougher on you.

[queenofmorningstar]

So….Ya know whenever your able to🥺 Can I request something soft with the Vees like in regards to how they each cuddle the reader, like in regards to how they hold em’ 🥺 they’re bedtime routines etc…ya know the fluffy..stuff..

Poly Vees x Reader

Notes: This can be read as part of my fic, Caught Between the Vees. Thank you for such an ask! Honestly, I wanted some fluff too!

Vox

I believe Vox, on most nights, would spend in front of his screens, so you will have convince him to come to bed. You've tried different things throughout your relationship, and the one that works the most?

"Vox... I can’t sleep without you."

"Hmm? Just a few more lines of code, sweetheart—"

You put on sad expression. "It’s cold without you. And lonely."

Vox immediately stands up. "Okay. Done. That’s it. Fuck the code."

I don't believe he has a bedtime routine as such (he just flops in his bed when he's done), but if you are that kind of person and insist that he take care of his screen/face before bed, he will just stand there all grumpy (while secretly enjoying it) while you clean his screen and put a screen safeguard to make sure his screen doesn't poke you during sleeping.

"Hold still."

Vox crossed his arms, frowning. "I am still."

"You're pouting."

"I’m not pouting.—"

"Yeah, that's right. You're bitching."

"...I hate you."

You grinned. "You love me."

Vox grumbled. "I tolerate you... deeply... passionately... forever."

He has shark printed pjs for bed. (You can't convince me otherwise). As to how he sleeps with you, I'd say he will only cuddle when you're feeling cold. You love it when he is your personal heater. But when you're feeling hot, he will only keep one arm around your waist, Vox just likes to feel you when he's asleep too.

"HEY-hey-why are pulling my shirt? I thought you wanted to sleep."

"Yeah, but I wanna charge my phone, so give me one of your USB nips."

Velvette

Skincare routine with her is non-negotiable. She will drag you to the vanity and make you do your full night-time routine — cleansers, toner, serums, and moisturizer. Vel will do everything and will not let you do anything by yourself, because the only correct way is her way.

“I literally just wanted to go to bed.”

Velvette dabbed under your eyes. “And I just wanted dewy under-eyes, but we don’t always get what we want, do we? OMG don't do that!”

“Do what?” You were literally not even moving.

“You're squinting and making creases. That’s anti-hydration behaviour.”

Her nightime clothes include frilly and sexy floor length gowns that rich wives wear after killing their husbands in movies. She will also make you wear something similar that is comfortable and fluffy but cute too. Vel is a full-body cuddler. Legs tangled, arms around your neck, her face smooshed into your collarbone.

Velvette sighed as she tightens her arms around you. “You’re mine. You know that, right?”

You smiled sleepily. “Mmhm. Even if I didn’t, your koala grip would’ve clued me in.”

Vel will always come to bed with you at night, because that's her reward after working all day. It's very rare of her to skip sleeping next to you. You bet she has the softest pillows and plushies.

Vel barged into the room wrapped in a pink fuzzy robe. “Cuddle me.”

You were already under the covers, half-asleep. “Didn’t you say you were gonna do one last skincare reel?”

Vel dramatically flopping onto the bed. “I lied. It can wait. You, however, cannot.”

Valentino

Val is handsy, clingy when he gets in bed to sleep. He is, of course, constantly in the mood, but if you've told him that tonight was just for sleeping, he will refrain, but his hands will tempt fate.

“Can we just sleep tonight?”

“Sure, baby. Sleep. Snuggle. Grope. It’s all the same to me.”

“I heard that last one.”

Val grinned as he climbs in after you. “Just bein’ honest, amorcito. You get in bed lookin’ that fine and expect my hands to behave?”

“Val.”

“What? I’m just sayin’ hello to all the parts of you I missed today.”

“You were literally glued to my side all day.”

Skincare is on/off thing for Val. He will mostly do it when Vel is present. It's a tiring job, because he likes to take care of his wings too during it. But if you're upto it, he doesn't mind at all~ Even during this, he will not shut up. He will be cursing his whores out. At the end, he will also polish his guns.

You watched from the bed, raising an eyebrow. “Is this supposed to be hot? Because it kind of is.”

Valentino grinned. “‘Course it is. You know I only polish these babies when I’m feelin’ relaxed. Or possessive.”

“Possessive of… your guns?”

“Nah, querida. You.”

“You’re feeling possessive of me… so you’re cleaning firearms?”

Val wiped down the barrel, slow and deliberate. “Mhm. Gotta keep ‘em pretty in case someone gets stupid and thinks they can touch what’s mine.”

You snorted. “You’re impossible.”

I believe it depends on Val's mood what he will wear to sleep - it can be a classy robe one day, or just his underwear the next. His cuddles will be the best - four arms, and he covers you with his moth wings? Absolute warm blanket behaviour.

Val is not early riser, so you know you can't set any alarms, because there's no way you can move out from under him with that cuddle. If you too, are not an early riser, and if someone disturbs you for work, he will shoot whoever is that unlucky demon.

You rubbed your eyes, groggy. “…Was that a gunshot?”

Val's voice came from across the room, calmly reloading. “Yeah. Go back to sleep, baby.”

You sat up. “Val… what did you do?”

Valentino shrugged. “Just handled a situation. Some punk tried knockin’ on the door at six in the morning talkin’ about ‘mandatory work call.’"

You stared. “…You shot them?”

Val casually wiping his gun. “I warned them. I’m merciful, not patient.”

“You could’ve just told them to come back later.”

“Babe. They came between me… and you… and cuddles. What did you expect me to do? Be reasonable?”

You sighed and laid back down. "Nope. Too early for this shit."

The Vees

When they all are available for bed (which happens rarely), it's all out war. Over who gets to hold you.

“She sleeps best on my chest.”

“Statistically false. I tracked her REM cycles.”

“You're both wrong.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t all shut up and cuddle me in the next ten seconds…”

And then suddenly — they pile on. Vox is behind you, long arm draped over your waist, screen dimmed, legs tangled with yours.

Vel takes front position, chest pressed against yours. Val worms his way from between Vox onto your side, leg over your thigh.

Zero chance of escape.

[yeiwo7]

Kiss me and see!

Fluff | Student!Gojo Satoru x Reader

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Satoru HATED how cute you were with everyone. Not the typical cute, like the ones in animes he's seen and mangas he's read before. You are menacing. Terrible. Detrimental to his ENTIRE existence. Yeah, maybe he's the strongest against CURSES that is, not you. Nothing could have prepared him to meet the devil incarnate. Not even special grades are this atrocious.

"Oi, Satoru~" His bestfriend's chainsmoker voice spoke up from behind him. He turned to face Shoko, only looking at her. Ignoring the presence beside her. "stop sulking and take her to the konbini."

"Yeah, she won that stupid bet you made, so please her you big baby." Geto remarked from beside him. Then, the silky vocie glanced over at Shoko, the two share a very obviously dubious knowing look.

Noticing that they're clearly up to no good. You spoke up, worried that they'll desert you with this albino freak. "You guys better not leave-"

"Sorry! Yaga called us to do the report~" Geto chimed, patting your shoulder as Shoko hugged you goodbye.

Gojo was trowing a tantrum of course. The two laughed as they left, walking to the bus stop leaving you to deal with him. Looking over your shoulder to realise that the motherfucker was gone.

You sigh, cussing him out. "That bitch, SATORU-!" Looking left and right, before you feel a presence behind you. Ready to lunge at this whoever, he hugs you from behind.

"Can't leave you alone for a second now, can I?"

"Where the hell were you? Oh, what's that-? Did you steal kikufuku again?" You laughed. Feeling his arms hug you, an offering appears before your eyes. Taking the sweet from his hand.

He whined. "Heyyy~ I was gonna eat that!"

"Too bad~" You hummed, looking around you found a cute convinience store to walk into. Dragging him by the hand. "You shouldn't have placed that bet if you knew you were going to loose, idiot."

Sulking, the pale boy muttered. "Yeah, no shit. Thought I was gonna win."

Dragging him isle through isle, adding more snacks into your basket, discussing whether which ones to buy. One each for the other two, then Gojo added a heap of sweets into the mix. After taking almost an hour in there, he teleported the two of you to his dorm, dizzying the crap out of you and scaring the fuck out of the cashier. Poor guy must think he's hallucinating.

You crashed onto his bed, starfishing onto it as he places the snacks onto the ground and puts cushions for the two of you to sit on. Then he goes to his wardrobe, throws one of his hoodies at you, while he went to go change in the bathroom. You put it one, taking your uniform off.

After taking your pants off, you realsie he did not give you your pj trousers. "Shit, he didn't give me my trousers." Taking the courtesy to walk over and fish through his clothes to find your section.

The amount of times the four of you had sleepovers is uncountable, so you opted to just leave some clothes in each other's warddrobes to lessen the hassle.He came out wearing a leathal black draping t-shirt with grey sweat pants. Walking over to his table to pull out an Uno card deck.

"Alright, pretty girl, I've got a game idea.""I can see that.""Uh, no." He glanced at your ethereal face over his black rimmed glances. Savoring the moment, before reluctently tearing his eyes away to continue his great idea. "We play short intervals of Uno," His veiny hand, slender fingers held the cards effortlessly. With the flick of his wrist, he elegantly walked over to the plastic bag of snacks and sat onto a cushion. "C'mere," he motioned for you to sit on the cushion parallel to his. "and the loser has to eat a snack of the winner's choice." He grinned. Adorning a smug expression, you shift to find a comfortable position to start the saga of games in. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

The two of you played for few rounds. Satoru probably gave you diabetes by the end of round four and this boy was red and dying from the sour and spicy snacks you fed him. By the end of round five, he was dying on the ground like some stepped on cockroach, with his face scrunched up, tongue out with a sour expression, eyes glaring you down. You're probably on his hitlist now.

For the final round, Gojo was sweating balls, slamming an uno reverse down yelling uno, skipping your turn and then he placed his final card down. 

A blue plus four card. 

"HAH! I WIN THIS ROUND!" He triumphantly yelled, hands up in the air in victory. Swiftly turning to find the sweetest, most diabetic looking piece of sweet candy. Cheshire grin cursing his blessed beautiful face. He leaned forward, supporting himself with one hand as he closed in on you. Crawling towards you, sitting right before you, cupping you cheeks to pull you closer to him. 

"Aww, want me to kiss you? You'd cause me diabetes, pretty boy." You joked, laughing at his attempts of revenge. Stunned by your flirtatious behaviour, he sat stunned for a moment, allowing you to crawl onto his lap slipping the candy from between his fingers. Slowly, unwrapping it.

Gojo hid his reddened face behind his pale hands. Peaking through his slender fingers at your beautiful face. Blushing even harder at the way you maintained hard eye contact with him. Just as you were about pop the candy into your mouth, your phone's screen flashed lighting up. Crawling off of his lap, to check your phone to see that it was Shoko calling. 

Now, he was back to sulking Satoru. Mumbling something along the lines of "Shoko you god-sent cockblock."

Placing the candy into your mouth, you cut the call, glancing back at Satoru to see his arms crossed. Just as you were about to address him, the sweetness kicked in, having an uncomfortable reaction in your mouth. "What's wrong baby girl-OW! Fuck, this shit's so sweet!"  Feeling your jaw clench, making a sour face.

He leaned back onto the wall behind him. Arms still crossed, sky blue eyes drowning behind black rimmed glasses. His ears burning up with a peachy colour, he remarked under his breath. "Hmph, my lips are sweeter." Clearly, he meant for you to hear it.

Eyes wide with shock, you laugh. "Excuse me, young lad-WHAT did you say?" He glanced over, eyes scanning you up and down with a knowing look of 'I said what I said, I know you heard me.'

"Heh, can I taste it then? Shouldn't that be my ultimate punishment? Afterall...I did loose the final round~" You sensually retort. This is Satoru's weakness. He is very flirtatious with you, yet the second you attempt to flirt back his brain short-curcuits, becoming a blushing bashful mess. Example? Right now.

 "Oh my god, you're unbearable." He scoffed, rolling his eyes, extending his muscular loving arms.

"Can't seem to get enough, can you?"

"Absolutely not, c'mere." He begged making grabby hands.

"Fine." You gave in after much contemplation on his pathetically pleasing face. Climbing onto his lap, you straddle him as his hands automatically reach around your waist, bringing you closer to him. The candy long dissolved into your mouth, the glucose probably swimming towards your mitochondria to be used for energy later. Leaning in closer to him, sneaking a hand through the crook of his neck to the back of his head, gripping his hair. You could feel the heat radiating off his face, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, baring his bold, bright eyes naked for you to drown in. Seeing as you've stopped functioning, he quickly slipped his glasses off and sweeping in close to your lips, almost grazing each other.

He whispered. "May I?" 

You kissed him. Then you kissed him again. Many times, all over his face, circling back down to his lips for another chaste peck, before stating curtly: "Huh, you are sweeter than that sickeningly sweet candy." He traced a thumb over his lips, before diving back to kiss you again.

This went on until Shoko and Geto barged into room, screaming to their horror and whipping out their phones to record.

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

"Oh boy, I sure am excited to created silly little Minecraft renders with this helpful addon! :D"

The Villager-Model of doom and despair:

[rattusrattus3]

.

[cherrirui-official]

Hey Gerbicycle 2 watch oUT WATCH OUT WATCHOUTWATCHOU-

[rapidhighway]

girl stop using my shit buy yourownnnn 😭

[sydmarch]

why is this lady in tge laundry room so insistent on talking to me BEFORE I put my bags down like HELLO both of my hands are full & I have earbuds in how do you expect me to hear you if I can't put my fucking bags down to free my hands & take out my earbud first!!!

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Wait I think I missed something in this incredible saga. Are you going on a date with the coworker??? I swear the last thing I saw was “no I would never” lmaoooo. If so, I (like the rest of snzblr) are anxious for updates about your love life. You’re one of the top snzblr couples now, enjoy 🤙

I did say I would never and I was a fucking liar apparently 😔 it's not technically a date tho bc I never told him it was bc I need to be so casual and mysterious ahdkaksk but it's a date To Me lmao. It's tomorrow tho bc we're still at work rn and it doesn't look like we're leaving anytime soon so at least I have that to look forward to I guess lmao

[prokiathepro]

ok i did not expect policeboy to just LEAVE his whole entire dick out

[the13throseii]

I'm gonna say it.

I hate how the only two types of fat character drawing tutorials are "curvy only where it's sexy, miraculously skinny everywhere else" and "wears a size 4 or 5XL". Can we get some fucking variety, please? Yes some fat people look like that, but what if I'm trying to draw someone who's an XL, 2X, or 3X?

[partiallysame]

I'm sorry if this is a weird request, I love your writing a lot and you bring me great comfort, and I've been binging ur stories after my ex cracked me in the face (enjoy jail Ryan)

how do you think poly 141 with a civilian s/o who comes home from work, not expecting them to be home from deployment, with a bloodied lip and black eye, a tear across her forehead that slowly oozes blood. Maybe her own knuckles are bruised and split from where she had fought off the two men who jumped her. Her pants were torn at the knees from where she grappled on the ground. Johnny's jean jacket he let her borrow was nowhere in sight left in dust as she ran for her life.

I love your writing again, I hope ur safe and please eat well and rest ❤️❤️ don't let anyone get away with putting their hands on you.

First and foremost fuck you Ryan rot in jail and hell bitch

The adrenaline had finally started to wear off as you pulled your car into the driveway, only to start to panic again when you realized your husband and your boys were home early. Like two weeks early. You sat in your car for a few moments trying to wipe the blood from your face, your hands, your knees, trying anything to look like what just happened didn’t actually happen. But the second your car pulled in they all made their way out, too excited to see their Missus to wait for her to come inside. Johnny was the first to reach the car, always so eager to see you. You sat still in your car. He tried to open the door but it was still locked. Crouching down to motion for you to open the door, maybe you were on the phone or something and that's why you hadn’t gotten out yet. But as he lowered himself to see you, only to be met with a nightmare sight. 

“Sweet’art open the door.” Voice serious in a way you had never heard before. His hand reached behind him to wave the rest of the men over, not wanting to yell for them and scare you more than you already seemed. You shook your head no. They weren’t supposed to see you like this. You were fine. You made it home, you were safe now, you were gonna fix up all your wounds and be healed before they got home. But here they were trying to coax you out of the car as tears streamed down your face. Fingers slowly pressing the unlock button, both the drivers and passenger side doors were swung open. Johnny reached over you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scooping you up out of the car. 

“Bring me my wife.” It was an order that MacTavish was not going to follow until you were pulled from his arms. “M’sorry’s” poured from your mouth between sobs as you clung to your husband and were brought into the house and set so gently on the kitchen counter, allowing the four men to get a full view of your beaten body. You sat, body shaking slightly from the adrenaline and pain that was starting to set in as they stared. Stared and the dark purple forming around your eye. Staring at the gash across your cheek and your split lip. Drops of blood on your torn shirt, jeans shredded at the knees, wet bloodied fabric stuck to the scrapes on your knees. They were all looking at you so differently. You thought your husband was going to cry, Johnny too. Kyle looked so broken. You had been working so hard for Simon to soften to open up to you and he was, but the look on his face scared you. 

Working in perfect unison the men started to undress you, removing your bloodied clothes. A first aid kit was set next to you as they each took a portion of you to care for. Apologizing when you’d wince at the pain of being cleaned up. Johnny was holding an ice pack up to your eye as Kyle took off his shirt for you to wear. None of them were willing to leave your side long enough to just grab new clothes from down the hall. Another “I’m sorry” fell from you and your husband felt like he was going to snap.

“My Love, please stop apologizing. It’s not yer fault honey. Can ya tell us what happened?” You nodded and recounted how two men had cornered you after work, wanting your purse. How they thought you weren’t handing it over fast enough. 

“But I’m a captain’s wife you know? Not just gonna take it lying down now am I? You should see the other guys.” You tried to joke and motioned to your split knuckles that Simon had so carefully wrapped up for you. 

“Where?” Simon’s voice came out harsh and the men snapped their heads toward him, a warning to calm down. (They’d find who did it later but rn the focus is on their Missus)

“I’m sorry Johnny.” You turned toward the large scot still holding the ice pack. He lowered it because he wanted you to see his face when he told you there was no reason to apologize.

“But I was wearing your jacket. You know the jean one you left for me. The one that smells like you. The one you look so handsome in. It came off and I left it there.” Your breathing picked up again, tears threatening to spill at losing his favorite jacket. You barely finished your confession when he was pulling you into his chest, strong arms feeling so warm and gentle around you.

“Don’ care about a fuckin’ jacket. You came home lovie. That's what I care about.”

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[joejhang]

andrew is so real for thinking neil is a hallucination cos now that we have outsider pov on him it's actually insane that he's a real person. like this is neil josten: he's the prettiest boy you've ever met. he's the runaway son of a serial killer. he has a million dollars but is afraid of spending money. he folds his clothes a specific way so he can tell when someone's gone through his stuff. he keeps a stalker's journal on the two greatest exy players of all time. he wears coloured contacts and they're brown. he paid a busboy $100 to knock him out cold. he insulted a celebrity athlete on live tv after trying to keep a low profile. he says he's trying to stay alive while running towards death like it's a race. he mouths off to the mafia. he respects your boundaries and is the first person ever to take you at face value and not consider you an out of control psychopath. he orders hits on your abusers. he has the most electric blue eyes you've ever seen. he looks great in clubbing clothes but dresses like he's homeless. he insults someone for their "intricate and endless daddy issues" while his father is a convicted mobster and serial killer. he didn't give a fuck when his teammate was killed. everyone seems to like him even though it's clear he's hiding a million secrets. he doesn't catch on to the many many hints you're giving him. he calls you out not for being a danger to others but for being a danger to yourself. he thinks you should be protected as well as trusting you to protect him (and you think, how can someone be a victim and a protector?). he doesn't give a flying fuck what literally anyone thinks about him. he comes back from being waterboarded and tortured and abused for weeks (to protect you) and is still as feisty and bitchy as before. except now he's a redhead and has many more scars. he is possibly the first person to ever make the active decision to protect you. he's willing to put himself in harm's way again and again and again so he won't lose you. he always has a cigarette but he never smokes. he says "you're not actually a sociopath are you?" and "the next time someone calls you soulless i might have to fight them". even though he's messy and a little oblivious he's sees you. he might be the only person to ever want you off your drugs. he wants to see you lose control, is aware that you're not out of control, you're actually so controlled and restrained all of the time and he wants to see you feel something, he wants you to be angry, be angry at him. he riles you up on purpose to see you show emotion, feel something. he's a runner and yet he's still possibly the bravest person you've ever met. he gets kidnapped and comes back even more bruised and battered than before and he's still a mouthy little shit who bitches at the press and cuts deals with the yakuza. he's most of the reason why the worst team in the nation ends up winning championships. he shoves a guy clean off his feet because they body checked you. he punched celebrity athlete riko moriyama in public, for you. he threatens him, for you. he's almost killed on live tv. he mouths off to the fbi. he watches the (second) best exy player in the world get shot. he also watches his father, notorious serial killer and gangster, get shot in front of him. and he laughs. he smiles. he kisses you and is never gonna run again and he's free and he wants to be with you, he wants you.

[lologoinsolo]

A continuation of this post! Tw: the word Daddy is mentioned but not in a sexual way!

Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 3

A week passed since that guy came in. You hope that the kitten's okay, the guy seems much better than you thought him to be. You did wonder if that was blood on the bills he gave when your manager had counted the register for the night. It looked a lil too red for your taste. But everyone has their secrets and you’re not about to ask that tank of a man if he killed someone or just happened to prick his finger. Still though you hope Bailey is faring much better with him than in the could and… you hope he comes back.

Sunday’s the worst but you managed to persuade your coworker to take over your register. Truck had just came in with so many things for the store and your managers are scrambling to get it all on the sales floor.

Humming along to the song from your earphones. The perks about stocking is that you hardly get bothered by your coworkers. No one likes to restock the numerous bedding and litter and pet clothing so you jumped at the chance to do it. Gives you some peace and quiet save for when the customers will tap at your shoulder. You’ll plaster a smile and use your “customer voice” to point them to where they need a certain item and then get back to stocking. You really should find a way to just work with animals. Maybe you can talk to your manager to see if you can try grooming instead of—

“Girl!”

You jerk and nearly ruin the stack of dog cans you had just put up when someone grabs your arm. “Jesus, Jess,” glaring at your manager when you give her a scathing glare. Coincidentally this one’s the grooming manager. “What’s the matter?” Normally she wouldn’t be out of the grooming salon but the stores been short staffed and cutting corners. She’s been running around having to manage the store floor and hers.

“What’s the matter,” she scoffs, “the matter is your boyfriend is asking for you.” Boyfriend? “He’s a real asshole, ya know. We paged you twice over the intercom. Did you not— are you wearing headphones?” You wince when her voice gets screechy. You pull on your earphones and sigh, it’s an unspoken rule to not wear earphones but that literally never stops her groomers from wearing them.

“Jess, I don’t have a boyfriend.” Rolling your eyes as you give her a once over. Her hands land on her hips and you inwardly sigh. “What does he even look like? Did he say my name?” A little hopeful and also very worried because why is there a man claiming to be your boyfriend and why did your manager come get you for this? “I’m sure he’s one of the customers that’s been bitching lately. The fish tanks aren’t on sale anymore maybe he—“

“He’s not here for fish.” Cutting you off, “he asked for you. I thought he was your boyfriend cause he knew you were working right now.” The alarms start going off in your head. “Look, just go see what he wants.”

“Jess, I don’t know who this man is. Why didn’t you tell him I was like— I don’t know, not working?!”

“Because he’s refusing to fucking leave and he looks like he’s apart of the goddamn mafia!” She yells and you blink at her. Your anger boils to a simmer when she mentions what he looks like.

“Wait, wait… is he wearing a black mask? The ones people wore during COVID?” She nods and you pinch your nose hard. This motherfucker, “okay… I know him. He found a kitten a week ago. I told him to come find me. I didn’t think he’d remember my name because my name tag is so small.” Sighing loudly and stepping around her. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Good, he’s given us all a fright and I really don’t need this right now. Bella bit the shit out of Felix and now I’m down a groomer.”

“Okay,” nodding as she tells you her woes. It’s been hard all around cause there’s not many workers but you’ll take a mask wearing customer over a shih tzu that’s known to bite. Fixing your shirt and putting on a smile when the figure that’s haunting the grooming salon takes one look at you and starts walking to you— quickly. “Evening, good to see you again. How can I—“

“She’s not eating any of the shit you told me to buy.” He cuts you off and you wonder if you’re actually just made of paper with how everyone cuts you off. There’s a black scarf he’s wearing and you notice a little bit of movement. This guy seems to favor black considering the matching jacket and pants color scheme.

You pull a face and turn to your side when he steps right in front of you. Jesus, he’s tall. Craning your neck to look up at him. “Sir, you have a weeks worth of three different foods?” Is she refusing to eat all of them? “It’s only been a week. Are you sure she’s—“

“Gave her a different one each day and she ain’t eating.” He tilts his head down, ���why?” You swallow a bit when he glares at you. You wonder if whoever pisses him off gets to see this last before they get knocked the fuck out.

“You?” Shriveling up slightly, “wait,” once it runs through what he says it starts to click in your head. “You gave her a different one each day. You’re not supposed to do that.” Now it’s your turn to glare at him, “you’re supposed to ease her out into a new one before letting her try it suddenly.” You gave him the kitten version of chicken, beef, and salmon. You had a feeling that she was probably eating literal garbage and wanted her to try the chicken first. It’s your usual go to for new kittens.

“News to me,” he crosses his heavy arms over his chest. “Should’ve told me that.”

“I did tell you…” you start to trail off when you realize that you in fact did NOT tell him that. You just assumed he would know that. Goddamnit. “Okay,” he cocks an expectant brow, “maybe I forgot to mention but you didn’t ask. I thought you knew.” A measly form of an apology and taht doesn’t seem to settle him

“I told you I need things for the little shit. You made me buy those things,” he takes a step forward, “expensive things and now she’s waking me up all hours of the damn night because she’s hungry.” Your throat must be very dry from how hard you swallow. “What you didn’t tell was how to feed her.” His hands ball and flex.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you realize that maybe you are more in the wrong than your pride wishes to admit. “Look I,” taking a breath, “I’m sorry. It’s on me, I should’ve told you. I would’ve given you one of those first time pamphlets but we ran out.” Feeling like how a bug feels under a boot with how you tremble out an apology. “Was there one that she seemed interested in the most? Some cats like the chicken more while others prefer the salmon.” Maybe you can give him some wet cans to entice his little pet. A small thing like her shouldn’t be without food and you start to feel worse.

“She sniffed more at the salmon.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Perking up and you turn on your heel. “Come on, I’ll buy you some wet cans.” Before he can even protest you cut him off finally. “Look, I feel horrible, it’s the least I can do. Plus I get discounts.” Giving him a wink and he doesn’t give you anything other than a curt nod. You grab the salmon wet cans, the kitten ones, and you pray to the gods that Bailey will eat it so her dad won’t kill you. “Try the wet cans, see if that’ll work. If not then you’ll have to try for a different one. There’s a brand here that sells rabbit and turkey, a bit expensive.” You laugh shortly, “but cats have sensitive stomachs. They don’t mean to be picky.”

“Might not be picky but she sure as hell like to run my money.”

You huff a small laugh at his expense, “you should see the bills I’ve seen that get racked up here.” You skip the line to head to your register. Ringing it up and usually you’re not supposed to use your own discount for others but you’re not willing to risk mafia guy’s anger. Bagging it and passing it to him for him but he doesn’t grab it right away “Is there… is there something else you need?” You ask and he takes the bag from you finally.

He mulls over your words for a second and then says. “Need a collar,” he tilts his head to the side and out pokes Bailey’s itty bitty head from his scarf. You nearly scream when you see her but manage to bite your tongue on time. “Here,” he pulls her out and she lets out a disgruntled meow. He plops her down in your waiting arms. “Scratched up my neck.” He grumbles under his breath when he fixes his scarf back up. The kitten simply purrs in your arms when you coo and run from her nose to head. A glutton for love and you readily give it to her. “Find something for her.” He waves offhandedly once his scarf looks decent around his neck once more.

“Do have a specific—“ you trail off again when his eyes squint down at you. Right… he doesn’t really care. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He grunts an acknowledgment and you walk off with the cutest little baby. She keeps pulling at your chest, seems eager to get to your shoulders and you wonder if she does that to her dad all the time. “Hmmmm,” looking from all the collars that the store sells. “You’re too tiny,” you hold her up like the monkey did the lion cub, a little sad that there’s not much that’ll fit her. “But,” noticing a small blue collar that shines slightly, “this could fit. It’ll give you enough room to grow into as well.” It’s a cat collar designed to unclasp if it gets snagged hard onto something. And knowing this curios kitten, she’ll need it.

Bailey doesn’t seem to mind when you let her sniff at it till the collar comes on and then she’s desperate to figure out what’s around her neck. Her back legs kicking at the edge of the collar and you cup her so she won’t tug it off. “Your daddy wants you wearing that so you gotta get used to it.” He could train her to walk on a harness later but that does take a good amount of training and

“Daddy, huh?”

You jolt from your thoughts and squeeze a little too tight around Bailey. She lets out a little hiss and you blubber an apology. “I didn’t— that’s not what I—“ the ‘daddy’ in question seems far too amused with how you stutter. “I uh… I thought you were at the front?” Coughing to push past your embarrassment. Petting Bailey as an apology on her sides and under her chin. She doesn’t forgive easily as she gives you a well deserved nips. You murmur a sorry to her and she squints up at you.

“Thought you got lost.” He comes around and pulls his kitten from your hands, he took a little longer to get her out but maybe you’re thinking too hard. You were taking a bit down the aisle but you wanted her to have a nice collar that fit her well. The heat from his fingers though makes your own cheeks warm slightly. When did he get that close and also why didn’t you hear him walking up? “Looks good,” he holds Bailey up and moves her around like she’s a little jewel. “Blue suits her.” He pushes her back inside his scarf and you can faintly hear her little purrs. A slight movement of the fabric before she settles right up against his neck.

Clearing your throat slightly, some strands of hair falls a bit forward but you’re still a bit squirmy to fix it. “I knew she would look good in blue. It matches her, I can buy it for you as well. I don’t min—“ your eyes widen when he moves his hand to tuck those loose strands back behind your ear. You stare up wide at him and he stares down at you. Nothing in his eyes give away an ounce of an emotion despite how you look. To his credit, he may have not meant to do that with how quickly he puts his hand down. “Uh… I— sir?” You manage to squeak out and his mask twitches slightly.

He flexes his hand that touched you and leaves you standing there bewildered, confused and your cheeks burning up so much that you might consider it to be a fever. You don’t follow him when he took off without giving an answer but you do touch your ear. The phantom feeling of his fingers makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “What the fuck?” You murmur under your breath.

…

The next day you manage to get to work with little sleep from how you tossed and turned. You sorta waited more around your register to see if the man would come back but to your disappointment… he doesn’t. You take it in stride and continue about your day. Just as you’re about to clock out a man with a charming smile and model worthy appearance comes in holding a kitten in his hands and says, “I was told by my friend to ask you for help with cats. Can you help me, love?”

[thistle-wrote]

Sometimes John likes making his little bird upset. She’s cute when she’s mad.

__________________________________________

John Price was not a man who was used to push back or upset. He does whatever he wants whenever he wants to. A decorated SAS captain, especially one as stubborn as himself, very rarely has many people questioning him, maybe the occasional higher up but not his team, not his colleagues, not his ex-wife, not his most recent girlfriend. But this woman is driving him up a wall.

Eight months, eight months with his bird. He thought moving in with her would be a walk in the park, she’s so sweet, so loving, a good cook, she smells nice, beautiful. He thought it would be easy, but the fuse on that woman was so short.

“Bunny rabbit?” John questioned while wandering through his house to find his sweetheart. He stopped at the bedroom door, hearing low cursing and muttering.

“Bun?” he repeated leaning against the door frame and watching whatever tantrum was happening in the bedroom with a mild amount of amusement. Laundry was being thrown, why she was mad was a mystery to him although he could make a guess.

“Jonathan” his little rabbit turned to look at him, her lips pressed together, her gaze sharp, clearly upset, probably at him, he reasoned.

“Mhm?” His tone didn’t change, the look of amusement didn’t falter. He couldn’t help it, he’d always thought It was funny when she turned into a little brat.

“I swear to God, you are a grown man, you should have the common sense to be able to say to yourself ‘Gee John, there’s a laundry basket right there. Maybe I should put my clothes into it instead of tossing them onto the floor.’ That might save your girlfriend a lot of time whilst doing the laundry don’t you think?” She spoke to him in an almost mocking tone, irritated with him, speaking to him like a mother would to a disobedient child.

“Sorry love.” he crossed the room intending to put his arms around his woman, usually settling her a bit, she rarely turned down affection, never turned down attention but the way she flipped around to glare at him was a little jarring.

“Laundry” the little rabbit demanded while pointing at the pile of clothes on the pristine carpet, a demand, if he wasn’t going to actively choose to pick up after himself, then he was gonna be forced.

“Want me to pick it up for ya, bird?” he asked, entertained, trying to tug at her waist to get her to ease up a little bit. He would pick up the damn laundry if it would make her quiet.

“Oh no, you’re going to do the laundry. if you insist on making my job harder, you can do it.” Deadpan, almost cold. If he wasn’t so irritated by the fact she shrugged off his affection, he might be a little impressed.

“Seriously?” Looking down at her like she was crazy, of course, his woman asking him to do the laundry was not that absurd, it's just he doesn’t do laundry, he works. She does laundry.

“Deathly, go!” a white basket was shoved into his hands, he had half a mind to tell her no but she did not look pleased, he walked to the laundry room with her following in toe, her arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

He did the laundry, it’s not like he didn’t know how he lived by himself for many years, he had no want to do domestic chores, but he’s not some kind of incompetent man. The trouble was the entire time he threw clothes into the washer. She just sat there, outside the door, looking at him, as if to make sure he was doing it right. Once he finished, he turned.

“You done pouting at me?” 

“No, while you’re at it, you can sweep up the pile of ash by your recliner.” She refused to relent. God this was going to be a long life with this little bird but she’s damn cute when she’s upset. 

“Yeah? Maybe I should fuck the attitude out of you instead?” He’s a patient man, but he only puts up with so much. And John would be a liar if he said he didn’t get a little excited when she starts bitching. He ended up bending her over the back of the couch and suddenly she had no issues sweeping up that pile all by herself, pretty little thing.

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