#kitty wants in the loop

[luifaro]

i don't know about all this "sif loop" hubbub but i think if siffrin and loop were both cats they'd slap and hit eat other alll the time an yell... but they'd cry if you tried to separate them and cuddle when the other gets sad... do you see the vision.

[mugwot]

making the funky little guys funkier

the them

[sparkdoesart]

My weird fucking dog: Homesickness

[autumnoakes]

gonna repeat this in an actual post so more people can hear me

taking you by the shoulders gently. play more indie games. i promise there is an indie game out there for you. these triple a titles that take years to make and require obscene system requirements if you don't have a $600 console are not the end-all, be-all of video games.

[danidoesathing]

I like to think that PMD Viktor would remain mostly quadrupedal in the commune, bur he could shift to his hind legs (like how Purrloin can go between bipedal and quadrupedal). A weird-looking "Espeon" walking around on his hind legs understandably freaks a lot of Pokémon out.

By the end of it, however, Viktor's entirely a Steel/Psychic Deoxys-and little, if any, of his Eevee traits remain.

(Viktor is specifically an "Espeon" not just because of Deoxys, but because he came out of the Cocoon during the day. (The only reason he didn't evolve from Jayce's affection sooner is because his body couldn't handle it.))

oh god bipedal purrloin already freaks me out and now we got this freak walking around with his not-eevee deoxy fusion looking ass. he does actively try not to freak people out in the commune by staying on all fours, though being able to stand on his hind legs is pretty useful. he's aware how unsettling his appearance can be.

(YESSS exactly the reason viktor hadn't evolved beforehand is because of the risk it posed to his health. it's something that frustrated him a lot as he did really want to evolve, both because each of his options provide a lot of different advantages he doesn't have now as well as the fact he's the fucking evolution pokemon and he cant even fucking evolve this is bullshit!!!)

[dissolved-g1rl]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆ his hair gets in the way

It started at work, Bucky hadn’t really noticed it that much. Only when he had to look down at paperwork and his hair would loom forward, flopping over his peripheral. Then at the gym, any running or anything particularly that has to do with working out became him having to brush his hair behind his ear every two seconds. At home you notice it a little, every so often you’ll see him brush it back or run his fingers through it. You like it long, more to run your fingers through, not to say you don’t understand his grievances.

He looks at you from the bed, seeing you with a hairband as you lean over the sink, rinsing off your face wash. Bucky doesn’t think he could wear a fuzzy headband with a bow to punch bad guys in the face. “I think ‘m gonna cut my hair.” He murmurs when you lay down in bed, turning off the overhead light, opting for the lamp on your nightstand. “What? Why would you do that? I thought you wanted to grow it out.” You ask shifting to face him, cozying up next to him. “It’s…annoying. I always have to adjust it.” He murmurs. “It’s just in an awkward stage still, once ‘s a little longer you can start tying it back.” You say resting your head on his chest, he rubs your back and hums at your suggestion. “Or…I have some clips, bobby pins too, just till it’s ponytail length.” You add on, rubbing his side, over his ribs.

You end up on his lap, sectioning the parts of his hair that flop forward but aren’t long enough to tie back. “Look how cute, I have Hello Kitty ones ‘n I have plain ones too.” You say excitedly showing him the barrettes. He doesnt know who Hello Kitty is, he likes saying hello to your kitty, and to Alpine, beyond that he’s clueless. “Ummm let’s just go for plain baby.” He says patting your back, closing his eyes when he feels your fingers drag through his hair. You have a brown barrette that is a little darker than his actual hair color, clipping it into place behind his ear. Doing the same to the other side, “Wow, look at this pretty face, all on display!” You croon warmly, cupping his cheeks, he rolls his eyes at your fuss accepting your kisses on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “So handsome, so—” Another kiss, “So handsome, like an angel.” You squeal squeezing him tightly. “Woah.” He smiles, looping his arm around your middle. “Damn, okay, the clips are a yes then.” He croons enjoying the feeling of getting smothered. He doesn’t know how he lived without your love for so long, sometimes he thinks you’ll make him sick with your sweetness, it can’t be good for his heart.

The morning after you tie his tie like any day, pour his coffee, and hand him his arm from the drying rack. You send him off with two exact kisses and a pat on the chest. The press has a lovely time getting picture after picture of the pastel barrette behind congressmen Barnes’ ear wondering who could’ve possibly gotten the usually aloof man into something as cute as Hello Kitty…

strawberry divider by @kodaswrld

line divider by @cursed-carmine

a/n: based on thunderbolts buck :3 (i need him.)

[chamomiletealeaf]

Not sure if your requests are open (if they aren’t, ignore this ✨) but could I please request a (nsfw) of the reader just practically silent during it, but trembles and clings onto anything in reach? 😔🙏sorry if it ain’t specific enough

With how cod boys react to it (whoever you want)

LOVE THISSS and yes my requests are always open :)) might take some time for me to respond but always feel free to send a message!

Simon wouldn't think much of it at first. He's not the loudest either, but he can't lie and say he doesn't enjoy a little whimper from you every now and then. So when you don't talk or make much noise but start gripping at anything around you he can't help but smile at how cute you are.

He'd be pounding into you and your hands are gripping at his shoulders and hair and the nape of his neck and the bed sheets and it's so cute watching you trying to find something to grip on to.

He doesn't need you to make noise to know that he's fucking you good. Your legs shaking and the way you white knuckle the sheets tell him all he needs to know.

Price knows you don't make a lot of noise but he tries to make you break every time by whispering sweet things into your ears to try and get you to moan. He loves to fuck you in his gear while you have nothing on and loves how you bite your lip and grip at his belt loops for leverage when he does. He'll fuck you on his desk whispering things like "Aww don't hold back darling. Let me hear my little kitty purr huh?"

Or he'll fuck you nice and sweet and slow in your shared bed while whispering into your ear how perfect and pretty you are while you grab at his biceps.

He's a fucking eater for sure. Would spend hours in between your legs if you let him. It's his favorite past time because he loves how you grip his hair so hard and squeeze your thighs around his head all while staying so quiet. He'd mumble into your pussy about how pretty your pussy is and how wet you are for someone who keeps so quiet.

Gaz would make you speechless fucking you or not. You could be typing on your computer or something and he'd come up to you leaning over your shoulder a little too close to your ear making you blush. And he knows what he's doing the whole time too. He's so smug. Asking things like "What's the matter love? Cat got your tongue?" When he's got you up against a wall or when he's knuckle deep inside of you when you're on his lap.

He adores how quiet you get. He thinks it's so cute when all you can do is stare at him like a deer in headlights whenever he makes you flustered or how cute it is when he's fucking you from behind and forcing you to watch in a mirror because if he can't hear you, he's for sure gonna make sure he sees you. And of course he's gonna tease you and whisper in your ear how pretty you look and how he bets he could make you moan for him.

Johnny at first would wonder why you weren't so verbal or loud during sex. He thought it was him at first and got really self conscious and tried everything he could to get you to moan. He was too stubborn at first to ask why you weren't moaning and instead tried trial and error to see what would get you moaning his name over and over. He would always get confused anyway though because you came every time.

So one night when he was really giving it to you, your face down in the pillows with your ass up, you still wouldn't make any noise. So he yanks your hair back to look at your face and he nearly cums immediately from the sight. You're drooling, eyes crossed, with tears spilling down your face. You were in complete bliss gripping the pillow for dear life while your brain practically went to mush from how fucking good Johnny was making you feel.

"Fuckin' hell bonnie this whole time I thought I wasn't fuckin ya good enough but turns out you're so quiet cuz you're too fucked out to make a sound."

[viiennie]

Gojo noticed.

He always noticed the strict distance you kept between yourself and everybody else. He noticed the twitch in your smile when people asked to hangout.

"Sorry, I have a shift to catch."

"My cousins are coming over tonight, so I have to take a rain check."

"I'm not really feeling up to it, next time maybe?"

The lies behind your teeth never seemed to run out, your eyes unblinking even when your friends tried to reason back at you.

He noticed how you’d deflate when no one’s looking, a quiet and long sigh leaving your lips when you think everyone’s too busy to hear. Your shoulders sink and your gaze lowers to the ground, the look in your eyes wishing everything around you to just stop.

Nothing could ever escape his six eyes.

Especially when it comes to you. 

He sees the tall walls you’ve built to protect what’s already in pieces. He sees the way you want to be alone, but you’re too afraid of the silence that creeps in when no one else is around.

He sees everything and wants nothing more than to break everything you’ve barricaded around yourself. 

Gojo Satoru knows what it’s like to desire isolation. He knows what it does to a person, and he knows he can’t allow himself to lose someone like he lost his best friend. He knows you are the second chance he has to love again, and he will never allow you to leave. 

So he shows you bits and pieces of his soul. 

He makes sure to show you the joy you bring him—in the way he laughs, in the way he looks at you, in the depths of his dimples every time he flashes you that boyish grin. He's opening himself up to you, stripping himself bare of any lies and facades.

He tells you about his day—the details including the little calico kitty chasing an adorable puppy down the street as he enjoyed his daily walk, and the sweets he had eaten within the day. (He often brings extra with him just in case you get hungry.)

And then, Gojo notices.

He notices how you smile a little brighter now. He notices how slowly you’re beginning to tell him more of your day—about how you had woken up and immediately drank water afterwards, and he notices because he knows in the past you would’ve said, “‘m doing good. Nothing special really happened."

He notices how you start to look less exhausted and spaced out, the color in your eyes twinkling a little bit more. 

He notices how you begin to love yourself a little more, the mascara on your lashes, that keychain you held back from buying now swinging back and forth from your phone case, and the way you stare a little longer as you passed by mirrors, a small smile reflecting back all being little signs of the affection that's slowly beginning to grow in your heart.

Perhaps what you needed was a little reminder. 

Perhaps what you needed was to remember that somebody cared.

Because one day, when he’s buying you your favorite drink simply because you had briefly mentioned wanting it, you find yourself noticing how wonderful the weather is. You notice that you’re starting to prefer the sounds of people chatting as they walk over the songs of radiohead looping in your earphones. You feel like yourself again—you’re no longer watching life pass by like a stranger again.

You hear Gojo call your name, the summer sun dusting a slight shade of pink on his cheeks. “That line was crazy, but I got your drink!” He smiles, gently handing you the cup.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

He stills at the tone of your voice. 

He looks down at you—notices way you hum after taking a sip out of the cup and he knows. 

He knows the walls you’ve built up aren’t gone, but rather you’ve let him in behind those walls. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He knows it’s still a long way to go before you can heal from the damage that has been dealt, and he knows there is still an ache in your soul, but he also knows he’s made sure to let you know he’s going to be right here beside you, holding your hand and wiping your tears.

he doesn't notice it, but he heals a little seeing you so happy because even if he couldn't save geto, he saved you.

[sturnioz]

confident!reader wants fratboy!matt to apologise to her in a certain type of way.

you stare at matt unamused, your eyes narrowing into sharp, evil slits. your arms remain stubbornly crossed over your chest, your eyebrows furrowed in storm and rage as he stands in front of you.

the smile of his face only fuels your anger, and it takes everything in you not to wipe it off yourself as he steps closer, trying to snake his arms around you waist.

but you don't let him.

not this time.

his words are meaningless to you right now as your blood boils, replaying the moment in your head on loop of the audacity of that girl—the way she dismissed you during the entire conversation while shamelessly throwing herself at your boyfriend, like you didn't exist.

it isn't the first time this has happened. it happens all the time, and usually, you found it amusing—almost laughable—watching girls stumble over themselves to catch a sliver of matt's attention. you'd roll your eyes, sit back, and let his disinterest speak for itself.

but this one?

this one got under your skin.

this one hand your fingers curling into your palms, nails digging into your skin, and your patience hanging by a thread.

"c'mon, baby," matt drawls in the way it always does when he's trying to coax you out of your moods. his hands wrap around your wrists, gently tugging in an attempt to uncross your arms. "don't be like that, c'mon."

you don't budge, standing firm as a stature. "she was disrespecting me, matt," you speak, tone low. "acting like i wasn't even part of the conversation, and you—" your glare sharpens. "you played into it."

"i didn't play into anythin'," matt counters, his tone still maddeningly calm which pisses you off even more. his hands are still persistent, tugging at your arms with determination. "i didn't know she was flirtin' with me, sweetheart."

"you're not dense, sweetheart. you knew she was flirting with you." you scoff, your scowl deepening as the memory flashes vividly in your mind.

"i didn't, i didn't, i didn't," matt murmurs repeatedly, his voice dropping quieter as he finally manages to uncross your arms, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

he pulls you into his chest so easily that it makes you want to resist, but his warmth surrounds you before you can think twice. his lips find your jaw, brushing against it in soft, deliberate kisses.

"got my eyes on you always, yeah? don't give a fuck about them."

you huff, "didn't seem like that earlier—"

"kitty," he interrupts, his voice a little firmer now as he nips gently at your jawline, just enough to make you flinch at the sudden action. his hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks as he tilts his head back to meet your gaze. "i'm sorry. i'm sorry she disrespected you. i'm sorry i didn't notice it sooner. 'n i'll say 'i'm sorry' a thousand more times if that's what it's gonna take for you to forgive me, baby."

his words apologies linger in the air, and you remain blank faced. you want to hold onto your anger, to let your frustration simmer just a little longer. but the way he's looking at you, the way his hands feel against your skin—it's enough to make the fire in your chest sizzle, just for a moment.

and he knows it.

he always does.

"what can i do?" he asks you. "want me to apologise to you again? 'cos i will."

you pause for a moment to think, and then, and idea flickers in your head. a slow smirk spreads across your lips as you tilt your head to the side, watching him intently.

"get on your knees," you say, tone smooth but commanding. "and apologise to me."

matt's eyes darken instantly at your request. his eyebrow quirks up slightly, as though he's testing you, but he doesn't question you. he doesn't even ask if you're serious. instead, to your surprise—and satisfaction—he lowers himself down, slow and deliberate, keeping his gaze locked on yours the entire time.

his hands slide from your face as he goes south, trailing down your sides until they rest firmly on your hips. there's a weight to his touch that pleases you, but you stand your ground.

the corners of your mouth twitch upward into a grin, a rush of power surging through you as you take in the sight of him kneeling before you.

his hands drift lower, brushing over your thighs, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rub over your skin, as though he's savouring every second of this—as though he's worshipping you.

then, he leans forward, his lips pressing soft, open-mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of your thigh, each kiss slow and deliberate, his breath hot against you.

he peers up at you through his lashes, his gaze half-lidded but intense, and he murmurs softly. "i'm so sorry, baby... was stupid, 'n an asshole."

The words roll off his tongue with ease, and you can feel the tension between you, the air crackling with unspoken energy.

and there's something about the sight of matt like this—on his knees, completely at your mercy—makes you feel like you could set the world on fire.

his fingers grip your thighs tighter, digging into your flesh, “please...” he murmurs, his lips returning to the skin of you thigh—he slowly moves up higher, mouthing at your pussy over the fabric of your lacy panties. “forgive me...”

divider credit. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[hannyoontify]

seventeen '96 line as things that have made my heart flutter

warnings | smidge of jealousy during hoshi's

notes | source? erm possibly my own... experiences from the past..... ;;; not proofread

p.s. i recommend reading these as situationships/pre-relationships

95 line | 96 line | 97 line | maknae line

jun - a kiss on the cheek while taking pictures in a photo booth

“ooh this frame looks cute! do you wanna do this one?”

jun smiled at your energy. “whatever you want, bubs. i’m following your lead.”

he stood back as he watched you take the lead, clicking through the different settings of the photobooth. when you finished, you rushed over to his side with an excited smile. “okay, quick! there’s a timer and we have to finish within that time!”

the big, red number began to count down and the two of you stood against the wall. outstretching two fingers, you made posed for the camera and jun followed your example. the machine made a loud click sound as it took the first photo.

“again! okay, what pose should we do next? ooo! jun, grab the kitty hairbands!”

the next few snapshots were taken of you and jun posing with the kitty hairbands provided by the store. jun made a loud meow for one, making you burst into laughter, which the camera caught perfectly in time. jun, with his handsome face scrunched up mid-meow and you, your mouth wide open and your eyes closed as you laughed.

“eww! i hate that photo, we’re not choosing that one.” you said mid-giggle. 

“why? it’s cute. i think it explains our dynamic perfectly,” jun grabbed you by the shoulder and tugged you closer to him. “okay, last one. cheese!”

the screen began counting down again and you leaned closer into jun’s shoulder, getting ready to pose for the camera again. as the number got closer to zero, jun glanced down at you, frozen still, waiting for the camera to take the last photo.

“4… 3… 2…. ” the robotic voice from the machine counted down.

taking a deep breath, jun closed his eyes shut and dipped his head. it was a quick kiss, so soft and gentle, like cloud resting on the peak of a mountain. brief moment of contact before drifting away. 

jun’s lips felt soft against yours and you let a soft gasp. your jaw dropped in surprise as the camera flashed with another loud click. 

your knees wobbled, as if gravity had suddenly shifted around you. there was tightening feeling in your chest as you looked over at jun. he looked at you with a gentle, apologetic smile.

“sorry, i should’ve asked.”

the world seemed to still, each beat of your heart pounding loudly against your chest. the way jun was looking at you sent a cascade of warmth spiraling through your entire body and you smiled.

“it’s okay… i liked it.”

hoshi - grabbing you by the belt loops of your jeans

you could feel someone’s heavy gaze set on you and you already knew whose set of eyes the stare belonged to. listening to your other friend talk about his chemistry lab with a really hot dude, you glanced over your shoulder and made instantly eye contact with soonyoung.

he was on the other side of the gym, his elbows resting on his legs as he watched you with an unreadable look in his eyes. deciding to be obnoxious, you stuck your tongue out at him and his lips tugged up into a tight grin, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes like they usually did.

“sorry, but i think one of the teachers are looking for me.” you dismissed yourself from the small circle of friends. your friends waved you good bye and turned back to resume their gossiping session where they were trying to decide whether the hot guy from one of their chemistry labs swung both ways.

you jogged across the gym, dodging equipment and other students and staff who were getting ready for the annual homecoming rally. you and soonyoung both applied to asb your sophomore year of high school, desperate for some kind of extracurricular to pad your college application with. although being in your school’s asb came with a lot of responsibilities, it was fun when you did it with your friend(? situationship?).

soonyoung was sitting at the bottom bench of the bleachers, his face resting on his palm and his eyes watching you intently as you approached him. 

“what’s got you pouting? did seungcheol yell at you again?” you stood in front of him with your hands resting on your hips and a small smile. “come on, cheer up soonie. i promised to buy you frozen yogurt after this.”

he pushed himself up to his feet, now towering over you with his height. “you promised to do the banners with me.”

soonyoung’s bottom lip jutted out in an almost adorable way and you physically stopped yourself from cooing at him. 

“is that why you’re upset? because i ditched you and the banners?” you smiled and soonyoung nodded.

“you left me to hang out with those…” his words faltered and you glanced back to see the group of friends still gossiping. the discussion seemed to be getting pretty heated with the way you could hear seungkwan’s voice steadily growing in volume.

“them? we were just–“ you turned back to face soonyoung when you felt a gentle tug on your waist. stumbling forward, you now stood barely inches away from him. “soonyoung, what-”

he tried his best to avoid eye contact, his eyes darting around the gym as he nervously licked his lips.

“wndedootbewsjfhme...” soonyoung mumbled. his grip tightened on your belt loop, pulling you closer to him, your body now grazing his. 

“h-huh? wh… i can’t hear…” it was your turn to avoid eye contact now. your heart hammered against your chest, fast and hot in anticipation.

“i said… i wanted you to be with me…” soonyoung muttered. his ears were flushed, a bright shade of red that brought a small smile to your face.

“w-what, are you jealous or something?” you teased as an attempt to cover up how loud your heart was beating in your ears. 

soonyoung grinned. his shy and timid demeanor from seconds ago was nowhere to be found. in it’s place was the soonyoung you knew, complete with the overly confident and cocky smile accompanied by the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“what if i am? is that going to change anything?” 

wonwoo - leaving his game to give you attention

“wonwooooooo” you cried out. wonwoo let out a small grunt in response. “i’m boreddddd”

you perched yourself on the edge of his desk, watching his focused eyes stare at the monitor in front of him. his fingers were moving at a lightning fast speed, but his facial expressions demeanor seemed to scream calm and relaxed.

“you’re bored?” wonwoo echoed your last words and you nodded. although his eyes never left his screen, you could tell he was paying you the utmost attention he could currently afford. “hmmm… how can we fix that?”

leaning your head on wonwoo’s shoulder, you pouted. “i want you to play with me, not your games.”

wonwoo laughed. the corners of his eyes had a slight wrinkle and you felt something tugging at your heartstrings. “is that right?”

with a few clicks of his mouse, his monitor turned dark and his pc chirped, alerting him that the system had been shut down.

“wha-? you were in the middle of a game-“

wonwoo took off his headset and ruffled his hair with a hand, trying to fix it after hours of wearing a headset. “doesn’t matter. you’re more important.”

you felt your breath catch in your throat as you felt heat creeping up your skin, reaching your cheeks and the tips of your ears. 

woozi - initiating pda in public first

it was loud. the football stadium was packed with students decked out in school spirit, and you could barely feel your fingertips from the biting cold.

“jihoon…” your fingers tugged on his sleeve and jihoon spared you a glance before leaning closer to you to hear you better in the loud crowd. “i’m cold...”

he looked at you and smiled. “told you to bring a jacket.”

“this is a jacket!” you retorted. 

“this?” jihoon laughed. you could see a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he looked over your outfit. “honey, this jacket is basically a cropped top on steroids. you seriously expected this to keep you warm in this weather?”

you felt the tips of your ears burning at the new nickname he called you, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. that wasn’t the response you expected–or wanted.

“you’re being mean!” you whined, but a small laugh escaped your lips at the way jihoon faux-frowned at you. you lightly shoved his shoulder. “i’m being serious, it’s not about the jacket.”

jihoon raised a brow. “what could this possibly be about then?”

“it’s about…” you trailed off and shook your head. “never mind. it’s nothing.” 

you crossed your arms over your chest and turned back to face forward. a wave of embarrassment washed over you, serving as a wake up call. sure, you and jihoon had some thing going on, but you felt silly for expecting him to hold your hand or hug you in front of almost the entire school.

jihoon was a private person. that was a fact that you knew that better than anyone else. he wasn’t one to initiate physical contact when it was just the two of you, let alone in the middle of a busy high school football game.

“[name],” jihoon spoke quietly in your ear, his warm hand grazing against yours. “[name], look at me.”

when you didn’t respond, he let out a small puff, followed by a small laugh. 

“c’mere” jihoon muttered. he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you closer to his side. “they say sharing body heat helps.”

 you stared blankly at him. the colony of butterflies in your stomach seemed to migrate to your heart and you swallowed thickly.

“wh- what if someone sees?”

jihoon let out a half snort. “let them see. i don't care”

note: jihoon had extremely red ears during this entire exchange, and no, it wasn’t because of the cold. trust me. 

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[lorelune]

inversion

|| rin itoshi x reader || E/18+ || angst with a happy ending || wc: 7.2k || ao3 ||

Preemptive grief defines your relationship with Rin. Heartbreak is in the nature of your connection. You are forced to reckon with its end.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: eeeeeee this piece is part of a trade i'm doing with beloved @rabbbitseason :3c they asked for angst + rin and i am here to deliver a bruisy piece 🙂‍↕️!!!! he was an interesting (read: slippery) character to chew!! but very fun as well :3c thank you to @suguwu for beta reading this piece and talking through rin's character as well!!! jun's invaluable feedback rlly helped bring the piece together. please read and enjoy something a bit achey my kind reader 💗

CWs: angst with a happy ending, gn reader with afab anatomy, rin is assumed to be 20+ and playing professionally, f receiving oral, missionary, some possible abandonment issues for the reader

You do not mean to fall in love with Rin Itoshi.

Distinctly, you did not want to fall in love with him. Because he is probably not a good lover, nor does he want to be a lover at all. It’s a poor combination. Being enamored with him is a poor way of being.

It’s unfortunate that you have found yourself in this position— hopelessly in love and irrevocably attached to him. 

... 

Drizzle falls from the sky in a mist. It’s been like this for days, a haze of light rain with thick fog that rolls in during the mornings. You’ve almost gotten used to your hair frizzing up and returning home damp from any outing. 

It’s unpleasant. But then again, everything is unpleasant at this moment, so the rain is the least of your worries.

Rin Itoshi is on your front stoop.

There’s a little cement step there that he sits on. In front of your door, just behind him, is a welcome mat. A large, ceramic cat is set just next to the door. As you walk up to your home, grocery bags in tow, you cannot see your normal, friendly guardian.

Instead, all you see is Rin Itoshi. 

Stopping in the little walkway up to your small home, you let the rain drench you. Rin looks up from the ground with an expression between a scowl and a pout. His hood is drawn up over his head, but his hair still looks wet. The tips of his shoes are soaked through. Even from a distance, you can tell.

You sigh.

“You’re home late,” he says. His words get eaten by the ambient sounds of the city, and the pittering of rain on nearby roofs.

You raise your arms, trembling with the weight of your haul. “Groceries.”

“Hm.” 

You frown and Rin rises. 

He takes your bags, taking them from you and easily looping them on a single forearm. He moves aside so you can slip past him, to your door, now able to see your fat-bodied kitty cat protector (who really isn’t doing much protecting at the moment—) and give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

Rin makes a sound behind you; a huff. He’s amused. You contend with kicking his shin but decide against it.

Like a lost, wet puppy, Rin follows you inside. 

There’s a pair of house slippers for him; there has been for months. The fuzzy fabric of the slippers is patterned to look like big, pink cat paws. You purchased them for Rin as a joke, a gag that you didn’t expect to get a rise out of him beyond a heavy blush, and yet he took to them immediately. His pair sits next to your own slippers like the two belong next to each other. 

Rin shuffles behind you.

(How many times have you done this?)

You turn on the electric kettle and put away the groceries Rin has carried inside for you. You mentally plan out your meals for the week and concurrently catastrophize about what the fuck to do with the man in front of you. 

He leans against your kitchen counter. His outer layer has been shed, all he’s in now is a (somehow, still damp) white t-shirt and his warm-up joggers. Rainwater still clings to his bottom lashes, dew-like. You lean forward, cupping his face to brush the moisture away. His cheeks are clammy, still so chilled. 

(It’s all too tender.)

“You’re cold.” You frown. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making tea.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Leaning isn’t sitting.” 

“Close enough.”

You sigh. “I meant in the other room, preferably with a blanket.”

“I’ll wait.” 

You sigh, “Fine.”

It’s not worth arguing with Rin. 

Rin is so— so— frustratingly single-minded. Motivated in a single direction to a fault. You’ve long since learned that attempting to sway him, regardless of how sensible and sensical of an idea you have, is fruitless. If it doesn’t align with what he has already decided he is going to do, he simply won’t change. It’s something rather immutable about him.

His nature is as stubborn as his thoughts. 

(Loving him is so difficult; you wish that you didn’t.)

Rin grabs two mugs (your mugs) while you fetch the tea. It’s the same selection as it always is— your cup of ginger and honey, and his plain peppermint. 

You only settle once the two of you make your way to the couch, side-by-side, covered in the worn quilt that Rin likes best. It’s a tawny mix of grey and tan yarn. You picked it up from a thrift store years ago. You never would’ve thought that it would become such an integral part of a pathetic, mutual routine.

Rin is stiff beside you. One glance at him tells you that he’s chewing on his words. He doesn’t tend to— to do that. He doesn’t mince anything that flows from his brain to his lips. Your stomach rolls with a sense of unease. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask. 

(It never is, not really, when this routine is being completed.)

Rin looks at him. His gaze is piercing, crystalline. It lances you. “I’m leaving.”

You know this already; you aren’t supposed to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“... For how long?” This you don’t know. 

“A while.” Rin's hands ball into fists on the tops of his thighs. “Half a year, at least.”

“I see.”

(You feel your world begin to cave in.) 

An eerie quiet settles over the room. The rain patters outside, streaking your windows in droplets, obscuring the greater world. It makes it feel like all that exists is you, Rin, and the lucid knowledge that your connection has nearly run its course. 

You swallow; it’s audible. “Where to?”

“Europe.”

“Europe’s big. Countries—?”

“Germany, Italy, and France,” replies Rin. “Maybe more.”

The back of your eyes sting. “I could visit?”

“I’ll be busy.”

“... Could you not make time?”

(Could you not make time for me?)

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You feel something cold and dreadful coat your insides. 

Your tea is cooling down, steam hardly rising from the mug now. You take a sip of it, and hold the mug in both hands, grasping onto the warmth that radiates off of it. The ceramic of the vessel still holds heat, enough to scald your palms. Yet, you don’t put it down. 

This big, unspoken thing lingers between you both. It writhes, swirls, like it always does when you enter this routine. There’s always been an impending end date to your connection, even if neither of you could quantify the time you had left together. Rin's career, his ambitions, his nature to not just excel, but crush and break in tandem, have always floated above your dynamic. 

This thing would immolate eventually.

(And you along with it.)

...

You end up in your bedroom, the gloomy day sliding into a thickly dark night. You’re not even sure if the moon is out. The room only glows with light from a few soft lamps. The spray of them catches the angles of Rin’s face well. Even with age, his face hasn't hardened all that much. He still has pudge in his cheeks that he can’t shake. It makes him look younger, more innocent, like there hasn’t been a thing in him, forever, threatening to devour him as it craves to brutalize others. 

Another part of your routine commences once you enter your soft, kindly-lit bedroom. Sex— of some sort. Today it feels bad. You’re not sure what’s coming other than grief. 

Stripping feels like a funeral march. The drizzle that continues to fall outside may as well be a dirge. 

Rin pulls his shirt over his head and off. It’s a quiet affair today, though typically it isn’t. On a more normal day, when you aren’t witnessing your romantically entangled decay in real-time, there’s banter. You might rib Rin, he may respond with his own barbed remark that you find a bit silly. It’s fun, despite Rin’s perpetually bruised demeanor.

Today, though, there’s no humor. No jesting. All that’s left is the unfathomable depth of— something behind Rin’s eyes and the ache in your chest that you’re afraid will kill you.

You kneel on your bed, left only in a sweater, goofy-looking socks, and panties. The stupid satiny kind that you think is kind of uncomfortable, but you know Rin enjoys. He leaves his boxers on, coming to rest on his own knees across from you.

Your eyes feel damp, you feel stupid, and can’t make yourself look at him.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he tells you.

You scoff, the sound warbly and your voice watery. “Like you’re any better.” 

(Rin isn’t the crybaby notably. You think he gets close to it sometimes. Maybe that’s just your own wishful thinking.)

(You want Rin to crack; it would make your own fissures less shameful.)

Rin kisses you then like he can hear your thoughts, and kissing you hard on the mouth will extract them from your brain. It does, in a way. He’s warm and familiar. You love him so terribly. 

You cup his cheeks in your palms, still aching from your mug earlier. You don’t care. You couldn’t make yourself care as you lean into him, pitching your weight forward. For all the things Rin isn’t good at, he is good at catching you. He bears the weight of you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and securing you with a hand on the nape of your neck.

He’s so solid. Bigger than he appears. Firm muscle over firm muscle, he’s so entirely unyielding beneath your hands. There are so many parts of him that contradict each other; it’s what drew you to him in the first place. Rin Itoshi has always been a spectacle for you to untangle and know, even if, at first, it was just to satiate your own curiosity about the foul-mannered, enigmatic man he appears to be. 

Unfortunately, now, you have untangled Rin. The essence of him has been unraveled in your hands, laying across your palms like sheets of satin fabric— the kind that catches the light and almost shimmers in sun rays and moonbeams alike. Rin is so much more fragile than he appears, tough at some angles, but so bruiseable at others. This knowledge is held by you so intimately, you cherish it, what else can you do? 

It’s damning. It’s made you love him.

You stifle a noise against his lips and fall into him more.

In a single motion, Rin has you on your back, laid beneath him while he straddles your hips. He doesn’t stop kissing you. If anything, the leverage has him leaning into you more deeply. It’s suffocating, the weight of his body and him over you. Like it’s bearing down into your soul.

Rin licks into your mouth and you let him.

It’s almost gross when he kisses you like this. Filthy— dirty. He practically plunders the inside of your mouth, running his tongue over the back of your teeth, pushing it against your own, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth. If you felt like you could be properly romantic with Rin, you might even say it’s a claiming act.

But you can’t be romantic with Rin. Because this doesn’t matter. The physicality you share serves the function of physical release and gratification. You love him and it is useless that you do. These are immutable facts.

(Facts that you hate, despise, and loathe. Why can’t he love you—? Why can’t he— just understand?)

You growl against his lips and shove at his chest.

“Just—” You sigh, turning your head to the side. You can’t look in his eyes or you’ll immolate. “Fuck me already, okay?”

Rin wordlessly presses his forehead against your temple. His hands claw into your hips. He’ll leave bruises, but they’ll never last the six months that he’ll be gone for. You’ll be a distant memory to him by then, you’re certain.

Something awful and far too hot is boiling in your chest. 

“No,” says Rin

“No?”

“No.” He repeats, dragging his nose down to your jaw, then your throat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to yet.”

“Well, get a move on then.” You scoff. The watery quality of your voice has shifted to something sharper, angrier. 

“What’s with you?” He sighs out of his nose and it makes you flinch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this—” Rin tugs your jaw to face him and holds you there. You’re stuck looking into his eyes, azure and shiny like polished stones. Full of something you can’t name, lest you break your heart further.

(Your delusions are both damning you and saving you.)

Your eyes water; maybe you are a crybaby. “Fuck off.”

Rin kisses you hard again, flattening himself to you. He’s a cage like this, where you can only take what he gives you and—

(Rin gives you everything. Because that’s how he is with things he cares about.)

You feel like you're melting into the duvet as you desperately claw into Rin’s scalp, raking your hands through his hair. A pathetic noise bubbles up from your throat, pours from your mouth into Rin’s, and he takes it in kind. He always does. 

(He shouldn’t be reliable, but he is.)

It’s hard to think when he kisses you like this. Rin’s physicality is consuming, like he’s attempting to crush you and absorb you into him. It’s an intoxicating type of connection; it’s part of why you linger within your entanglement. In the moments you’re under him, intertwined with him like this, god, touching at all— you can’t do anything but think of Rin and his attention.

You kick him because he’s leaving— he’s leaving you and he isn’t letting you follow.

Rin grunts at the impact, even though you don’t kick him all that hard. You nip him at the same time— 

You’re so angry.

All the dread in you is angry, bitter like bile, and white hot. Preemptive grief, loss that you have to start swallowing before Rin isn’t even out of your arms.

“I hate you—” You tell him against his lips.”You’re awful. You’re the worst—”

Rin breaks away from you in an instant, slamming you back on the bed by the shoulder in a single, decisive motion. It makes your head spin.

“You don’t mean that.”

“And what if I did?” It’s not convincing, your voice is wobbling too much for it to be. You stare up at him, lips curling. 

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh my god, says you—” You roll your eyes. “You’re the brat here. Just— fucking kiss me—”

“No.”

“Then fucking leave already—!”

Rin holds you steady by the jaw, bowing over your body. You can’t look anywhere other than him. It’s consuming, like you’re being engulfed by a rushing tide. 

“Stop. It.” His words are clipped, filled with his own anger. His grip is too tight; you fear he may crush you. 

“Choke.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum.”

“So what if I am?” you laugh, the sound too high and airy to be comfortable. “If it bothers you so much, just leave already. It’s not like you want to be here. Does passing time in my bed make it go faster for you, Rin? Getting your last taste of this before you fuck off and leave—?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about!”

Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. God, you don't want to cry, but it feels unavoidable now. All of Rin’s attention, potential vitriol, judgment, and rejection is pointed at you. You might as well fucking die.

Rin is quiet over top of you, like a dark, stormy cloud in its last moments before a thunder crack. Heat lightning crackles between the two of you, but nothing strikes the ground yet. 

“It’s better for you to stay here,” he says eventually. 

“Why do you think that?” You sound exasperated.

Rin’s quiet again, then speaks like he’s seated at a confessional, and not over your hips. 

“You shouldn’t be around me too much when I’m playing,” Rin confesses and squeezes your jaw. “It’s bad enough here. All I’ll be doing is playing soccer—”

“And that’s what you want, right?”

“Yes—” Rin admittance hits you in the chest and you have to let out a steadying breath, so you don’t shatter right there. “And you can’t be there for that.”

“Why?”

Rin lets go of your jaw and you open your eyes. 

His own jaw is tight, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His eyes are wet, almost like there could be tears threatening to spill into his lower lashes. Maybe you’re imagining it. 

“Trust me.” His tone is a bowstring. You’re both ready to snap. “Please.”

A whine echoes from your throat, out of your control. 

(You love him and you hate seeing someone you love hurt—)

You can’t help yourself. You tug him down by the shoulders and into you, so he can lay over your chest. He lets you, so easily, and tucks his face into the curve of your neck. He hides there, arms wrapping around your middle, so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll ache there the next day. 

It hurts, it hurts— not the pressure on your ribs, but having the atypically unsteady presence of Rin in your arms. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to cuddle, Rin is clingy, especially after sex, but it is odd to see him this visibly upset. It hurts because he’s hurting. It hurts because he’s choosing to leave and telling you not to follow, despite... everything. It hurts so deep in your chest, that you let yourself become so involved and in love with him.

You bury your face in his hair and shake.

...

Rin is bad at protecting people.

It’s a given, knowing his nature and the fact that he had an older brother closely looking out for him for most of his life, makes his ineptitude at protection make sense. 

He clearly wants to be. He has the strength and tenacity to bare his teeth and claw, but you don’t think Rin knows which way to direct his fear and grief— whether to inflict wrath on himself, the aggressor, or the person he actually means to protect. 

You can’t blame him. Some things, Rin only understands in theory and not in practice. Rin is so highly attuned to feelings but so absolutely atrocious at empathizing. You think— with you— he tried. He even succeeded at points, which makes your own heartbreak feel all that more infectious and virulent.

Your back is laid out over your duvet, your legs cradling Rin’s hips. He has three fingers in you, stretching you out with as much care and intention as he can muster. You can tell by the furrow in his brow, the peek of his tongue sticking out from his lips. Pleasure burns in your core, but the sensation is eclipsed by a well of fondness and grief, drowning you.

Rin slides onto his stomach and hikes your legs over his shoulders. He takes one of your hands and places it into his hair. You knot your fingers into the soft texture of it and tug. He likes when you do that, when you try to take from him. Rin shudders between your thighs, huffing a breath into the pudge of them. He nips.

On another night, you’d scold him and give him a playful amount of grief for it.

Tonight, you want him to bite you so hard that you bleed and scar.

(Would he? He’s so scared of hurting you, even if he doesn’t say it. He is hurting you. A sick part of you wants him to do material harm to you, so you’ll have something tangible to remember him by. An imprint of his teeth in your thigh would be too romantic, maybe. Too much to ask for.)

Rin kisses up toward your cunt, taking his time over the outside of it. He breathes in the scent of you, long and hard, a few times. A wishful part of you hopes that he is committing it to memory. 

“Hurry up,” you snap. 

“No.” Rin keeps fucking denying you. Haste would make this hurt less. You could speed things up to the inevitable end where Rin Itoshi has thrown this— you— away and you are left alone. Instead, he prolongs it. Instead he is carving a piece of you out, in the shape of himself, the wound never to fill as cicatrix and heal.

You drag him closer by the hair and grind against his face—

“Impatient—” he says against your cunt with a growl. His arms wrap around your hips, holding you down and in place, keeping you from squirming. 

It’s needed as he drags his tongue over your cunt, dipping the tip of it into your hole before landing on your clit. He laps at it, at you, humming and groaning as you tug at his hair. The motion you’re allowed lets you just barely grind against his face. It’s not enough contact. You want more, need more, but Rin is only giving you so much. 

“God,” you breathe out. “Fuck you.”

Rin practically growls, the vibration of the sound against your sex makes your back arch, a pretty, croaking sound dripping from your throat. He dives into you with more fervor, digging hand-shaped bruises into your hips.

The pleasure comes to you like licks of a flame, just as scorching as they are whimsical. Your toes curl as Rin’s sucks your clit. There’s finesse in his actions. There didn’t used to be, at the start of things, but now Rin knows your body so intimately—

(It feels crushing to know this will be the last time—)

It feels like you’ve been struck.

Never again— this is it—? The last time he’ll be in your bed, between your thighs, in your arms. You’ll never get to share this proximity with Rin Itoshi again. Not this version of him, anyway. You know what the journey that he’s about to embark on will do to him. The Rin that you know won’t exist for much longer, and— 

The version of himself that he’ll return as won’t be yours.

(And he won’t give a fuck about you, will he?)

It feels— like you’re going to die. Preemptive grief for a still-living person feels selfish. And yet, you can’t breathe suddenly, even with Rin, present, between your thighs, lavishing you with (fleeting— fleeting!) attention.

You rip your hand from Rin’s hair and cover your face. You can’t look at him. You can’t. Tears are dripping from the corners of your eyes, soaking into your hairline. Your breathing speeds up, painful and raw. Rin is still between your legs.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looming over you once more. You can feel his shadow, more than you can see it. 

He grabs your wrists and tries to drag them away from your face. When you don’t budge, he pries them down to your sides. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think that you could hide from him.

“Just—” You breathe, staring into the shadows thrown onto your bedroom wall. “Keep going. Please. Ignore me.”

“The last thing in the world I can do is ignore you right now.” Rin squeezes you, less for comfort and more to remind you that he is there. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I just want to get this over with—” Your voice wobbles and you squeeze your eyes shut. A sob is trapped in your throat, breaking in an ugly sound. Your wrist jolts in Rin’s grip, desperate to try and hide the noise. 

You want to hide this from Rin.

If Rin wants to hide the ugly, poisonous part of him that comes out in his career, you want to hide the lovesick one that has infected you. The one that is shattering, in real-time, at the idea of Rin leaving your bed cold, forever. 

“I want to take my time,” Rin tells you. “Let me?”

“And I want you to just get it over with—” You repeat, a sob finally breaking from your lips, fully. Rin noses into your cheek. “Finish breaking my fucking heart already, Rin. Then you can hop on a plane and I can block your fucking number.”

There’s a stall. A beat, then two, followed by a third.

Rin is shaking on top of you.

“Would it be that easy for you?” He speaks with gritted teeth.

Would it?

(No, it would actually be so hard for you to cut Rin off so swiftly. Even if you blocked his number, you’re bound to see him in the news. You don’t even follow football all that closely, but he’s such a household name these days that you’re sure to encounter news of him and his accumulating accolades.)

(If not, you know his teammates. Rin begrudgingly introduced you after the lot of them crossed paths with you enough times. You have a few of their phone numbers. Rin’s mother has your contact information too, from the time that Rin spiked a high fever and you needed her specific oyaku recipe. She messages you photos of her garden now, and asks if Rin’s alright.)

(And none of that is even acknowledging the personal, emotional wreckage that cleaving Rin from your life so swiftly will leave behind.)

“No,” you say. 

Rin takes a steadying breath, his breath too warm against your cheek and down your jaw.

“You said,” his voice maybe wobbles, you may be imagining it, “that I’m breaking your heart?”

You laugh, something horrible and pained. “I thought that was obvious?”

He pauses. “Maybe it was.”

God, he’s so shit at this kind of thing.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

And you cry.

You’ve become so fragile in the past few weeks. Imagining this day, these exact moments of fleeting intimacy, like doing so could prepare you in any way for the pain that’s now tearing through you. The fear of losing him is being actualized, and you’re making it worse, pushing him away like this. But what would happen if you held him closer when it’s so clear that’s not what Rin wants?

You tear your wrists from Rin’s grip, taking a great amount of effort to flip and attempt to crawl across the bed. Crying like this makes you feel awful and ugly; you want nothing more than to hide. Rin is frozen, motionless, above you at first, letting you writhe until you get onto your tummy, squirming and clawing your way out from under him.

Then, he bears his weight down on you. He gathers your wrists up again and pins them to the bed on either side of your head. It’s a single moment of strength that immobilizes you flat all over again.

“Rin!” You mean to shout it, but instead, it’s a cracking sob that you have to muffle into the duvet.

He gathers your wrists in a single hand, and pets your hair, like you so often do for him. He rubs circles on your shoulders as you wail into the duvet. Bucking him off doesn’t work, he’s an unrelenting presence, sitting on your lower back, almost laid over you. It’s hard to breathe.

(A sick part of you likes this. Knowing that your blatant pain and struggle are being acknowledged by Rin, held and quelled by him, soothes the part of you that craves his attention so terribly. You love him so much, you feel guilty for these feelings just as much as you feel elated by the touch and care he is providing you.)

“It’s okay,” he tells you. He is not a being meant to comfort, the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay.”

“You know it’s n-not!”

A fresh wave of tears pours from you. You’re soaking the mattress. 

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t apologize either. “If I could give you what you want, I would.”

The sob that you scream into rumpled bed sheets is like thunder that splits the sky.

...

Rin fucks you like he loves you.

He kneels between your legs, holding your hands, thrusting into you at an unhurried, almost reverent pace. Slow and deep, busting up your insides. You’re stretched around his pretty cock beautifully; he told you so. 

Each cant of his hips knocks a teary breath out of you. You— you haven’t stopped crying. You’re not sure that you ever will.

Rin kisses you despite the tears and snot, licks your cheeks and mars your neck with mark after mark. His teeth dig into fragile flesh, biting and sucking like he could be eating you, rather than bedding you. It’s a shift in his demeanor— he’s not normally this desperate. Maybe your shattering has made him more lucid to your coming loss. 

His hands slip up the backs of your thighs, resting behind your knees. He bears his weight down on you, folding you in half easily. It pushes his cock deeper in you, maybe too deep, but you relish the pain anyway. The pressure of him forces a sound of you, aborted and frail. When you try to cover your mouth, muffle yourself, Rin is pulling your hand away to kiss you. 

Rin swallows down every sound, every breath, every bit of you that he can. You press back at him with as much desperation as you muster. He takes and takes, regardless of your tears and jagged edges. 

He curses under his breath, tilting his forehead against your own.

“C-Close?” You ask, another involuntary sound being punched out of your lungs. 

“No—” He shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No—”

“I’m unconvinced,” you manage to grit out, a bubbling sob creeping up your throat just after. 

Rin growls, something in his chest, and thrusts harder, like he’s trying to carve out your insides. 

“I—” Rin’s words choke off, pressed against your lips, a frantic edge to it. “I don’t want to be done yet.”

You both freeze.

Rin’s as deep in you as he can be, his hips pressed to your pelvis. Every bit of his weight is bared into you, into your cunt and flesh. He’s breathing in deep, hurried breaths, sweat beads on his brow. You’re grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into him as his words hit you.

“You—” You laugh and cry in the same breath. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

His grip on you tightens. His expression is cloudy, his focus solely on you (what a terrifying thing to be on the receiving end of—)

You continue speaking, feeling a creeping amount of panic, “You— you mean sex right? You want to k-keep going?”

“If I said yes to that, I’d be lying.” Rin thrusts into you, hard and fast. You arch your back against the duvet. 

“S-So you don’t want—”

“I want to keep fucking you,” Rin corrects, easily. He pushes you down into the mattress like he’s trying to crush you, pulverize you. “I don’t want to be done fucking you.”

“God,” you hit his shoulder with your fist and the force of an angry kitten. “You fucking suck, Rin.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ — Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

He kisses you again, this time softer. More kind, but still like he wants to eat you. 

You finish like that, with his lips laid over yours, with the tempest of loss having consumed you. Rin heavy over your body and heart, pleasure having snuck up behind him enough that tension has coiled in your gut. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, in waves, and you’re sucked down into the sensation with darkening vision and curling toes.

Rin kisses you through it, cursing as you tighten around him. He didn’t— he didn’t use a condom.

“Inside—” You beg him. “Inside— please, please—”

Rin listens to you, bowing over you and pushing your knees up to the sides of your skull. A choked sound leaves his lips and you swallow it down with your own keen. A gush of warmth follows, and you shiver with the heat and fullness of it.

Rin fucks you through his orgasm, muscles drawn tight as he fucks you deep and slow. He only stops when his cock is too soft to continue, and you’re both shivering from overstimulation. 

His cock drags out of you, wet and chilling in the still air. You whine at the loss, the panic and grief of this all hitting you again.

You don’t have much time to spiral, as Rin is gathering you up his arms, rolling away from the soaked sheets. He holds you tight, chest-to-chest. His hand is in your hair, and he grabs yours and places it on his own. Reflexively, you scratch his scalp and tug him closer.

You’re both quiet for a long time. The rain hasn’t stopped, dribbling on, but it doesn’t feel as grim now, more sedating. Your eyes go half-lidded.

“Can you clarify?” You ask Rin, peeking up at him. “What you meant before?”

(“I don’t want to be done—”)

“Hm.”

“God—!” You laugh, headbutting him. “You do suck.”

He squeezes you, so hard that a sound is forced from your lips. 

“So you want to keep fucking?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Fuck, Rin—”

“Shut up.”

“Still figuring it out?”

“Something like that.” He muffles the words into the top of your head.

You’re not sure where your grief sits then. Maybe it’s gone, and your release was just that— release. It makes you laugh again, into Rin’s chest. You squeeze him like doing so will keep him here, in this moment, for a little longer. 

Rin wordlessly squeezes you back even harder.

...

You and Rin don’t talk much once he goes to Europe.

You lose your mind right after he leaves, obviously. Screaming, crying, not throwing up, but pretty close to it. His house slippers get thrown in the back of a closet (rather than in the trash because, despite everything, you have hope—) and you rot for several weeks.

It takes a while for you to be close to normal.

Your routine with Rin had been a regular occurrence. Maybe once a week, sometimes twice. Not having it to count on unmoors you and makes you lonely in a way that feels unwelcome and raw. There’s a piece of you missing, just like you knew there would be.

You get a few texts from him. A photo or two of monuments he encounters with a few choice words—

[Rin]: I thought you would like this

You’re going to fucking kill him.

You’re never sure what to reply, so you tend to keep things brief. Your last encounter made you question your understanding of your relationship so profoundly that you don’t know how to proceed. There’s... certainly more than you expected, but upon Rin departing for Europe, so much had been left unsaid. How do you begin to broach that— is it even your place to?

You don’t bring it up. You don’t call him, you leave the wound he left alone, and it aches a little less each day. Still gaping and empty, but less raw maybe.

It’s late one evening when you receive a call from a random, international number.

You ignore it at first, thinking it’s spam, but they recall you several times, and you pick up on the fourth attempt.

“... Hello?” You ask into the receiver. 

“Oh, hi! Is this [name]?”

“It is— who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Isagi— I’m one of Rin’s teammates from Bluelock. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times!”

You have— Rin has a serious chip on his shoulder about Isagi, which has been made to be an incredibly comical fact when realized Isagi is one of the most genuinely kind, polite people you’ve ever encountered. 

“Oh yeah, it's nice to— um, hear from you. What’s up?

“Ah, yeah! I apologize for the abrupt calls. I’ve got something to ask you that’s kind of time-sensitive— if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” You swallow. “Is... everything alright? Is... Rin okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He’s totally fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine.”

You straighten up and withhold gasp. “Rin drank?”

Rin has refused alcohol the entire time you’ve known him. He swears it affects his performance. 

Isagi laughs on the other side of the line. “Oh man, you don’t even know. I’ve never seen the guy with any alcohol in his system before either, and I kind of get why. He really is a lightweight.

“I imagine... and this has to do with why you called?”

“Yes, actually—” Your phone chimes with a new message from Isagi. “Is this you in the photo?”

The photo is of another phone, specifically of its lock screen. The time on the photographed phone screen reads [01:11]. The lock screen is a photo of you.

You’re sleeping, clearly, face half-smushed into one of your pillows. Mascara smears under your eyes and hickeys are bruised up and down your throat. From the location of the marks and makeup, you know this is from the last night you saw Rin. Your chest feels tight. 

“What the fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, oh my god.” You had no idea Rin took this photo— and it’s his fucking lock screen? That fucker only had the generic, preloaded graphics displayed on his phone the entire time you knew him. 

“I thought so— sorry, it’s kind of insane for Rin to have a photo like that—”

“It is, yeah.” You run a hand over your face, switching your phone to speaker and rubbing your cheeks. “How does this relate to you calling?”

“Well,” says Isagi, “Rin’s been playing like shit.”

“He has been.” Oh my god, has he. Like actual garbage. You’re not sure you should admit that you watch Rin’s games religiously, because at this point it’s a bit pathetic of you. But you do watch them live if at all possible, otherwise you purchased some stupid European streaming service to catch the recording as soon as possible. And because of this, you know he has been playing sloppily. You’ve been... blaming jetlag. Or something. Adjusting to the European diet or whatever.

(Not the vestiges of your relationship still, miraculously, affecting him in any way.)

“It hasn’t been great. We won our match yesterday, but barely. And we went out drinking which was good for morale! But maybe not great for Rin. He drank a bit too much and got a bit weepy.”

Your stomach drops. You can see where this is going.

“He kept talking about missing someone but didn’t say any name. And when we saw his lock screen... we kind of put two-and-two together.”

“Great deduction. Aren’t you known for that?”

Isagi laughs, sounding good-natured. It makes you smile. It’s nice to know Rin hangs out with good people who aren’t all dour and weird like him. 

“Something like that. Anyway, his birthday is in a few weeks, and me and a few of the other guys thought it would be a good gift for him to fly you out and surprise him.”

You stay silent, attempting to suffocate the spark of hope that traitorously stirs in you.

“Isagi.” You fold your hands and put them vertically to your lips. “Have you met Rin?”

That makes him laugh, “I have, I’m probably around him too much. But he’s been weird since we started the season here. If you visited, the team would cover everything. Our coach even offered to arrange rooms for you at the hotels we’ll be at. If you don’t want to room with Rin, anyway—”

“Rin and I aren’t together.”

“Damn.” Isagi clicks his tongue. “Does he know that?”

Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe Rin’s an idiot. Maybe you’re both idiots. 

“I should ask him, maybe.”

“He’s never been the type to do things in halves, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

Isagi whistles and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. If you could let me know in the next few days, that would be great. You’ve got my number now that I’ve called, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” You swallow. “Thanks for reaching out, Isagi. I appreciate it. And— thanks for keeping an eye on Rin too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone needs to while he’s here. Let me know what you’re thinking, feel free to call if you need anything too. Or want me to spy on Rin for you.”

“Will do,” You laugh, light-hearted for the first time in weeks. You exchange goodbyes and you drop your phone onto your lap.

...

Oh my fucking god.

You know several things immediately— you want to go. Desperately, actually, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucking Rin Itoshi has you as his fucking lock screen? You need answers, if nothing else. You won’t settle for a very sad, weepy fuck this time around. 

You also know that you should not surprise Rin. 

So, you act before you can convince yourself better of it. You scroll to your messages with Rin and craft.

[you]: hey, i hope you’re doing alright. your teammate (isagi) just called me and invited me out for your birthday to surprise you. but i know you well enough to know that if i surprise you like that you will either kill me, isagi, yourself, or all three of us.

[you]: i wanted to touch base before i gave isagi an answer

[you]: i’d love to see you

[you]: and we should talk too.

Rin almost immediately sees the message— the freak has read receipts on. A bubble indicating he’s typing appears, then disappears.

A call from him comes in. You nearly drop your phone as the screen lights up your face and vibrates.

With a steadying breath, you answer.

“Hello?”

“What did Isagi tell you?”

You snort. “That your play sucks and that you’re a weepy drunk.” 

“He sucks. Don’t talk to him again.”

“I have to, so he and the rest of your team can buy me tickets and a hotel room—”

“If— if you want to come, I’ll buy your ticket. And why would you need a hotel room?”

“So I have somewhere to sleep.”

“Is my bed not good enough for you?”

“Are you implying that I’d sleep with you?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn,” you fall back onto your couch with a laugh. There’s an odd coil of relief that’s unspooling in your chest. You could cry again. “Is that alright?” 

“I— I wouldn’t want—” Rin so rarely loses his words, it shocks you to hear when he does. “Yes. It’s fine. I can meet you at the airport too.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a poignant moment of silence that passes between you two. You can imagine Rin now— it’s the morning where he is. He probably is nursing both a bottle of water and that electrolyte drink he prefers— he likes the blue flavor the best. He’s probably in his warm-up clothes, preparing for his meticulous morning routine. 

“I’m excited,” Rin says, stilted but there. “To see you again.”

Something warm burns in you, frail but burgeoning.

“So am I.” You wipe your eyes and laugh. “Don’t break my heart again, Rin, I swear to God.”

“I won’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that you believe him. 

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[xazse]

mr compress x kittygirl hybrid! reader and i will worship the ground you walk 😣😣🙏🙏🙏

SWEET GIRL

Synopsis: Mr.Compress feels a certain inkling and intensity within himself.

Notes: this is great I know you just submitted this really recent but I wanted to let some of my fans know that I will now write for MHA!!! SEND ME SOME STUFF (don’t worry to my others who have sent jjk requests I’m working on them<333)) (sorry I just had to do something with the league and them meeting kitty girl)

Pairings: Mr.Compress x KittyGirl!Hybrid

Warnings: Smut + mean!League Members + rough handling + rough kissing + fingering + penetration + Fem!reader + Hybrid!reader

Mr.Compress had dragged in another stray: you he had known for at least a month before introducing you to the league. He found you digging through some rubble searching for food. He had felt extremely bad and just felt the need to take you.

So that’s what he did, he took you and you didn’t fight at all he just went, scooped you up. You looked a tad bit confused but when he gave you some food you were attached, he gave you plenty of opportunities to leave but every time you’d look around for him and once you found him you’d loop your arms with his and follow. It was downright adorable.

After some time had passed he chose to introduce you to his beloved league.

“She looks stupid, get her out.”

“That’s so mean Tomura! I think she looks adoreable!”

“You are very right Toga, Shigaraki isn’t used to cutesy things.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The blue haired man exclaimed from the bar.

“Why not give er’ a change Shigaraki? She could prove to be useful.” Spinner is always trying to be the middle man, Mr.Compress can certainly rely on him to get you in good with everyone.

“Useful my ass.” Dabi’s the one who speaks up.

“It wouldn’t be wise for you to talk, you’re in the same boat as her.” Shigaraki backfires.

“Tried to help you, dick.”

It hadn’t even been 40 minutes sitting as the league chats and discusses various things, Toga and Twice won’t leave you alone they insist on playing with your tail and rubbing your pointy ears: pushing them back just to watch them pop right back in place.

You aren’t complaining one bit, you love the extra attention they’re giving you, you can’t quite make out what they’re saying but nonetheless you know it’s nothing but sweet words minus twice sometimes blurting random crude things.

Leaving them proves to be the worst, “tears” are exchanged when Mr. Compress is ready to depart and you have to leave the new friends you just made. He reassures you that you’ll be able to see everyone again very soon.

Mr compress loves you a tenth fold you’re impressed by his tricks others find to be unfunny but you will sit for hours and watch him show off, clapping with the biggest smile on your cute face. It drives him mad to have his own personal fan.

It makes his cock throb when he’s doing one of his tricks and you look so curious to find out what’s next, he can’t focus on finishing it when you’re swooning right in front of him, he basically attacks you with sloppy kisses.

His thick tongue invades your mouth, his actions aren’t careful, he needs to be inside you right now.

He sits on his hind legs and traps you with his thighs on either side. He takes his hard cock out and jerks himself a few times right over your exposed stomach. you’ve all of a sudden gone shy on him, trying to avoid the intense way he’s staring down at you.

He stops for a moment to rid you of your bra, then your panties whilst also undressing himself fully too.

Even after all this time you’re still hiding your body from him like he hasn’t explored every single inch of you. He pays that no mind and moves to rub your cunt, he makes sure not to directly touch your clit.

He moves his skillful fingers around your lips, dipping in and out of your hole to get you used to the feeling. Sweet moans slip from your throat, your breath hitches everytime he so much as grazes the englared bud.

Impatient Compress starts full on fucking you with his fingers, he has to use a little of his strength to keep your leg nice and still for him. You’re full on moaning, it feels so damn good, the way his fingers abuse your wet hole in the meanest motions he can muster.

He makes eye contact with you when he pulls his fingers out and licks them, making sure to clean them dry.

He’s got you plenty wet, he rubs the tip of his cock in between your lips even touching your sensitive clit, he hadn’t even made you cum and you’re already so jumpy.

His thick cock starts to push inside you, slowly filling you of him, taking him is no walk in the park, he’s more long than anything, you grip whatever you can as he pushes past your tight hole.

Atsuhiro lets you adjust to him, he can hear slight sniffling from you, poor thing, he’ll make you happy in just a moment: that moment being now, he pushes your legs a little towards your torso angling his cock more snuggly.

Atushiro is never one to rush sex with you, he likes to be in the moment so he can enjoy and really feel you but now he can’t wait, he starts thrusting fast and deep, your fat cunt accepting every inch so easily now.

He’s been obsessed with your pussy the first day you and him had sex, you’re so tight and warm, he draws his hips back all the way letting his cock fall out to admire the slick it’s covered in, just to slam right back into you.

“Nnng..”

“Feels… so good Sako..” your moans sound so choked up in your throat, making you all the more desperate for more clearly.

His face is a beautiful shade of pink, groans mixed with yours slipping from his bitten lips, you truly don’t know the effects your cunt has on him, everytime he pulls back you suck him right back in.

Your tail has a mind of its own when it wraps around his torso, moving along with the rhythm of his hips.

You wipe the tears that have found their way to your face, your body spasms in that familiar way, along with your pussy tightening even more around him. He holds you down by your tummy, securing you in place so you don’t thrash everywhere.

He slams down in you one last time, pushing you right over the edge you cum with a loud yelp followed by quiet whines that die down, through this whole thing he’s praising you, kissing your soddened cheeks.

Your chest rapidly tries to calm down, feeling the aftershocks of a nasty orgasm.

Later that night he makes sure to rub your pointy ears and cuddle you as close as possible.

[savouringmidnights]

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Ode To Her

(A Love and Deepspace x Non!Mc Reader fic)

(TW: Angst)

(Word count: ~2.7k)

🌟 Disclaimer: If the following trigger warnings or the general genre of the fic make you uncomfortable, then please do not proceed ahead, thank you! 🌟

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

(Image Credits: Pinterest)

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

(Guide:

Colour codes—Pink and bold is used for MC

Blue and bold is used for Zayne

Yellow and bold is used for Xavier

Green and bold is used for Caleb

Red and bold is used for Sylus

Purple and bold is used for Rafayel.

Mixed/Multiple colouration stand for multiple characters at the same time, as to be followed by the colour code given)

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

(GIF Credits: Pinterest)

Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.

Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.

Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Time had flown like violent waves coursing through a stormy ocean. It felt as if eons had passed by, leaving a barren field behind, which once bloomed with the blossoms of Happenstance.

Happenstance? That’s right, that’s how you’d met him all those years ago, three to be exact.

If you take a tour down memory lane, it will all flash right in front of your eyes as if you were watching a high definition movie…

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

You’d moved to Linkon City with hopes of something long forgotten but mainly for, continuing your passion for writing. When you were younger, you too wanted to pursue a career path in becoming a Deepspace Hunter, having a really strong affinity towards the profession. But upon growing up further, your past dream had slowly shrouded within the neural networks of your brain.

Life in Linkon was moderately hard, with the occasional Wanderer outbreaks and Hunters reaching the designated area on time for action, saving civilians. You admired them, you admired them from the depth of your Heart…you wanted to write about them, but you barely found the words to do so.

It left you frustrated and up late every night…only for the next day to continue as a torturous loop of boredom. Not even three months in the City, you were already bored…

You wanted a wish…a wish to be granted…a wish to cure your boredom…and you wanted write all over again…

You wished for it.

Three weeks into the beginning of your third month in the City, you meet someone, you never knew would play such a significant role in your life.

You met her…

MC was her name. She was a new Hunter at the Hunters’ Association but ever so skilled and compatible. A strong, independent woman; someone you soon grew close with.

It was a coincidental occurrence.

You were at Destiny Cafe, a favourite place of yours added to your recency list, when Fate did Her magic.

She was sat at the table alongside Tara,

(who was a ray of sunshine, a pure soul, her colleague and friend, one she’d made at the Association.)

As time flew, hangouts and sleepovers became more common, mostly happening at hers, Tara would often join the two of you, but if she didn’t it was the both of you…

The two of you could spend hours talking and talking, as you’d ask her about her day and missions, taking inspirations for your work, while she’d about the stuff you wrote.

“Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.”—your first wish was granted.

….

Two weeks into the middle of your fourth month in the City,

Perchance You were out with MC and Tara at the Kitty Cafe, playing several rounds of the Advanced Mode of Kitty Cards—

Perchance one evening to Azure Square at that one bakery that MC had told you about, to feed your craving for Macarons—

Perchance on the way to MC’s apartment when you almost run into her upstairs neighbour—

Perchance at a local Casino to feed your thirst for a game of Blackjack—

Perchance out an art store, where hung a pretty wooden board containing the symbolisms for each colour—

When you’d first met him.

There was no verbal exchange, just the meeting of gazes for the very first time.

Later that night, your heart had already started skipping beats from the encounter, your mind started creating scenarios of your second meet, if there was any to come. You hoped for it…

You wished for it.

You wrote about it. Told MC a few days after…Her face lit up, she knew him. Oh?

He was an old friend?

her primary care physician?

a colleague at work?

someone she works as a bodyguard for?

a fruit vendor?

She asked if you wanted to formally meet him. You nodded.

So you did.

at her apartment, when she’d called you over two evenings later.

at Akso Hospital when he was on his lunch break, she’d taken you to.

at the beach, she called him over.

at the Karaoke place, she told he’d like.

It was awkward as heck, what would you have said? That ‘Hello I am the girl you made eye contact with days ago.’, you were nervous.

Maybe he sensed that, he spoke first, he remembered you. You smiled.

The weeks passed, growing with them the bonds of the new friendship that you had been gifted with. The two of you would often meet up almost everyday if time permitted…but you would…

Sometimes with MC, sometimes without her.

You cherished your times spent with him, they made you feel special…a little bit too special, that your heart would strum along the strings a melody, you were oh-so utterly familiar with…but you didn’t want to hurry…

As the saying goes, “Slow and Steady, wins the race.”

Each night you’d return home, stare up at the ceiling giggling like a teenage girl with a crush.

A Crush…!

Plus you’d blame him for making you fall…

How dare he remember your favourite flower,

your favourite colour,

your favourite song,

your favourite food,

the things that make you smile or ick…

He knew the ways of your little world better than your own comprehension.

All so crystal clear, within just a matter of months…

You were bound to fall…and you did…

You fell hard…

“Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.”—your second wish was granted.

….

A year and a half had passed since you met him…and you were down bad for him…

In Every star cluster in the night sky,

Every flower blooming and blossoming in a garden making it rich,

Every flake of the gentle snow which landed upon your nose,

Every ray of the Sun that caused the ripples of the Sea to glimmer,

Every winning gamble-

-you saw him.

You envisioned him, by your side…hand in hand for as long as Space-Time marks it’s existence.

You wanted him to be happy…

You wished for it…

Your pages were diluted in his essence, as if every word you wrote was written for him…

Did he even had the hint of what went on within yourself?

Perhaps.

Did you want him to know?

Perhaps.

Would you ever tell him about it?

Perhaps.

But did the two of you hush out your deepest secrets with each other over call in the silence of the nights?

Absolutely.

“Perhaps…”

It was a word that shrouded it’s true pose from you for a long time.

A word that created the illusion of bliss over your story like a veil.

It was not sooner or later when you had finally been able to snip your way out of the veil…witnessing the harsh truths of reality…

You started noticing him and MC together more over the weeks, observing their conversing patterns… You had asked him, countless of times, if he was sick…if he was alright…if he was okay…but to no use, he would always divert the conversation, so you eventually stopped.

You knew about his past, he had told you…hence,

You would see saw how his eyes would illuminate as if they held constellations behind.

You would see saw the colours and hues that would splatter over the canvas of his face.

You would see saw the easiness in his body language whenever she was near.

As if it was all meant to be…

Each day became a new lesson upon the ways of the unfair world, each night a review of the same.

Confrontation is never an option when it’s the people you consider home.

And what would you confront about?

When you could see the Alchemy of their amalgamations transcend to the cosmic levels, it was as if the Universe had made them a pair, a bond. Eternally bound to each other.

If the word ‘Soulmates’ held ground, they would be the Altar which it stood upon.

Such was the strength of their unity…

It hurt, hurt like anything to accept this epiphany that you had come across…but did you have a choice?

How could you ever compete with what the Cosmos had set in stone…

So what did you do? You wrote about it…you wrote and wrote like there was no tomorrow, every night, all night…at least it took off a minute-fraction of the load that your heart had to carry…

Of course you didn’t stop talking to either of them or cancel meet-ups…well not with her…

With him however, you started growing a bit distant, often cancelling your usual meetings…you needed the space to get a grip on yourself…

You always covered it up over text, just like you masked off every single emotion from your external appearance…

It was on you, upon you, your fault for you had termed your third wish in the wrong way…you should’ve been selfish, not caring for his happiness…but what���s done is done…

His happiness was your happiness…

Her happiness was your happiness…

Even so this happiness was a curse,

You were happy.

The funny thing was that, the more heartbroken you got each night, the more creativity painted herself with words onto the canvas of your notepad…

So you brain came upon a gentleman’s agreement with your broken heart, a business deal if you may describe it as…your broken heart would provide the flow of emotions to the brain which in turn oozed out your creativity; while your heart would feel the weightage of the load lessen even if it meant by fractional amounts…

And what did you do? You let yourself bask in the Status Quo.

“Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…”—your third wish was granted.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.

Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.

Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Oh he cannot form sentences about the way his heart soared with elation when he met her again, in this lifetime,

for the first time…

His heart thumped loudly within his chambers, as if it were banging against a locked door, pleading to be let out, set free…If he’d ever known Love, then it was because of her existence that he understood the concept of Love.

She was the Destiny to which he elected to be Eternally bound. The connection they shared was beyond the mortal realm, transcending to the reaches even beyond metaphysics. It was Cosmic, he knew it, he felt it. It was the Universal Truth.

Hence why he felt desolate from within when she didn’t recall the past…the “Them”, that he carried on evermore in every one of his lives. He will continue to do so for eons to come.

Whatever she needed—time, familiarity, he was ready to give it to her. After all he was hers and she was his, they were an amalgamation…

Besides what Love wasn’t obsessive, sacrificial, a misconstrued treachery, or chastised.

So he waited, like he always had…

….

His days had grown monotonous without her memory.

‘When will she remember?’, was the fundamental thought that occupied his state of peace…

A change of scenery was much needed from this cyclic motion of work-life.

So he went, out for a stroll one fine evening.

Maybe he found out from his ‘trusted sources’ who sent notifications every second from her phone to his, that MC was at the Kitty Cafe along with some friends, playing several rounds of the Advanced Mode of Kitty Cards. Plus he needed to make sure she was with good company, after all he was only looking out for her—

Maybe he took a turn towards that one bakery the both had often ventured to satisfy their cravings for sugar—

Maybe he wasn’t a fan of his pre-planned stroll and instead made his way towards MC’s apartment when someone almost bumped into him. Letting out a flurry of sorries—

Maybe at a local Casino—

Maybe passing by an art store, where hung a pretty wooden board containing the symbolisms for each colour. He stopped by to judge them of their mistakes—

When his eyes met new ones, he’s never seen you before.

Maybe you were a new friend of hers, maybe even a stranger? Or an acquaintance? Whoever you are, it was of no concern to him…

….

A phone call was unexpected the very next evening, but not unwelcome. Infact he strived to hear her voice in some way or form, every single day of his being. She wishes to officially introduce him to her new companion? Oh?

Again unexpected. But if that’s what her wish was then it’d be his command. Although he was a bit hesitant upon meeting this mysterious person…majorly because he heard her go on for hours about how the two of them had gotten closer in just a matter of months.

She was sly, never mentioning the gender of this new ‘companion’ of hers. Maybe she enjoyed keeping him shrouded in half-truths.

What was his response? Yes of course. As if he could ever say No to her.

She’d assigned him a place for the meet-up along with the date and time, told him not to be late.

It was another dusk hour on a Sunday,

at her apartment,

at their assigned bakery they often go to, for replenishing their sweet teeth, well mostly his,

at the beach,

at the Karaoke place,

…You again?

Well at least it wasn’t a guy

You seemed awkward of the situation at hand, he could sense your nervousness scattered all over your features, profoundly. He wasn’t any big of a fan of first-impressions, but maybe a part of him wanted you to ease up…so he spoke up first, he remembered you.

He could see you heave a big sigh of relief internally at his words of consolation. You smiled…

The prescribed time soon had passed, enveloped within getting to know each other, while MC would often chime in to restore/uphold the fluency. He got to know considerable amounts of informations about you. You? A few adding onto the context of what you had already gathered from MC…

It was pleasant.

Days to weeks, weeks to months,

When had the Rendezvous metamorphosed into simple Hangouts, he couldn’t recall…

It started with the three of them when the familiarity was still in it’s budding stage…then slowly over time, the need for a watched maintenance of your fluency became discretionary,

for there bloomed beautifully the bonds of this new friendship, which got nurtured through your affection and dedication each day…making it grow stronger…

Hangouts became often (sometimes she would be there…sometimes not), almost everyday if permitted by time. If not? You’d substitute through calls and texts..

….

Time felt as if moving in a slow pace after ages of being driven with constraints and limits…here was none…

Things felt natural…innate with you, like the gentle breeze on a calm spring night, or the heavy shower accompanying a stormy day…

Like every phenomena in nature, often overlooked but are daily and recurring…

He couldn’t quite put his finger around it…yet…

He forgot to keep track of the exact moment when he

Started paying attention to the posters you hung above your bed—

Or the way you would try to stand your pen upright on your desk when your mind would wander off while writing—

Or the way you would duplicate multiple tabs on YouTube, each one filled with a specific song or mixed genres, while you would try resonating with it, to incorporate the same into paper—

Or the collection of hair ties that you possessed—

Maybe even the pre-existing tiny dent on the wall above your kitchen counter, which you said you would cover up with something but keep forgetting—

Maybe it was the way you’d smile everytime he was within your proximity—

Or the virtual hug you’d send him through your collection of cute bunny, crow, apple, snowman, artsy birb, stickers, every time before he went to bed—

Maybe it was the way your eyes would stare into his whenever he was over at you place and you were thinking of how to go forth with your words on paper—

Or everytime the two of you would be out, and you would feel like a breath of fresh air—

Soon he found himself accustomed to the ways of your world,

What made you ick or inspired,

Your favorites:

The certain colour of paint , or mixture gradients he’d use on his canvas that made you filled with joy, so he’d restructure his paintings like such—

The symbolism that each of the Cards and their Suits held within the deck of 52, making you speak on and on about them for hours, over text or via voice message at 3a.m—

Late night outings to go stargazing at the park, sitting on the plain grass, while you ask him about the different constellation…maybe just maybe while doing so, your head slowly tilts down to lay comfortably upon his shoulder—

How it became a regularity for you to visit the hospital every late night he got off of work, with a 6packed box of strawberry flavoured macarons…well two for each night on a row for three days, following the similar pattern for two weeks. Then came a gap for the next two weeks, as the cycle continues…but maybe what he wants to say was that, you’d be the Constant, coming over every night—

Every movie marathon you’ve been having, while he would cook for you. Not to mention how you’d constantly refer to him as ‘Maverick’ and hum along the theme song every time you watched Top Gun…Apparently it was your favourite thing to do, along with constantly complimenting his cooking in Shakespearean English and fumbling often—

Alongside the feeling of a calm warmth flowing through his body…a something else—resembling to fear??? Was slowly nibbling it’s way through his heart.

….

Uh oh…

A year and a half had passed already since he met you? And you had already confide countless of your deepest secrets to him…How could you trust him so much? Why did you trust him so much? Should he do the same…tell you about all his past lives, that haunt every hour of his existence?

Oh no…

The epiphany struck him like a truck when

In

Every star cluster in the night sky,

Every flower blooming and blossoming in a garden making it rich,

Every flake of the gentle snow which landed upon your nose,

Every ray of the Sun that caused the ripples of the Sea to glimmer,

Every winning gamble-

-he saw you.

Oh…

He had ever so slowly, fallen for you…

Now this filled him with panic,

He was panicking like a madman, like he had never before…

He didn’t know what to do, or how it was even possible for him to fall for someone else when the Love of all his Lives was MC…He needed to talk it out with MC…come up with a solution, something, anything…

All his thoughts and feelings were clogged and cluttered over his brain.

All this time he’d been beating around the bush, trying to press it down into the depths of chambers to be never found again…but somehow the feeling re-emerged, digging through every ground that he wanted to bury it beneath…

He felt like a nomad, like he knew nothing about the ways of the World…like a newborn…

Plus how would he even bring this up to MC, what if she gets heartbroken, or worse…

He couldn’t afford that…

But neither could he mute the sound of his thumping heart for you…

You…

Why did he have to fall for You? Who were you? A no-one till one and a half years ago.

He wouldn’t even have known about your existence if he didn’t meet you by Happenstance that faith-forgotten evening…

He could barely concentrate on work…Everything around him felt like a spiralling vortex and he was trapped inside…

Being the man he is, he somehow let his discomforts escape your radar eventually, after you had asked him over text, call, in-person countless number times, if he was alright…if he was sick…if he was okay…

MC eventually takes notice of this and confronts him…she had never seen him this distressed, calling him over at Destiny Cafe to talk.

Not sure how to go forth with the conversation, he hesitates…

He felt like he was stuck within a soft-lock of the game, his life had reduced to temporarily…

He had two choices,

“Either to abandon his future and stick to what Fate had woven for him eternally.”

“Or venture into the unknown and embrace the beauty of no obligations.”

She initiates.

He eases up…

Finally opening up…

Going on for weeks, he too gets to learn that she was plunged into a similar situation. There’s someone great that she met months ago during a mission, someone she saved…she’s been meaning to tell him but she didn’t know how…

‘They were on the same boat.’

Discussing upon ways how to break something that’s eternal…

Would it cause an anomaly?

Maybe a rift in Space-Time?

Or a breakage in the Universe?

What if the Cosmos punishes them, or worse the person they’ve been doing all this tallying and calculations for…

The risk was high but worth taking…

If it meant they could finally be free from this blessing-turned-curse.

Now came the part where he has to finally admit his feelings for you…

‘This scared him shitless’,

Being tied down to Fate and Eternity to one person was something he was familiar with—something he thought would last for all his lives to come…

But then you appeared, as the anomaly…

Like an error that could make a whole equation go wrong…

A glitch in the fabric of what he thought was Reality…

A new chapter added onto his story…

And he couldn’t wait to write it together with you…

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

—To be continued—

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A/N: This fic was highly inspired after reading the prompt by @chika-seno, so full credits to them, and thank you so much for writing such a wondrous inspiration. Hope you enjoy, the entire fic when it’s finished.

~🌙

[rika-mmendmethings]

Feline Hexes l Sylus

Summary: A prolonged game of kitty cards angers the kitty gods, who curse Sylus to become a cat, which leads to a series of misadventures and an un-fur-gettable day.

Warning(s): Tooth-rotting fluff, written with female reader in mind, might die from the cute aggression you get from Cat Sylus, short and sweet, slightly suggestive at the end, cheesy, kissing, pet names like sweetie and kitten used.

Word count: 2.6k

Now playing: Angel Baby by Troye Sivan

Notes: I've read a lot of fics where the reader turns into a cat so I couldn't help but want Cat Sylus and the rest is history ♥

It was another normal Sunday. As normal as playing kitty cards with the leader of Onychinus sitting across you could be considered. You two had been at it for approximately two hours and seventeen minutes and not once had you even stood up for a breather. You were dead-set on settling the score with the man in front of you because eating dirt was genuinely not your forte. It appeared it wasn’t his either because he had not shown an ounce of mercy to you despite your pleas and outbursts and now you were stuck in an endless loop of losing.

You internally rejoiced when you picked out an assist card, which happened to be the magic paw card. You kept your composure, scanning the cards in your hand once more: one Magic Paw card, one Paw Combo, one Purrcieve, and two number cards. Perfect. Victory would be within your grasp in the next round. Sylus had no number cards left, and judging by what you could see, only three assist cards in his hand. With the two cups left, you were confident that nothing—absolutely nothing—could take this sweet glory from you.

As it turned out, your win was not taken away; rather, it was deliberately snatched out of your awaiting, outstretched arms. Veiny hands that had you gushing over them with admiration every other day were now making you want to break them as they set down his cards. He gained another assist card, then one by one, placed all four of his cards down. His Freeze card had both you and your next assist card phase freezing. His combo attack, first from Cat-ching and then from Paw Combo, left you wounded. And just when you thought that at least the round would end in a tie because of your matching points, the bane of your existence shoved his last card and another easy win in your face. Magic paw. You could only watch, horror etched across your face, as Sylus reduced your highest point cup to a mere one point.

“Sylus.”

“Yes, kitten?”

“...I’m going to weep.”

“...Do you want my shoulder, a tissue, or both, sweetie?”

 You let out an exaggerated groan, dragging your hands down your face in exasperation. Sylus was at your side in an instant, his large arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. You knew you were being petulant, but the feeling of frustration didn’t dissipate, causing you to absentmindedly kick your feet beneath the table like a child amid a tantrum. His chest rumbled with laughter, a rich sound that made your heart flutter and your anger soften, until his next words pierced through your thoughts.

"Seems like a skill issue to me, sweetie."

You pulled away from him sharply, shooting him a glare that could have melted steel, though he only laughed harder. Typical Sylus, always rubbing his victories in everyone’s face. Without a word, you stood up, informing him that you were heading to the bathroom. The last thing you saw before you turned the corner was Sylus, now surrounded by all the upset Cats from the Meow’s Café, their tails puffed and ears flat in distress, clustering around his feet in a chaotic display. Serves him right. He had been ruthless to both you and the Cats, insisting on one round after another.

When you finally returned to your table, you only saw the Cats lazing around there. All that was left was a dotted line where Sylus had last been standing. You searched high and low but he was nowhere to be found. Just as you were about to ask a nearby employee, a pristine puff of alabaster white caught your eye from the corner of your vision beneath the table. Curiosity piqued, you bent down to investigate further. There, staring up at you with crimson eyes you had long grown fond of, was not your boyfriend, but rather a small white Cat with an unamused gaze and cautious stance. 

You blinked, processing the odd sight, and then shifted your gaze to the other Cats lounging around the table. It didn’t even surprise you when the other Cats seemed to regard the white puffball with a mix of indifference and quiet suspicion. Some even narrowed their eyes at it, which prompted the white fluff to hiss back in a clear display of annoyance. The situation slowly began to sink in, and you, now fully convinced, scooped the fluffy creature up and placed it on the table to meet your gaze.

"Sylus?" you asked tentatively.

A small, disoriented meow graced your ears as a response from the fur ball. It took barely a minute for the realization to sink in before you were on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you clutched your stomach, shaking from the intensity of your laughter. The sound echoed loudly as you cackled uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Cat Sylus made his way over to your scattered hair, pawing at it while hissing in irritation.

“Ouch, ouch! Okay, okay, I won’t laugh anymore. Stop pulling my hair!” you stammered, trying to Catch your breath between fits of laughter. You sat up, running a hand through your tangled hair, and risked one more glance at Cat Sylus. The sight of him only made you snort with laughter again. But you finally stopped when you saw your boyfriend-turned-cat sulking in a way that was so quintessentially him. Without hesitation, you gathered him into your arms, lifting him high into the air just like Rafiki did with Simba in The Lion King.

A smug grin tugged at your lips as you couldn't help but ask, “Who's the kitten now, Sylus?”

Cat Sylus huffed indignantly, ears flattened and tail swatting at your hands in a futile attempt to free himself. You gently set him back on the table and took a seat across from him. The two of you locked eyes, unblinking, until an overwhelming sense of affection surged through you. A wide, ecstatic grin spread across your face as cute aggression took over.

You squealed in delight, cupping Cat Sylus’s rounded cheeks in your hands before pulling him tightly to your chest. You couldn't resist nibbling at his ears and burying your face in his soft fur, cooing sweet praises all the while. You felt like that one Chinese influencer who was famous for her adorable Cat and the high-pitched, cute aggression she gets whenever she sees it. Surprisingly, Cat Sylus didn’t protest. He simply sat there, enduring your onslaught of affection. And if you observed closely, you might have even noticed the faintest trace of contentment in his eyes, as though he were almost basking in the warmth of your adoration.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his small forehead and scratched behind his ear comfortingly as you assured him, “Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll talk to the employees about how to get you back to your normal form at the earliest. Although I wouldn’t mind you like this for a few more hours.” Cat Sylus narrowed his eyes but didn’t stop purring like a broken record as you offered him more chin scratches. 

You held a reluctant Cat Sylus up by his scruff and walked over to the Meow Cafe’s counter, with him swaying in your hand. You placed him on top of the counter, pressing a finger to your lips and motioning for him to stay put as you rang the small yellow bell to summon an employee. You glanced up at the clock above the counter, which showed a quarter past seven in the evening, reminding you that the cafe closed when the clock struck eight.

A woman in her mid-thirties emerged from behind the counter, tipping her cap in greeting before asking if you needed assistance. You gestured to Cat Sylus, briefly explaining, “My boyfriend and I had been playing for quite some time. I stepped away to answer nature’s call, but when I returned, he had been transformed into a Cat. So, I’m hoping we can find a way to turn him back into a human.”

The woman clasped her hands together after listening to your story and reassured you, “This isn’t anything new for us. The cafe kitties have cursed people before, especially if they’re irritated. Just last week, a purple-haired, pettish man was cursed to turn into a cat as well. However, his girlfriend seemed far more concerned than you, as it turned out her boyfriend had a strong distaste for the very animal he had transformed into. You don’t need to worry too much though—the curse could wear off anywhere between a few hours and a day. If your boyfriend hasn’t reverted to his human form by tomorrow afternoon, you can bring him back here, and we’ll see what we can do.” 

She reached out to pet Cat Sylus, but he had other ideas. He ducked beneath her raised hand and hopped off the counter, quickly standing between your legs. The two of you shared mildly awkward smiles as you nudged him lightly with your foot, waving off his antics. “He’s even more complicated as a Cat, sorry.” You carefully gathered him up in your arms and placed him inside your backpack, leaving the zipper slightly open so he could breathe and poke his head out to take in his surroundings. After offering a polite farewell to the employee, you boarded Sylus’s motorcycle, securing your helmet in place. You glanced over your shoulder one last time to make sure he was comfortable before revving the engine and heading off toward the N109 zone.

You put Cat Sylus down on the black marble floors of his mansion, watching him stretch and meow softly. The sound immediately pulled Luke and Kieran out of their video game trance. They leaped off the sofa and rushed over to where Cat Sylus stood. Simultaneously, the twins pointed at the white ball of fur and asked, “What is this?”

“A cat,” you deadpanned, kicking off your shoes before scooping up Cat Sylus and strolling over to the sofa.

Your boyfriend’s most loyal henchmen—your children in all but legal names—followed you closely, sitting down beside you. You could practically feel their curiosity radiating off them in waves. Kieran was the first to speak, “Yeah, but where did you find it? Why is it here?” Luke chimed in between Kieran’s question, “Does boss-man know about this? What are you planning, missus?”

You pressed your hands over your ears in an exaggerated motion, pulling them away only when they got the hint and stopped their relentless barrage of questions. You gestured toward Cat Sylus, who had now settled comfortably on the armchair where he usually sat. With a matter-of-fact tone, you explained, “That is Sylus himself. We were playing kitty cards for far too long, and it ended up angering the Meow Cafe’s kitties, who cursed Sylus to turn into a Cat. The curse should wear off soon enough.”

The twins’ mouths formed an ‘o’ as they nodded in unison, their eyes fixed on their boss-turned-cat. They could have said so much more, even teased Sylus endlessly, but the scarlet-tinted glare directed at them was the only thing keeping them in check. It carried the unspoken threat of impending doom once he reverted back, should they dare utter a single word.

The twins settled for a half-hearted salute to Cat Sylus before scurrying away to their rooms after concluding that it was for the best if they left their boss in the best mood. You had an arm draped over your eyes and that was probably why you didn’t notice your Cat boyfriend straightening with gradual zeal when his beady crimson eyes fell upon a shiny earring that lay between the beak of his own creation, Mephisto. 

Your body had practically melted into the soft, plush leather after such a chaotic day when you suddenly felt it—silence. It was unusually quiet, and the absence of noise made your brow furrow in confusion. Slowly, you lifted your arm from your face and gasped in disbelief as your eyes took in the scene before you. Mephisto was frolicking around at Cat Sylus, who was curled up on the center table, a diamond earring resting under his left paw. Every so often, he swatted lazily at the mechanical crow as though it were nothing more than a bothersome fly.

Upon noticing that you were awake, Mephisto flew over and perched himself on your shoulder, cawing loudly as if to explain his dilemma—Cat Sylus had stolen from his precious collection. You gently patted the top of Mephisto’s head in understanding before prodding your Cat-boyfriend to coax him into opening his eyes. He peeked up at you with one ruby eye, a lazy smirk tugging at his muzzle, before closing both eyes again as if you were some lowly peasant unworthy of his attention. You huffed in mild offense, silently noting how, even in his feline form, Sylus still managed to maintain the same aloof mannerisms.

You poked him again, clicking your tongue. "Sylus, this won't do. Give Mephisto back the earring. Why are you even taking from his collection?"

At last, Cat Sylus opened his eyes, and you had to take a deep breath to stop yourself from melting—an almost impossible task, considering he was looking at you with those big, innocent eyes. He nudged the earring toward you with his muzzle and meowed sweetly. If you hadn’t melted before, you were certainly a puddle now. You nearly cooed, realizing that he was offering the earring to you, his beloved.

You picked up the earring and handed it to Mephisto, allowing the crow to fly off to his secret collection hideout. Then, you turned your attention back to Cat Sylus. You stroked his forehead affectionately, watching as he slow-blinked up at you. With a fond tone, you spoke, “I appreciate it, Sylus. But maybe it’s best to let Mephisto have it since the earring isn’t in its pair. Come on, let’s go to bed—it’s late.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, Cat Sylus trailing behind you. After freshening up, you decided to clean him with a wet napkin and even brought him a large bowl of lukewarm milk, knowing he would prefer it to cat food. You chuckled when you noticed his silvery muzzle dripping with milk, the contrast stark, like white crayon on white paper.

When you finally settled onto your back, Cat Sylus wasted no time, curling up on top of you, his tiny form resting gently on your chest with his tail wrapped around himself. You smiled tiredly, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose and giving him a few belly rubs before drifting off into sleep.

You awoke to a heavier weight on your chest than the night before. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft morning light. A familiar brush of knuckles moved your hair away from your face, and as you looked up, your gaze met your lover's—human once again. The corners of his lips curled into a Cheshire grin as his ruby eyes roved over your face. You breathed in recognition and murmured, “Sylus.”

“Hello to you too, sweetie. Missed me, hm?” he drawled, and you shook your head in playful denial, teasing him.

He was lying shirtless, his chin resting on your sternum, dressed in grey sweatpants—likely after he’d shifted back while you were still asleep. You let your fingers weave through his bed-tousled strands, and in response, he nuzzled into your chest. You let out a huff of laughter and asked, “Sylus?”

He didn’t stop his ministrations, and with a playful tone, he supplied, “I hope I didn’t lose my cat privileges just because I’m not a cat anymore.”

You held back a shudder when he pressed a peck to your clothed cleavage and pulled him up to your eye level by his hair and replied, “Not at all.” He grinned devilishly before sealing your lips with his and what followed after could only be guessed.

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[blbyena]

boyfriend!mark x reader, kitten kink, used of good boy, mark wants to be good

fluff, smut(?)

-

why did mark let other people tie a pink ribbon around his neck :(

kitten mark does something to me

You walked in slowly, deliberately, the soft creak of the floor the only sound in the room. Mark sat on the couch, legs spread, scrolling on his phone in sweats and a simple tee. But the moment he looked up, the device slipped from his hands and landed beside him with a dull thud.

His eyes widened just a little. You were wearing his t-shirt, nothing else visible except the teasing peek of black lace underneath, hugging your hips, and the soft pink ribbon dangling from your fingers. The smirk on your lips? Dangerous.

“Baby…” he breathed, eyes already dipping to your legs and back up to your face, “what are you up to?”

You stopped in front of him, leaning forward just enough to pout, your voice dripping with honeyed seduction. “I saw that content you were in… the one where they tied a ribbon on you. Made you look like a pretty little cat.”

Mark blinked, his ears already starting to turn pink. “You mean the shoot with—”

You cut him off with a dramatic little whine, swatting away the hands that had come up to grab your thighs. “No touching,” you said firmly. “You let them do it. You let someone else tie a ribbon on you, like a good kitty. But not me.” Mark let out a nervous, guilty chuckle, already looking like he was falling apart. “You’re jealous over a ribbon, baby?” You tilted your head, biting your lip just a little. “I want to tie one on you. Myself . Not for the camera. For me.” That’s all it took. He sank back against the couch cushion, eyes wide and full of need as he nodded once. “Okay… okay, yeah. Tie it.”

You climbed into his lap slowly, feeling the way his breath hitched, his hands trembling just slightly on your thighs but this time he didn’t move them, didn’t dare. His eyes were locked on you, pupils blown wide, completely at your mercy. You brought the pink ribbon up and looped it gently around his neck, your touch soft, delicate. He tilted his head obediently, letting you guide him. The moment you pulled the fabric into a bow and adjusted it, your heart fluttered : he looked perfect.

“Look at you,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, “my pretty kitten.” Mark let out the softest sound ; a needy little whimper, his hands flexing against the fabric of your shirt but not moving. His head dipped just slightly under your praise.

“You like it when I call you that?” you teased. He nodded. “Yeah… I do,” he admitted, voice low and breathy. “I wanna be good for you.” You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his lips. “Then be still. Let me look at you.” He obeyed instantly. Chest rising and falling a little quicker, flushed cheeks, and that soft ribbon perfectly wrapped at his neck. All yours. All obedient. All kitten.

“Good boy,” you murmured, smiling as his eyes fluttered closed, clearly melting under the praise.

And from the way his thighs twitched beneath you, you knew: you had him exactly where you wanted