#Cat Peeing On Shoes

[morgombie]

didnt draw his face how i wanted but its fine :3 behold

[velvetineblue]

@uroborosymphony's Quinn @ Myungdae: " Come on you're starving for this. No need to act so all mighty, you too looove to make someone bleed. Come on, slice me open. " Tai: . . .

akjsjkjahdkjhkjjk yeS he constantly invites myungdae to join their (nonexistent) polysexual relationship (that they could never have because they're too jealous) but quinn saying those words sounds so much more sensual & sexual to him than any invite to a threesome ever could jkashjajjkak

[lesbiansanemi]

And when I thought things were finally fine and had calmed down my roommate starts sending me shelters because he wants me to get rid of my cat 🙃🙃🙃

[sempiternal-peculiarity]

My blind cat and my shoes: A love story

[omi-om]

Whenever I heart bullshit about cats being uncaring or cold I remember a story my mother told me that when my sister was a baby, whenever she started crying or was upset their cat would run and bite my mother to wake her up so she would check on her

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[ethereallocs]

Arrogance (Modern Au!)

(Daemon Targaryen x Fem Reader)

(Content/ Warning: 18 +, Age-gap, cheating, angst, swearing, violence, avoidance, p in v penetration, sexual innuendos, cat and mouse.)

(Summary: After finding out your boyfriend and best friend have been screwing behind your back you find comfort in the one person you cannot stand…there won’t be any sex in this chapter. But it’s coming…)

Chapter One

Today was you and your boyfriend Aemond’s third anniversary. You enjoyed the three years you spent with him and even the thoughts of marriage and children bounced around your mind. Things weren’t perfect but beyond everything you were still “happy”. Today your best friend Alys was throwing a party in your honor. You were getting ready deciding on a dark green dress that hugged you just right and stopped just above you knees and two slits that came up either side. You looked amazing and you knew your man was going to love seeing you in it. You both showed up together looking like the perfect couple everything was going smoothly as everyone clapped or the both of you and your best friend was there to greet you. She gave you both a hug. “Oh my god’s y/n…you look amazing.” She gushed over you as she past you a drink.

The night was perfect and you and Aemond danced the night away along with a few of your other friends. You had a few drinks and the liquor was starting to set in when you notice your best friend and your boyfriend were no where to be found. You shrugged it off not thinking about it too much and then you realized you had to pee. Stumbling into the bathroom you heard a couple enjoying themselves in the stall next to yours and for a moment you cheered them on until you recognized the man’s voice that was echoing off the walls. You’re heart started to pound and your head was spinning so you leaned over to see the shoes that were planted on the floor it was Aemond’s dress shoes and Alys’s dress pooled on the floor. Being as drunk as you are you gasped and finally your presence was noticed. “Oh fuck…y/n..” Aemond said and you quickly got the fuck out of there. Running and sobbing Aemond was fixing himself tailing after you and so was Alys. Everyone saw it all and as you can suspect the party was over you were in your car too drunk to move it but you sobbed with your head pressed against the steering wheel. Aemond and Alys had been begging you to let them in so they could gaslight you into thinking you imagined what you heard and saw but after the first three attempts didn’t work they started going at each other yelling and cursing.

Your eyes were hot from all of the crying and your head pounded profusely from the pressure. You noticed that it finally got quiet they had decided to leave. “Thank the seven.” But you were yet again disturbed by a knock on your car window. This time it wasn’t Aemond or Alys it was his uncle Daemon. You were surprised to see him of all people at your car checking on you. He made it quite clear the first time he met you that he wasn’t too fond of you and after that you kept your distance. You let your window down a bit. “What do you want?” He wasn’t he usual arrogant self. His eyes were soft while he looked at you and finally he spoke. “Do you need a lift? You’re too drunk to drive.” You wanted him to say something snarky so you could come back with some witty comeback but he didn’t. “Yeah…I guess I do..” Stepping out you left the keys to Aemond’s porche inside it It didn’t matter at this point if someone stole it good for them you thought. “So where do you want to go?” He asked and you started to cry again realizing you couldn’t go back to the apartment you shared with Aemond and you could even go to your best friend’s place. “Hey hey…look you can come to my house I have a room you can sleep in yeah? Does that sound good?” You nodded still sniffling softly…, “Why are you helping me? I thought you didn’t like me..” He sighed and shrugged the question off, “Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s just get you somewhere warm.”

Pulling up to his house you had never seen it before but it was goregous…and of course it was he’s a Targaryen. He was holding your heels for you as you walked in and quickly led you to the room you’d be sleeping in. “There is a bathroom in this room if you wish to take a shower or bath.” His eyes were wandering a bit…You did look amazing in that dress… showing off just the right amount of skin… he shook himself from his thought. “If you need a change of clothes I can get you one of my shirts and some sweats.” You nodded softly and took down your hair. He left for a moment and came back in with your clothes for the night. “Daemon…can you help me unzip my dress?” He nodded and you could feel the warmth of his hands on your back. Slowly sliding down your spin as he unzipped the dress stopping just above your ass. He cleared his throat and left soon after. You took a quick shower washing away everything away. You cried in the shower and even in the bed not getting a wink of sleep. By the time you finally passed out Daemon was waking you up with breakfast. “Come on sunshine I’ve got pancakes waiting in the kitchen for you.” You were groggy and irritated; your head was stilling pounding as if someone was tap dancing on your head. Daemon smiled seeing you in your natural element passing you your plate. You weren’t in the mood to eat but he stared you down and didn’t touch his food until you took a few bites.

“Could you possibly find your own place in a few days? I’ll be happy to help you get your things today and you can keep them here until you do.” You sighed and took a sip of your coffee he had ready for you., “No…I just finished college…and needed to start looking for a job…Aemond handled everything.” He hummed drinking his coffee and finishing his plate. “Alright, well I needed a new assistant anyway so you will be working for me. You will atleast need a month to get on your feet and be on your way yes?” You were still very confused. “I mean thanks for the job but why are you helping me…remember you said you thought I was a cunt…” He chuckled remembering the day he met you. “Yes I did say that well honestly I thought if I had ran you off you would be saved from the cunt…my nephew that is.” You scoffed, “Don’t you think “he’s not a good guy” would’ve been more affective.”, he smiled, “Yeah you’re right…I just wanted to be a bit of a dick I guess. Well, the weekend is over so your first day is tomorrow. Let’s go ahead and get your stuff.”

It took about 30 minutes for the two of you to get to what was soon to be your old apartment. You were met at the entrance with all of your stuff on the sidewalk with a small note it saying trash…mostly everything you had of any value was ruined. Now this pissed Daemon off and he went up there to have a small chat with his darling nephew. You were still trying to pick through things and fighting back tears when Daemon pulled you back to the car. “Daemon…my stuff.” He groaned in a low tone, “I will get you new stuff don’t worry about it. I’m cooking dinner and we’re getting drunk tonight.” He knew this was what you needed after all this so he made a five star dinner for the two of you and paired it with some fancy red wine. “Listen y/n I know you and I aren’t the best of friends right now and I know you’re going through a lot so I’m trying to give you a helping hand. From what I understand you are a very self sufficient young woman. My brother was considering giving you a position with our company if you didn’t know so I’m making the call to put you on our team also because I know it’s going to pissed Aemond off to have to see flaunting in and out of my office every day. So do not disappoint me, understand?” You nodded and without another word you toasted to a wonderful working relationship together. The food was delicious you had no idea Daemon had so many hidden talents…interesting. After dinner Daemon offered to watch movies with you and obliged. The wine was flowing and he had made popcorn. You two were watching comedies to keep your spirits up and you ended up leaning on his shoulder which he moved away from but he ended up letting you nuzzle into him. He enjoyed this more than he’d like to admit but quickly his mind was taken from such a sentimental moment when your hand started to wander and it all seemed so innocent your hand was laying on his thigh then it eased up his chest. His breath hitched within his chest and he looked over at you only to see you looking right at him he chuckled nervously and moved your hand. “If I’m being honest y/n I’d enjoy fucking you into oblivion…but I uhhh…believe it or not I don’t like taking advantage of women especially you. Maybe we should go to bed we have a long day tomorrow with it being your first day and all.”, you sigh softly a bit hurt by the rejection but he wasn’t wrong you were very vulnerable right now and you appreciated his honesty nonetheless. The next day was the beginning of an interesting work life with Daemon. You were awakened by him he was acting as your own personal alarm. It was five in the fucking morning. “Why the fuck are we up so early the office doesn’t open until nine?”, He laughed placing her work clothes on the bed neatly. “Well, I usually go for a morning run before work so I figured you’d go with me to keep your mind off of that cunt of an ex boyfriend of yours. Especially since you will be seeing him a lot more these days.”, your groggy face twisted into a grimace. “I forgot he works in the family business fuck…me…great. I’m not going on a run today. I’ll be getting ready and I’ll make breakfast for you, deal?”, you held your hand out and he hadn’t experienced your cooking yet, but he figured what could it hurt so he shook on it.

You took a well needed shower did a simple make up look with lashes, lip liner, and lip gloss. You made bacon, eggs, and waffles for Daemon and decided to look at the outfit he had left out. A rather sexy secretary ensemble for you to wear a white button up with half sleeves, a tight pencil skirt, black panty hose, and black heels. You didn’t know what to do with your hair so you pinned it up. By the time you were ready Daemon had already arrived and was in the shower. While you waited at the door he approached you with his white tresses slicked back and a suite tailored just for him. You were taken aback at how well he cleaned up and he was speechless seeing how well everything fit on you. This was going to be harder than he thought., “You look nice.” He said rather plainly trying to hide what he was really thinking. You nodded in thanks and now you both were out the door getting into his car. The ride wasn’t very long but by the time you pulled up it was about eight-thirty. “Perfect timing. I can show you around and get you in the loop before we get busy.”, He spoke in an elated tone.

You had only been in this place once, you had forgotten just how humongous it was inside. It was as if you were seeing it all over again. Your new boss was showing you around giving you a quick tour of where to find the coffee maker, printers, bathrooms, and now his office. Your desk was right next to the entrance of his office and you placed down your things. “So y/n I know this is all new to you so I won’t be to harsh, but I will be stern and mistakes can be made but not too many will be tolerated, understand?” You nodded quickly and he sent you off to get coffee. The doors were open and everyone was rolling in. And of course the first person you see was a familiar one. Aemond but he had a black eye and a busted lip…was this the result of the conversation his uncle had with him. You were certain it was and while you waited to use the keurig Aemond finally noticed you. He was at a loss for words seeing you here and looking as good as you did. “Y/n what are you doing here?” You decided to ignore him as if he wasn’t even there. You made Daemon’s coffee and went back to your wing of the building and Aemond followed until he realized who you were working for. He was fuming when he stormed into his office. “Why the fuck is she here? I know you don’t care for me that much, but after what just happened you want her to work here.”, Daemon spoke it a rather conniving tone, “Your father, my brother planned on extending a job offer to her and you knew this already. So you think just because you fucked up by screwing her bestfriend that we were going to leave her assed out after all she’s had to deal with being with you? You are highly mistaken, Aemond. If this is all you came to speak to me about you can get back to work. I need my assistant in here to help me with a few things.” Aemond huffed in irritation and left to go speak to Viserys.

Daemon called you into his office and you quickly entered. “You alright?”, He asked and you sighed holding back tears. “Listen it will get easier don’t worry about that bastard. If anything seeing him squirm should be fun.”, You smiled. “You know I never thought of it that way.”

to be continued…

They make quite the conniving pair don’t they..?

[starhrtz]

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒.

desc. finding cat poop or mice at your front door on a daily basis was starting to annoy you, and it all started because of your new neighbour.

note. i got this idea when my friend said she stepped on cat poop on her way to school LMFAO.

It didn't take you long to figure the culprit of all the cat litter that has been recently showing up at your doorstep, not to mention a bunch of dead mice were near your shoes too! But, why did the culprit's owner have to be so attractive!

CAT_OWNER!KAZUHA who immediately apologises repeatedly but he did noticed how you were stunned, did his cat really messed up this badly that no matter how much he apologised your just keeping quiet and just staring at him? When in fact, you were just stunned by how beautiful he was?! How can such a attractive yet well mannered person have such a mischievous cat?

"im really sorry on behalf of Tomo jr.. I'll go pick the litter right now! How about you rest first in my home while i go pick up the litter? I just cooked lunch for myself but I wouldn't mind sharing it with you... I mean! Just as one of my ways to try and make it up to you!"

CAT_OWNER!SCARAMOUCHE who just sighs and rolls his eyes, it's not the first time his cat did this well at least the cat didn't pee at your front door unlike his old unfortunate neighbour. Scaramouche's cat probably took mercy on you or at least that's what he thinks. All Scara did was slightly apologise but it held a little sincerity unlike his past apologies to stuff like this.

"sorry about him, he's reckless, i'll try my best to keep him in my home so he doesn't disturb your peace but... You're not going to report me right? I'd hate to lose my chance with you.. The rent is quite cheap so I'd hate to lose a place like this."

CAT_OWNER!XIAO who was wondering why his cat wasn't pooping in his litter box or anywhere on his property, he even had to see a vet thinking his cat head pooping problems! When he returned home from work, he caught his own cat in the act of leaving mice on your front door and immediately wrote a letter of apology to you since he... Isn't the best in conversations.

"sorry about the mice on your front door... On behalf of my cat im sincerely sorry, it isn't like my cat to litter or leave mice on someone's door but I hope you'd at least still talk to me i do not wish for any tension between us. Please do knock on my door once you read this. (ps. I already cleared all the mice that was on your door.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

[luveline]

Hi Jade, I love your writing, I’d love to request more of Steve with his twins x the reader who’s looking for the cat, if you’re interested in writing that! I gotta know if Evangeline is okay

hey babe, thank you for reading! here’s a part two for this | single dad!steve x fem!reader, 3.5k

Despite their very best efforts, Steve's twins can't find Evangeline the lost cat. Sarah, the loudest of the pair, is passionately displeased for a while. 

"Dad," she grumbles, hand in his as they walk back home, "I wanted a party." 

You promised via a written message on a flyer you'd given Steve that you'd celebrate with him if he found the lost cat. Steve's obviously no stranger to flirting, it's how he ended up with a kid on either side of him at all times, but he figures it was an offhanded sort of thing, some throwaway sweetness. He wouldn't have given much more thought to it, but when Sarah asked him to explain what she'd written he phrased it wrong, giving Sarah the idea that finding the cat would result in a popcorn party with soda pop and karaoke. 

"I can throw you a party," Steve says. It's not especially difficult. He doesn't mind expending the extra effort. "We can have a snack party even if we don't find Evangeline. How does that sound, Charlie?" 

Charlie's the quiet one. "It sounds fun," he says. 

Steve ruffles his dirty blonde hair. The older he gets, the darker it grows. Sarah's hair is already way darker. 

"Do you think Evangeline will be okay?" Sarah asks.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Sar-bear. It's normal for kitty cats to run away when they're gonna have babies, they want to be alone." 

"Why?" Charlie asks. 

"Uh, well," Steve says, not really sure himself, "I think they're trying to keep the babies safe." 

"Did you want to be alone?" Sarah asks. 

Steve laughs out loud. He's relieved when they reach their front door, grabbing his keys from his coat pocket to unlock it. He doesn't know what to tell Sarah. Where to start? He didn't have the babies, and does she know that? He kind of thought she thought babies came from pumpkins and butternut squash like he told her a year ago. Lucky for him, Sarah forgets her question because she needs to pee, running up the stairs to the bathroom still in her shoes. 

He'd rather her trek mud in than pee her pants, but he calls, "Take your shoes off, Sarah! And wash your hands after, please!" 

"Yeah!" she shouts back. 

Steve slings his backpack over the bannister and looks down at Charlie, who looks up with a similar expression. Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve drags his cheeks down and asks Charlie, "What are we going to do with her?" 

"We could put her back in the pumpkin," Charlie says. 

Steve beams. At least one of them still believes it. "We could," he says, kneeling down to help Charlie out of his shoes. "But I don't think she'd fit anymore." 

Charlie puts his hands on Steve's shoulders and lifts his feet one at a time so Steve can take them off. He probably doesn't need Steve's help anymore, but Steve is genuinely horrified at the idea of his kids growing up, and he doesn't mind doing it a little longer anyhow. Shoes off, Charlie unzips his coat. Steve peels it off of his shoulders and hangs it up.

"Drink?" Steve asks. 

"Yes, please." 

He takes Charlie's hand where it's insisting at his hip and together they walk into the kitchen. There's no need for hand holding, but if Charlie wants it then Steve doesn't mind. Only thing is, it makes it difficult to pour juice into cups. 

"Are you hungry, buddy?" Steve asks, lowering the cup to Charlie's level. 

"Yeah. Dad, it's–" 

"What do you want for dinner? Are you hungry enough for a big helping? Maybe I'll make lasagna." 

"Dad, it's cold." 

Steve frowns at Charlie where the little boy's curling in on himself. Steve picks him up, hands quick to cover his back but careful not to knock his drink over. 

"Is it cold?" Steve hasn't taken his coat off yet. "I'm sorry, bud, let's turn up the thermostat." 

"It's really cold." 

Steve's feeling it now, a chill on his face that hints to an ajar window, or… 

Steve carries Charlie the short distance to the dining room that leads off from the kitchen and opens the door. His suspicions are confirmed; the patio doors are wide open, letting the chill of a coming fall pervade the room. 

"Woah," Charlie says. 

"Woah," Steve repeats. He sits Charlie on top of the table and closes the doors, locking the leftmost with a concerned sigh. Open doors invite creepy crawlies that Charlie can't abide by, or worse, rats. 

"Sorry, buddy, let's go find your blanket," Steve says, turning away from the doors. "And your sister." 

He forgets about the open doors after a busy night. Sarah and Charlie make lasagna with him, and then they help him wash up. Sarah gets dish soap all over her and decides that she doesn't need a bath anymore because that's what dish soap is for, dad, she's clean now. He haggles with her, and they strike a deal that she will in fact be bathing tonight as long as they can have a party (sans Evangeline the cat) tomorrow. 

She was going to get the party anyway. It's a sneaky dad win. 

When they've both been bathed and dressed in clean pyjamas, Steve ushers the twins into their bedrooms and bids them both goodnight. Charlie falls asleep before Steve's even left the room, but Sarah takes a little more persuasion. 

Steve sits on the side of her bed, his thumb stroking a line up and down the bridge of her nose to the spot between her eyebrows. Her lashes flutter with every crest. 

"Do you think Evangeline will be okay?" she mumbles sleepily. 

"Yeah, baby, I do. I think she'll be just fine. Don't worry about her, okay?" 

"She must be lonely," Sarah says. 

Steve leans in, speaking warmly. "What makes you think that? Because she's not home?" Sarah nods. Steve takes a big breath. "Well, think of it this way… She might be away from home, but she has her kittens with her, so she's not alone." 

"Does she have a husband cat?" 

"I bet she does. He might even be with her," Steve says. 

"Maybe we can get a pet cat," she says. 

Steve kisses the tip of her nose. "Nice try, Sar-bear." 

She smiles, either from his joke or his affection, and touches his arm. "Maybe I can sleep in the big bed with you tonight?"

Steve would let her if he didn't think she was close to falling asleep already. "Tomorrow," he says, letting her down gently. He sits up, his hand on her forehead, stroking back her freshly clean hair. "I love you. Have good dreams, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. You too." 

Her eyes shutter closed. He strokes her hair for a few minutes more to make sure she's asleep, before kissing her head, turning off her light, and closing the door. 

He stands in the hallway for a second, checking his watch. It's later than they'd usually go to bed but still relatively early, nearing 10PM. He has enough time to swap the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer before he has his own shower, and he could probably squeeze some TV in if he doesn't mind falling asleep on the couch. 

Steve does the laundry. He showers. He checks on the twins, peeking his head into their rooms. Sarah's asleep as he left her like a princess, and Charlie's curled up, a pill bug under three blankets. 

Steve's scrubbing his hair dry with a towel on the way downstairs and wondering if there's any good ice cream in the freezer when he hears a weird sound. He knows what he thinks it is immediately, but the reality of it being said thing is too weird, too coincidental, and he really actually doesn't want to have to deal with it. His pulse quickens at a wooden knocking sound. 

"No way," he says, ditching his towel on the kitchen counter top. He approaches the dining room door, resting his forehead against cold wood. "No fucking way." 

The sound grows louder. Steve considers leaving the door closed and dealing with it tomorrow, but he can't. He has kids in the house. And if there's an animal in need of assistance, he doesn't wanna be the kind of person who doesn't help. Even if he's so, so tired.

—

"So you found her there?" you ask, eyebrows raised high. 

Steve —Harrington, apparently, from your graduating class— rubs the back of his neck. "Would you believe me if I said the patio door was open?" 

"I believe you, Steve, I'm just surprised at the coincidence." 

Your neighbour, Serena, looks up from where she's poking at Evangeline the cat and her rabidly meowing brethren to grin. "It's a great coincidence. I'm so happy she's okay. And so sorry she decided to do this here." 

Turns out you and the pretty dad from the park are almost neighbours, living one street away. He lives on Cherry Avenue. You live on Cherry Avenue West, as does Evangeline the cat. 

"I can, uh, pay for the cleaning," Serena offers. 

Evangeline has given cat-birth in the bottom of Steve's hutch, a solid oak piece with a glass front. It's the kind of furniture you'd expect in such a nice home, but the glass-fronted cabinet isn't lined with dishes. It's full of kids' arts and crafts. 

Steve crosses his arms across his chest. "Don't worry about it. I've cleaned up worse stuff than that." 

"Oh, no, please, let me pay for it. Or at least let me clean it myself." 

"It's really no trouble," Steve says. 

"It's definitely some trouble," you butt in mildly. "Me and Serena'll clean it, just as soon as we get these cats into crates." 

You hadn't been expecting Steve to call you for a while. You'd hoped he'd find the cat, obviously, and hoped even if he didn't he'd try his luck with you. He's a handsome guy with big hands, lean arms, and a smile so gentle it tips into searing; you can't help smiling at him to get him to smile back. It makes your chest feel insanely tight. 

There's nothing so thrilling as having a good-looking guy flirt with you. It doesn't happen often. 

"If you think I'm gonna let you clean up in my house you've got another thing coming," he says with a bravado that's clearly self-aware. "You guys don't want a cup of coffee, do you? I need one." 

"Sure," you say, "I'll help." 

Steve's kitchen is the same as the rest of his house, cluttered and clean, lived in and proud of it. There's drawings on the fridge, homemade magnets, poorly painted mugs on a rack by the coffee pot. Kids live here, and they're loved here, evidenced by their artwork in pride of place, and the sheer amount of Goldfish you see in his cabinet when he retrieves a jar of coffee. 

"The kids are in bed?" you ask. 

"Yep. Though I doubt Charlie's sleeping, he can't sleep through the front door closing. The creaking scares him sometimes." 

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," you say. 

Steve shoots you a smile from over his shoulder. "Don't be sorry," he says, unscrewing the coffee jar. "It's not your fault the cat wanted to have her kittens here. It's not even the cat's fault. Charlie will come down in a minute." 

Steve's eerily right. The quiet thump of footsteps patter down the stairs, and the blonde little boy you'd met that afternoon appears at the end of the hall with a mess of cotton candy hair sticking up and a blanket around his shoulders. Steve pours you some freshly brewed coffee and offers you the mug. 

"Milk is in the fridge," he says, his arm held out as he approaches his son. "Hey, Charlie. Sorry, we were being too loud, huh?"  

Charlie slides behind Steve's legs. "It's not morning." 

"No, sorry." 

"Who's the lady?" he whispers. 

"That's Y/N, we met her at the playground earlier, remember? Because of her friend's lost cat?" 

Charlie leans around Steve's legs to sneak a glance at you. You smile and raise a hand to wave at him. He hides. 

You bend at the waist. "Hi, Charlie. Sorry to make so much noise while you're sleeping, but we had to come over and see Evangeline. You can tell me off for being loud, I don't mind." 

"It's okay," Charlie says. 

You beam at him. "Really? Thank you. I promise we'll be much quieter and you can go back to sleep soon." 

Steve brushes Charlie's hair back out of his eyes and down flat. "Want to sit on the counter?" he asks. 

Charlie nods. 

Steve picks Charlie up and puts him on the countertop next to his cooling coffee. Things are quiet and slightly awkward for a minute. You fill the silence with sips of coffee, while Steve's too preoccupied with his kid to touch his own. He rubs Charlie's back, a chubby cheek pulled into his chest, offering up treats in a murmur, "How about something warm? I can make you hot cocoa, you can have marshmallows, too. Would that make you feel better?" 

"Are you having it too?" Charlie asks.

"No, I'm having coffee." 

"Can I have some coffee?" 

"You can have a little sip to see if you like it," Steve says. 

You're surprised by his willingness to let Charlie try it, but it's not like he's force feeding him caffeine by the spoonful. Steve blows on the coffee for a few seconds and then holds Charlie's back. "Just a little bit, baby, it's hot and I don't think you'll like it. Just a little sip." 

Oh, no, you think. He's so nice. 

He's a very tender father. Gentle and patient. He helps Charlie take a little sip and he doesn't so much as blink when Charlie spits it back out into his mug. Steve fills a new mug with water and helps him wash away the taste, laughing without malice.

"I didn't think you'd like it," Steve says. "But good job for trying." 

"It tasted sour," Charlie says. 

"Are you sure?" Steve laughs again. He looks up at you and lowers his voice. "Would it be a problem for him to see the cats?" 

"Are you kidding? Of course he can." You put your coffee down. "Do you like cats, Charlie?" 

Charlie loves cats. When Serena's sure that Evangeline won't go into a defensive mom rage, she beckons Charlie forward to watch the kittens wriggling. They're not very active, having just been born, but they're cute, and alien in a way that's boggling. You fawn at his fawning. 

"Don't touch," Steve says softly. 

"Where's the pumpkin?" Charlie whispers. 

"What?" you ask. You can't help yourself. 

"Um." Steve trips over his words, "Um– he wants to know where the pumpkin is, where the kittens came out of. Because… that's where babies come from?" 

Your lips part. Serena nudges you before you can say something idiotic, and you thank her in your head. "Oh, of course! Well, we had to put the pumpkin outside so the kittens had room to lay down." 

It's not smoothly done, but Steve nods appreciatively. Charlie hums and sits back in Steve's lap. "Does Sarah get to have two parties now?" he asks. 

You'd thought yourself fine at understanding children, but you never realised they spoke in code. 

Steve's voice is almost melodical in its cadence, and his hands do a sort of waltz, a slow, practised manoeuvre as they settle around Charlie's front. "I don't know, buddy. I think one party is enough." 

"What was her party for?" you ask. 

"Well," Steve begins, "your flyer, she wanted to know what celebrating means. So I told her it meant like when you have a party, and she really likes parties, so she thought if we could find Evangeline, we'd get to have one. But when we couldn't find her, I said we'd have one anyways." 

So he's a sweetheart, you think. Good to know.

"It's too bad she's still sleeping," you say. While she might not have found Evangeline, and Steve may not have found her purposefully, she deserves a treat just for looking. You're about to suggest it when Steve tilts his head to the side. 

"It shouldn't be too long, now. She always knows when Charlie's not where she left him." 

"What, like a sixth sense?" you ask, charmed. 

"Exactly like a sixth sense. He was in the hospital for a few days a year ago and she didn't sleep for two whole days. Which is weird 'cos they have separate bedrooms," —you bite back a huge smile at the impassioned tone of his retelling— "and she hasn't slept in the same bed as him in two or three years, but it didn't matter."

"That's sweet, though," you say. 

"She loves him more than anyone in the world," Steve says easily. He dips his voice down into a playful grumbling, "But Charlie loves me most. Don't you Charlie?" 

They must have had this teasing before, as Charlie knows exactly what to say, giggling and affectionately fond as he protests, "No, dad." 

"What?" Steve asks incredulously. 

"I love Sarah most." 

"Sarah's not here to hear you, buddy." 

"I love Sarah the most, and then you, and then Aunt Robin and Aunt Cory, and then grandma." He's apparently been coached on it.

Steve meets your eyes over Charlie's head. "Can't blame a guy for trying." 

Sarah appears not long after, clearly surprised by strangers in her house and her dad on the dining room floor. She walks forward, bunny ears on her slippers wagging with each step, eyes blinking sluggishly. 

"Daddy?" 

"Sarah," he greets. "Guess what? I found Evangeline." 

Sarah realises what she's seeing, and nothing can prepare you for how high-pitched she squeals. "Are those kittens?" she asks, stepping over Steve's knee. You stabilise her when she pitches forward and prevent a disaster. "Oh my god, dad! Can we pet them?" 

"No, we can't, I'm sorry," he says, "they're still shiny brand new. And sticky." 

Sarah's disappointed but doesn't whine. She sits politely beside you and watches the kittens climbing blindly atop one another, her pyjamas warm against your crossed leg. 

"As soon as I take them to the vets, you guys can be the first to pet them," Serena says, finally tearing her attention away from her darling Evangeline. "How's that sound?" 

"Really?" Sarah asks. 

"If it's okay with your dad, absolutely." 

You reckon Steve couldn't say no if he wanted to. You all stay there like that for a while, talking in quiet tones until Charlie's falling asleep in Steve's lap and Serena decides it's now or never, attempting to usher Evangeline and the kittens into the huge cat carrier she'd procured. Thank yous and no problems are exchanged at the door, Steve with Charlie in his arms as though the boy, who looks to be five or older, weighs nothing. Sarah waves her hand at the kittens as Serena takes them to the car. 

"Dad, we really need a cat," she says. 

Steve pats her shoulder momentarily. "Maybe one day." 

You hover at the porch step, because there's something you want to ask. It might be odd, but getting this little sneak peek into their life, seeing Steve in action, you can admit to both having a small crush on him as well as wanting to see him again. Even if it turned out to be nothing, you'd want to see him. He seems interesting, charming, and so ridiculously loving; you could use a little love in your life. 

"Listen," you say, twirling your car keys around your finger nervously, "about that celebration…" 

Steve hikes Charlie further up his chest. "The party?" 

"I mean, you did find her. And I'd like to keep my end of the bargain, so maybe… we could celebrate sometime? Together?" 

Steve's hand covers the back of Charlie's head. "Are you asking me out?" 

You look away from him, accidentally locking eyes with Sarah, who's smiling at his hip like you're the best thing since sliced bread. 

"Only if you want to," you say. 

"We would love to!" Sarah says. 

You can see the moment that Steve bites back a smile. "What she said. We'd love to." He hikes Charlie up again. He must be heavier than he looks. "I really have to put them to bed, but– I'll call you," he says. "Cool?" 

"Cool," you say. He generously ignores how breathless you sound, and you say goodnight. 

Serena's telling Evangeline off in the car as though she's a reckless teenager when you climb in, but it isn't without love. "What's so unsafe about your own home, Eva? We had that wardrobe all decked out for you, and you chose some random guy's dining room. Some random hot guy," she says pointedly. "Tell me you asked him out." 

"What?" you ask, laughing nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

She stares at you.

"Okay, fine! Yeah, I asked him out," you admit. 

She cheers, "Woo! Good thing. He deserves a nice date with a pretty girl like you after that. We never cleaned out his hutch, you realise?" 

You flush all over. "Oh, fuck." 

"That might put a dampener on the appetisers." 

—-

hello, thank you for reading! if you’d like to request more for this au please go ahead, I’d love to see some<3<3

[sweetestofchaos]

Stray Kids Scenario...getting forehead kisses

Paring: Member x GN!Reader Rating: PG16 Warnings: Kissing, Butt Smacking, Nicknames Genre: Fluff WC: 976

Chan

As Chris pushed away from the laptop screen in front of him, he stretched out his shoulder. Having just finished washing dishes, you came up to him and he titled his head back to look at you. You smiled as you pushed some hair from his forehead and pressed your lips to the open surface. When you pulled away, Chris was looking at you with love in his eyes as he smiled softly. You patted his shoulder and he placed his hand on top of yours. Chris poked out his lips and you laughed as you leaned down to kiss him goodnight. 

“I’ll be in shortly, love. Don’t wait up, right?”

Minho

Minho was sitting on the floor watching as Soonie and Dori played with the new cat toy you had ordered. Doongie was napping on the couch, more so on top of your chest as you read a book. You really had to pee and carefully moved the sleeping cat to Minho’s lap to which he dropped his head back against the couch and raised his eyebrow. You smiled and pecked his forehead, letting him know you had to pee. Minho narrowed his eyes as you laughed, walking away with his eyes on you.

“This is what I have to put up with forever?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was sitting with Felix going over the schedule for the week in the living room when you came out of the bedroom. Felix greeted you with a smile and wave while Hyunjin just blew you a kiss and winked. You were heading to the kitchen and stopped behind Hyunjin on the couch. You tugged on the red headband he was wearing and he squawked in surprise which made Felix crackle beside him. You pressed a quick kiss to his exposed forehead and hurried away into the kitchen while Hyunjin whined that you messed up his hair.

“My cheek was wide open, babe!” 

Jisung

Jisung was playing some game on his phone as he laid stretched out on the couch. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he was lost in the colors in front of him. You had just come in from work and smiled seeing him so lost in his own little world. You walked over and gently pushed his hair from his forehead before you pecked him softly. Jisung’s eyes drifted away from the screen and when he looked at you he smiled wide as you kissed his forehead again.

“Welcome home baby!”

Felix

You were helping Felix with his hair, nothing crazy. He just wanted to do something different. He played with his hair, acting like he had tiny ponytails and you laughed while shaking your head. How could he be so cute, so effortlessly? You kissed his forehead and pinched his cheek which almost made the lollipop in his mouth. 

Felix laughed as he took the lollipop from his mouth and wrapped an around around your waist. He nuzzled his nose against yours and returned the kiss to your forehead with a smile.

“I guess that’s a no to the ponytails?”

Seungmin

He was able to spend the night at your place and he let you know a head of time that he would be there when you got off work. When you got home, you didn’t see Seungmin and his shoes weren’t by the door. You took your shoes off and carried them with you as  you walked into the kitchen. Seungmin wasn’t there either, so you called out his name and got no response.

You heard the code of your front door being typed in and you smiled. It was rare when you could catch Seungmin off guard. The man was always on his toes thanks to living with the rest of his friends and you wanted to take full advantage of it. You waited by the entrance of the kitchen and smirked seeing Seungmin coming in with bags in his hands that covered his face. You let him bump into you and he jumped back with a small yelp which made you laugh. Seungmin lowered his arms so that he could see over the bags and he just stared at you unamused. 

You smiled and pecked his forehead seeing the twitch of his lips as he tried to keep looking unimpressed. 

“I should return all this food since you want to be so funny.”

Changbin

Changbin was on the phone with his sister on the balcony when you were searching for him. You were heading out for work and wanted to say goodbye before you left. The sound of the glass door sliding open caught Changbin’s attention and he looked over his shoulder to see who was coming out. Upon seeing you, Changbin grinned and leaned back into his seat, fully relaxed. You had a fresh cup of coffee made in your hand and you handed it to Changbin with a sweet kiss to his forehead.

Changbin tried not to giggle and failed but he quickly coughed to hide it from his sister. You shook your head with a laugh and yelped when he slapped your butt playfully as you retreated.

“Have a good day at work, sweet cheeks!”

Jeongin

You could help but watch as Jeongin posed for the camera. He was trying so hard to look cool and you just thought he looked so freaking cute and handsome. You waited until after he took his photo to crowed his space and slap a big kiss in the center of his forehead. Jeongin pulled you onto his lap and pressed his cheek against yours before he grinned with his ears a heated color.

“Smile for the camera!”

[the-stage-manager]

5 Headcanons of Astarion's Most Gremlin Behaviors

1. When he wants physical affection, instead of asking for it, he "hints" at it: Dramatic sighing that gets louder the more you ignore it; Tossing and turning in bed claiming he "can't get comfortable" until you finally give in and physically restrain hold him; sometimes he will simply sit in your lap, usually at the most inconvenient times, blocking whatever it is that you are doing until he receives the desired amount of affection. And he wants a lot of affection. Or rather, he wants body heat. Which you have and he does not. He's a leech. A cold, cold leech.

2. Your belongings are conveniently also his belongings: He will steal your clothes, and your makeup, and your jewelry and wear them himself. If there's an outfit that he's particularly fond of, he will abscond with it, and stick it in his closet. It's his now, unfortunately.

3. Astarion is going to get blood on everything you own. For fucks sake, who lets food dribble out of their mouth and get all over their hands like that? Astarion's a messy eater—he probably wears the blood all over his face like a badge of honor. He's going to drip blood all over the floor, and leave bloody handprints all over the counter, the table, and anything else he touches.

4. Watching you sleep/waking you up in the middle of the day when he's bored. He only needs to trance for four hours minimum. What is he supposed to do with himself for those other four hours while he waits for you to wake up? Do something productive? Unlikely. God help you if you wake up in the middle of the night to pee: "Thank the gods, you're finally awake! I was just thinking..." Good luck trying to get back to sleep while he talks your ear off. If he gets really bored, he'll wake you up, either intentionally or because he's getting into something he shouldn't. This is cat behavior, right here.

5. Astarion is messy. Have you seen his tent? He doesn't put things back where they belong—he doesn't put books back on bookshelves or dishes in the sink. He leaves his dirty socks everywhere. He's also a bit of a hoarder, collecting (stealing) anything that catches his eye and stashing it away in your home the way a squirrel stashes nuts. He's not used to being allowed to have things, so he often hides his trinkets away in places he thinks no one will look—you find rings in your shoes and necklaces in your coat pockets and gold coins tucked away in the cereal box.

[38livesalone-has3cats]

surpriseee !

Brian "Q" Quinn x Reader(gender isn't specified but petnames "Babe/Baby/Sweetheart" are used)

no warnings, just fluff !

word count: 371 (sorry i meant to make it longer but i wrote what i wanted to so i'm done :D )

please dont be shy to request things, i've written for many peoples !

The sound of keys jingling in the doorknob makes you jump, quickly getting up and rushing out of the bathroom- you close the door softly so Brian won't hear and pray he doesn't have to pee when he walks through the door.

"Baby?" Brian's voice rings out as he kicks off his shoes and takes off his hat and coat. "Right here, Bri." You round the corner and greet him with a big hug and kiss. "Hey, sweetheart." He smiles down at you as you reach up on your tip-toes to kiss him again. "How was your day?" You ask, biting your lip softly.

"Tiring. Been thinkin' of you all day." He says, touching your face gently. You lean into his touch a little. "You want some wine? Maybe a massage?" You offer, blinking up at him. "Did you do something?" He narrows his eyes a little and you laugh a little nervously. "W-what? Nooo...." Your smile grows a bit at your obvious lie. "What happened while I was gone?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Just don't get upset with me." You insist, starting to shuffle towards the bathroom. "Oh no." Brian follows you as you slowly open the bathroom door. A small calico kitten runs out and jumps onto Brian's feet. "Oh my god! (Y/n)!" He sighs in exasperation as you lean down to pick up the kitten. "Briannnn." You say, cuddling the kitten to your face. "Where did you get her?" He asks, taking it from you. "It's a boy, actually, and someone on facebook needed to give him away, we have room in our apartment!" You argue, scratching just under the kitten's neck and he starts purring loudly.

"We already have cats!" Brian argues, but you know you've won him over when he starts petting him and looking at him all lovingly. "Pleaseee? Brian, he needs ussss." You lean against Brian so you can rub on the kitten as well. "God, this isn't fair." He grumbles and you cheer. "Thank you!" You jump up to give him a big smooch on the cheek. "But I haven't said yes, babe." Brian points out.

"But you won't say no." You giggle, pressing a little kiss to the kitten's head.

[autismnation]

Scare

Summary: You and your friend go to a haunted house, expecting scares but recieving romance.

Pairing: Scare Actor Hobie Brown x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Not beta read + wrote this at 1am so if it sucks that’s why. Fluff (I guess?). 2nd person POV. Hobie Brown wearing a skirt. Reader’s friend is terrified of everything/Reader is fearless. Reader simping for Hobie in internal dialogue. Flirty Hobie (kinda?).

Words: 900.

You rarely got scared.

You could watch a million horror movies and fall asleep through them all, people could jump out at you all day long and you would laugh; you went to every haunted house available and only managed to yawn.

Your friend, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. They were an utter scaredy-cat, hiding behind pillows before the horror movie even began and unable to even enjoy kids’ scares.

But you promised to fix that — and that’s why you were at the new haunted house that recently opened up.

“Let’s do the worse one and get it over and done with,” You suggested.

Your friend shook their head firmly, looking like they were already a few moments away from shrieking in fear, “No! Let’s work up to them. That way, I won’t, you know, pass out in the first one.”

You stared at the map in your hand and gestured to a ride beside you, “Well, that one’s supposed to be the least scary but—“

Before you could finish, your friend had grabbed your hand and dragged you along with them as they got on the ride. It was only a few minutes long and you sat in a cart that looked like a coffin.

“Cute,” You hummed at the ride’s decorations as it began.

You didn’t expect much to happen. The only people you’d seen get on the ride were pre-teens so you expected cheap jump-scares and awfully annoying creepy music. And you were pretty much right — it made you yawn, and sometimes wince when your friend squeezed your hand too hard.

Finally, you had reached the end, bumping into an empty cart that seemed to have been left behind.

“Okay, you can stop screaming now,” You said as you grabbed your friend by their shoulders and gave them a rough shake.

“I’m going to pee my pants,” They whispered.

You let out a snort of amusement, “You probably already have. Now, let’s wait for these restraints to lift so we can see something that’s actually—“

And that’s when they got you.

Someone jumped out of the cart in front of you. They lunged forward, sharp and spiked teeth bared, as they let out an ear splitting shriek.

You jerked backward involuntarily and let out a small yelp. It was nothing compared to your friend’s reaction since you had to physically muffle their scream with your hand, but it surprised you nonetheless.

The restraints finally lifted and you both got out of the cart. Teeth still bared, the actor that scared you started to walk forward.

You had to admit, their costume was pretty cool: one of the scariest you’d seen, actually. Their makeup was a pattern of bold and sharp spikes and they even had white contacts in to erase their pupils, as well as piercings that flashed different colours under the lights of the haunted house. It seemed like their outfit was handmade too. They wore a t-shirt made out of other different t-shirts, safety pinned together and splashed with fake blood. Their long red skirt that looked very much like real organs sewn together made shivers run down your spine. The actor also wore ripped fishnets and had big clunky boots on.

A smile came to your face as you pointed at your own identical shoes, “Hey, me too!”

The actor tilted their head, sticking their tongue out. Somehow, it had been stained red too, adding to the whole killer aesthetic that was going on. For a moment, it seemed like they were going to say something…Then they darted straight toward you.

Your friend screamed and leapt back, but you stood your ground, used to the fake-outs the actors usually pulled.

The actor stopped a few centimetres away from you. They raised their hand, waving it in front of your face. You realised they had silver rings on too, some plain silver bands and some horror-like such as a skull or a realistic human heart.

You stared up at the actor, opening your mouth to say something, but became absolutely speechless as they chuckled.

A low, deep chuckle.

Your eyes widened as you realised the person in front of you was a man. A man with a very attractive voice.

“Nice costume,” was all you managed to get out, almost tripping over your words, as you shifted on your feet. Suddenly, it felt like every nerve of yours was on fire.

The man chuckled again, “Thanks, love.”

He had a British accent. You chuckled awkwardly, trying to ignore how hard your heart was pounding. The man leaned forward, waiting for your response as he smiled softly.

“Your rings are really cool,” You finally said before quickly walking past him, accidentally knocking his shoulder with yours.

Before you could leave, his hand was gripping your wrist tightly and turning you around. He took your hand and placed a ring inside — the one shaped like a skull.

“See you around, yeah?” He grinned as he closed your fist around the piece of jewellery, tapping it gently, “Name’s Hobie, by the way.”

The next few moments seemed to go by in a blur. You told him your name, learnt he’d be on break soon, got told to see him. You left the ride with a goofy grin on your face, your friend complaining in your ear about how unfair it was that you got such a good guy in such a small amount of time…

But you couldn’t focus on anything other than Hobie and his attractive voice and his pretty ring wrapped around your finger.

[yayswag]

imagining them as roommates + some writing under this cut!!

Stan and Kenny had managed to adopt a cat while in their shared dorm, mostly at Stan’s behest and under the guise of it being an emotional support animal. Stan didn’t realize the validity of this pledge until they actually had the cat, but he suspects Kenny had, because they made some kind of comment at the shelter about Stan needing one (an emotional support animal) now that Kyle was gone. Stan took offense to this, but prioritized reminding them that Kyle was not, in fact, gone and was only four hours away at another college and also was not an animal, he was their best friend.

Unrelatedly, Stan had wanted to name the cat Kyle. But upon this announcement, Kenny had just stared at him, saying nothing, for long enough that he was forced to choke out a ‘just kidding.’

So, Broflovski the cat had become a staple of Stan and Kenny’s college lifestyle. She had lived with them for over a month, Stan was still yet to mention the name to Kyle, unrelatedly.

Broflovski was not very much like Kyle. She was extremely friendly and had a habit of peeing on Stan’s shoes, neither of which were traits he associated with the real Kyle, not that she was named after him, because she wasn’t, and if she was, it was like an ironic joke.

Not that Stan’s college friends would have really gotten it, or the girls Kenny tended to bring over. Kenny insisted that all they did was practice together, but Stan had his doubts. Kenny was heavily absorbed in the apparently cutthroat and at times surprisingly profitable world of competitive Scrabble, and Stan had questions as to how Scrabble practice could involve so much muffled laughter. Still, it seemed to be- as Kyle put it- a “healthy outlet” and could, Stan guessed, sometimes be fun.

He expressed this to Kyle one night over the phone, they were playing the online Scrabble app that Kenny had been quietly pushing onto them both for months. It was called Wordbuddy. Stan was yet to win a match, but he didn’t mind all that much.

Kyle, on the other hand, was merciless both towards Stan and the app’s AI, which he played against frequently and seemingly with no shortage of emotional investment. He was yet to play Kenny. In group texts, Stan was often subject to both Kenny’s pestering Kyle to “scrabble me bro” as well as Kyle’s somewhat unsubtle dodges, the reason for which Stan was still uncertain.

The point was that Broflovski was a good cat, Stan thought, feeling cheerful as he laced up his Pumas which, these days, smelled like normal shoe smell and only a little like urine. The Pumas were maybe a little ugly anyways, he thought. Broflovski was cuter.

“Broflovski, you are so cute. You beat these shoes any day,” he voiced to her.

Kenny overheard from the next room, yelling slightly over the hiss of the running sink and sounding, as usual, slightly delighted, “your ugly shoes?”

“Um. Yeah,” Stan replied, a little embarrassed.

Despite the ensuing mental debate, contemplated at great measure over several glasses of whole milk from the dining hall, Stan ultimately decided not to get rid of his Pumas.

[liminalpebble]

Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Part 2

Part 1 link

A/N: Hi all. This began as a prompt suggestion by @mischief2sarawr and has since grown three heads and answers to no one. It's now a multipart, very fluffy, story about Lokitty. I have no idea where I'm going with this except definitely to the comfort district of fluff town...maybe driving through a little traffic jam of angst on the way there.

Synopsis: It's 1971 and you're a single shop girl living in the tumultuous, often damp, city of Seattle, feeling lost and alone. Meanwhile, Loki (under the guise of D.B. Cooper) is on the run from Thor the moment he jumped out of that plane. After crash landing in a dumpster and disguising himself as a stray cat to lay low, he becomes your beloved feline room mate and an unusual friendship begins to grow.

Stray: Part 2

While the human was away, Loki sprawled out his long Asgardian body across your floor, passing the time with your extensive collection of books. It felt good to him, having arms and legs to stretch again, and opposable thumbs to turn the pages. Staying in a conjured form for too long could be taxing, and the breaks would be welcome, especially since he couldn't be sure how long this little arrangement might continue.

The god of mischief smiled a bit to himself, recalling how you had bustled around in your little uniform, getting ready for your day. You were obviously in a hurry, but you still took the time to stroke his fur and scratch under his chin while you talked to him.

“Good morning, little guy. I left some food out for you and the heater on. I'll be home late...hopefully with all the stuff you might need. Please don't pee in my shoes.”

Suddenly you stopped and rolled your eyes, raising up again to hurry out the door. “Jesus Christ, I'm talking to the cat again.”

Loki chuckled at that (well, meowed with amusement) and found, to his horror, that he was actually sad to lose your company for the day. He found he was becoming very curious about you.

Well, come on, he told himself, it's just that you're naturally curious and it's not like you have much else to occupy your time for now. Might as well observe the mortal.

Satisfied with his rationalization, he listened for the door to click shut and your heels to click down the hall. Once he was sure you were gone he returned to his usual body, and busied himself with your bookshelf, running his pale graceful fingers over the spines with delight.

She certainly has eclectic taste, he mused. The little apartment was crowded with books of all kinds; everything from Shakespeare to comic books, and where there weren't books, there were tidy stacks of records (again, a very eclectic assortment). His took it all in with gusto, fascinated by his choices of entertainment.

He blazed through several mystery novels (which were underwhelming as he was always well ahead of the reveal). Seeking the next read, his perceptive eyes landed on an antique volume, Norse Mythology. He smirked as he slid the book into his palm.

Now this should be interesting.

In a predictably self-indulgent move, he looked for an entry about himself, landing unfortunately on a beautifully illustrated page about Thor. He crinkled his nose in disgust and let the book drop to the floor, but as the tome landed with a thunk, it dropped open to the chapter with his name as the title. He lowered himself to the floor, laying on his belly as he read about his glorious self.

The description wasn't the most flattering. It painted the trickster god as a cruel and violent nuisance, but he had to admit that wasn't entirely inaccurate. There was, however, a glorious illustration in the style of an illuminated manuscript. Green and gold calligraphy snaked out the letters of his name and below it was a very handsome illustration highlighting his bright kaleidoscopic eyes and sharp rakish face (although they always got the hair wrong by painting it a garish shade of red). Oh well, what could one expect from foolish mortals.

His musing was suddenly interrupted by the sound of heels clicking down the hallway. In a panic he looked outside and realized it was already dusk. He had lost track of the time. As he heard your jostling and struggling to unlock the door one-handed, he quickly changed back to his feline form. Loki realized, a moment too late, that he hadn't had time to put the books back from where they laid sprawled out on the floor where he had been reading.

You finally shouldered your way inside, huffing and puffing, arms loaded with a heavy shopping bag. You set it down carefully and kicked your heels off forcefully, feeling weirdly satisfied that they smacked against the wall. (You always hated the damn things, and tended to punish them like this for the pain inflicted on your feet each day).

You smiled to where the sleek black cat was laying with his paws crossed delicately over the pages of a book, tail flicking lazily as if this wasn't at all odd. Loki noticed the quizzical expression on your face as you noticed the books on the floor. “Hey, buddy,” you chirped sweetly, “How the hell did you knock these off?”

“Mrrow,” the cat grumbled.

“Okay, okay. Keep your secrets you little magician,” you said, joining him on the floor and collecting the books. When you came to the volume under his paws, he refused to move them. He thought indignantly, I'm not done reading this! Though he was well aware he wouldn't be getting his way.

“Hrmmm,” you hummed, “Loki, the trickster...” as you traced your hand over the gold script. “He was always my favorite of the Norse gods, you know?”

“Meow?”

“Yeah! The tricksters always make life interesting, right?”

“Meroww.”

“See. I knew you'd agree with me.” You put a pensive finger to your lips. “He'd probably be a good namesake for your, huh, you mischievous scamp? I guess it's better than calling you “buddy” or “little guy” all the time.”

I should damn well think so, madam.

Loki watched curiously as you rose you to your feet, digging something out of your kitchen junk drawer. “Aha!” you exclaimed as you pulled out a green leather watchband (the clock was broken then lost long ago). Pulling out a marker you carefully wrote the name “Loki” in clear block letters on the tattered leather, then gently fastened the band around his neck. Smiling and stroking his fur with your warm hand you said, “Okay, Loki. You look very handsome,” you declared massaging his velvety cheeks with your thumbs. In return, you introduced yourself, saying your name and shaking his paw. “Nice to meet you, Loki.”

Loki wanted to protest this patronization, but your affection felt so pleasant, and it gave him a warm feeling to hear you call him “handsome”.

“Oh! I have...uh...stuff. I think this is the right stuff...Here, look, I've got a litter box and a little bed for you and I got a few different kinds of food. I'm not sure which one you might like best.”

You stopped abruptly, saying once again under your breath, “Jesus Christ...talking to the cat again, you lonely weirdo.”

Loki shot a paw out, tapping your arm and then nuzzling into it. And although you knew it couldn't be more than an animal trying to use you as a heating pad, it seemed like he was trying to say thank you, trying to say that he liked you talking to him and doting on him...and that he wanted to be held.

Crazy...I'm going crazy. I'm a crazy lonely cat lady, and I'm gonna die alone here someday and this cat is going to eat my eyeballs.

Still, it tugged your heartstrings as the little tomcat reached out its paws to your shoulders meowing and purring gently as it attempted to climb into your arms...and who were you to deny him?

Hesitantly, you reached out and held him against you, stroking gently and nuzzling your face against him.

You said quietly with a note of grateful awe, “Awww. I didn't expect you to be such an affectionate little guy.”

Neither did I. Loki thought, even more surprised than you were.

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