#full of rage and tangerines

[cantagirldrawinpeace]

Certified cutie patootie (she is very violent 😌)

[forsworned]

NO PICTURES, PLEASE ft. DAVID 'HESH' WALKER

Author's note: dedicated to all the Hesh fans out there, this is a hard send lol

Warning(s): Fluffy fluff, Slightly Sexually Suggestive, AFAB!Reader

Keegan is having difficulty rifling through the photos on the notably expensive Sony A7R IV that he purchased for you to capture pictures of No Man's Land when he sent you out on a surveying mission. It was imperative to conduct a reconnaissance of the area for environmental assessment purposes. The Sergeant had previously expressed how vital it was to gather data that was relevant for any potential future infrastructure development, disaster response, and management following the ODIN incident. Sounded simple enough. And yet, Keegan is left puzzled by the initial fifty images out of a whooping two hundred and fifty that is starting to show a discernable trend. They're all images of Hesh.

Now, this wouldn't be such an issue if they were the images that he had specifically requested you to take on said mission. But it was practically a full-blown photoshoot of pure pretty boy.

"[Name]." Keegan pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath before he continues.

Your lips curve into a charming smile. "Hmm?"

"Can you tell me what is wrong with these photos?" He points the screen of the camera in your direction.

You lower your head to get a good gander of what he was referring to: Hesh standing in perfect golden hour lighting that seldomly peaks over the horizon and paints him a pretty shade of tangerine. He looks ethereal, and your smile only grows.

"Mmm, I think they're perfect. Follows the rule of thirds. See." You point to how Hesh is not perfectly centered.

For a moment, Keegan's eye twitches and he can't decide whether he wants to slap the absolute shit out of you for insubordination or for your sheer lack of regard for what he was asking of you. It is blatantly obvious to him (and the other Ghosts) that you have a raging crush on Hesh, though to be fair Hesh was completely oblivious to it. Nonetheless, it is absolutely infuriating when you choose not to follow orders and, instead do a candid imaging session of your Lieutenant.

"That's—kid," Keegan breathes out. He's weighing out his options. Keegan isn't the type to yell at a woman, but he's almost provoked to do so. He chooses not to engage in a manner that will upset you, so coddling it is.

"Hm?" You peer up at him with cutesy, puppy eyes and fortunately for you, his gaze softens and it's easier not to be so enraged by the situation.

"Ya gotta crush on Hesh or somethin'?"

Your smile falters and you feel the heat sidling to your cheeks and ears when those words fall out of his mouth, and he has to stifle the laughter that's threatening to erupt from his chest.

Your eyes dart to the ground as you awkwardly shift your weight. "Um, what gave you that idea?"

He's studying the way you nervously rub your arm and he almost feels bad for asking.

Another exhale. "Nothin', kid. I was just messin' around is all." He hands you back the camera and gives you a knowing look.

"I'm willing to overlook this if you take this seriously." His voice has a bit of an edge to it. You glance up at him and nod with a pout. "Go round up Hesh and update him on the mission. You'll need another go around."

Your face lights up and you begin to dial up Hesh's number to notify him.

"And one more thing," Keegan calls out to you and you hear Hesh pick up. His voice like the purest heroine, but you have to rip your attention away to listen to your experienced Serg.

"No photoshoots"

You grin and give him a thumbs up as you jovially skip away. In all earnest, you did not hear what he said. You are too enraptured by your crush's voice to listen to what Keegan is yapping about, and part of him is aware of that. So as a precaution, he may or may not have warned Hesh ahead of time about your recon mission to keep you in line.

"No pictures, please!"

Hesh giggles, raising his hand to conceal his face from the camera pointed in his direction.

"Aw, just one! We already wrapped up what we needed to!" You maneuver the lens to capture his dimpled grin that melts your heart. But Hesh is not giving in. He's under strict orders not to permit you to take pictures unrelated to your assigned objective. However, your infectious laugh and the adoring gaze from those pretty eyes of yours are proving to be quite the distraction.

He halts his actions, contemplating whether he should just allow you to have your way. After all, you did complete the necessary task, so maybe one photo wouldn't hurt?

"Alright, just one." He chuckles, giving in to your ridiculous demand. But he's already being prompted to model on the large boulder bolstered against a blossoming weeping willow. The view behind him overlooks a glimmering lake, teeming with wildlife in the afternoon sun.

And Hesh is like a Disney princess. Cottontail rabbits approach him at his ankles and a hummingbird lands on his shoulder as if it's a rest stop. It's a picture-perfect moment as you snap away at his gleaming smile that beautifies his already handsome face. It's taking you all your willpower to not rush at him and shower him with all your affection.

A small huff leaves your lips as you store the camera back in its original weatherproof pouch. You think that it's probably for the best if you both start to head back to base, and notify Keegan of a successful mission to avoid any unnecessary reprimanding. As you zip up the storage bag and absentmindedly make your way toward Hesh who is preoccupied with feeding his leftover trail mix to a black squirrel, your balance seems to waver and you're crashing down face first. Luckily, Hesh secures you in his taut arms, but he's fumbling with his own equilibrium and completely loses his composure, leading you to collapse into the shallow end of the lake in a raucous splash.

The water is quick to sodden your uniforms, and you're pressed up against Hesh's rigid and saturated body. You meet his gaze and he's gawking up at you with flushed cheeks and reaming eyes. You imagine that your expression had a certain likeness.

"I'm so sorry..." Your eyes glaze over his soaking white shirt that's now giving you a pretty good view of his herculean torso. And you honest to God hadn't meant to memorize every delicious carving of his toned midsection, but it was right there.

And Hesh is by no means innocent either. His wandering emerald eyes are just as guilty as yours. Instead of your usual, mundane tactical brassiere, you're sporting a baby blue lacey bra, an oversight that transpired because you were too engrossed in hurrying off to your one-on-one mission with Hesh. And when your dilated gazes meet, your stomachs do a little flip that have you clamoring to get up.

You wordlessly extend your hand to him, and he accepts it without hesitation, responding with a polite yet quiet "thank you." Water trickles down your drenched forms and the silence is deafening. That is until Hesh bursts into a fit of laughter. He's carding his fingers through his dark, moistened locks and shaking with mirth. The type of joy that's contagious as hell, and you have no choice but to join him.

A zephyr sweeps past you and it sends a chill up your spine, and your nipples are poking through your sheen shirt. Hesh is rushing out of the shoal of the lake to grab his (thankfully) dry tactical jacket to envelop your shivering body. It's warm and smells just like him. Spicy vanilla, patchouli, and warm amber waft into your senses. Your breath hitches when you feel the pad of his thumb brush the apple of your cheek, perching the loose strands of hair that cling close to your eye behind your ear.

Your wet lashes flutter up to him and he absently licks his lips. His viridian hues train on you as you shyly conceal your abashed features. He chuckles at your coquettish behavior, caressing your cheek, feeling the peach fuzz stand up straight as gooseberries line your skin.

His body inclines toward you and you feel his heart stammering against your chest, meeting the stuttering pace of your own. His other hand is on the small of your back, pulling you closer as he captures your chin between his fingers and tilts it upwards.

"Viking-Actual, what's your location?"

The cacophony of his radio startles you both, shaking you out of your lovestruck daze. There's a look of annoyance that flashes over his features as he presses and holds the push-to-talk button and speaks:

"This is Viking-Actual, we're wrapping up our current operations and RTB. Over."

There's a brief silence before Merrick's voice is heard again.

"Request location update, not status. Over."

Hesh rolls his eyes so hard that they might just come out of their sockets. Your teeth latch into your lip as your shoulders jostle in hilarity. His expression is priceless, but it quickly shifts into a grin knowing that at the very least he can entertain you.

He sighs before notifying him of your location and it's met with another silence to which Hesh takes that as a sign to continue what he was doing before he was interrupted. But the moment that your lips almost graze, the static of the radio returns and he can't help but snicker at the ridiculous timing.

"Copy that. RTB ASAP. Over."

You're giggling under the propped-up collar of his jacket and it's starting to redden the blush on his cheeks. He's getting trepidatious at this point. The tension feels palpable and he's almost deterred from kissing you now.

But like the goddamn soldier he is, he pushes through and he's leaning in once more. Not even the stupid clatter of the radio can stop his lips from finally meeting yours. It's a gentle kiss. Soft, pillowy flesh that presses sweetly against your own and your body is warming up, relishing in his natural musk and the toastiness emanating from his body.

Your arms curl around his dampened waist as you breathe one another in. It's electrifying feeling him against you like this and there's a pyre that's slowly burning down below, but he withdraws too soon. The corners of your mouth draw out into giddy smiles. It's a gratifying feeling. Reciprocation.

"Should probably get back to base soon." He studies how you tuck your lips in, swiping at them with your tongue in an overly elated manner that causes him to giggle again.

"Uh huh." Is all you can muster up and it incites another round of glee. And Hesh can't help himself from cupping your cheeks and bringing you into another kiss. Your heart is soaring as your lips collide and you easily find a rhythm that makes you feel like your bodies are melding together.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, another pair of idiots lurk in a set of tall shrubs about 50 meters out, snooping on your little makeout sesh.

"You think they can see us from here?" Merrick asks his quiet Serg, as he peers through his binoculars.

"Nah." Keegan replies, popping a piece of granola into his mouth and sets his optics down. He pats his counterpart on the shoulder. "Let's head back."

Merrick raises a brow at him. "You don't wanna tell 'em to come back?"

Keegan smiles as he packs his things and slings his sniper over his shoulder. "Let 'em be. We can give 'em hell for it later."

And just that sentence alone thrills the Captain as they tread back to base leaving the nescient, impassioned couple behind. Never a boring day back in the Ghosts HQ.

mini heshhivemind tag list: @keegansshark @milkteaarttime @soapsgf @blacktacmopsi @howtotwirlaknife22 @kun3ho141

the end , that's me after writing this^

[venusthepirate]

like any unloved thing part four : opera house

ao3 / part one / part two / part three

here’s chapter four ! thank you all for your comments, you guys are the best ! hope you’ll like this chapter ;)

Masterlist : @avocado-writing @little-sunflower-bug @evangelineflowers @humbug5 @yume904 @sarcastic-sourwolf @chloeforde @illusionsnfantasies @cupofstarss​ 

Tangerine doesn’t call, so Fawn doesn’t either.

Maybe she ought to. Only to claim the money he didn’t pay her, but she doesn’t even want to speak to him. She’s not sure if she even wants to see him again. She’s sure even less that he ever wants to see her again.

She tries to understand, at first, what could have warranted such a reaction, but she can’t come up with any rational explanation. He had told her he didn’t want sex. He had told her it wasn’t because she was a hooker, but maybe it was.

Eventually incomprehension and sadness melts into anger and resentment. She throws the bowl of tangerines in the trash. She can’t bear to look at it anymore.

The intensity of her rage surprises her. It only makes her even more furious. He was just a client. One with a strange request, and who didn’t treat her like some merchandise or piece of meat, but in the end, still a client. So what ? Maybe she had liked his company more than she anticipated. He had treated her like a normal person. No, not just like a normal person, more like… like she was his friend.

Fawn didn’t have many friends. Something told her he didn’t either.

She thought she’d found someone like her.

Fuck him, anyway. She wishes he would call, just so she can turn him away. Men are assholes. Fawn deserves better than them.

She puts him at the back of his mind, the longer she doesn’t hear anything from him. November morphs into December, and then she’s a few hours away from the gala. She takes a long bath, smokes a little to help relieve her nerves. Then, she spends the remaining time getting ready, braiding her hair up in an elaborate bun. The makeup she does is discreet. Men like Kenneth Hall wants their women to be elegant, without overdoing it. They want her to be naturally pretty.

She carefully slips on the dress she had bought with Violet, puts on a necklace full of rich brown gems around her neck, along with matching earrings. She looks at her reflection then.

She looks like a rich woman. Someone powerful and confident. Someone who only eats at three-star restaurants, who would own a jacuzzi and a large, lavish penthouse.

Good. That’s who she needs to be tonight. Someone people will look at with envy and admiration. They will look at her client and wonder how such a man came to have her at his arm.

She’s no stranger to this type of things. At first she had been unsure, uncomfortable under the weight of their stares, and like vultures, they had preyed on that lack of confidence. They could sense her discomfort, and they treated her accordingly, full of condescendence and disdain. She’d learned this special kind of dance then, how to speak, how to stand and how to walk.

Escort jobs are something entirely more difficult than sex, she learned, at the time. But they brought far more money than anything, and she didn’t have to actually do anything with them. They mostly wanted company, someone elegant enough and with conversation. An arm candy, would be an accurate description of it.

She shoots off a text to Violet, who informs her she’s almost at the gala. Apparently, whoever hired her sent a limo just for her. Fawn is impressed.  

Her own client comes to pick her up at the location she’s given him, a few streets away from her apartment. She doesn’t give him her real address, and waits on the curb until a slick, elegant black car pulls up in front of her. She gets inside, greets her client with a smile and a light kiss on the cheek when she sits down next to him in the back of the car.

He makes small talk with her during the drive, jovial and seemingly delighted to speak with her. Fawn lets him lead the conversation, asks the appropriate questions at the right times, prompts him into talking about him and whatever he does for a living. Men like him just want an attentive ear, someone to listen to them and act genuinely interested in what they say.

She lets him chatter away until the car finally slows down to a stop. She steals a look outside. The building they have stopped in front of is huge, high, full of long marble columns and large windows. She thinks it might be a museum or an art gallery, from m what she had remembered. She’s never come to this place before, at least not on jobs.

Ever the gentleman, her client opens her door and offers her his arm. She loops her elbow with his and follows him up the stairs and inside. She tries to look for Violet in the crowd of people ascending the stairs, scrutinizing the flock of elegant suits and dazzling dresses for a purple dress, but doesn’t see her. Maybe she already arrived and is just inside.

The inside, when she finally gets there, is magnificent. There are crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, soft classical music playing. Kenneth gives her a champaign flute before guiding her towards other people. Most of the guests here have already mingled, forming small groups of whispers and fake, polite small talk. Fawn is content to follow the client’s lead and offer greetings when necessary, nod and smile. She lies when people ask her questions about herself.

She discreetly sends another text to Violet asking her where she is. Her phone buzzes with an answer a few minutes later.

Violet : just on your left.

Fawn looks around herself, and finally spots her. She’s standing close to a man who must be in his forties. His hand is around her waist, and he’s busy talking to another man in front of him.

Fawn : everything alright ?

Violet : a bit off. Check in 20 min ?

Fawn : sure

She watches them for a bit longer, trying to get some kind impression on the man. He looks like every white business man she’s ever encountered, suave and well-spoken, but she knows better than anyone what can hide under the expensive suit. In her experience, men like him are more likely to be fucking creeps than anyone else.

At least he isn’t so old. Her own client must be double her age.

She looks a bit more at the people around. Tangerine is the farthest thing on her mind.

Up until she sees him.

He’s standing a few feet away from her, in a suit, as always, hair slicked back. He’s holding a flute of champaign too, taking the occasional sip as he talks to a couple.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck.

She really shouldn’t be as surprised as she feels. The man wears three-pieces suits, for God’s sake, of course he’s going to be present at this sort of thing. But, fuck. She didn’t expect him to be here.

She’s so stunned that she doesn’t think of doing something smart, like maybe hiding so he doesn’t see her, or at least pretending that she isn’t staring at him.

He must have felt the weight of her gaze on him, because he looks up from his conversation, and his eyes find hers.

Fuck.

His eyes widen when he recognizes her. He doesn’t seem to have been expecting her either.

She watches as he says something to the couple, and then starts making his way towards her. Fucking fuck. She can’t talk to him right now. Not just because of what happened. She’s with a client, and they generally don’t take it well to meet another client. Men are like fucking peacocks sometimes. They so desperately want to be unique.

Fawn tells Kenneth that she needs to go to the bathroom, and slips away in the crowd before Tangerine can catch up with her. She doesn’t bother checking if he’s seen her walking away. She quickly sneaks away through people until she finally finds a bathroom. She lets the door shut closed behind her with a sigh of relief. The washroom is empty.

She approaches the sink, and looks at her reflection. She feels like something just unraveled her, but she’s surprised to see that she looks like the same. She expected… a crack. Something. Anything.

She rummages through her purse for a lipstick. She hears the door being opened, and when she glances up in the mirror, she sees Tangerine step inside.

She freezes.

“You’re in the wrong place”, she tells him. “This is the lady’s room.”

His jaw ticks.

“What are you doing here ?” He asks, not bothering to react to her previous statement. His stance is tense. Fawn feels on edge. She doesn’t trust him. Maybe she did, before, but not any longer.

“I’m on a job”, she answers, curtly.

“On a job”, he repeats.

She glares at him, now getting annoyed.

“Yes, with a client. So I would appreciate it you didn’t talk to me, Tangerine. You can’t just fucking walk up to me and start a conversation.”

He seems startled by her words.

“Look”, he says, hesitantly. “I… I’m sorry about last time.”

She snorts, shaking her head. There’s a bitter taste on her tongue.

“Last time ? You mean when you ran away after we kissed ? Or do you mean when you didn’t pay me ?”

He at least has the decency to look ashamed. He looks away.

“Fuck, look, I completely forgot, alright ?” He’s twisting his rings around his fingers, back and forth. She’s noticed him doing it every time he was unsure or stressed.  

“I’m so glad one of us could”, she retorts. “That’s not something I can afford to forget, you know ?”  

“I’ll pay you, alright ?” He offers. “I’ll pay you how much you want. I can do it now, or next time, if you want.”

Fawn raises an eyebrow at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Next time”, she repeats. “Yeah, not sure if I want a next time with a client who is one bad day away not paying me.”

He frowns.

“I’m sorry, yeah ? I really am. How long do you want me to fucking apologize for ?”

She turns around to face him. The contrite look is gone, now. He seems… annoyed. A bit desperate.

“I’m a real person, Tangerine.”

His frown deepens even more.

“Of course I fucking know that you’re a real-“

“No, I’m not sure you do”, Fawn cuts him off. “Just because you’re paying me doesn’t mean you can take me for granted. I cancel other clients for you, you get drunk while meeting with me, I tell you no and you call me on my phone. I’m not some fucking object you throw away when you’re done playing with it.”

His jaw ticks again. He rakes a hand through his hair.

“You kissed me”, he says.

Ah. So, he finally addresses it.

Fawn crosses her arms on her chest. The lights from above her head are starting to hurt her eyes.

“Yes.”

“I told you I didn’t want sex.”

“It was a fucking kiss, Tangerine”, she retorts, anger settling inside her chest. “Not a proposition. I was high. A simple no would have been enough.”

“Yeah, well, seemed a bit fucking difficult to tell at the time.”

She glares at him. He doesn’t shy away from her gaze this time, blue eyes staring right back at her.

“You kissed me back, if I remember correctly.”

“You know what, fuck you. I’m trying to apologize here and you’re acting like a fucking bitch.”

His words are like a cold shower. He seems to catch on his words too, as if they’ve escaped him, because he closes his eyes and sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sure”, she says, closing her bag, not looking at him anymore.

“Fawn, wait, that wasn’t…” He tries, but she doesn’t want to listen to other pathetic excuses.

“Goodbye, Tangerine”, she tells him, final, and leaves the bathroom before he can argue.

She doesn’t bother checking if he follows her.

Fucking asshole.

That’s the problem with men like him. They’re just needy fucking things, and the minute they’re not given what they want, here they go, throwing tantrums and hurling insults.

It hurts a bit, though, even if Fawn pretends it doesn’t. She hadn’t expected his words to wound her.

She fishes her phone out of her bag, checks the time. Shit, it’s been more than twenty minutes, she forgot to check on Violet. Fucking Tangerine and his pathetic excuse for an apology.

She sends a text asking her if everything’s alright, but five minutes later there’s still no answer.

Worry starts churning at her stomach. She tries looking in the main room. She sees, in the distance, her own client, but there’s no trace of either Violet or her client. After circling the room a few times, she calls, but no one picks up.

Fuck. Fuck, okay.

She opens the Find my phone app. Violet seems to be still inside the building, which is a relief.

Fawn tries to follow the little red dot on her phone indicating Violet’s position. She goes through a few corridors, getting farther away from the main room where the guests are. The corridors are empty, and her heels echo against the marble floor.

She hears voices.

“Fuck off, you fucking-”, she hears a female voice say, and then there’s a sharp sound, like a slap.

Fawn rounds a corner and then freezes.

Violet is on the ground, holding her head, and her client, William fucking something, is standing over her.

“Hey !” Fawn yells. She rushes to Violet’s side, careful not to get too close to the man.

“She just tripped, everything’s alright”, the man says, but Fawn is no fool.

There’s something off about him. His voice is cold, and she can see that his fist is clenched. Pure, unaltered rage fills her lungs. She’s almost surprised that she can still breathe through it.

She stays calm, for Violet’s sake.

“He fucking hit me”, Violet retorts, spitting blood on the ground.

“C’me on, we’re leaving”, Fawn reassures her, helping her stand up.

“No, she’s not leaving. I fucking paid for her, she’s staying right here until I’m done with her.”

Fawn ignores him, but when they pass in front of him, he grabs Violet’s arm and pulls her brutally towards him.

It all goes to hell after that.

Fawn tries to get him off Violet, but he pushes her down on the ground. Her back hurts from the force of the fall, and by the time she gets up, Violet hits him in the face. He screams insults at her, punches her, and Violet crumbles on the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

He kicks at her ribs, twice, before Fawn is on him, managing to send both of them on the floor. She tries to get back up to get the upper hand on him, but she’s not fast enough. There’s a sudden pain in her head, blinding and nerve-wracking. She blinks against the sharpness of it, trying to make sense of what is happening. She feels like her head is being split open. There’s a bitter, metallic taste on her tongue. Blood.

She’s lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling. Everything is whirling around her, as if the world has tilted from its axis.

After what seems like an insurmountable effort, she sits up, fighting against the vertigo and nausea. Through her blurred vision, she sees him, straddling Violet. His hands are around her neck, as her legs scramble on the floor, trying to push him off.

The fury that fills her takes her by surprise. She doesn’t even think about it, about any of it. Her purse is on the ground, and, almost as if she’s on automatic pilot, her fingers close around the handle of her switchblade.

What follows is a blur. Something snaps inside of her, and the rage and anger wash over her in white waves, obscuring her vision. She acts on pure instinct then.

The next thing she knows is a gush of warmth, something wet, spraying over her hands and chest, as she pulls the switchblade free out of the man’s neck.

He immediately collapses on the floor, making choking noises, like he’s swallowed his own tongue. Violet scrambles away from him.

Blood, dark and vivid, pools underneath him, tainting the pristine marble floor. She watches, distantly, as he bleeds out and eventually stills.

She feels like she’s been plunged underwater, like she’s watching this whole scene from miles away.

“Oh my God”, Violet says, voice shaking badly. It pulls Fawn out of her trance. “Oh my God, he’s, he’s fucking dead.”

She killed a man. She just killed a man.

“I-I can’t”, Violet sobs. “I can’t go to jail, my sister… Oh my God, we killed him.”

“No”, Fawn cuts her, quietly. “No, I killed him.”

Violet stares up at her, tearfully. Fawn kneels down next to her, in spite of the blood now wetting the hem of her dress.

“Violet, you gotta leave, alright ?” She tells her, without any hesitation.

“What do you mean ?” Violet asks. She’s trembling so badly her teeth are almost chattering. Fawn presses her forehead against hers.

“Listen to me”, she murmurs. “I killed him, alright ? I killed him. This is on me. Go home. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen to you.”

“But…”

“I killed him”, Fawn repeats, final. “You can’t go to jail, you said it yourself. I’ll take care of this. Just go.”

Violet finally nods, tears streaming down her face. She gets up, and seems to hesitate for a brief moment, before she’s hurrying down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

Fawn stares at the corpse of the man. She’s then acutely aware of the blood on her own face, on the skin of her neck, on her hands. She’s still clutching the knife tightly in her palm.

Fuck.

Fuck, okay.

She needs to move the body. At least hide it so that no one will see it if they pass through the corridor. She’ll think about what to do then.

She breathes in, deeply. The rage that had run through her is long gone, now. She feels empty without it, cold. She can feel her fingers shaking.

There’s the sound of footsteps, coming closer. Fawn looks up, heart thundering inside her chest. Fuck. She’s kneeling down next to a dead body, covered in blood, holding the murder weapon. She’s the murderer.

This is how Tangerine finds her.

[chimairasden]

Meet: Célestine ☁️

from: My Candy Love — New Gen!

☁️

Height: 5 ft 9 Birthday: February 28 Sign: Pisces

Likes: anything tangerine-flavoured, Bridget Jones movies, sunday drives Dislikes: being caught daydreaming, malicious gossip, paperwork

☁️

Full name: Pascaline Céleste Dolga AKA: Célestine (by everyone), Ciel (by close friends) Pronouns: She/her

Blood type: B Dominant personality trait: Energetic Hair colour: baby blue (dyed), dark brown (natural) Eye colour: jade

Story: Her story follows the game canon events. This could change with the episodes development.

Gender & Sexuality: Célestine is a cis woman who is unsure about her sexual and romantic orientation. If asked, she describes herself as questioning or queer. She rarely had crushes and she fell in love just once. Casual sex was never a possibility. However, she would like to fall in love again. Gender is an insignificant element in her search, she values qualities like authenticity and will-power more. Also she is not closed to the idea of an open couple or polyamory, but it’s still something that seems far away from her reality. ☁️

Relationships with the canon LIs:

Roy Aquino: her coworker. Roy is one of the most easy-going and friendly people at Devenmentiel’s, so they bonded quickly; but the fact that he is really popular among girls and “too good to be true” makes Célestine itchy and suspicious.

Amanda De Lavienne: her coworker. After a rough start, Célestine learned how soft and playful Amanda can be and Amanda found in Célestine someone worthy of trust and respect, someone worthy of being called “friend”. Possible LI. 

Devon Okere: her boss. Célestine admires his genius and determination and has a little crush on him, but the terrible experience with her previous boss makes any kind of conversation not work-related between them difficult. Possible LI.

Thomas Rheault: her coworker. Their exchanges are rather cordial, but Célestine doesn’t really know how to approach him and Thomas doesn’t seem interested in deepening this relationship at the moment. 

Jason Mendal: her boss’ main competitor. They met only twice and fought each time, but since then, just hearing his name triggers in Célestine a rage and a competitive spirit which she wasn’t aware of. Possible LI.

Relationships with other people:

Brune Núñez: her coworker and friend. Célestine was really impressed by her look and her bluntness and started to mimic her. At first Brune was a bit concerned, but once they confronted she found Célestine's attempts cute and flattering.

Elenda Ueno: her coworker and friend. Elenda’s cheerful and positive attitude makes tolerable even paperwork! Célestine loves spending time with her and they often go strolling and shopping together. 

Méline Page: Célestine's distant cousin and childhood friend. They lost touch in middle school and reconnected recently, but time didn't change anything. They look out for each other and share everything, in sadness and in joy.

☁️

Trivia:

She believes in astrology and checks her horoscope everyday;

She and Méline have a matching tattoo on their wrist;

When stressed, she bites her fingernails.

☁️☁️☁️

I hope you'll love her as much as I do! If you have questions or any suggestion, feel free to interact 🌻

[chthonicophanim]

Ignisrageaffectis

[PT: Ignisrageaffectis]

An alteraffectis term for the attraction/connection between fire and rage and/or passion.

[ID: Two flags with seven equal horizontal stripes. From top to bottom, they are dark orange, orange, dull yellow, yellow, light red, red, and darker red. The left flag has a tangerine orange circle in the centre, which contains the alteraffectis symbol in dark reddish-brown. end ID] courtesy of @radiomogai

DNI: bigots, radinclus, radexclus, pro-endo, if you’re going to try and argue with me on any of these points, if you demonise mental illness, pro-transid (eg; transabled, transage, transrace, etc), proshippers/anti-anti, MAPS/NOMAPS/necro/zoo (full DNI in pinned)

[mvshortcut]

ask game!! thank you @hangrybluewhale for tagging me <3 this was fun!

currently reading: I'm also in a bit of a reading-for-fun slump right now. I want to do a full series reread of mbs again (audience gasps) I know, shocker. I'm also reading a really cool book called "Boston Marriages," it's about romantic yet nonsexual friendships among women throughout history! it's really neat :D

favorite color: still purple, but I've recently been reminded of how much I love mint green and tangerine

last song: Edge of Midnight by Miley Cyrus and Stevie Nicks

last movie: I literally could not tell you if I tried. probably Megamind

sweet, spicy, or savory: I love spice but I have a raging sweet tooth. actually I'm picking all of them

currently working on: another puzzle (a sloth and some butterflies <3), updating the collage on my bulletin board in my room (I put a bunch of art and poems and tickets there and it needs a refresh), and also more mbs fanfics (in theory! kjdfghfjd)

no pressure tags! I know most of y'all have done this game many times before but why not it's a lot of fun: @mysteriouseggsbenedict @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @amysterywrappedinanenigma @nobody33333333 @phtalogreenpoison @heyitsthatonesmolgay @deeskip @ae-jurumi @crow-in-springtime and anyone else that wants to! open invitation :D

[westeroslive]

salt  air,  and  the  rush  in  the  hidden  passageways,  the  red  keep's  hallways  have  slowly  cleansed  itself  from  the  serene  tranquility  of  the  mourning  chorus  -  faint  sense  of  grief  still  hangs  in  the  heavens  high  above.  wailing  and  strife  behind  locked  doors  replaced  by  tangerine  frenzy  of  the  upcoming  nuptials  ⸺  moon  phases  go  by  as  court  waits,  and  waits,  and  waits  until  letters  with  her  majesty's  seal  start  appearing  in  private  quarters.  

at  the  behest  of  personal  experience,  wisdom  grows  with  her  forty  years  on  the  iron  throne,  the  union  of  two  royal  houses  -  alliance  with  the  emperor  of  essos  to  be  sealed  through  their  bloodlines.  tragedy  has  been  courted  before  -  descendants  of  dragon  lords  may  be  the  blessed  ones  but  they  still  hold  no  divinity,  they  will  never  be  the  gods  they  claim  to  worship.  and  so  rhaena  has  learned  from  her  predecessor,  a  most  paranoid  queen  indeed.  the  festivities,  the  celebrations  of  the  sacred  matrimony  in  the  spirit  of  the  essosi  empire  ⸺  let  her  people  rage  as  long  as  the  ceremony,  the  exchanging  of  vows  -  the  eternal  promise  -  happen  in  the  light  of  the  seven  faced  god.  let  the  kingdom  be  blessed  again,  another  to  carry  the  burdens  as  the  intermediary  between  the  sky  and  mortals.  one  must  avoid  the  nightmares  she  weaves  in  the  highest  tower  of  the  keep,  there  is  only  so  much  bloodshed  a  dynasty  can  justify.  

ink  -  filled  parchment  leaves  much  to  the  imagination,  with  only  four  words  flowing  on  the  vast  plains.  no  further  instructions.  is  it  a  clue  ?  all  your  letter  reads  :  "  meet  us  at  midnight  ...  "

as  each  night  passes,  the  moon  grows  and  illuminates  the  night  sky  more,  your  eyes  spot  nobles  wandering  inside  the  castle  walls  -  unforgivably  searching  for  a  clue.  it  is  within  your  bones  that  you  feel  the  truth,  the  time  is  almost  there,  when  the  celestial  body  in  the  midnight  heavens  is  at  its  most  luminous  point  ⸺  only  then  must  you  meet  them.  on  the  morning  of  the  full  moon,  you  awaken  to  a  treasure  chest  in  your  chambers  -  a  gift  from  the  royal  family,  an  attire  tailored  for  you  by  the  royal  couturiers  with  matching  mask  enclosed.  to  deny  such  honor  would  be  an  offense  to  her  majesty,  a  social  faux  pas  at  court.  your  sovereign  has  chosen  your  veil  of  the  night.  

and  finally,  it  all  clicks.  "  it's  a  masquerade,  "  leaves  your  lips  in  the  silence  of  your  private  quarters.

OUT  OF  CHARACTER:  MEET  US AT MIDNIGHT

popular  vote  has  decided  that  the  event  starts  on  thursday  may  9  (  happy  europe  day  ),  so  as  soon  as  the  clock  strikes  thursday  in  your  timezone  you  can  start  posting.  the  event  will  last  two  weeks  because  there  is  no  point  in  saying  one  week  and  then  extending.

be  sure  to  tag  your  starters  as  westeros.midnight,  don't  be  afraid  to  cap  open  starters  so  you  don't  overwhelm  yourself,  and  lastly,  be  sure  to  include  everyone  when  you  do  closed  starters.

in  order  to  decide  what  costume  your  muse(s)  will  receive  from  the  queen,  you  will  have  to  pay  attention  to  the  discord  server  because  more  information  will  be  revealed  there.

[ace-angel-judas]

Estelle and Yoongi abo smut?

Estelle shouldn’t be doing this.

As a matter of fact, she’d never done anything like this before.

Her secondary gender of an omega was something that she was never allowed to forget. Her family, all betas, had shunned her for being one.

Estelle always took heat suppressants, she couldn’t afford to not work after all. Moving to Korea had been to get away from the family that had shunned her for something she couldn’t help.

Her job paid well and Estelle couldn’t afford to have heats that meant she missed work for a week once a month. No one would put up with that here. She was apart of a secretary team, Estelle mostly ran errands or retrieved things for the team such as lunch of food. She also spent a lot of time working late in the office to ensure the schedules were done correctly.

So coming to one of her bosses apartments wasn’t completely out of the blue. She just needed to pick up a folder he’d left in his office to deliver for a meeting.

Yoongi was the no bullshit one out of her seven bosses. His entire attitude screamed alpha, that even the betas in her team were quick to scramble away when he got pissed off.

Which is probably why she was in the position she was now, going into heat on her bosses floor.

Yoongi’s office was attached to his bedroom, getting to it meant walking through the room. Her stomach ached when she first stepped into the apartment but now that she was in his bedroom?

It was in full effect.

Estelle didn’t even make it to the office, dropping to the floor as her legs were shaking and a fever hit her body. Her heat wasn’t meant to be due for another two weeks.

She had collapsed against the bed, the strong smell of mint and citrus making her mewl. It was like she was drunk suddenly on his alphas scent. She had smelt Yoongi before, he always wore a scent blocker so it was always dulled now.

Now, it was like she couldn’t get enough.

Slick was coating her thighs, ruining the tights she wore under her pencil skirt. Her pussy was throbbing, begging to be touched as she wiggled her ass in the air.

Reaching for one of the pillows, Estelle cried out when the scent hit her again. She shoved her face in the pillow, legs shaking as she scented it.

Mint and Tangerines never smelt so good.

Maybe one orgasm would solve his problem. Maybe it wasn’t a full blown heat and just a surge instead.

Shoving the pillow between her thighs, Estelle clenched around nothing as she rubbed her clothed pussy against the fabric. Heat toys could only be purchased by couples in South Korea and the ones here looked a lot more complex and scary than the ones back in America.

As she grinded against the pillow, Estelle muffled the moans into the bed. She didn’t hear the door swinging open or see the alpha standing at the door with wide blown eyes.

Because Estelle’s scent was everywhere in the apartment, the vanilla cupcake scent hitting him in the face when he’d stepped in the door. He’d seen the incident on the cameras, watching her go into heat.

Yoongi had simply come to pick her up and drop her at the nearest heat clinic, after all, that was the respectful thing to do.

But the smell? Yoongi felt hot now too, his dick raging to get out of his pants. There was an omega, in his den, waiting to be knotted and bred.

And she smelt absolutely amazing.

When Estelle looked up, her eyes seemed to sparkle at the sight of an alpha. Her hands were hitching down her skirt before she even knew what she was doing, letting the pillow drop out from between her thighs.

It was drenched in slick, so were the skirt and tights she wore. They were discarded quickly, a loud mewl leaving her lips as she spread her legs.

Yoongi stared at her wet cunt, at the wetness literally dripping down her thighs as she presented to him. And the smell? Yoongi was in heaven. He’d smelt her a few times in the office before which had resulted in too many quick jerk off sessions to keep him sated.

His cock was out in moments, hard and dripping with pre-cum as he approached. There was no time for pleasantries as Estelle laid back on his bed, pussy waiting and ready.

His omega needed a knot.

Estelle basically cried out when his cock shoved between her folds, her pussy stretching to accommodate him. She finally felt full, the long awaited need dimming only slightly.

Until Yoongi stared thrusting, his cock spurring into her hole with vigor. Estelle moaned and whined, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she was over come with pleasure.

Yoongi was trying his best not to growl, all the past omegas that he’d shared moments with had become scared the second he’d done it. But the sound slipped out of his lips as he fucked Estelle and she simply purred in response.

She fucking purred.

The feeling of her pussy clenching made Yoongi quicken his pace, his own knot starting to inflate. Estelle was basically shaking, soundless pleas in the air.

Her orgasm was unlike anything she’d experienced, Estelle was sure she saw stars as she tightened around Yoongi’s knot and screamed out in pleasure. Yoongi shoved his cock in her waiting cunt one last time, growling again as his knot inflated and cum soaked inside his omega.

And once again, Estelle was purring.

Yoongi never thought he’d hear an omegas purr, he’d heard Jimin’s omega purr for him a few times but all the omegas in the past had called his growl terrifying.

And yet, here was Estelle, taking his knot and purring sound loudly it was vibrating the bed.

And that was when realisation seemed to hit, now that their primal needs had been satisfied for a moment. Estelle’s eyes went wide, that purr almost going silent.

“Oh sugar..,” She whispered.

Yoongi’s face dropped, “Fuck..,”

“I-I’m s-sorry, I’ll-“

She tried to move and Yoongi had to grab her hips, both of them whimpering. His knot was so deep, even the slightest movement send shockwaves through their bodies.

“Don’t move,” Yoongi gritted through his teeth, “Just.. I thought you were a beta?!”

Estelle shook her head, “No.., It’s even on my work file, I’m an omega,”

“Just stay still,” Yoongi slowly laid down on top of her, shifting his weight, “We’ll figure this out when my dick isn’t shoved in you,”

There was the Yoongi she knew, all crude and upfront about everything. Yoongi stiffened when she started purring again but a small smile pulled onto his features as he soaked in the feeling.

[dustedmagazine]

Cloud Nothings — Final Summer (Pure Noise)

Photo by Errick Easterday

Cloud Nothings spike a corrosive slurry with sugar, putting bounce and glee into blistering, feedback-addled tone. “Running Through the Campus at Night” lopes through rainbow arcs of feedback, little explosions of percussion going off continually, but its figurative feet hardly touch the ground. It’s a high and a rush, like certain six-milers when everything falls into place, and though it’ll blow you back with volume, you’ll have a smile on your face when it does.

This is Cloud Nothings’ eighth full-length, coming a decade and a half after its first lo-fi bangers. It’s certainly true that the band has navigated several cycles of the rock-is-dead-no-it-isn’t narrative during that period. When Baldi’s music first hit our inboxes, the big comparison was Wavves (he was better), now he swims in the same pool as Wednesday and Ratboys. Over time, his band has offered fuzz pop and noise in various proportions. Early efforts like Turning On and the S-Tfizzed with lo-fi melodic energy, while 2012’s Attack on Memory (recorded with the late, great Steve Albini) buzzed in darker, more dissonant aggression. More recently, Baldi has flirted with free jazz and improvisation, playing a wild sax alongside long-time drummer Jason Gerycz in the Baldi Gerycz Duo.

This journey, though, has led Baldi — alongside Gerycz and bassist Chris Brown — to a place not too far from where they began, where fuzz-crusted romance blares and blusters without obscuring its fetching, hooky charms. Final Summer nails that very Western Mass aesthetic (even though Baldi is from Cleveland).  Think Ovlov, California X, most of the Exploding in Sound roster and, of course, Dinosaur. These are headbangers with a shit-eating grin, and there are no loose threads, not one.

The title track, for instance, looms into view on tense staccato electric picking over a swelling wash of synth sound. It’s edgeless, tempo-less extending from a center rather than moving forward…until it isn’t. About a minute into the cut, a drum beat kicks in, a guitar riff circles, little space noise sparkle of synth drift in, and the chorus begins. It’s like Tangerine Dream transforming itself into Sugar, both parts pure pleasure, wildly different and somehow complementary.

Though Final Summer doesn’t rage as hard as Attack on Memory, in general, it’s got its bludgeoning intervals, most notably sludgy “I’d Get Along.”  “If something would happen, if something would happen with me, I’d get along,” caterwauls Baldi over a frenetic cacophony of drums and guitars. His voice frays as he projects over the mayhem. The singing goes hoarse and metal-voiced in the long finishes, as Gerycz explodes in frantic bursts. It’s loud and corroded but also kind of a bop. That’s a trick that Cloud Nothings have been pulling since the late aughts, but there’s no sign that they’re tired of it. Final Summer is as sharp and exuberant and fierce as anything this band has ever done.

Jennifer Kelly

[tewwor-aaa]

HEADCANON — TANGEIRNE & TRAUMA :) 

so in an interview, atj mentioned doing takes where tangerine was traumatized by the bolivia job and that got me thinking. aka it’s canon for my tangerine to be, in fact, traumatized by the bolivia job. not sure what that exactly entails yet, but..

further into that whole trauma thing — there’s a moment of intense grief where tears are shed ( granted lemon is by far more personal than bolivia ) when he thought lemon died ( again, i beg, tangerine please check the PULSE ). but then that grief’s transformed into very intense rage almost in an instant ( no thanks to the white death calling ). then guns go ablazing, fists go flying because while lemon’s seen as a smidgen more logical and tangerine’s more up in arms about subduing and then getting answers — i think tangerine has a very, very fine balance with getting things done the way they should be vs. being in tune with his emotions.

and in that moment there’s no fucking time to be sad — not until the job’s done and his revenge’s paid in full.

anyways, even past that in my fudged post canon where tangerine miraculously lives, i think he’d revisit that extremely intense hurt for a very brief moment. give lemon a stronghanded, rib crushing hug and then sweep the talk of emotions half under the rug. so long as lemon’s safe and sound, he can revisit the bit by bit in bite sized pieces. would never go to therapy, though. him and lemon do well enough on their own.

so, all in all. compartmentalization is a tool he utilizes when caught in action, but can slowly air out some of those grievances when the situation’s not all fucked. but only with lemon.  

[toxicanonymity]

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, r-word in ref to past acts, breeding and "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers.

🚨 FIC ART: banger collage by @aurorawritestoescape and action packed movie trailer by @carminepoison

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated. 

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else. 

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage? 

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime. 

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind. 

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.  

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot: 

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine. 

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod.  The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it. 

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road. 

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world.  You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum. 

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?”  Deep voice, smooth as butter. 

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.” 

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod. 

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again. 

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.” 

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.  

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath. 

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you. 

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness. 

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers. 

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later. 

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do? 

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you. 

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim. 

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?" 

“No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you." 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be." 

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling. 

His voice goes down in pitch and volume.  "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust. 

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg. 

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.  

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants. 

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen." 

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in." 

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree. 

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun?  We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?" 

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow. 

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.” 

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time. 

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly. 

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs. 

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ” 

Another sip of your drink. 

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts,  “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.” 

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens. 

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.” 

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.”  He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.  

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned. 

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.  

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.  

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer. 

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.” 

A pool is forming in your panties. 

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts. 

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were. 

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb. 

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything. 

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight.  Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do. 

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get. 

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release. 

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest. 

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand. 

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans. 

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles. 

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust. 

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ” 

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter. 

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie. 

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back,  and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.  

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back.  “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it. 

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand. 

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either.  You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over.  Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks. 

Your dreams are wild. 

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store. 

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?”  He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...” 

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy. 

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up. 

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit. 

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it. 

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel. 

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks. 

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back. 

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw. 

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly. 

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away. 

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress. 

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs.  You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom. 

-

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag. 

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full.  He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely. 

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly. 

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan. 

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes. 

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester. 

“Please make it stop,” you beg.  It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.” 

“Please try.” 

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime. 

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain. 

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.” 

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole. 

“Yes,” you insist. 

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges. 

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts. 

Everything but the pleasure fades away. 

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need. 

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame. 

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged.  Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure. 

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements. 

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole. 

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer. 

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes. 

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm. 

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb. 

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.” 

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval.  His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow. 

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs. 

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound. 

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed. 

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled. 

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence. 

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad. 

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache. 

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice. 

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut. 

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding. 

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it. 

“Please,” you ask. 

“Please what?” he replies. 

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead. 

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?” 

“You are, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt. 

“Please, Daddy.” 

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart.  He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction. 

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole. 

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.  

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.  

“Yours, Daddy.” 

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound. 

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort.  His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air. 

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper. 

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right. 

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back. 

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one.  Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing. 

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.” 

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on. 

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended. 

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again. 

“You had company tonight,” he remarks. 

“Uninvited,” you clarify. 

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing. 

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.” 

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?” 

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?” 

He ignores the question.  “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question. 

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.” 

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing. 

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.”  He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You're not gonna tell me?” 

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door. 

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat.  Your chest feels light with forbidden affection. 

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up. 

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat. 

Thank you for reading!

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

So, as for the series: Until now, I've never had the next part planned ahead of time. Now I have 3 more planned. We'll see if it moves any faster this way, but no promises lol. No estimates, but I'll tease when one is nearly done.

[mudaship39]

The armored automotive prosthetic bionic arm comes with a built in injection system with multicolored serums. These serums are contained in vials that are unknown glowing cardinal, cerulean, emerald, silver, tangerine, gold, & violet fluids. 

These serums are made from human and alien materials found throughout the federations, empires, & confederacies of human and alien humanoids of the multiverse that are then ground up and mixed into concoctions, brews, potions, & elixirs. That when injected from the bionic prosthetic arm into the biological body through the injection system greatly enhances the user's strength, dexterity, constitution, durability, perception, awareness, intelligence, endurance, stamina, agility, flexibility, reflexes, dexterity, & speed at a supernatural level. 

The serum injection system also has a separate glowing obsidian vial that when injected into the user through the bionic arm with a time limit of a few minutes turns the user into a controlled berserker. Allowing them to fight at their fullest potential at a superhuman level without limits by weaponizing their inherent biology as a metahuman demigod and superhuman alien hybrid. It lets them release themselves of all rational restraints in battle. It lets them go into a controlled induced rage mode and combat enhanced mode but without the side effect of a berserker rage. 

It lets them immerse themselves completely in combat as a controlled berserker becoming a powerful ally for friends and a dangerous enemy for foes. As a controlled berserker they can tell the difference between ally and foe. They can ignore physical damage with pain suppression and injury immunity as if it never affected them and continue fighting past their limits but only for several minutes. It makes them unpredictable when fighting enemies and hard to counter. As a controlled berserker the user’s intelligence is not affected like a regular berserker. 

However the side effect is the severe backlash when the controlled berserker rage is over. The main side effect is while a user is only able to ignore the effects of pain and injuries while sustained in the berserker state. These injuries take full effect when they come out of the induced berserker rage once these chemicals wear off. They have to heal from the damage and pain on their own with their healing factor. The other side effect is that it leaves the user exhausted for several minutes as they run out of endurance and stamina.

This is based on the magical humanoid technology of the world of the Afro Asian Native variant human, fae elvish, goblinoid, & giant kin ancestry adventurer who’s a spellcaster, sword fighter, & gunslinger. It was created when the Afro Asian character came to the near and far future from their own modern but not futuristic world with magic (imagine 1950s but with magic) on a magical giant planet. They came over through a singularity or anomaly that bridged their worlds together.

[homestuck-human-generator]

Name: Sai Tina Schenck Color: Tangerine #Fa8128 Symbol: tamarillo Strife Specibus: tridentkind Handle: animatedTestified Animal: sheep Pronouns: it/its and co/cos Age: 24 Birthday: 84th day of the year Sexuality: bisexual Interests: tourism and physics Dream Moon: derse Classpect: Heir of Rage Land: Land of Sirens and Music, a tasty place, with long Indian Peacock Softshelled Turtle consorts. It is a place full of villages and crystalline stalagmites. Ophion lurks. Instrument: idiophone

[teaboot]

Some Persistent Thoughts Regarding Colours:

1. "rich colours" are rich in the way that food is rich. Like, deep heavy velvet-purple feels like eating just a bit too much cheesecake, or a few too many fancy chocolates. Burgundy is the same but the chocolate has raspberries and rum in it.

2. "Pastel yellow frustrates me. "Yellow" is pleasant mostly because it is warm, cheery, bright, luminous! "Pastel yellow" is a room temperature stick of unsalted butter that's begun to go a little runny. It's a ray of morning light through a frosted-over attic window in a frigid guest bedroom. Pastel yellow promises a magical adventure and then drops you off by yourself at a run down chuck-e-cheese with $5.

3.Baby blue is inhaling cool night air through your nose in an empty parking lot at sundown.

4. Beige is the bastard child that came from the taste of burnt black coffee and the physical sensation of inhaling pool water getting together for an ill-advised one-night-stand in a motel 6

5. Emerald-forest-green smells like black liquorice and makes my nose go numb, like a mouth full of novacaine and butterscotch pudding.

6. Tangerine is smooth and cool and buttery-soft like high quality satin cloth, but if you pet it the wrong way you get little itchy splinters like tarantula hairs

7. Grey is salty grit from homemade play-doh sticking to your hands. Grey is to Brown what 7 is to 4.

8. Lime green is that white-noise whistle they play in TV shows to indicate that a character is concussed or has hearing loss, except your little cousin is blowing bubbles all over the living room while you watch and someone uncorked an entire aerosol can of 'hawaiian tropic' room freshener in the kitchen

9. Hot pink feels like that split second of ozone you smell at the exact moment that you realize you're about to throw up, but weirdly lacking the accompanying nausea.

10. Grass-green looks like smoked paprika. Like, it doesn't look ANYTHING like smoked paprika, but it feels like it looks like smoked paprika. Like, the images are neighbours. It's a direct gradient.

11. Peacock green is feral rage in a public setting where it would be inappropriate and unfair to express negative emotion. It's the blue screen of death for patience and social grace. Peacock green makes me want to throw my furniture out the window and light it all on fire to free myself of the burden of possessing items.

12: Black is a big warm hug, thick blankets, and laundry fresh from the dryer. Black is a winter coat.

13: Yellow is the quietest colour.

[aiiwa]

BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS ― IWAIZUMI, KUROO, BOKUTO, AND SUGAWARA.

✗ REQUEST: i’ve been seeing all over tiktok the whole lay between your s/o thighs trend (idk if you know the trend) but i wanted to see it with the hq boys. so could i request iwa, kuroo, bo and suga🥺.

― iwaizumi hajime, kuroo tetsurou, bokuto koutarou, sugawara koushi.

⤷ genre: fluff

⤷ warnings: suggestive content (everything i write at this point is suggestive lmao), i got lazy proof reading this but i’ll come back to it

⤷ word count: 3.1k

― a/n: i was very soft writing this hehe, also;

me to me: let’s limit this to 500 words per character

also me: almost writes 1k just on kuroo.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

after two long weeks apart, with iwa having to travel overseas for work, he had finally come back home to you. work trips weren’t uncommon, but often left you alone, missing him more and more with each day apart.

it took everything in your power to hold yourself back from jumping on him, the moment you caught sight of his bulky figure walking out of the airport terminal.

and now the two of you were on your way home. after bickering over who would drive, iwa now sat leaned back in the driver’s seat, large hand engulfing yours on your lap and the other gripping the leather steering wheel; skillfully maneuvering your car down the snowy streets. fiddling with his long fingers entwined between your own, you bring his hand up to your mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

glancing at you from the corner of his olive eyes, you could see his soft smile under the flickering glow of the streetlights. he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, before his focus turns back to the road.

ten minutes pass relatively quickly, with iwa shifting the gear into park outside your shared home. he trails close behind you, warm breath tickling the side of your neck and duffle bag slung over his wide shoulder, as you unlock the front door.

“welcome home.” you whisper, tilting your face up to look at him.

iwa’s quick to drop his bag, spinning you around by your hips to pull you flush against him. wrapping your arms around his neck, you giggle at the feeling of his hands dipping lower to give your ass a loving squeeze.

“i missed you, baby.” he breathes out, before leaning down to capture your lips.

the kiss is sweet and slow, you indulge yourself in the familiar feeling of his soft lips; before his tongue darts out to trace against the pout of your bottom lip, asking for permission. you moan into him as your tongues brush against each other sensually, dragging your hand from his nape to caress his jaw; you jolt away as your palm brushes against the icy cold touch of his ear.

“haji! your ears are freezing!” you hiss, both hands now tugging at his ears.

chuckling lowly, he grabs at your wrists lightly. “ah, i know...why don’t you warm them up for me?”

“huh?”

overwhelming thoughts of how exactly iwa intended for you to warm his ears up, clouded your flustered mind. in a flurry of movements, he lead you into your bedroom; freeing you from the tight denim of your high-waisted pants, and having you perched up and leaning against your fluffed up pillows. the fuzziness in your head starts to clear up at the sight of iwa stripping off his long sleeved shirt, exposing the toned muscle of his stomach and chest.

crawling towards you and parting your legs, he presses a kiss to the inner side of your knee, before he flips over and slides his read right between your legs. you blink once, then twice, watching as he grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his neck and squishing his face.

“well, this...isn’t exactly what i was expecting.” rubbing your thighs against his ears to get used to the freezing touch.

iwa hums contentedly, patting the side of your leg. “mmm, don’t worry baby, we’ll save that for a bit later okay?” heat rushes to your face as he calls you out on your thoughts. “i just wanna lay here and feel you like this for now.” you push your hands against your face, feeling how warm your cheeks are, before iwa grabs at your wrists softly, bringing them over to kiss your palms. “just lie with me, okay baby?”

with your hands caressing the sides of his face, you nod, smiling softly. “okay, haji.”

KUROO TETSUROU

working together with kuroo for japan’s volleyball association was amazing. for the most part that is. it’s how the two of you met, he’d charmed you into a first date by his second week, and it was almost three years since then.

you spent every day with your boyfriend at work, and every night together in bed. but sharing a busy week schedule filled with back-to-back meetings, interviews with athletes for potential promotional videos, and late nights in the office filing the never-ending build up of paperwork - meant weekends were very much looked forward to.

lazy sundays being your favourite.

the day usually started well into noon, both of you enjoying the extra undisturbed hours of sleep - since the blare of kuroo’s six a.m. alarm wasn’t ringing in your ears. he’d greet you with a drowsy rasp - “good morning, shorty.” - making you giggle before dragging him to share a steaming hot shower with you; . and with a towel wrapped around your head, bare legs on show underneath the hem of your boyfriend’s large shirt, you’d sway in front of the stovetop flipping pancakes while a shirtless kuroo sliced up your favourite fruits - music from his playlist playing softly in the background.

if the weather allowed it, you and kuroo would sit out on the balcony of your apartment; basking in the warmth of the sun, admiring the way his hazel eyes reflected gold. yet this sunday, a storm was raging outside.

“why is she giving a rose to that prick yamato? fuji deserves it way more than him!” kuroo calls out.

you were only half invested in the bachelorette marathon playing. rain spat against the fogged glass; heavy lidded eyes followed the trails made by the racing raindrops. you were tucked snugly into kuroo’s side, a long arm wrapped around your shoulders, and legs tangled under the softness of the new periwinkle comforter you’d bought the other day. kuroo’s laptop rested on his lap, and you jostled about as he shot an arm out to point at the screen accusingly.

“are you seeing this, y/n?! now she’s choosing sachihiro! over fuji?!”

humming half-heartedly in response, you squeeze yourself closer to kuroo; dragging your hand over his bare chest, and resting it over his heart. you could feel his heartbeat against your palm, thump-thump thump-thump, and the steady rise and fall of his chest began to lull you to sleep.

the sound of your soft snores, pulled kuroo’s attention away from the show.

“shorty, you sleepin’?”

at your lack of reply, he chuckles lowly, shifting around to put away his laptop. you were always the first to fall back asleep, especially after eating good and coming back to bed to cuddle. pulling you closer to him, he smiled at the sigh you released against him; before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead and resting his cheek on his pillow. the smell of your strawberry shampoo wafting around him, was the last thing kuroo remembered before he joined you in the dream world.

laying on your side with half your vision obscured by the fluffy pillow under your head, you blink away the sleep as you gaze outside the window. the rain had come to a slow drizzle, with the skies still fairly bright meaning only an hour or so had passed while you were asleep.

“tetsu?” you call out.

usually the rooster head would be pressed right up against you, but you couldn’t feel or see him. attempting to twist your body around, you find your movements constricted. it was only when you tried once again to lift your leg up, that a hand slid around your knee to halt your movements.

pushing yourself up a bit, and resting on your elbow, you glance down to find your boyfriend’s head between your thighs, back of his head pushed against your pelvis. because the two of your are on your sides, the full weight of your left leg over his shoulder has his cheeks smushed together; but kuroo seems completely unbothered, in fact he’s just scrolling through instagram on his phone. when you reach a hand down to tug at his inky hair, only then does he glance up at you.

“are you alright down there?” you ask. “can you even breathe?”

“i woke up here, and i don’t plan on moving any time soon.” kuroo hums, the vibration from his throat are ticklish against your inner thighs. “i’m living my best life, wanna see my new lock screen?”

without waiting for an answer, he shows off his new lock screen - which really happened to be a live photo displaying a collection of pictures with kuroo’s face squeezed between your lush thighs. you can’t help but laugh, kuroo’s cackling joining you. slightly embarrassed at the thought of someone catching a glance at his lock screen, you pull at his hair; complaining about the possibility of being exposed.

kuroo slaps your hands away from his hair, still chuckling. “i don’t care, shorty. i look good between your thighs, don’t you think so?”

flustered, you yank on his hair again. “shut up, rooster head.”

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

while waiting for bokuto to come back home to you from his training with the msby jackals, the last thing you expected was to receive a call from his teammates. it was your day off, and as you were loading the last of you and bokuto’s laundry, your phone began to vibrate - the bright grin of a certain tangerine-haired cutie flashing across the screen.

“hello?”

“hi, bokuto-san- ah, um, i mean y/n-san!”

you chuckle lightly at hinata’s correction. ever since you announced your engagement with bokuto, the younger male had started addressing you by your fiancé’s surname. in the background you can hear atsumu yelling out to you, followed by sakusa complaining about his loud mouth. you were more than familiar with bokuto’s close friends and teammates, from the countless team dinners and nights of drinks hosted at you and bokuto’s townhouse, you shared a solid friendship with everyone.

“ah, shou-kun, everything okay?”

“um, well i just called to let you know that bokuto-san didn’t have the best time at training today.”

‘oh no, poor kou,’ you thought to yourself, heart tugging at the thought of bokuto being sad. his somber moods were a rarity these days; it had actually been almost a year since he’d been in a slump, and he usually loved his trainings, so that meant today must have been extra tough on him.

“i see, thank you for telling me shou-kun.” after listening to hinata’s retelling of the events at training, with side commentary from atsumu and sakusa; you all exchanged goodbyes before ending the call.

with the chance to avoid being unequipped for bokuto’s gloomy return home, you were grateful for hinata’s thought to warn you. it gave you an hour, from his shower to the drive back home, to prepare some of his favourite things. normally it involved inviting akaashi over, but with him out of town, it left you to your own devices. though after being with bokuto for so long, it wouldn’t be that hard.

you knew your man like the back of your hand.

he was probably starving after practice, and what better than to cook some barbecued meat for him - his favourite, with the special sauce you always made just for him. after making some side dishes and rice, you set the table for the two of you, leaving the meat to stay warm in the oven while you went for a quick shower. bokuto made it know how much he enjoys the smell of your cherry bomb body wash, yet today you opted to lather on his orange body wash. knowing the smell of him on you made him crazy, you dried yourself off and decided to wear his old shirt from high school; the baby blue of ‘the way of the ace’ shirt, with the faded black characters.

you had just finished throwing your softest blankets and fluffiest pillows onto the couch in the living room, when you caught the sound jingling keys at the front door. leaping over the back of the sofa, you ran just in time for the door to open.

“kou!” you exclaimed, leaping as soon as you see his bulky figure enter through the doorway. his gym bag landed on the wooden floors with a thud, as he caught you easily in his arms. “welcome home! i missed you so much, baby!”

bokuto’s hold on you is tight. “hi, y/n…” there’s none of the usual chirp in his voice, and you squeeze him closer to you, peppering kisses on his face.

“are you hungry? i made your favourite.”

offering him a small smile at his slight nod, you slid out of his grasp, taking his hand to lead him to the dining table. when he saw the table set, barbecued meats on display, he tugged you to a halt; staring at you with round, golden puppy eyes filled with appreciation. you sat on his lap as he ate, with your arm hooked around his neck; allowing him to feed you, as he listened to you talk about your day. and when the two of you were done, bokuto offered to finish off the dishes while you lounged on the sofa waiting for him, netflix loading on the wide screen television.

distracted by the trailer of some netflix original film, your caught by surprise when bokuto slides face first between your thighs. with his cheek pressed against your pelvis, he shifts your legs over his broad shoulders, thighs almost obscuring his face from your vision if it weren’t for the frosted tips of his hair sticking out. running your fingers through the slightly damp, silken strands; you felt you relax in your embrace, releasing a contented sigh.

“kou?” he hums in response, arms sliding around your thighs as he nuzzles his face into your smooth skin. “i know today wasn’t the best, but there’s always a tomorrow. just remember that i love you so much, and i’m here...okay baby?”

lifting his head slightly, thighs resting by his jaw, he sets his chin just below your navel. staring up at you, he takes your hands in his, slippings his fingers between yours.

“i love you, y/n.” he whispers, slightly mumbled. “thank you for everything.”

giving his hands a loving squeeze, you start explaining the new movie you want to watch. and with his interest piqued, the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the comfort of each other; bokuto tracings patterns on your leg, and your hands tangled in his hair.

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

it had been almost a month since you and suga’s return from your honeymoon. after spending an amazing three weeks on a tropical island with your newly wedded husband; strolling along sandy beaches, scuba diving in clear blue waters, and spending warm nights making love under the stars - it was safe to say you were missing the time away relaxing.

so when daichi called your husband during the week to make plans for the long weekend, you were more than happy for a mini getaway to tokyo with your old high school friends.

and that’s how you found yourself, guava oil spread across your skin, stretched out by the poolside, and sipping your umeshu tonic through a pink swirly straw. the boys had decided to take a dip and cool off in the pool, while you and kiyoko had taken to some sunbathing. it was a little after midday, scorching sun at its peak; and the golden rays captured the sparkle of the princess cut diamond of your engagement ring resting between two matching, diamond encrusted bands.

“you’re going to blind everyone with all those diamonds, y/n.” blinking away the daze you’d caught yourself in, you chuckle at kiyoko’s teasing.

“speak for yourself, soon-to-be-mrs-tanaka.” you shot back, nodding at the glimmering engagement ring on her own finger.

the two of you giggled like little school girls, cheeks flushed and eyes closed in mirth; only stopping when a sudden wall appeared, blocking the warm sunshine, and shadowing over you. the wall being none other tanaka, suga following behind.

“kiyo~!” tanaka coos, leaning over his fiancé. “you look hot- uh, i mean it’s pretty hot, y’know.” 

kiyoko simply raises an arched brow, listening to tanaka’s rambling; which quickly turned into the latter throwing the her over his shoulder, and running back towards the pool. she hadn’t even protested at his manhandling, taking to sending you a look that said ‘what can i do?’. with the two of them gone, your full attention was set on the sight of suga.

now standing next to you, his hazel-brown eyes glanced over your laid out figure in appreciation; entranced with the way your bikini top dug into the soft flesh of your breasts, drawing attention to the deep valley of your cleavage. your own keen eyes took in the sight of his slender build; admiring the way his soaked canary trunks hung low on his hips, polyester sticking to his thighs and leaving little to your imagination. with his chest exposed, glistening under the sun as droplets of water slid down his toned stomach - it suddenly felt as if the air had become ten degrees warmer.

“hey there, this seat taken?” suga asks, tilting his head and running a hand to push back the damp, grey strands out of his face.

“oh, this seat?” you ask, gesturing to the lounge chair you were occupying.

your brow’s furrow slightly in confusion, though you gasp when he trails ticklish fingers over your thigh, before squeezing the soft flesh. “no, this one.”

chuckling, you hold your left hand up, wiggling your jewelled ring finger in front of you. “sorry sir, i’m a taken woman.”

suga just grins at you cheekily, leaning forward to press his soft lips against your own. this kiss is brief, but the lingering taste of his mango chapstick and chlorine has you a bit dazed; allowing him to part your legs and slide himself right between them. laying on his stomach, your legs rest by his sides, his fingers teasing the hem of your bikini bottoms.

“ah yes, that you are, sweetheart. and i’m the lucky man who gets to call you mine.” with his cheek is smushed against your thigh, his words come out slurred; but the dreamy look in his eyes as he stares up at you is clear.

“and i’m lucky to have you, koushi.” you whisper in return, the weight of him over you is comforting and you find yourself leaning back into the lounger; as suga nestles himself closer into you.

“mmm, i love this...laying right here between your thighs, sweetheart.”

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

tuxedo iii, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader

summary: It’s the next morning. Your cat is still a man. Fuck. He still thinks he owns the place, including you. Sigh. Well, you still have to do your job, because, yikes, your cat-man has spent a small fortune on new clothes (spending like he’s got a black card, what’s up with that?). Ah, but... maybe both of you are starting to finally acknowledge that he might be a more man than cat – at least for the time being...?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; mentions of and a tiny bit of smut (fem reader, spanking, doggy, unintentional??? voyeurism, dry humping / thigh riding); domestic and soft moments with your cat-man; non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook (+drama!!!) and bestfriend!Kim Seokjin; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? yeah, I kinda think you are

*deep breath* I reference a certain boat that was stuck in the Suez Canal, Yoongi's livestream where he poked himself in the nose with the coffee straw, his love for tangerines, too many Twitch chat memes, that time his mom called him a boiled dumpling, 'BST' pink pajama Yoongi, DTS, TXT's 'Cat & Dog', etc...

–

part i | part ii

-

You woke up slowly. 

A perfect, peaceful morning. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Neck cradled by your memory foam pillow? Check. Back well supported by your soft mattress? Check. Not sleeping on your sofa and destroying your spine? Check. Hey, you’re moving up in life! Ah, what a normal day already. You opened your eyes a crack; vision blurred from the morning sunlight filtering through your curtains. Bundled in your minty-green duvet? Check. Wearing your extra soft black-and-white striped pajamas? Check. 

Large pale human hand firmly gripping your right titty? Check. 

Wait… 

What?

Your eyes snapped open and flew to your left. 

Min Yoongi's face was centimeters from yours, buried into your pillow, messy bedhead sticking out everywhere. Black choker with the tiny silver bell around his neck. Still had those black velvety pointed cat ears and glowing pale skin, pretty pink lips ever-so-slightly upturned, warm exhale against your ear. 

Your cat still a disturbingly handsome man?

Ah, yup, check. 

His hand was on your right breast, fingers molded to the soft curve. A quick glance and, whew, he was still fully dressed in his black t-shirt and sweatpants from yesterday. Yes, fully, completely dressed. Shit, what if he caught you staring? You quickly flickered your eyes up at the ceiling, hastily wiping the drool away from your mouth. Whoa there. That would be embarrassing if he caught that.

Also, kind of gross. Don’t be gross. Keep it together.

Hahaha…

Well, yup, this was still awkward, the whole hand-on-the-titty thing, hahaha, but not as awkward as it would be if, hahaha, you accidentally, oh, don't know, hahaha, got really, really, really disgustingly drunk and, hahaha, had somehow lost all impulse control and, hahaha, fucked your cat?

Man.

Cat-man. 

Hahaha, that would never happen. You’d make sure of that.

... 

Unless?

No, no, no, stop, he's your cat, your cat, he's literally been a (cat) man for one fucking day, albeit a incredibly hot, deliciously built (cat) man who put your facial massager on your nipple and let you touch his human dick in the shower and he was hard for a hot second, so... no, no, no, stop, you are not a desperate thot, get a fucking grip – well, you kind of are – but not him, for fuck’s sake, you still don't understand what the fuck is going on or if he even remotely likes you and, let's face it, he probably doesn’t because you almost paid a guy to chop off his nuts–

"Are you dying?"

You choked on air and lurched sharply at the sudden deep, raspy voice. The grip on your right breast tightened, preventing you from moving away. You did what any sensible human being would do in this situation and wheezed like you were on the verge of passing out. 

"Urk!"

"Do you have high blood pressure?" Yoongi yawned calmly, turning his face to the side to avoid breathing in your face, thereby pressing his body even closer to you. Your neck and ears heated to five billion degrees. "Your heart's beating abnormally fast. Maybe you should see a doctor."

You definitely needed to see a doctor for something as well as several gallons of holy water and a priest to get an exorcism for that horny demon inside you. 

"Y-Your hand!"

Yoongi grunted. "What about it?"

What about it???

"It's on my tits!" you squeaked.

Yoongi lifted his head, squinting. "It is." Then his head dropped and he closed his eyes again. 

HELLO, Min Yoongi? That's ALL you have to say???

"Is there a problem?"

IS THERE A PROBLEM???????

"I've always slept like this," he mumbled.

That's... true though. Your tuxedo cat, previously named Shooky until you realized he had his own name, did used to always sleep next to you, when he wasn’t trying to murder you by sitting on your chest, that is (he was adamant on letting you know when he needed breakfast). Usually, your cat was splayed out by your left side, his long body extended and pressed against you, his white, sock-like paws encircling your arm. Shooky had basically been a small furry heater that kicked you sometimes in his sleep. 

Keyword: small.

"Y-You w-were a cat!" you sputtered.

"I'm still a cat."

"No, you're a man! With arms!"

"The reach is a little farther. Who cares?"

WHO CARES???????

Before you could very loudly inform Yoongi who exactly cared – that’s you, by the way, yes, you – he wrapped his arms around you and yanked your body to his, turning you into a red-hot chili pepper with the amount of heat your face was now emitting. Then his free hand grabbed your other titty. Without asking! Without even so much as buying you dinner or, hell, giving you a goddamn cracker! You didn't need to be wined and dined, but at least a single fucking snack before using your tits like his own personal stress ball!

Yoongi pressed your back into his chest.

You froze. 

He pressed his crotch into your ass, shivering slightly.

Your soul left your body. 

"Ugh, this human body is terrible," Yoongi muttered. "Always so cold. I need this extra body heat or I'll die."

You'll die? YOU’LL DIE?

You were pretty sure that you were already dead. Rest in peace.

Hang on. 

Something was stuck in a very specific place, quite similar to a far-too-large boat in a narrow canal.

"Um."

Er...

"What?" your cat-man grunted.

"Your..." You gulped. "Dick."

"What about it?"

"You, uh... have morning wood."

"Is that a human euphemism?" he grumbled impatiently, clear annoyance in his tone. "I don't understand your species. Wouldn't it be easier to be straightforward and explain yourself clearly?"

A muscle in your eye twitched, reaching breaking point.

"Your dick is rock-hard and you're shoving it between my ass cheeks!"

"Yeah, so? It's cold too."

Your irritation fizzled out at Yoongi’s self-assured, completely calm response. In fact, he sounded borderline bored and exasperated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hard dick was cold, so he put it in the warmest place he could find, your ass, duh. Nothing weird about it, of course. Your mind reeled, unable to compute what the fuck was going on. Thus, your body did what it did best in these moments where you did not want to give a response that would most certainly expose you and your dire need to get dicked.

Not deal with it, of course.

You fainted.

-

"Fuck!"

You shot out of bed at the harsh yell, tangled in the covers, barely registering that Yoongi no longer had a death grip on your tits – in fact, he was no longer in bed at all – and stumbled towards the source of the sound, highly disoriented, your earlier fainting spell turning you into a bumbling mess.

Admittedly, not that different from your usual self.

(Ouch, roasted.)

"What, what, what?" you croaked, running into the doorframe of the bedroom and nearly taking yourself out. 

Might as well, maybe it would have been a blessing in disguise, considering the way your life was going. 

You finally tumbled your way to the kitchen, where your cat-man was hissing at the pan on the stove. 

"I was trying to make eggs," Yoongi spat, pointing accusingly at the frying pan. His ears were flat and his tail was sticking straight up. "And then it attacked me."

If you had three functioning brain cells, you would have remembered Yoongi putting his morning wood between your ass cheeks this morning, but alas, you only had two at the moment – you did run into the doorframe, might have lost one there – so instead you nudged him aside and rolled up your sleeves, taking the pan and shaking it so the eggs wouldn't burn. 

"Was it the oil? Sometimes it pops," you asked as Yoongi continued death glaring at the pan.

"I saw you doing this yesterday. You didn't seem bothered," he mumbled, finishing with a low, angry hiss as if the pan was sentient and mocking him. The oil popped and seared your forearm, but at this point you maybe had five hair follicles total on your arms with how many times hot oil had splattered in you. It used to bother you when you were a kid, but years of cooking had desensitized the feeling, turning it to nothing more than a mere annoyance. Yoongi stayed behind you, intermittently letting out hisses of rage as you cooked.

"I told you, my dad's a chef. You get used to it," you said, tipping the pan and flipping the thin egg pancake with ease. 

"That's bizarre," Yoongi muttered. "No normal animal gets used to pain."

Normality was starting to become a bit of a foreign concept to you.  As for being an animal, well…

You took the pan off the heat and rolled the egg onto a plate with a spare set of chopsticks, turning it into a log shape. A literal egg roll, ready to be sliced into bite-sized pieces. You took a sniff. It seemed to be seasoned already. Had Yoongi simply copied what you did yesterday? His observation skills were insane.

"Then again, you seem to enjoy–"

"Yoongi," you blurted, not wanting to know what he thought you seemed to enjoy, but very sure it was going to be one-hundred-percent embarrassing and only for you. "There's some leftover beef and vegetables in the fridge you can have with the egg and rice."

He raised his eyebrows. "Beef? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Because I was asleep and maybe half-dead? "Did you brush your teeth?' you asked suddenly. 

Yoongi scowled. "Unfortunately."

"Right, so should I, goodbye now."

You marched away hurriedly, trying not to think about how your cat had surely witnessed you getting spanked while being fucked from behind by none other than, surprise, surprise, his not-so-favorite human being, Jeon Jungkook. Tattoo guy strikes again. The worst part was, you couldn't lock the door on your cat either, because then he would meow incessantly while you were getting deep-dicked and that was even worse. 

"Your cat really likes you, huh?" Jungkook mused as you yanked open the bedroom door to the black-and-white tuxedo furball. 

"Like is a strong word," you muttered at your cat, who yawned and sauntered past you to his cat tree, acting like he owned the damn place. 

"I like you."

"Hah... wait, what?"

Jungkook grinned as your eyes found his. Took a while. You were a little distracted by his nakedness. His tattoos up his right arm. His tan skin. His muscles. His white teeth biting on his lower lip, tiny mole underneath flashing. His long black hair, framing dark chocolate eyes and teasing, cocked eyebrow. 

"I like you," he repeated, voice deep and sexy.

You turned red and made the most coherent noise you could. 

“... Urk?”

“Noona.”

Why did he look so fucking hot and disrespectful at the same time when saying an honorific?

Jungkook came up to you, hand cupping your head and tangling his fingers in your hair. He brought his face close to yours, lips brushing against your swollen ones, taking your breath away.

"Wanna go back to me spanking you while you get off on my dick?"

Respectfully, of course. 

"How much rice do you want?"

You started, poking yourself in the nose with your toothpaste-covered toothbrush and smearing mint up your nostril – almost as bad as poking a coffee straw up your nose during a livestream in front of millions of people, yikes – as Yoongi appeared behind you, breaking you out of the memory. Your cat-man watched you with mild disgust and displeasure as you coughed and dunked your head into the sink, hurriedly rinsing off your burning nose.

"Whatever, I'll just fill it halfway."

And he left you sputtering, pajamas and hair soaking wet in your haste.

Awesome. 

-

“I’m ordering some groceries,” you announced in between bites of rice and egg. You tapped lightly at the phone screen as you spoke. Green onions, tofu, cucumbers… “Do you want anything?”

“Meat.”

You swiped rapidly and added packages of chicken, pork, and beef into your cart. Why the fuck not? You like meat. All kinds of–

“Yes, Yoongi, I’m getting meat. Anything else?”

“What else is there?”

You made a face and handed him your phone. “All sorts of things. Household products too, in case you don’t want to smell like my soap.”

“Your soap is preferable,” he said absentmindedly, scrolling through the online grocery app. You continued eating, shoving things in your mouth and none of it dick. Sad. At least it tasted good. Your cat-man had seasoned the egg well. You jumped as Yoongi spoke again. “I want these.” He turned the phone around.

You squinted at the screen, staring at a picture of orange balls. “Tangerines? Why?”

He turned the phone back to him. “They’re small, round, and look tasty.”

You blinked at him, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? I guess your palette might have changed. Try whatever you want.”

He pursed his lips and pressed a few buttons as you ate. You realized you needed to order more groceries now that your cat was a man eating your human food and no longer a cat eating his rather expensive cat food. Sigh. You had put Shooky’s cat bowls in a cabinet earlier this morning before sitting down to eat. It seemed weird leaving them out on the floor like that. Kind of offensive, maybe, now that your cat was a man and all…

“Okay, I ordered it.”

“Ah, okay, that’s good. They’ll probably come later this week.”

-

After breakfast, you spent nearly half an hour with Yoongi trying to pick out something for him to watch from your various streaming services, only for him to select a historical drama series. Like what? You cat (man) wanted to watch historical drama out of all things? Instead of learning about the modern world, he wanted to watch a depiction of the past?

Whatever, it had seventy-seven episodes, so at least he would be occupied for a while.

You let him be and went to your computer, intending on getting some editing done. Sure, the universe decided your cat was a man now, but you still needed to pay for said cat-man’s existence. You still didn’t know what you were going do to with all that cat food, cat toys, cat tree… ugh, this was all a problem for future you, not present you.

Present you needed to splice five-hundred images of PepeHands together and overlay it over a League of Legends one-shot compilation.

Uh, so, it was this meme of a green frog named Pepe holding up his anthropomorphic hands in despair, therefore coining the term PepeHands for a particular Twitch chat emote… never mind, it just meant you were spending some time video editing for a gaming YouTuber and it required concentration, shitty memes, and well-timed captions. And you were getting paid good money to do this.

Yeah, it’s a weird world.

You sat at your desktop and got to work, doing the rough cuts of the video first. Thankfully, the YouTuber had already sent you the timestamps of the noteworthy moments, therefore making your job a lot easier. You spent several hours compiling the clips before adding your extra flair and effects. You had a library of images and sound bites that you commonly used (including Goofy singing Evanescence's ‘Bring Me to Life’) and was in the middle of grayscaling a video clip and adding the familiar audio of all around me are familiar faces before being scared shitless.

“Woof.”

You swore someone was singing ‘Mad World’ as they were narrating your life right now.

“Gah!”

You jerked in your seat to see Yoongi leaning over behind you, eyebrow raised as you gawked at him.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you exclaimed, pulling back an earcup of your headset.

He frowned. “How can I sneak up on you?” He flicked the silver bell on the black choker around his neck, making it jingle cheerfully. “You put stupid thing on me, remember?”

You winced. “Well, I’d take it off, but there’s some kind of voodoo magic on that shit – and hey, don’t change the subject! You have that weird cat thing where you’re silent no matter what.”

Yoongi looked unbothered. “Weird cat thing? Thought you said I was a man?”

“Thought you said you were a cat?” you shot back.

You glared at him and he gave you a blank expression. Then he cocked his head to your desk.

“Your phone is flashing.”

You jerked your head to see your phone screen flicker. You grabbed it off you desk and unlocked it, checking your messages. Five messages from – ah, but of course – your best friend. Kim Seokjin.

LET ME SEE YOUR CAT

LET ME SEE YOUR CAT

LET ME SEE YOUR CAT

LET ME SEE YOUR CAT

LET ME SEE YOUR CAT

You pursed your lips. With the pandemic and all, you hadn’t visited Seokjin in forever, but every week he would text you, asking for a photo of your cat and he would send you a picture of his sugar glider. With every week being the same and nothing interesting of note happening, it was hard to think of conversation topics. Therefore, Seokjin and you came up with this weekly event so your friendship wouldn’t deteriorate. Also, both of you were serious introverts, so he spent most of this pandemic playing MapleStory while you spent most of it on your couch watching Netflix with your cat. It was a miracle you two hadn’t morphed into actual potatoes yet.

You glanced at Yoongi, who was inspecting his nails and picking at them. You frowned and batted at his hand. He frowned back and smacked yours, harder. You glared at him. He gave you a vacant stare, as if he had done nothing.

“Why are you picking at your cuticles?” you muttered, going back to your phone and sending Seokjin an old picture of Shooky. You couldn’t exactly send him a picture of current Shooky. He was… well, currently not a cat. You stared at the picture of the fluffy tuxedo cat curled into a ball, asleep in your lap on the couch.

That moment wasn’t even that long ago.

Somehow, it felt like ages since you had last petted that furry butt.

“Hm, dunno. Occupies my hands, I guess,” Yoongi replied distractedly.

“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s not good for you.” You noticed you had another message from the local delivery service, saying a package had arrived at your doorstep. You stood, placing your phone on the desk and looked at Yoongi, who was staring at his old cat tree, the one by the window. When he was a cat, he used to poke his head between the curtains and look outside, watching the birds. It was his favorite haunt.

Now…

“Why’d you say woof?” you asked abruptly, giving him a quizzical look. “I thought you were a cat.”

Yoongi shrugged, tearing his eyes away from the cat tree to give you an uninterested stare. “Thought it would surprise you more. You’ve heard meow for long enough.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why would you want to surprise me?”

He shrugged again. “I was bored.”

“… You were bored so you decided to sneak up and scare the shit out of me?”

He paused, black tail swishing back and forth, pointed ears perked. Then he nodded.

“Yup.”

Sigh.

-

You lugged in the huge cardboard box, Yoongi standing out of sight of the front door as you huffed and puffed with your weak arms. Okay, it wasn’t even that big, but it was quite heavy and you weren’t exactly John Cena. Your arms were about as strong as a bowl of overcooked ramyeon noodles and that was putting it kindly. You weren’t the working out type. People who worked out diligently were dog people. People who preferred sleeping as their primary workout regimen had cats. What were the kinds of people who had cat-men then? The kind of people who like sleeping, but also needed a…

(You already know the answer.)

Yoongi snapped the door closed the second you managed to pull it on far enough to do so.

“You look like a boiled dumpling,” he commented.

“At least I’m delicious food,” you wheezed, inspecting the box. You recognized the clothing brand. “Is this the stuff your ordered? How did it come so fast?”

“I selected next-day delivery.”

You paled.

“I need clothes as soon as possible, don’t I? Or should I go back to being naked, since you’re a pervert?”

You choked, ears burning. “I’m not a pervert!”

“Mhm.”

You tried not to think about the hit on your wallet as you grabbed your keys from the side table and opened the box, seeing all the plastic packages inside. Monotone, in white or black. Figures. You tipped the box to the side and the clothes spilled out, tumbling all over the floor. It took a firm shake to dump it all on the ground. You got on your hands and knees to spread them out, tossing the cardboard aside carelessly to shift through the items. Hopefully, Yoongi had read the listings and selected the correct sizes. From your brief glance, you noticed the tops were quite oversized. Maybe he liked that fit? He had been quite a fluffy cat.

You spotted the packing slip with all the prices listed. You fished it out and then heard a thunk-thunk-thunk, the sound of cardboard on hardwood. Huh?

You looked up to see Yoongi swatting the box around.

“What… are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Investigating.”

You blinked. “Investigating what?”

“Don’t know. I simply feel the need to investigate, thus I am doing so.”

You stared at Yoongi for several minutes as he continued to… uh, investigate (???) the cardboard box, holding it this way and that, smacking it around, watching the flaps bounce in the air as it rolled. His velvety ears perked upwards, sleek black tail swishing with interest.

His expression was completely neutral.

For the first time since becoming a human, you thought Yoongi was more cat than man.

“Uh… okay…”

You glimpsed down to the paper in your hands, seeing the total cost.

You felt the color drain out of your face.

My… wallet…

F in the chat.

You fainted.

-

You felt someone poking you in the head.

“Are you dead?”

You gasped and jerked up like a drown victim coming up for air, still in mild shock of the sudden financial hit of your cat becoming a man. It was okay. You weren’t poor. You just didn’t expect Yoongi to be a shopping like he owned a fucking black card.

“Did I spend too much?”

You snapped out of your stunned state at his soft tone. Yoongi wasn’t looking at you. He was kneeling on top of the pile of clothes, dark eyes on the paper in your shaking hands. With a start, you realized his words were heavy with guilt, his ears pointing downwards and tail tucked against the ground.

“No,” you said quickly, putting the receipt down. “No, Yoongi. I asked you to buy clothes, remember? And besides, it’s better for you to buy things you like and are interested in, rather than me wasting money on things you’ll never wear.”

He raised his head a little, eyes darting from your face to your hands.

You smiled at him, reaching up to pat his head and stroke the fur on his ears. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s only money. Money will never be more important to me than you, okay?”

For a second, you saw something flicker in Yoongi’s eyes. It was so fast that you barely caught it. Relief? Gratitude? Fondness? Then he ticked his head out of your hand, fair cheeks flushing pink.

“You… you don’t have to do that,” he muttered.

“O… oh.” For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest at his words. “R-right.”

Yoongi made eye contact with you, dark brown orbs guarded. He spoke quietly, without emotion.

“Do you wish this never happened?”

“What?” You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to himself, waving a hand up and down carelessly. “This. Human me.”

Human me.

You answered instantly.

“No.”

Yoongi gave you the disbelieving side-eye.

You let out a sheepish puff of air. “I always kind of wished you were human.” You scratched the back of your head aimlessly. “No one listened to me like you did. Even if I was having the shittest day of all time, you always made it better. You were the best cat ever.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. “Sure, your species changed, but you’re still the same, right?”

His eyes shifted, his cheeks still a light pink. “I’m still a cat,” he mumbled awkwardly.

You raised your brows. “Mhm, is that why you were playing with the box?”

“I wasn’t playing with the box,” Yoongi huffed, sounding insulted.

“Then I’ll break it down and recycle it.”

“No,” he snapped firmly. “It’s useful. We’re keeping it.”

“We don’t need a box, Yoongi.”

He tutted. “Hmph, humans. So wasteful. A perfectly good box should be reused.”

“Right.”

You tried to hide your laugh as Yoongi refused to look you in the eye.

-

You left Yoongi to examine his new wardrobe on the floor. You tried to pick them up but he stubbornly remained on the pile of clothes, not letting you move them. When you stood up to leave, you asked him when he was going to move – he replied with, "When it feels right", just cat things, you supposed – and hurried off to export the edited video you were working on earlier. The due date was today and you had to review it for quality.

A certain quality. 

A certain quality of... of... 

Needing the money.

Because your cat (man) had spent fat chunk of it on clothes, only to be more interested in the box they came in and sitting on said clothes rather than the actual items themselves. 

Sigh. 

-

"I ordered the wrong color."

"Oh?" you muttered distractedly, clocking on the export button. You'd been going cross-eyed for the past two or three hours – had it really been that long? shit – and checked your phone to see Gukmul, Seokjin's white sugar glider, peering up at the camera on a white fluffy blanket. You smiled, typing a response to praise his cuteness, completely ignoring the fact that Seokjin had also stuck his handsome face in the photo, smiling with a thumbs-up next to his pet. 

The reply was instant. 

hello, acknowledge my BEAUTIFUL FACE

You deliberately didn't answer right away to piss Seokjin off even more. 

"What's wrong with it?" you asked, looking up. 

Your jaw dropped. 

You dropped your phone. 

Yoongi, your cat-man with excellent reflexes, made absolutely no move to catch it. 

It smacked you in the calf and hit your toes – fucking ow, holy shit – before clattering to the floor. You had a protective phone case on it with a cute tuxedo cat graphic. The screen wouldn't crack with the protector on it. In this moment, however, you didn't give a shit about your smartphone, Kim Seokjin, or even the blinding pain in your foot. Nope. 

You were ogling at Min Yoongi in pink silk pajamas.

-

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to–

Oi!

No, don't you dare scroll past! You think you're clever or something?! Hm? Advertisements always happen at the most crucial parts, you say? 

This is just an ad? 

Look here, Lemona Vitamin C Powder can provide a lot of benefits, including providing natural energy and boosting your immune system in, say, a worldwide pandemic–

STOP TRYING TO SCROLL PAST!!!

-

Jeon Jungkook stared at his phone. 

At a very specific number. 

He put it down, sighing a little, looking out the window instead. It was a nice day, but he couldn't enjoy it the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Pandemic and all that. He frowned, looking at the urban jungle surrounding him. Had he made a mistake moving here to the big city? Sometimes he wondered. Back then, he had moved to finish school and pursue his ambitions. Back then, his choice had seemed full of opportunities, but now.

What did he have, really?

A tiny apartment with a kind and understanding landlord. The world at his fingertips from his computer. Still a decent amount of savings left. Online courses that he needed to finish to get his film degree. 

Loneliness.

He delved into his memories, smiling at the recollection of confused looks, awkward smiles, indignant huffs. So very unlike him to tease so much, but it was too fun and he hadn't felt the usual nervousness and shyness he had around others. There was something comforting about that smile, that apartment, and that fluffy tuxedo cat that loved to interrupt everything. 

He shouldn't have played it off.

He shouldn't have distracted.

Not after he admitted it.

"I like you."

Jungkook said it to the air, to the memory. So vivid that he reached out to touch those lips, but then it all disappeared, just like that. 

Ah.

He looked at the back of his phone, wondering. But now he was too nervous and shy to pick it up again. Why was that? When he was there, being seen by those surprised eyes, he could do and say shameless things. But far away, when he was alone, Jungkook was hesitating, suddenly afraid.

Sigh. 

-

You sneezed. 

Very loudly and jerking your head away from your cat-man in luxurious pink silk, jamming your nose into your elbow.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. 

You sniffed, rubbing your nose. 

"Someone must be thinking about me..." you muttered. 

Yoongi looked down, plucking the collar of the pajamas. "The cotton shirts are the same size, but for some reason this one fits tighter. Why is that? Is there no regulated sizing in human fashion?"

Dude, be glad you're not a girl, you thought dryly. "Might be the fabric," you coughed distractedly. Distractedly because you were staring at quite possibly the most gorgeous man in the history of men and you stared at a lot of men in your short lifetime, so you had experienced eyeballs.

Wait. 

Man or cat-man?

Well, Yoongi was definitely the most gorgeous cat-man considering you were pretty sure there was only one in current existence.

His pointed ears stood straight up in interest, black hair messy from taking clothes on and off, fair cheeks and nose flushed pink, perhaps from physical exertion. Dark brown eyes sheepish, not quite looking at you. The black leather choker stood out on his neck, silver bell gleaming against his collarbones. The material was a mauve-pink silk, clinging to his lean body, showing off his shoulders and long limbs. The button-up shirt created a rather deep v-neckline, a sliver of pale chest visible. And his legs! His slim legs reminded you of a nimble dancer, ending in fuzzy black slippers. 

There was a weird lump in one of the pant legs, going down his thigh. 

Whoa. 

"W-Why did you pick them?" you tried to ask in the least awkward way possible, attempting – and failing – to not to stare at his delectable thighs. 

Yoongi shrugged. "They looked like the ones you have. I meant to get black, but I suppose I didn't read the listing closely enough. They're comfortable though," he mused before making a face. Your eyes bulged as there was a sudden jerk in his pants, creating a large tent in the crotch. 

Alarms sounded off in your head, arousal shooting up like a rocket. 

Oh. 

Oh??? 

Oh!!!!!!!

"My tail is stuck," Yoongi grunted, lowering the back of the pink silk pants. The sleek black cat tail slid out, swishing in the air, tent in his pants gone. 

Oh…

Right. The tail.

Because he's a cat... man.

Your inner thot was sad. Your dignity smacked you upside the head, highly disappointed in you for falling for that, then calmly shot down your arousal rocket with your shame. Oof.

"Can you show me how to sew so I can fix my own clothes from now on?" Yoongi asked as he readjusted the front of the silk shirt. 

You bent down to pick up your phone, trying to do something with your face and hands to disguise your embarrassment and burning ears. "Yeah, of course." You placed it on your desk and turned back to face him. 

Yoongi was right next to you. 

Literally so close that you could feel his body heat. 

"... Urk!"

You jumped in your seat, banging your knee against your desk and howling in pain, computer chair rolling and making you lose your balance, ass about to slip before Yoongi grabbed your chair and shoved it into the table, making you trip and fall back into the seat, head hitting the headrest a little too hard, seeing stars and rubber duckies for a second. 

Wait, were they rubber duckies? They were white and glittery, almost as if they were made from snow…

Yoongi slapped you in the face.

“Ow!”

You rubbed your cheek, blinking rapidly to clear your vision before glaring at him.

“Checking if you were alive,” was his placid response.

Alright, it wasn’t that hard, but the unexpectedness of it still hurt. You frowned, only for the pain to slowly melt away, quickly being replaced by something else as you realized Yoongi was still half-leaning over you, a knee on your computer gaming chair to prevent it from rolling. The sting in your knee was temporarily forgotten. Yoongi spoke again, his voice low and deep, almost a sensual purr.

“You hit yourself pretty hard.”

He doesn’t know what’s he’s doing. It’s just a coincidence. A kitty-incidence, Seokjin would say.

Your eyes widened as Yoongi closed in, peering at your unfocused gaze. Now you could see down his shirt. Holy shit. Were you so deprived that you were getting mad horny from seeing Yoongi’s fucking clavicle and sternum?

Is that even a question?

Yes.

Yes, you were.

“You look like you did last night.”

“What?” you breathed, still unabashedly looking down his shirt.

“Your pupils are dilated.”

You froze. His cool fingertips were on your neck.

“Heartrate increased.”

You wanted to pull back, say, no, wait, don’t do that, but Yoongi was too close and his exhale was too feathery, brushing against your lips, and you couldn’t move, trapped in your chair, between him wrapped in pink silk and your mind reeling, him still playing fucking doctor while you were trying not to jump his half-covered ass.

“And that smell.”

You finally tore your gaze away, eyes drifting up to his.

You swallowed.

“S… smell?”

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Ohnoohshitwhatifhecansmellmypus–

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, surveying you closely. He was so close you couldn’t see his lips, only his dark brown orbs. He didn’t say anything. He smelled like your soap, reminding you of his naked body pressed against you in the shower. Your heartbeat was leaping to your throat, threatening to choke you with your own horniness. Honestly, at this point, would you even be surprised?

You chuckled nervously, clinging onto your last shreds of self-preservation, which, admittedly, were rapidly yeeting out of your hands.

“Hahaha… but you’re… a cat… yeah?”

Right?

Seconds passed.

Right???

Minutes passed.

RIGHT???????

Yoongi’s lashes lowered, not quite looking at your eyes. Staring at your lips.

“I’m a man too,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes widened.

Yoongi kissed you.

You were so shocked that you swore your eyes nearly left your head.

It was a soft kiss, his eyes closed, tilting his head slightly to fit better against yours, pressing you back into your chair. Your head hit the headrest and you gasped, your tongue lightly flicking his lips and they parted, his own tongue sliding against yours, gentle licks, your brain malfunctioning, but body remembering, hands coming up to grab his shirt and yank him closer, pressing back against him. He backed up a little at your suddenness, exhaling hard. Your eyes snapped open, suddenly aware of how forceful you were.

Yoongi looked away, pointed black ears flicking back and forth uneasily.

You kissed your cat. Man. Cat-man.

He’s been a man for not even two days and you just tried to make out with him like a demented beast!

“A-ah, Yoongi, no, I’m so sorry, I-I… please, I didn’t mean to…” you stuttered, letting go of him quickly, but also not wanting to let go, but you should, your hands getting confused by your mental signals, repeatedly clasping and unclasping the pink silk, not realizing that he wasn’t even trying to move away.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Yoongi said slowly.

You clutched his shirt, staring at your white knuckles, unable to look at him directly.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… you’re so handsome, but I’m your owner… and I cracked…”

“What you are is a desperate, sexually deprived human.”

You jerked your head up, seeing his unreadable expression. “I-It’s been over a year–”

All of a sudden, Yoongi lowered his knee and grabbed you by the ass, scooting you down on the rolling chair. You yelped at the swift movement, gasping as your crotch collided with his thigh, wincing as you heard the squelch of your panties jamming into your soaked core.

Yikes.

Welp, you can’t hide that shit now.

“You like things like this, don’t you?” Yoongi murmured.

Your cheeks heated. “T…Things like w-what…?”

Oh, you knew what. You knew very well what, but you also couldn’t form coherent sentences.

His fingers sank into your ass and he pressed you into his thigh, rolling it into your heat. The whines tore out of your throat involuntarily, grabbing his arm and staring up at him with shaking eyes, seeing his curious gaze looking down at you.

“B-But, Yoongi… I’m your o-owner,” you panted, resolve slipping with every second, your hips already rocking into his thigh, the slippery thin fabric doing nothing to hide his lean muscle, your own thighs clamping around his leg. “I’m supposed to t-take care of y-you…”

And last more than two days, fucking shit, get it together!

But you couldn’t get it together, especially not as Yoongi’s voice dropped to a lower octave, one side of his lips curving upwards.

“It’s a little different now, isn’t it?” he drawled softly, lashes lowering, eyebrows raising, his black hair darkening his gaze. “Since I am now capable to take care of you too.”

You whimpered, losing it.

Just started freely humping his leg, self-preservation completely gone. Did he even know what he was capable of, really? Did he have any idea what he could do? Surely not.

Surely, he had no idea how good he could make you feel.

Yoongi bit the side of his lip, frowning. “How will can I make it feel better? I’m only cop…” He trailed off, furry ears anxiously flicking.

You tugged on his arm, getting his attention. “Angle your leg a little more downwards… Y-Yeah, like that…” He did as you instructed, his thigh now pressing down on your clit and your rocking hips moving faster, clinging to his arm and setting your jaw, moaning at the added pleasure. “A-ah… yeah, fuck… yes, I c-can… like this…”

“You can what?” Yoongi breathed, watching your face closely, firmly holding the armrests of the chair so it wouldn’t slide.  

Your head tipped back a little, bucking harder into his thigh, so wet your juices were soaking through your leggings and drenching the pink silk, turning it darker, the strong scent of your sweet arousal clearly evident. Your eyes drifted to Yoongi’s dark orbs covered by black hair, vision hazy, noticing the slight inquisitive upturn of his upper lip. There was no point in hiding it anymore.

“Can cum, Yoongi, fuck, I’m going to cum…” you moaned, inhaling his scent, his presence, saying his name and looking up at him, the stimulation and touch of another enough to get you there, eyelids fluttering as your orgasm swept down, taking you away and filling you with serene satisfaction, crashing waves soaring through you, washing away the sand of your dry spell, a different kind of euphoria than when you were on your own, pulling Yoongi close, kissing him deeply, breathing hard.

“Y… Yoongi…”

“Was it nice?” he murmured. “Was I what you needed?”

“Yeah…” You kissed his soft lips again, semi-breathless. “I–” The wave of guilt came now, your words dropping, brows furrowing, a sharp pang in your chest. Rising, rising. Panic. Yoongi lowered his head, black hair and soft pointed ear rubbing against your eyebrow, nuzzling your cheek. Once. Twice. Again, headbutting you lightly, smoothing the worry away from your forehead, a small laugh bubbling from your throat.

“What are you doing?” you chuckled, patting his arm, smoothing out the wrinkles you had made while furiously humping him. Your eye caught the dark mark now on one of his thighs. Welp. You lasted less than ten minutes.

Pink pajama Yoongi was dangerous.

“You liked this,” he mumbled. “When you were upset.”

You chuckled, instinctively reaching up and caressing his velvety ear. “You were a little smaller then.”

“Only a little.”

He slowed until he came to a full stop, dark eye staring into yours, cheek to cheek.

“I have to look after you, my clumsy human.”

-

part iv

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masterpost