#i think the cat looks just like him. uncanny.

[4byun]

spot the difference. 99% of people FAIL.

[twistyfish]

Can we get some comfort from the boys please? God especially after that last post with us being so insecure that hits me like a rock. MC’s selfish for having all of them I wanna be loved too 😭😭😭

(I love MC but jealousy is uncanny)

It doesn’t help that I read an angst no comfort a while ago and I still am not over it- help 😭

sure! i just wrote a double dose of angst so i hope this eases the pain. i don’t know why the hell sylus’s is so long, so don’t ask me.

prompt~ comfort.

content warning for brief mentions of death, periods, and detailed descriptions of blood.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered into the cool fabric of his jacket, gripping the velvety material in your fists. You were sitting on his lap facing him, your legs swung around his hips and hugging his sides.

“I would perish at your side before leaving you,” Zayne whispered back. “No entity in or outside this world could rip me apart from you.”

“I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to- why would you say that?”

“Zayne, I’m scared of dying alone, please don’t ever leave me alone.” Your voice was panicky and you weren’t making much sense.

“You’re not going to die alone, honey. I won’t leave you alone,” he reassured you softly. “Where did this fear come from?”

“I just… I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to feel that way again. I don’t want nobody to remember me.”

“Sweetheart. You aren’t alone. You have family and friends who love you so much. And I love you so, so much more than I can describe. I even think about you when you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. How could I not remember you?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you, holding your head with one hand and rubbing your hair soothingly.

“You’re the love of my life. You keep me warm on chilly days. You nourish me. Please never think otherwise.”

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

You were hunched over on the couch, curled up and gripping your knees. You were intensely nauseous, and it felt like a cat was clawing up all your insides. Your periods were notoriously brutal.

You were being extra cautious not to leak on Sylus’s leather couch, placing two towels beneath you and doubling them up. You flipped through channels on the TV miserably, pulling your fluffy blanket higher up around you.

It was all politics and sports. You shut off the TV and closed your eyes, trying to just marinate in the warmth of the blanket.

You were somewhat peaceful, until you realized the seat of your pants felt warmer than usual. Wide eyed, you scrambled up and checked the towels. The top one looked like the Japanese flag. You lifted it, and the bottom one mirrored it. Praying, you lifted the bottom towel.

The leather couch had a thick blotch of red on it, and you groaned aloud. You stood up and tossed the blanket to the side, ignoring the shooting pains in your back and stomach. Upon standing, you felt yourself leak down your leg. There was now a small red puddle on the floor that you were dripping into.

You seethed. Deciding against retrieving paper towels and potentially leaving a trail behind you, you took off your stained pajama pants and wiped the floor with them.

It wasn’t very effective, as you were bent over cleaning the blood and simultaneously dripping onto the floor at the same time. You were too embarrassed to call any of Sylus’s staff, so you ended up giving up and putting your pajama pants in a heap on the floor and sitting on top of them so you wouldn’t do any more damage.

You sat like that for a solid twenty minutes before Sylus came home. You heard his steps as he entered the room and turned your head, both dreading and being relieved at his arrival. His expression changed from suave to confused as he saw you on the floor sitting on your pants.

And then he saw the bloody towels and stain on the couch. “Oh, shit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you started.

“That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay?” His voice was soft and concerned.”

“Yeah, it’s just my period. Aren’t you mad about the couch?”

“Me? Mad about a couch? I can replace this a thousand times over. I’m more concerned-,” he bent down next to you, “-about the amount of blood coming out of you.”

You looked at him, both weary and confused. “I told you, it’s just my period. It’s pretty standard to bleed a lot.”

He shook his head. “Not that much. Get up.” You complied and stood up, revealing your pajamas which were soaked through by now. His scarlet eyes widened. “What the hell? That’s not normal.”

“It is normal. It happens every month.”

He shook his head, picking up your soiled pajamas and towels in one hand and wrapping his other hand around your bloody thighs. He hoisted you up like you were weightless, ignoring your protests.

“Sylus! I’m covered in blood, stop touching me!”

“You act as though I haven’t seen bodies doused in blood.”

“That’s different. This is blood from my literal va-“

“I’m plenty familiar with that orifice of yours, my love.”

“Oh my god.”

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

Your cheeks were flushed, and you were hacking up what felt like several lungs. After much harassing from Xavier, you had taken a sick day and were now taking the hottest shower of your life in an attempt to steam out all the muck in your throat.

You blew your nose one last time before exiting the shower, getting dressed with a heavy head. The air in the bathroom was hot and damp from your shower, and you felt like you were swimming as you walked to your bedroom. You ended up clumsily turning the fan on and collapsing on your bed.

And then the doorbell rang. Of course it did, because you and Rafayel had made plans for a movie night that you’d forgotten to cancel. You groaned into the mattress and forced yourself to get up. You answered the door with what must have still been a very pink face, because Rafayel immediately said, “You’re all red. Are you that nervous to see me?”

“I’m sick.”

He immediately pulled away and lifted his shirt over his mouth. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I was busy being sick, genius.” You were too tired to banter. You sneezed, to which Rafayel made a face. “You need some TLC, Ms. Bodyguard. I’ll be happy to assist. From a distance, of course.”

You didn’t feel like arguing, so you allowed him to lead you inside and prepare you some stew and hot chocolate. It was surprisingly comforting, and Rafayel didn’t pretend to be disgusted when you coughed up mucus. He rubbed your back while you coughed and attacked you with kisses when you sat quietly with a throbbing head.

Even when you pushed him away, reminding him that he would likely get sick from all his close contact, he waved away your worries.

“I need you to recover as quickly as possible so you can protect me. When I’m sick, you can just pay me back.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

You fell out of a tree. That was the short version of it. You and Xavier were having a climbing contest, and the branch you’d been holding onto wasn’t very stable. Well, the branch itself was stable, but the bark you were gripping wasn’t. It ripped off in your hands and took you with it.

You let out a squeaky noise when you hit the ground, almost like a dog toy. You would have laughed at yourself if you weren’t in so much pain.

“__! Shit, shit, shit!” Xavier was down the tree in an instant, like a rodent that spotted a snake. He sprinted to your side and hovered over you frantically while you laid on your back and tried to regain your breath. He ended up refraining from calling an ambulance because you had enough life in you to beg him not to. So, he drove you to urgent care instead.

Thankfully you weren’t hurt too badly, but you did end up with a bruised tailbone and a fractured rib, so now you were in the middle of the healing process with Xavier asking you questions every twenty minutes or so.

He’d ask, “Are you in pain?” to which you’d respond, “Yes.” And then he’d ask “Where?” And you’d angrily say “My butt.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, it was my fault.”

“But climbing the trees was my idea.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Do you need a butt massage?”

“No, idiot.”

Xavier was very apologetic for the next couple of weeks, sleeping over at your house every other day and bringing you burnt baked goods to tide you over. He took care of you in his own sweet way.

[the-flaneur]

matchmaker pets (mv1) | pt3

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

summary: in a world where one's furry best friend is secretly their cupid, the drivers' love lives are sure to be entertaining for everyone (written from the pov of the pets!)

warnings: none (i think)

wc: 1011

[masterlist]

young!jimmy and sassy who max names after two of monaco's clubs, jimmy'z and sass cafe.

young!jimmy and sassy who rarely ever grace max's social media, let alone visit the paddock. their presence is like a once-in-a-lifetime comet for almost everyone.

young!jimmy and sassy who live a life of lavish opulence in max’s penthouse apartment. they are arguably some of the most pampered cats in the world, free to rule over the kingdom that is max’s bachelor’s pad. 

young!jimmy and sassy who however, do need a caretaker; someone to watch over them whilst max is away, winning races and fighting for championships across the globe.

that’s you :)

unruly!jimmy and sassy at first, are of course hesitant about your newfound presence in their home (i mean it is their domain after all).

unruly!jimmy and sassy who meow and hiss at you when you come too close to them, muttering about your weird aroma and uncanny ability to accidentally knock over their feeding bowl every time you open the door.

unruly!jimmy and sassy who love snatching things out of your handbag, sometimes too happy to see it lying out in the open before sticking their noses in and rummaging around

unruly!jimmy and sassy who like to sit on the dining table, watching you do some work on your laptop. eventually, they’re so bored, they’ll lay across your laptop, conveniently stopping you from completing work, before nodding off to sleep.

adorable!jimmy and sassy who however, eventually warm up to you, once they find out with a few cute meows and yawns, they have you wrapped around their tiny little paws.

you’re practically obsessed with them

(and their owner, but he doesn’t need to know that either)

adorable!jimmy and sassy who leverage this for snacks and cuddles, which you’re all too happy to give and spoil them with

adorable!jimmy and sassy who even max considers to have grown a bit fatter and more lazy after the first couple of overseas races, but he lets it slide 

(for now)

older!jimmy and sassy who eventually grow so fond and love your presence, that they consider you their mum

older!jimmy and sassy who refuse to be looked after by anyone else other than you.

older!jimmy and sassy who get to yowling loudly on the days where you’re too busy to come in to sit for max, and are now forced to be strictly supervised by some random person

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who team up to make the “caretakers” lives’ hell. they refuse to ever work with the pair again (much to their delight).

cocky!jimmy who eagerly convinces sassy to start scratching up max’s apartment, including his couch (which he doesn’t sit on) and his sim racing chair (which he does sit on)...

shameless!sassy who manages to sometimes manage to lock the caretaker outside on max’s balcony, forcing them to call the driver (who also doesn’t answer for numerous hours), before resorting to calling the emergency services

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who cause an absolute ruckus when you’re not with them

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who are perfect saints and angels whenever you come over. they don’t touch a single thing, they eat and drink whenever you call them over, they love lounging in your lap, purring contently as you rub their backs and cuddle them

how could they possibly be two terrible troublemakers? 

even at the beginning, they were just two little cats who wanted to play with you, not cause mass destruction

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who manage to make max employ you almost full time, begging you to tame them and save him the headache.

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who now needs to get you add max officially together, considering that they are basically your children, and you’re employed almost full time.

cheeky!jimmy and sassy who have also seen max’s wandering eyes when you’re lounging in his home in a very casual outfit 

(still respectful of course, but definitely not the uptight business casual you were wearing the first time you met) 

and your lip bites watching max flex his back muscles as he reaches up to the top cabinets for the cat treats

(which you definitely didn’t put there on purpose)

naughty cupid!jimmy and sassy who relies upon a tried and true romancing method: trapping you in a locked room (as tested very professionally by sassy that one time)

naughty cupid!jimmy and sassy who manage to get you and max to each chase one of them into a closet room, before conveniently knocking over a broom, wedging the door shut.

“max?” you whisper in the silence, the room barely illuminated by the light seeping through the gap at the bottom of the door.

“yeah?” he responds, his warm breath far too close to your face to even think.

“d-did the cats j-just lock us in here?” you laugh nervously, trying to reach into your pocket for your phone.

unexpectedly, you brush something firm near your leg, and you hear max’s hiss as you accidently move past it again. he mumbles something to you, but even with the heart-pounding close distance, you ask him to speak up again

“you’re not grabbing what you think you are, lifeje,” he groans, snatching your wrists and slamming them into the wall behind your back.

“don’t do it again unless you me to do something about it,”

“oh…but i do,” you smirk, before yanking your wrists out, and pushing him back. even in the dim lights, you can see him lick his lips, as you climb on top of his thick thighs…

purrfect!jimmy and sassy who after about two hours greet charles at the door of max’s apartment, looking very pleased with themselves

purrfect!jimmy and sassy (and charles) who see you and max tumble out of the closet, clothes slightly dishevelled and hickies splotched across your necks. 

“i’m not going to even ask now,” charles sighs and side-eyes the pair of them, but was it really all that bad?

permanent f1 taglist

@charlesgirl16

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[ahqkas]

Gryffindor! Reader who always try to avoid mattheo because of the beef between houses. But mostly because of the rumors of the riddle brother. Mattheo knows this, it’s like a game of cat and mouse as it only ends up with mattheo teasing her until she’s flustered.

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE ANCIENT RIVALRY BETWEEN GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN WAS A WELL-KNOWN FACT AT HOGWARTS. it was a feud written in tradition and mutual dislike, carried on through generations of students. for you, a proud gryffindor, the tradition was not just a historical detail but a daily reality. especially when it came to avoiding mattheo riddle, the short tempered slytherin whose reputation preceded him.

it wasn’t just the typical house rivalry that made you steer clear of mattheo; it was the swirling rumors about him and his name. the whispers in the corridors, the hushed conversations in the common room – all painted him as someone to be wary of. despite this, there was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetism that made it increasingly difficult to ignore his presence.

mattheo seemed to take great delight in your attempts to avoid him. it was like a game of cat and mouse, one he played with a mischievous glint in his eyes. he had an uncanny ability to appear wherever you least expected him, always ready with a teasing remark or a sly smile that made your heart race.

one afternoon, you were hurrying through the courtyard, hoping to reach the library before dinner. the winter sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the cobblestones. you quickened your pace, hoping to evade any slytherins who might be lingering nearby.

"running from something, gryffindor?"

the familiar drawl stopped you in your tracks. you turned to see mattheo leaning against a stone pillar, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk playing on his lips. his dark curls fell into his eyes, which sparkled with amusement. he enjoyed this game between the two of you too much.

"no, just trying to get to the library," you replied, trying to sound indifferent. "some of us actually have work to do."

"ah, always the responsible student," he teased, pushing off from the pillar and sauntering over to you. "but you know, all work and no play makes for a very dull lion."

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding against your rib cage. "i have enough excitement without adding you to the mix, riddle."

he stepped closer, his gaze intense. "oh i doubt that." he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. the casual touch sent a shiver down your spine. "why do you avoid me, really?"

you looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "you know why," you muttered.

"because of the rumors?" he asked and his voice visibly softened now. "you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"it’s not just the rumors," you admitted. "it’s . . . well, you're you. and i am me. gryffindor and slytherin don't exactly mix well."

"who says we have to follow the rules?" he said, his tone challenging. "maybe we can make our own."

you couldn't help but glance up at him, caught by the sincerity in his voice. "why do you care so much, mattheo?"

"because i like you," he said simply. "and i think you like me too, even if you won't admit it."

your cheeks flushed, and you looked away again. "you’re impossible," you muttered, but there was no heat in your words this time.

"and you're adorable when you're flustered," he teased, his smirk returning.

before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of the break. you took a step back, needing to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence of mattheo riddle.

"i have to go.”

"i’ll see you around, princess," he called after you, his voice filled with a promise.

as you walked away, you couldn't help but smile. despite your best efforts, mattheo riddle was getting under your skin. and maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

-

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness.  Everything feels romantic.  Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix,  Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.   

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium.  He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance. 

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate.  A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in.  Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad.  He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek. 

You poke that cheek.  A muscle in his jaw twitches.  He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.  

“Do not,” he says. 

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.” 

You obey his demand for silence.  For about six seconds. 

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably. 

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says.  “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed.  You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him.  Felix sighs but slows his pace.  To your surprise, he answers your question.  “A month,” he says.  “I’ve been working there a month.” 

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say.  “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop.  Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together.  He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.   

“I already told you,” he says.  “My job is checking tickets.  Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.   

He smiles.  It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow.  He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver. 

“Let me guess,” he says.  “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart?  You can’t hold one down.  You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they?  Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring.  And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it.  Except by acting out.  It’s fun, right?  Looking for trouble.  Makes you feel something for a minute.  Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside.  You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped.  Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth. 

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues.  “You told me I was a good boy, yeah?  Your words.  And you think you’re bad.  A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?” 

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature. 

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says.  “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you?  You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay.  But you don’t make it easy.  And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.” 

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface.  To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background. 

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask. 

He is still smiling. 

He laughs, a low chuckle.  He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.  “I’m just the same as you.  Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time.  Just so good, you know?”  He is almost theatrical in tone.   “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you.  Isn’t it?” 

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips.  It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes. 

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper. 

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good.  If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours.  He abruptly steps back. 

Oh.  You blink quickly.  Yes.  Of course.  It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it?  He does not need to flaunt it.  He can just smile at you. 

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his.  He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street.  So seemingly innocent.  Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat. 

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples. 

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs.  He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life.  It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are.  “I’m not sick.  See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run.  Twisted, on the other hand… well…” 

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate.  You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you. 

You smile back at him. 

You still intend to win.

-

It is a twenty minute walk.  Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations.  Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires.  He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed.   Very, very detailed.   

“Um, right,” he says.  “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.” 

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario.  He looks a little wan. 

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished. 

“I dunno, get creative.  My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh?  Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out.  Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end. 

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.  

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says.  “I am standing right beside you.  You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.”  You do not bother hiding your texts. 

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies.  “It sounds like my business.” 

“Well, it’s not.  We’ve already established the world revolves around me.  You’re the supporting character, pal.” 

“Right,” he says.  He blinks at the screen.  In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?” 

It never hurts to be thorough.  You type the address and send it to the boys. 

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes. 

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat.  “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over.  “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt.  “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow.  “Is this what you call winning?” he asks. 

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows.  “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say.  “And my opinion is the only one that matters.” 

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown.  Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips.  He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re almost there.”  

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse.  You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house.  Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway.  It is an ostentatious design to say the least.  You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.  

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties.  “This place belongs to my parents.  They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.” 

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach.  “About your background, I mean.  You and me really are alike.” 

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings.  Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite.  It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door. 

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks.  He stands silent for a long moment.  When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say.  “You know.” 

“Uhh.”  He blinks quickly.  “I have feelings all the time.  Every day.”

“Wow,” you say.  “That sounds exhausting.  Explains a lot about you.” 

“All right.”  He shakes his head.  He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look.  You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door.  The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing.  It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping.  Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire.  You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips. 

Felix is none-the-wiser.  He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code.  It beeps and goes quiet.   You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight.  He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans.  Unassuming, gentle, sweet.  Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass.  But he can.  He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you. 

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space.  You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack.  The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care.  The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name. 

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts.  “Sorry for the mess.  I wasn’t expecting company.” 

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away.  You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing.  Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft.  It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky.  And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says.  “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him.  The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality.  Mutual objectification is more your style.  Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings. 

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door.  “It’s freaky.” 

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking.  Ugh.   You shake it off and push open his bedroom door. 

He shakes his head and leads you in.  He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison.  His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets.  Yes.  That is more your thing.  Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core.  You want him to lose control.  You want to drive him crazy.  You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer.  A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top.  He takes it out and immediately unlocks you. 

The cuffs fall to the floor.  He scoops them up and jingles them in your face. 

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say.  “You evil son of a bitch.”   

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings.  But he knew you wanted to play him.  He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer.  Now there is no reason to linger.  Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again. 

He is going to make you ask for it. 

That is not your style.  You hate being out-smarted.  And you really, really, really hate losing. 

“Right,” you say.  “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says.  “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom.  It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights.  You are swimming in blue, breathing it in.  His hair, the room, and moonlight. 

You will never see this colour the same way again.  Of that much you are certain. 

“Blue,” you say. 

His brow crinkles.  “Blue?” he repeats. 

“Mm.”  You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze.   “Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath.  The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you.  He is dazzling.  This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room.  “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…” 

“Uh-huh,” he says.  He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely.  Now he knows what you are capable of doing.  Now you understand each other. 

He follows you, assessing every step you take.  There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more. 

“And what does blue mean?” he asks.  “To you?” 

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins.  So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting.  The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces. 

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth.  His confidence is easy.  He needs no grand display of machoism.  He just smiles that pretty pink mouth.  The glitter on his cheek sparkles.    

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says.  Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.” 

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand.  You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table.  You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.  

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well.  Because it is not as though he loves the clock.  It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents.  You can read him that easily too.  He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks.  He likes neon and blue and you. 

“Put what back?” you ask.  You have reached the front door.  Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. 

You push the door open. 

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say.  With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?” 

Red to stop.  Yellow to pause.  Green to give in. 

“Blue,” he says.  To play. 

You smile.  You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.    

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.” 

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came.  He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.   

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “Don’t make me do this.” 

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice.  There is nothing soft about him.  He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body.  You feel each glance.  A shiver races down your spine.  Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze. 

It also gets you so, so hot. 

All that tension snaps. 

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate.  You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe.  You show him no mercy this time.  Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again. 

You glance over your shoulder.  He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused. 

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again.   Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you. 

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth.  You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block.  There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes. 

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you.  You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone.  A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you. 

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes.  Your heart leaps.  The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend.  You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light.  You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds.   But running on the road will expose you too quickly. 

You will not surrender that easily.  He knows that. 

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea.  You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow.  He is not behind you so you race back to his house. 

There is no way he will circle back here.  He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates.  He would never guess you ran back into his house.  Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait. 

You run back up the driveway.  The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked.  Nope. He locked it.  Maybe that is why he was delayed. 

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in.  But no, you are still winning.  He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.    

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows.  You do not think he had time to set the alarm.  Did he?  Maybe that is why he was so far behind. 

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard.  You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape.  The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around.  There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit.    In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight.  Of course. 

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath.  You strategize your next move.  Should you pose on one of the pool chairs?  Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum.  Someone is making their way down the side of the house.  

You panic.  You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide.   You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it. 

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard.  He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered.  He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open. 

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence.   You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.    

 “I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence. 

Your heart leaps into your throat.  You should have known better.  Of course he had the same idea as you.  Now what?  How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move? 

You peek around the storage trunk.  Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight.  Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut.  He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock.  He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him. 

So that is why he took so long.  He unlocked the gate before giving chase.  He laid a trap and you ran right into it. 

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper. 

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly.  It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches. 

Your heart tempers itself when he stops.  He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.  

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard.  “You don’t need to hide.  I promise I’m not mad.”  He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.  “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…”  He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning.  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” 

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin.  You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him.  You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you.  So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him.   You almost want to scream.  He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him. 

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone.  He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid.  “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble.  Even though you are far away, it makes you jump.  You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping. 

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it.  He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing.  Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile. 

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says.  “I thought we were turning into friends.  Don’t you want to be my friend?” 

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table.  He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you. 

He is giving you time, you realize.  He wants you worked up.  He wants your heart racing.  He wants you quivering and soft and afraid. 

You look around frantically, searching for an escape. 

Your hope rises then plummets.  The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap.  It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you. 

You jump at another slam.  It was the shed door.  He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside. 

“Come on,” he says into the shed.  “Don’t be scared.” 

You take a deep breath.  You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned.  You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can. 

He is just as quiet.  You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena.  Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth. 

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him. 

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth.  He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  “Fight me.  Brat.” 

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before.  There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front.  You kick your legs as he straddles your backside.  He brings your hands together on the base of your spine. 

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration.  Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back. 

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up.  He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it.  You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm. 

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth.  It hovers like he expects you to start screaming.  You just exhale heavily, glaring.  “All right,” he says.  “Very good.  Come on.” 

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground.  He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him.  He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way. 

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs.  He catches you quickly.   You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again. 

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between.  With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together. 

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly. 

“Not quite,” he says, laughing.  “I’ve been picturing something else.” 

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open.  The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier. 

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough.  You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard.  But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand.   It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand. 

“This is what I was picturing,” he says.  It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper.  His lips graze your ear and you shiver. 

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth.  A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart.  His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons. 

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you.  “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.  He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more.  “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?”  You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips.  He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly.  “God, that’s hot,” he says.  “You might be a brat but your pussy...   It’s begging for it, isn’t it?  Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm?  Hmm?” 

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns.  You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast. 

“Tell me,” he says.  “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.” 

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply. 

“You can do better than that,” he says.  “Come on.  Show me how much you want it.  You can’t lie to me, sweetheart.  I can feel it, hmm?  Gonna feel it when you come.  Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that?  What’s it want?” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine. 

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says.  “Fuck you.  You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need.  You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right?  Go on.  Show me you want it.  Show me.” 

Your chest is heaving.  Your eyes close.  You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately.  It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking. 

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you.  He knows you are about to come.  This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand.  You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you.  The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue.   He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch. 

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth.  You catch your breath, slumping against his chest. 

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head.  You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth.  You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers.  You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself.  Strands of blue fall across his forehead.  He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel. 

He grins around his fingers.  Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his.  He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths.  His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his.  You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses. 

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly.  “Because for what we do next…”  He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  For that, I need all of you.” 

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you.  You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright.   You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath. 

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone.  You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch.  You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant. 

You follow him to the open door.  One step, two steps. 

Then you say, ��Blue.” 

You take off running into the house. 

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you. 

He slams the door shut behind him.  You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside.  It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape. 

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide.  There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances.  Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard.  And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about. 

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.    

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice.  His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual.  “Stop hiding.  I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…” 

You peer at him between some boxes.  He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too.  The glittering amusement has left his eyes.  They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air. 

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it.  He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place.  He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables. 

You shuffle with him, moving when he does.  He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses. 

“Come on now,” he says, turning around.  He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple.  “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says.  “I know you, sweetheart.  You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah?  Hmm.  You’re fast.  I bet you’re flexible too.  I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions.  Get you making all sorts of noises for me…” 

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move.  Your limbs are still shaky.  Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch. 

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses.  Did he hear that?  Maybe not.  He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs.  It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns. 

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs.  In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.”  Then he smiles again.  He turns in your direction slowly.  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” 

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you.  Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house. 

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good.  You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.” 

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet.  It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.    

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says.  He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you.  “Don’t make me come get you,” he says.  “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”    

You shuffle to the side.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs. 

“Right,” he says.  “Fine.  We’ll do it that way.” 

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away.  You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on.  It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide. 

You can hear Felix stomping after you.  You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. 

You yelp when he bursts in behind you.  This time, he does not give.   He grabs you roughly when you try to run again.  With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder.  He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back. 

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom.  “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?”  He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him.  He smiles.  “Worth a shot, no?” 

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says. 

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you.  He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans. 

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him.  “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.” 

You were right.  You will never see the colour blue the same way again.  You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again. 

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open.  He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough.  He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick.  He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water.  You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face.  He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars.  Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he says.  He reaches down to wipe a tear.  “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle. 

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach.  He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress.  Then he swoops up.  He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything. 

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips.   He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.” 

“Oh god,” is your rough reply. 

“It’s Felix,” he says.  “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

He has a condom in his bedside drawer.  Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?”  He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips.  You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy.  “No, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m gonna have all of you.  And you – are gonna – take it.” 

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you.  You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more.  When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before.  You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you.  You let them melt into the physical sensations.  When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you.  You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  His face is in your neck when he laughs.  It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement.  “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.  He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes.  It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs. 

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle.  He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it.  Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck.  You get uncharacteristically bashful.  Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much.  Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed.  Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile. 

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks. 

You nod.  He smiles. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“That’s nice.  Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh. 

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes. 

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while.  You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light.  You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head.  “What!  Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning.  “I better be prepared.” 

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you.  I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says.  “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back.  “I still won this round.” 

He lifts your face so he can look at you.  Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you.  You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore.  Vexatious vixen, indeed.   

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.” 

“Fine,” you say.  You kiss again, long and sweet.  Then you bop him on the nose.  “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head.  Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.   

[teaboot]

If you could pick 2 to 5 current animals to make a hybrid, what would you pick?

I would do platypus for most of the body, raven for wings and intelligence, peacock for coloring, and pigs for the noises because pig snorts make me laugh.

Asks are supposed to be fun, if you don't want to answer or take a while to answer that is perfectly fine. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

I have been thinking about this ALL DAY

My ideal animal to play God at making would HAVE TO BE:

Soft. Ideally pettable. Furry, but not like. Bristly or oily

Not stinky. Dogs always smell like foot, I'm sorry

Affectionate, but not clingy

Character-ful. Imperfect. TOO cute or sweet and we get into uncomfortable uncanny Valley territory.

Self-sufficient. Will it survive in it's natural habitat? Can it protect itself from stupid people? Needs some form of self-defense.

NOW, given these criteria I have chosen THESE CREACHURS :

MOLE

Mole fur sticks directly up from its body to minimize friction when digging forwards OR backwards. With the fur of the mole, THIS CREACHUR is PETTABLE IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

2. CRESTED AUKLET

For some godforsaken reason, the crested anklet is a bird which releases the smell of SWEET TANGERINES, a scent which I am personally fond of. THIS CREACHUR smells DELIGHTFUL.

3. DOMESTIC CAT

THIS CREACHUR is AFFECTIONATE TOWARDS HUMANS, but not so much that it's constantly trying to crawl up your ass. IDEAL SOCIAL COMPANION

4. SILKY ANTEATER

The silky anteater, like the platypus, is a SLIGHTLY FUCKED LITTLE GUY. Look at him. He's adorable, but not saccharine. He's approachable. Believable. Somewhat muppet-like. A real down-to-earth guy. An everyman sort of freak. A friend.

5. EMPEROR SCORPION

One of the more chill scorpions, the Emperor Scorpion is MILDLY VENOMOUS. By which I mean, like. Bee sting-level. You probably won't let your toddler goof around with one, but you could still feasibly keep one as a pet. THIS CREACHUR is SECURE

TO CONCLUDE:

We are looking at an affectionate, roughly kitten-sized animal with a cat's temperament and the fur of a mole, which smells of citrus fruits, is shaped like a silky anteater, and is able to deliver a first-painful, then mostly-just-itchy sting when threatened. Artist's render pending

[sixosix]

'cat' the son | itoshi rin

( a/n ) when i came back the poll was 50/50 so i got bribed and it’s now decided that rin is the winner + little highschool au bc we all know they dropped out:/ idk what to title this im ngl

there’s a cat on the sidewalk.

you have about six dollars in your hand, a faltering mission to treat yourself to a cold drink, and an aching heart at the sight of the little animal seated like a king on concrete, looking up at you with blank eyes.

its dark fur and near-teal eyes remind you of someone. of a back facing your seat, dark hair always kept neat and looking like it’s conditioned meticulously, and the sharpest eyes you have ever seen on a high schooler.

it has been a long day, long enough for you to have stormed out of the room as soon as classes ended to rush to the nearest shop that would sell what you’re craving. alas, there is a cat on the sidewalk, and you can’t just ignore it.

“stay here, kitty,” you say before rushing off with the six dollars in hand and a new goal to head straight to the nearest sign with an animal cardboard cutout printed on it.

eventually, you find one; eventually, you come out of the store holding cat food and a tiny cat bowl because you were worried about letting the cat eat straight from the can. it’s baby blue with little fishes added as design, though you think it’s rather gruesome to put that there, considering the canned food you bought is made from fish. still, you hope the cat will appreciate it.

the cat is still there as if it’s understood and blessed you with patience. the unimpressed look it has on its face says otherwise, though. grateful, you kneel beside it, slightly mesmerized by the fact that it hasn’t run away yet.

maybe other people are feeding it, too? it doesn’t look worryingly thin. needs a little cleaning, but looks well-fed. you’re relieved.

“here you go,” you coo, ignoring the strange looks of the passersby. you place the bowl down and crack open the can. the smell has the cat walking over, meowing all crankily. “i know, i know.”

the cat doesn’t dig in until you’ve finished shaking off its contents, staring at you in the same way the itoshi guy in your class would. the resemblance is uncanny.

you spend the rest of your afternoon keeping the cat company. its face speaks as if it’s far from amused, but the way it rubs against your ankle contradicts it.

cute. the cat is cute.

another student comes to visit the cat, carrying two cans of cat food. it’s been sitting in the plastic for a little while because as he had been going in the same routine he usually has, he spots you, his classmate, bent to the knees next to his cat, and paused.

rin thinks you’re scared of him because everyone in the class is. he lets you have your moment, choosing to come back later when you’ve finished so you don’t freak out and scare the cat. he thinks he can strike up a conversation tomorrow where there are no cats to frighten.

the cat walks up to him, instantly familiar. he doesn’t even meow up at rin impatiently, which confirms rin’s suspicions.

“y/n fed you well,” he mumbles. “i guess you can have this tomorrow.”

you’re suddenly all too aware that rin sits in front of you. he’s right there, uniform stretched over his broad back, most likely because he’s the prodigy of soccer in your school.

the neatness of his hair reminds you of the cat from yesterday, with its silky dark fur despite being a stray. you resist the urge to touch it, missing the cat already. you make a mental note to refill your water bottle so the cat can drink after.

while left thinking about the fact that you’re three dollars shorter than yesterday's budget, you fail to notice that class has ended and rin has his arm slung over the top of his chair to turn to look at you.

rin’s eyes flicker down to the paper bag next to your feet. “what’s that for?”

startled by the smoothness of his voice directed at you, you choke out a: “t-this?” you gesture lamely at the bag containing the gruesome bowl.

“what else am i referring to?”

you scrunch your nose. “okay, no need to be so rude. maybe i won’t tell you what it is.”

rin stares, and you’re intensely reminded of piercing eyes looking up at you, patiently waiting for the canned tuna.

“it’s a cat bowl,” you murmur, defeated.

“cat bowl,” he repeats, a gleam in his eye. he probably thinks you’re weirder than he already thinks you are.

“for a stray. i don’t want to bring it around because some other cat owner might steal it. i can’t have that.”

“show me,” he demands.

a little terrified by the fact that the class grump is actively maintaining a conversation with you; you obediently show him the bowl, spinning it around to show all sides. rin hums, contemplative. your classmates are starting to stare. “it’s weird, right? fishes for the print and fishes for dinner. do you like it?”

“lukewarm.”

“what does that even mean?”

“it’s too small. buy a new one.”

“...you think?”

rin nods, standing up. the chair screeches while he says, “i’ll come with you.”

this is how you end up in the same pet supply store with a companion this time. rin picks the most expensive one for the bowl and the canned cat food, which makes you think he must really like cats a lot.

but as you two leave the store, you belatedly realize he’s leading the way even though you never told him anything about the stray you meet.

it doesn’t hit you until the same cat meows and purrs at rin, rubbing against his pants with its entire body.

“hi,” rin says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you gape. “wait, the cat’s yours?”

rin bends down, knees to his chest while he sets the bowl down and cracks the can open with one finger. “no. dad’s allergic. he doesn’t follow me back home anyway.” while he does that, the cat comes to greet you, and your heart aches on rin’s behalf.

so he just comes to feed him every day, huh… you muse, gently scratching the cat who purrs at your attention but still looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“do you have a name for him?”

rin pauses, having finished pouring everything. “...no.” he squints at you as if you’ve just asked him the exact coordinates of his birthplace: sincerely confused.

“what do you call him, then?” you watch as the unnamed cat starts digging down on the food, content. you wonder why no one else has already kept this cat to themselves. he’s so cute and polite.

“cat.”

“ah, of course.”

you two watch ‘cat’ eat, content with the silence. it starts to drizzle moments later, but rin is quick to pull out an umbrella and cover all three of you. the cat grumbles unhappily at the splatter of rain hitting him.

“do you always visit him?”

“yes.”

“do you like cats?”

“yes.”

a shame that allergies are the only thing keeping itoshi rin from getting a cat.

while you’re distracted, the cat goes back to rin. rin wastes no time bending down to pick him up, looking awfully domestic in the middle of a sidewalk in front of a busy coffee shop. your hands twitch to reach for your phone, but you’re too stunned to do anything but stare. they look so much alike.

cute, you think, horrified, rin looks so cute holding the cat.

while engulfed in rin’s arms, the cat meows at you. and you, with a too-tender heart, can’t resist.

“i’ll keep him,” you declare with newfound determination. “i’ll take care of him. if you let me keep the bowl you bought.”

rin’s eyes light up, though it wouldn’t have been evident if you hadn’t been his classmate and witnessed his varying expressions of death. (as if it was varying in the first place.)

“i’ll buy everything else he’ll like,” he says, like a true cat mom, his face glowing with barely concealed excitement.

since then, rin accompanies you home. you tell him that you’ve saved up three dollars from yesterday and now you have more than enough to buy a nice, cold drink and maybe catnip for the cat, but rin insists that he’ll pay for everything, including your beverage.

“you feed our son.”

“our son?” he repeats curiously.

“yes. he lives with me. he looks like you,” you explain absentmindedly, setting up the water dispenser on the new food bowl rin ended up buying. it no longer has fish for design or the painful lime green he bought the second time—instead, it’s a nice blue that compliments the cat’s eyes.

“and what are you implying is going on between us?”

you nearly spill water all over the floor. “i…” you honestly did not think about that, “—nevermind. don’t make it weird, itoshi!”

you think you heard rin chuckling, but you’re too busy being embarrassed to bother.

(during class, you will find that rin is far from intimidating. in fact, he’s actually a little bitch to deal with. you’re starting to think that he’s more of a pain to deal with than an actual grumpy cat.

“don’t forget to buy food for our son,” rin says after class, in front of students who gossip like there is no tomorrow.

“what?”

“for our son,” rin says, nonplussed at the sight of your haunted expression.

someone who has overheard the conversation pipes up, “you two have a son?”

“we don’t!” you hiss, face burning with embarrassment at the sudden influx of attention from your classmates.

rin frowns. “don’t lie.”

“you two are starting to act like a married couple recently…” another comments offhandedly.

“itoshi walks y/n home, i saw!”

“we have a son,” rin agrees, and you’re starting to think that he’s doing it on purpose.

“stop saying that!”)

thank u art aanobrain for giving me the idea of rin just naming the cat ‘cat’. that idea is so special to me.

anyway. RIN IS SO HARD TO WRITE HELPPPP. this was an excruciating process i genuinely did not know if i did anything right but WHAT’S DONE IS DONE. thx for reading <3

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

[kysuguru]

gojo catoru — satoru gojo x fem!reader

synopsis : you see a white cat on the street, his resemblance to satoru is uncanny.

includes / cw : fluff, gojo is in love, kittens

all mine masterlist

a / n : this is apart of a series called “all mine” that i’ve been working on, so geto is a love interest too, this one shot is just gojo centric

Your sudden gasp of excitement caught everyone’s attention. You rush ahead with stars in your eyes. stopping a few feet abruptly in front of a fluffy cat.

It’s fur is white, so pure it reminds you of the snow when it sparkles from the sun’s illumination. It has some dirt matted into its unbrushed fur, but you don’t mind.

You lean down and let your hand approach it’s nose apprehensively.

It comes close and you fear you upset them, but that’s until it rubs themself into your awaiting palm.

Your eyes glitter like never before and you coo towards the cat before you bring them into your arms in a baby like position.

It begins to purr, the rumbling sound making you melt. You’re enamored once you realize the cats eyes are a beautiful bright blue.

“Oh? A kitty?” Shoko’s voice bleeds in as she approaches you, leaning over your shoulder. “Are they a boy or girl?”

You look down spreading its legs a bit. You’re even more in love when you find out they’re a boy.

You whisper the answer to Shoko as you pet him.

“Satoru…” You murmur.

“What about Satoru?” Suguru comes in next, eyes lighting up slightly at the sight of the adorable feline.

“He looks like Satoru doesn’t he?” You lift him up higher for everyone to see, the cat mewing in protest, paws waving towards you with the desire to be back in your warmth. They both look at him analytically.

“He does,” Suguru whispers, also enamored.

“I definitely see it,” Shoko says.

“What looks like me?” Satoru approaches, finally, groaning about how you all left him behind.

You turn around, gesturing the cat towards him. “Doesn’t he look like you?”

Satoru makes a face. “He looks dirty.”

You don’t take offense, simply bringing the cat back into your arms, not noticing the sweet smile that adorns your lips as you look at the cat fondly.

“I dunno, I think he really does look like you. The resemblance is so cute. It makes me wanna keep him…” The affection in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Satoru’s cheeks are red. Shoko snickers while Suguru smiles.

Now that Satoru’s aware how lovely you find the cat, especially with their uncanny resemblance to each other, he’s quick to agree with you, “He does look like me doesn’t he?”

“He does,” you immediately agree. Satoru preens.

“We’re both really cute, aren’t we?”

Shoko and Suguru scoff.

“More than anything,” you whisper, adoring, as you rub your cheek against the cat’s face. You’re too deep in your swooning for the feline you don’t realize the words leaving your mouth.

Satoru is on an ego trip now, “Then maybe we really should keep him!”

“I think so too. The thought of letting such a gorgeous cat go…” You kiss the bridge of the cat’s nose.

“If I kept him,” You whisper, lifting him up in the air once again before you look towards Satoru, “Would you let me name him after you?”

The sun is behind you, and it casts an orange glow over you that makes you look perfect. And to top it off, you’re smiling. At him. So beautifully. His glasses slip down his nose, his mouth slightly agape. And he’s in love.

“Yeah.” He stutters out, breathless.

[veveisveryuncool]

kine is based off mola mola sunfish, which are about 6ft in size!!therefore i raise you: mola mola sunbathing party!! (+ the slightly more realistic animal friends :DD)

OKAY i did a lot of research on animals for this one!! feel free to read my notes under the cut 👇

kine: is a mola mola/ocean sunfish, specifically from pacific waters! i'm in love with the idea of this six foot behemoth next to all the tiny creatures of dreamland, and as someone with a crippling obsession with fish, i had to draw him :] pacific mola molas match the distinctive petal-shaped clauvus (not a caudal fin!) that kine has, but don't have a lot of iconic lip action, which is why i tried to make it seem like a... discolored snout? molas are typically one color, and the blue color could seem natural from an angle, so let's pretend that real!kine just has lots of cool barnacles.

coo: is taken from @starflungwaddledee's dusky eagle owl notes! they literally look so much like coo it's insanee + i added the stripes to his wings. finding the bird-to-cartoon ratio was kinda hard actually 😭 birds are hard to draw what

rick: is based on a golden hamster (aka syrian hamster)!!! he's exactly the type of hamster you think of when you think of a normal hamster. golden hamsters are technically one of the largest hamsters, but still only stand at about 7 inches— so i decided to use his cartoon logic to keep him somewhat relative to coo

chuchu: SHE'S A FLAPJACK OCTOPUS SHE'S LITERALLY A FLAPJACK OCTOPUS!!!! scientists actually wanted to name the species "adorabilis" and just look them up please they're so cute!!! you can tell that DL3 character designers had flapjack octopi on their minds when they designed her. their fins look similar to a bow, and i obviously couldn't get rid of that, so i gave her both :]]

nago: is a calico cat. he's not overly cartoonish in his game design in regards to how he looks as a cat— he is undeniably a cat. i let my middle school warrior cats obsession take over for that one. calicos are almost always female, so i also raise you trans nago 🫶

pitch: resembles a warbling white eye, according to wikirby. i tend to draw him similar to one anyways, thanks to adeleine's slightly more realistic drawings in the DL3 credits. he's definitely also been sized up to fit in with the rest of the cast, since a 4-inch bird wouldn't exactly be visible.

thanks for listening to my rambles about animals!! i tried to keep a good mix between realism and video game designs just for kicks and giggles, hopefully it doesn't fall into a weird uncanny valley haha :] ✌️

[crezz-star]

So… I finally made a One piece OC.

All due to the idea I've been imagining today. A what if Luffy and the crew met someone who, very uncanny, looks and sounds like Ace.

Thus… Jean was made. ✏️✏️✏️

Info at read more ( it is a messy ramble format so beware. )

He was born as a slave to the celestial dragons, after his parents was caught while his mother was pregnant to him.

He grew up with an isolated understanding that he really was just that. A slave, until he died. his parents would die just a few years in from the torture done to them. While Jean still lives on. He would meet Boa and the others who was like him telling him that there was more to the world than their servitude. But he was way too unmovable with his mentality that he will die like that, that he thinks they're just being dumb he would get depressed as time passed, so when the freeing of slaves at Mary Geoise by fisher tiger came, he was too weak to even move and being mistaken as already dead, he was left there.

but he is still alive and would later then be dumped on auction houses by his current owner. where he would, surprisingly be given better treatment by his fellow slaves as well as taken care of.

he would meet different kinds of people in the auction houses. where he would learn about the world and eventually wanting to be free.

Jean is at the auction house at sabaody, the place where luffy destroyed and punched a celestial dragon. he's in his cat form. and thats the moment he finally achieved freedom.

he hears about the man who freed them and made it his missiong to thank him. maybe even join the adventures of his savior if allowed the two years he spent wandering around, would be the time he would stumble upon the graphite graphite fruit, which what would also help him get stronger, learning to fight on his own as well.

once he deems himself strong enough, he would seek out luffy and his crew to finally and hopefully thank him and ask to join him. hoping to be able to create drawings of the landscape in the places they would visit.

how he met the crew:

after punk hazard. on the way to dressrosa ( they arrived at a small island where Jean is currently in, to restock ). Jean saw their ship, transformed into his cat/tiger form and went into the ship.

once the crew left the island. he's already there. and when everyone saw him. they just though he was some cat.

chopper was the first who was talking to him and chopper thought he was a stray and Jean just went with it for a while.

everyone treated him like some pet. until one morning where he poofed back to his human form.

everyone was in panic. but when he showed that he was their pet. ( he was VERY PROUD to be called the pet of the strawhats ) everyone was a bit freaked not because of that but he looks and sounds like ace.

everyone is very shaken especially luffy and thught he was some evil guy using ace's face

jean explained that they saved him at sabaody, that he was one of the slaves at the auction house.

he would always use his cat form after seeing how shaken luffy is with him. not minding being in cat from one bit. so long as he lets him join them.

luffy does eventually let him join. at first only referring to him as 'pet cat' to finally calling him by name 'jean'

Jean is part of the mature group of the crew.

he does have similar personality as Ace but he likes to tease the younger ones a lot. especially making Zoro feel jelly by being too close to Luffy

yes this is ZoLuccentric

Jean is pushing Zoro and Luffy to realize their 'feelings' for one another.

JEAN BITS

Jean is 28

Jean loves hot chocolate as it reminds him of his mother. the only thing that his mother ever made him.

Jean's weapon of choice is his foot. making his battle style a bit similar to Sanji ( careful not to harm his hands anymore, wanting to paint )

but he does still use his hands when he uses his devil fruit. he fighs like a martial artist'

Jean's devil fruit is a good conductor of fire so he always have a lighter with him. he sets fire to his graphite which creates the illusion that he uses fire. ( another thing that makes him unsettling for Luffy and the crew.

his devil fruit is logia type. his graphite can be sand like crocodile and or liquid ish like candle and or can be solid as well.

Jean would most likely always be found at high places in places they visit, to paint / draw

jean is 6'5"

he and usopp get along well because of their artistic side.

he can do recon missions well because of his ability to transform to a cat

[worldwide-simp]

hello! do u still do request can i ask if u can do yan!scp073 x scp!reader

for some details:

the reader is a safe class cause she doesn't want to hurt people and see them in pain she has healing powers as she usually heals staff or gurads who are injured and she is a total sweetheart!

what will happen if they meet? (u can add any plots and things u wanna add)

*thanks if u are uncomfortable u can decline*!

Ooo I’ve finally got an ask! Sorry, I’m quite late with this. Hope short scenarios will be okay!

consumed by jealousy once again.

Yandere Scp073 x fem reader

Warnings: obsession, implied stalking, corruption, pessimistic thoughts, insecurities, mentions of murder, jealousy

*not proofread, please do notify me if I have missed out a warning, might add some things after posting

How did you both first meet? “…”

• Cain is quite the desirable lad. He’s polite, well-mannered and crosses his legs when seated. Time has carved wisdom into the cadavers of his body; he speaks with many words he’s memorized from dictionaries and occasionally mixes up phrases from different languages.

• When you first met Cain, your sweet and kind nature allured him. He became.. curious, so to speak. Strangely obsessed with admiring you while you’d work with people. Becoming a tad bit jealous when your attention wasn't fixated upon himself. He wouldn't let these thoughts come to light. Not now anyways.

•Always, Cain offered a helping hand. Did you need any assistance carrying that heavy bag? Or perhaps you wanted a glass of water? You could always see him at your service, watching your skilled hands heal others with a passion.

How much time did it take?

“…”

• It had taken him a few months to develop feelings. Cain first believed it was a wonder, why hadn't you excluded him from your table where you would sit? Did you not find his voice uncanny?

•He had only adored you even more after that.

• He had once asked what your occupation in the foundation was, what the foundation declared your function as a cog in one of their elaborate machines. This was the depressing reality. Cain had learned not to question it. They had stuffed his mind full of knowledge to the point he swore it snapped at times, piece by piece.

• Although he had his own mental burdens, Cain would never place them upon you. Endearing innocent soul, let him kiss you to death.

Does his emotions remind him of any past experiences?

“…”

• Cain loathes the feeling of jealousy consuming his heart, it reminded him of a very dark time. Where he had slaughtered his brother out of the same envy he experiences now, just desiring to be injured in any shape or form so he could feel your fingers blessing his cold, still-beating heart and not some guard or doctor undeserving of your touch.

• A rational part of his mind was disgusted at his concerning thoughts. He justified it with a wild vigour.

How would he show his undying love?

“…”

• Sometimes you’d find plastic flowers tucked away in various places, they were always crimson-coloured Morning Glorys and Black roses with sloppy red paint in the shape of a heart. You had giggled and suspected Cain. Though you had never confirmed your thoughts with the man himself. Darling, Sweetheart Cain. Made of sugar and liquorice.

• Every time you discovered your bouquet of flowers, you noticed the hearts had been painted less messily and with more ease, the streaks of red paint precise and pristine.

• Cain felt awkward at the thought of confessing his ever-growing feelings for you. He would only admire you. How your face looked when you smiled, how you rambled about Josie the half-cat’s fluffy pelt and the most adored feature of yours, the way you’d praise him when he did a good job.

•Don’t ever let yourself think he’s going to let such a precious flower like you wilt in his needy grasp.

[paperbackribs]

for the 'Eddie freaks out over How to Survive a Werewolf Attack' post and those who missed the upload on Ao3, this is the second part of the chapter from Steve's POV, with a little protective stobin to delight

🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇

Steve leaves the pulse of the woods behind him as he emerges from the trees that abut his backyard. He’d smelled Robin long before shifting back into his human form, the sharp mint of her shampoo mixing alongside the sweet earthiness that he now attributes to family. Never having had one, he nevertheless knows that the combination will always mean sister.

Circling the pool, its night lights cast an uncanny, rippling blue across the surface, he heads to where she sits under the warm yellow lights, propped on her elbows against the wrought-iron patio table. In her cupped hands rests a book with an overflowing tree protectively sheltering a dog and her pups, Woman and Nature carefully inscribed above them.

She stirs as he approaches, inserting a receipt between the pages to save her place and resting it beside her. Looking into her concerned eyes, Steve grimaces. “Well, that went well,” he says lightly, feeling the need to inject some humour into the memory or he may be tempted to dwell on the ache that wants to rise instead.

Robin’s face softens and he knows that she can feel his hurt even without him saying it. They’re so connected sometimes that he wonders if his wolf forged something with her when they’d sat there, bound and interrogated by Russians, only able to depend on each other. “He was a little freaked out from the unexpected is all and he just needs to get used to the idea before…”

She trails off and Steve finishes her sentence, “Before he can be in the same room as me? Robs, the guy practically had a panic attack on my mother’s Giorgetti rug. I could smell his fear: he was terrified that I was going to eat him or something.”

Robin’s lips firm as she drums her fingers over the book cover, “Yeah, well, that’s his problem. After you left, we gave him the rundown; that you’re just a normal wolf—”

Steve snorts: there’s nothing normal about his transformations at all, but Robin ignores him to continue, “—and hopefully if he’s affected by the bites then it’ll turn him into a normal bat too.”

“And how’d he take that?” Steve asks curiously.

“Oh, another meltdown,” Robin says blithely, “He’s now convinced that he’s going to turn into Bela Lugosi and will be prowling the night for his victims before we know it.” Steve laughs despite himself, already able to imagine Eddie making exaggerated gestures in the middle of the group.

“Did he hiss like a vampire?”

“Nah, but he did do that thing, you know with the cape?” She shields half her face with her forearm as if hiding menacingly behind it. Fond amusement fills Steve, as if often does when faced with Eddie’s dramatics only for it to quickly drain away at the reminder of how drastically he had taken Steve’s shift.

Robin notes his change of mood and scowls at an absent Eddie. “Scaredy-cat,” she mutters darkly, “Should have called him a scaredy-bat to his face.”

Steve chuckles and leans forward to gently tug on a lock of her blonde hair, “And then give him my nail bat…”

“So, he’d be a scaredy-bat with a nail bat that lost his bat-le shield.”

Steve waggles his hand in a so-so motion, “Could use some work.”

“Oh, screw you, buddy, I did all the work,” Robin’s eyes dance with humour even as she pokes him with a sharp finger at his ribs. Steve squirms away, “I gave you the nail bat!” He mock protests before the image of Eddie’s wide and terrified eyes crosses his mind again. He sighs, “Do you think I should avoid him for a while? Let him get used to the idea before springing myself on him again?”

Robin leans back with a too wide smile, its awkwardness immediately transparent. “What?” Steve asks suspiciously.

Her brow furrows in an apology that gives lie to the smile, “We’re meeting back here tomorrow. El thinks that she might be able to lead him through a change if he’s got it in him, and we all thought it better to get the potential of it all out of the way before Eddie devolves into one big puddle of fear.”

Rubbing the bridge of his forehead, Steve sighs, “So, not only is he freaked out by the sight of me but I’m going to see him in the next twenty-four hours.”

Robin looks at her bulky men’s watch with a grimace, “More like twelve. We figured that we should get it over sooner or later, and this way he can work out whether he wants to freak out over being a bat or a vampire.”

“Or neither,” Steve points out.

She shrugs, “It seems unlikely, right? Correlation doesn’t equal causation, and you may be the outlier, the one cool weirdo out there.”

“Thank you,” he says dryly even though he does appreciate her positive spin on his furry little situation.

It had been months after the events over Halloween, when he’d been bitten by a demo-dog, that he’d started to notice the first few small changes. At first, he’d been convinced that it was the world that had transformed: smells becoming deeper, sights becoming sharper, but after one night where he had been panicked to find that his feet were no longer so far away, and suspiciously clawed, that he’d come to the realisation that it was his senses that had evolved, not the sun or the trees or the perfume of his history teacher.

The kids, while excited, had been very little help, but their encouragement had made him feel less alone. He took Dustin’s attempt to turn him into a science experiment in stride and as an extension of the little butthead’s support. But it was when Robin had been brought into the Upside Down fold that he’d felt truly embraced.

Surprisingly, rather than turning to books and research, she’d listened to him instead. Asked Steve what he wanted to be called when he was turned and let him talk about the oddities and freedoms he’d found in this new version of himself.

Steve had already known that the wolf would be a part of him forever, but Robin’s role in his life had cemented that feeling into a bone-deep acceptance, an understanding that he wasn’t weird or wrong for his new transformation, but that it was simply another part of Steve. Or Furry Steve as Robin would gently tease him.

“Are you staying over?” He asks now, watching her smother a yawn and nod in agreement.

He stands, waiting until she walks through the door before flipping the light switch off, the flurry of moths above flutter in confusion at the sudden darkness. “We can practise some more on the way home tomorrow if you like.”

Robin had gained her license a month ago, but with no car to drive Steve was building her confidence by having her drive his. She often teased that their love was a true one since she’s the only one allowed to touch the bimmer.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, they walk through the kitchen and head to his bedroom in unspoken agreement. “That’d be great. Do you want to wolf-out or be on your side of the bed,” she counters sleepily, leaving her book on the counter as they pass.

He hums, thinking. Months ago, after they’d worked out that the Upside Down nightmares were better handled when they knew the other one was in the room, Robin had struggled with having Steve in her bed.

It’s not that he wasn’t welcome, she’d reassured him, or wanted, she’d said with a haunted expression, clearly thinking of having woken up silently screaming not moments before. But having his skin touch hers made her irritable in a way that she had no explanation for. Fur, however, was fine.

Since then, if Steve needed cuddles he was allowed to wolf-out, as they decided to call it. Once transformed, Robin had no problem with Steve’s fur covering her skin; rather, she quite liked the partial weight of his body.

He thinks that tonight he’d like the reassurance that there is one person who is not only unafraid of him but likes the differences that make him not-quite-human.

“Wolf-out,” he responds, letting go and allowing the wolf to unfold. The sweet musk of the kids sharpens, even with them having departed hours ago, as does the appealingly darker scent of Eddie, although it is bitterer than it normally is as if his fear had saturated the small space.

His tail drops sadly at the reminder, but Robin distracts him with scritches behind the ear before leading their way up the stairs to his bedroom. Steve pads behind, happy to have a friend in Robin and determinedly putting Eddie out of his mind for the rest of the night.

If you enjoyed any of this drop me a comment over at Ao3, it'd make my day! (fic now titled Swift Wings and a Brave Heart)

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Floorboards and Astroturf

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T•Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Jake has a surprise for you on a rainy day.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Short and sweet <3 (I hope)

Warnings: fluff, reader being a little grumpy, Jake Jumpscare, Jake calling reader 'amor', typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 643

You were a little bummed out as you made your way home from work on Friday. 

Not because the traffic was bad (it was) or that the bus was late (as normal) and full to the brim (you did manage to find some space towards the back doors), but because it raining. 

And was going to continue to do so for the rest of the weekend. 

On Wednesday the weather forecast had said the weekend ahead would have clear skies. On Thursday it predicted sunshine. 

And now here you were with a full year's worth of rain over two days. Excellent. 

Not that weather patterns that changed at the flip of a coin wasn’t unusual. It was just that you’d planned to go on a picnic on Saturday with Steven, Marc, and Jake to Greenwich park. And now that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Unless you want wanted to swim there and back. 

So you were in a little bit of a bad mood when you got back to the flat. Shutting the door a little too hard, stamping your feet as you took off your shoes and sighing. 

You didn’t expect Jake to be grinning like the Cheshire cat right in front of you when you turned around. 

“Fuck!” You visually jump and Jake can’t stop a small chuckle. 

“Sorry amor, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Could have fooled me.” You said a little harsher than normal, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. 

He holds up his hands and smiles. 

“What are you doing there anyway, just… standing there?” 

“Waiting for you.”

You give him a look. 

“I heard your footsteps in the hall.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, and you decide to let his uncanny ability to differentiate individuals slip for now. “I have a surprise for you.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him as he steps forward and helps you out of your coat before handing it on the stand. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, starting to smile at how purposefully over the top he is acting, putting on a playful performance for you.

He takes you by the hand and leads you further into the flat. Once your field of vision isn’t blocked by Steven’s bookshelf you laugh quietly. A large grin spreads itself over your face, your shoulders relaxing. 

Jake smiles wider. 

He’s moved the furniture out of the way so that there’s a large space on the floor. There’s a large patch of floorboards that are covered with fake grass and topped with a tartan blanket. He’s also set up the mini projector with his phone, an image of a sunny park projected onto the bedsheet he’s draped over one of the bookshelves. 

By the blanket is a selection of food and drink, some that you purposefully bought for the weekend yesterday, and some that he’s obviously made today. 

“You like it?” He asks, eyes sparkling even though he knows the answer.

“I love it.” You say softly before you turn and hug him tightly. 

“I know you were disappointed about the weather…” he kisses your cheek. “I don’t deserve all the credit, Marc and Steven helped.” 

“Not true!” Steven suddenly chimes in.

“Came up with the idea and did it all himself!” Marc adds proudly. 

A touch of heat builds in Jake’s cheeks. “Yeah… well, you guys helped.” 

You giggle and kiss him lightly. “You’re the sweetest person in the world, Jake Lockley.” 

He grins, giving you another little squeeze and puffing his chest out a little. “I’m okay.” 

“The best.” 

He presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, but deep and longing. Slowly taking you apart with his tongue. “Does the best person get whatever he wants?” He teases. 

“I don’t know…” You pretend to think. “What does he want?” 

He nuzzles your cheek. “I think you have a rough idea.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[mediocreanomaly]

Uncanny Vash HC’s (SFW)

Authors Note: I’m sweating I have so many drafts to get out so I'm going in order, I promise all your ask shall be answered let me feed the creature lovers rq tho- Uncanny Vash is funny and I like to think about weird creature boyfriend, some repeats from the cuddling HC’s because this was already in the works but suck it up buttercup

• I’ll start easy with my “Vash purr’s” propaganda because Vash 100% purrs

•Only thing is he’s not a small animal, he’s a full grown man (plant?) so his purring is a bit different, it’s pretty loud and sounds like a rumbling motor rather than a soft rattle, and often sounds like it comes from every direction. It’s a bit unnerving if you don’t know it’s him making the noise

•It’s still soothing though, especially if your laying on his chest or if he’s laying on you? Let those vibrations sooth you to sleep, Vash happy purring naps are the best

• Staying on the topic of noises, Vash can do that chattering thing cats do. He doesn’t do it unless he’s with people he’s close with but if he’s interested in something you’ll just hear “ack ack ack ack” and turn to see him laser focused on something chittering away

•Vash’s eyes do that animal reflection thing, and it’s honestly terrifying to wake up to at night and although he knows they do this he some how never comprehends how scary it is to see him looking at you in the dark

•I see it like that one south park audio: *Everyone in the dark* Meryl: “Y/N I’m starting to think this is a really bad idea” Milly: “Oh I’m not Y/N, I’m Milly! I thought you were Y/N?” Meryl: “No I’m Meryl” Wolfwood: “You’re Meryl? Where’s Y/N?” Meryl: “Who are you?” Wolfwood: “I’m Wolfwood!” Vash who’s eyes are currently glowing in the dark: “ha ha guess who I am you guys!”

•All of Vash’s proportions are just ever so slightly off, it’s a plant thing, you’ve seen his sisters. This is one that freaks people out because sometimes they notice it but can’t figure out what they are seeing

•Basically: his arms and legs are just a little too long, his fingers stretch a bit too far, his eyes are a little too big, he’s a bit too tall, all stuff that once added up are kind of hard to pick out when your looking at him as a whole, so you know something is off about this man but you just don’t know what...

•Teeth? Teeth. Vash has fangs, in fact most his back teeth starting from his canines are pretty sharp. You don’t really notice unless he yawns and you watch as all his sharp back teeth are flashed in his gaping mouth and- oh he stopped yawning don’t worry about it 

•Vash can drink water with his skin. His sisters have to live in the tanks and take in water through their skin and while Vash prefers to drink like a normal human he can totally dip his hand in anybody of water and it’ll hydrate him. It’s a party trick his does for the group and it freaks Wolfwood out when he drains a cup with his hand

•Vash frog blinks lmao. If he stares at something for too long or is really focused he’ll blink one eye and then the other, he can’t help it

•Speaking of which, Vashes eyes are triple eyelided like a crocodiles, which means he can be asleep and his eyes are wide open. It also means when he frog blinks you can see the other eye lid if you stare hard enough, scares a lot of bar goers who happen to look a bit too closely

•One time Milly had a whole conversation with Vash thinking he was awake but he was not. He was asleep. It’s that damn extra eyelid...if he’s really tired he falls asleep with his eyes open like that. It’s weird.

•He doesn’t keep body heat very well. Maybe it’s due to the fact his sisters live in water but he likes being in the sun to soak up it’s warmth (why else do you think he can wear that coat in the heat?) 

•Vash...if he’s distressed will make this noise. You’ve only heard it once when a city was destroyed and he thought you were dead but...it’s like a howl or animal in pain? It echoed through the entire desert and your body had a visceral reaction to it like it was warning you of a feral animal not to be messed with. When you had stumbled out of the rumble the noise had ended as Vash quickly scooped you up into his arms sobbing telling you never to do that again, it still keeps you up sometimes when you think about it

•Vash...somehow? blends in with his surroundings very well. It’s kind of weird, if he stands still its like...hard to see him? but it shouldn’t be, logically this man in a bright red coat should not be able to be missed but sometimes it’s like your brain forces you not to see him. He knows it freaks people out so he talks with his hands and moves a lot so it doesn't happen

•Feathers! Vash sprouts feathers. Usually it’s when he’s very content or happy although it can happen in extreme distress too. They look like normal bird feathers but they shimmer slightly and they feel weird like they’re made of hair, fern or something softer, Vash is pretty embarrassed about them but it’s super pretty

•Vash sometimes get’s places he shouldn’t be able to get to. Your motel room will be fully locked with no key and you’ll open it to see the blonde on the bed and he’ll just wave like it’s no issue. Trust me don’t ask how he got there

[after-witch]

(For Mahito)

"Could we go out and see the Christmas lights today?"

note: yandere, kidnapped reader, vague violence implications

--

You ask the question as casually as you feasibly can. You don't even look up from your book, or from your spot on the ground, where you're currently nestled on top of a pile of mismatched, patchwork quilts and blankets taken from here and there and dropped on the cement for you to arrange like some sort of comfort-starved underground rat.

But the casual pretense didn't appear to work.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear the hammock creak, and ah--when you look up, there it is.

Mahito is already leaning over the side of his hammock, upside down, current book discarded, a lopsided grin on his face and keen interest in his eyes.

"Oh? Why do you want to see them? Are Christmas lights important to you?"

Your heart speeds up, and you cover your chest with your book, stupidly, like that will hide what your sure is a pulse in your soul.

"No," you lie, turning a page. "I just thought it might be a change of pace from our usual night." You shrug, and curl up further into the blankets. "If you don't want to, it's fine. I don't really care."

"Hey!"

You hear the creaking rope again before there's the tell-tale sound of Mahito's feet hitting the ground. His voice has gone up an octave, and he draws the words out childishly as he plops himself down on your nest of blankets.

You don't look back at him, still, despite the increase in your heart rate. Despite the bead of sweat on your forehead. Despite the way your muscles tell you that you ought to be moving away.

"I didn't say I didn't want to!" He whines, before he simply plucks the book from your hands and tosses it aside, forcing you to--in slow, carefully orchestrated movements--give him your attention.

He grabs your mouth and squishes your lips together.

"Are they fun? I bet they're fun--tell me!"

Living with Mahito has given you the uncanny ability to plan ahead more than your body wants to; desperately, your mind, your muscles, everything wants to react quickly to the danger he presents. But that's the riskiest thing in the world, so you force yourself to think before you act.

"Well," you say, considering slowly, "They can be very beautiful, especially when it's dark outside. And when the weather is chilly, it gives everything the perfect winter atmosphere... like you're walking around in some fairytale or a cheesy movie. Or a snowglobe, if it happens to snow."

You shift on the blankets, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"And if you're walking downtown, there's usually other things you can do while you look at them. Window shop... oh," you don't bite back the smile, "Because everything is way too expensive, especially around Christmas. But it's nice to pretend. Or you can get hot chocolate." You lick your lips, imagining the sweet, warm liquid on your tongue. How long has it been since you've had something sweet that wasn't stolen, half-eaten, or questionably old?

"Nothing better than looking at Christmas lights on a cold night with some hot chocolate, you know? As long as you've got a cozy hat and some mittens, it's not so bad to be outside. It all adds up, I guess, to be something magical."

You're smiling, when you finish. And oh, oh, you've let yourself get too carried away. Let nostalgic make your heart beat-beat-beat too easily.

Because Mahito is staring at you with a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face, his gaze locked firmly on your own as you realize your mistake.

His lips curl.

"Oh, pet. Your soul is humming," he whispers. His fingers grip the flesh of your side and squeeze casually, making you jerk, though there's nowhere to go.

"Will it hum like that if I take you? Or differently? Better? Worse?" He digs his fingers harsher into your side and tugs you close. His lips open again and you get the oppressive feeling of a thousand questions lingering behind them, waiting to burst out. Questions that would make you squirm, make you want to heave, make you grip your palm until it bled.

But he doesn't ask any more than that. Instead, he pecks your nose with his lips, leaving a wet splotch. "Well, I want to find out!"

And then he's off you, leaping to his feet with a giggle.

You stare up at him stupidly, feeling like your heart has been scooped out (by him, who else--who ever?) and dropped back in.

When you don't move, he grabs your wrist and yanks you unsteadily to your feet, so that you're forced to cling to his arm to avoid face-planting onto the concrete.

"I hope you don't mind stolen hot chocolate," he says, leading you on wobbly legs deeper into the sewer, where--somewhere--there is a way out. "Unless some of the clothes from my experiments have cash on them... well, let's look next time."