#the cat-coded idiot

[mochiobonio]

the fisher became the fish-ed

[stylesgotthesun]

Only one reason why i bought these today and i think it's pretty obvious why

[hellsballz]

cringe culture is dead. turns your ninja into warrior cats

[kai-rio]

Could you ramble about Ellis? I need to understand them

oh. oh boy you dont know what youve asked

okay so ellis is a side character in ggy, probably made to follow the format of protagonists in fnaf books having a kid they dont like

he's been tony's best friend since they were 4, and they were neighbours when tony's dad was around (headcanon interjection: i think tony's dad bought them a treehouse and they always played in it together and just chilled there)

tony says he wants to move away from ellis because he's deemed as 'childish', like for example, choosing his nom de plume as Boots because its a character he likes

this is probably because of meeting both greg and his father being arrested, making him feel like he needs to be more mature so he doesnt want to associate with ellis anymore

but despite all he says about him he still deems him his 'best friend' and i think that says a lot - afterall, they were best friends for 8 years, so they have to have something there - tony is reluctant to leave him even if he doesnt want to admit it because theyre so close

ellis himself, there isnt a lot about him unfortunately in the book, but what we do know is that he's impatient, 'childish', oblivious and prefers fiction (this is all from tony's pov and he's an unreliable narrator so keep in mind we dont have the full picture)

tony sees him as kinda social but i personally think he isn't, he struggles to make friends other than tony and that's why it's only been the two of them for ages

a lot of people deem him the dumb one of the group and my take on that is that he leans into that role because a. its whats expected of him and b. that way its easier to observe people because they're less cautious of him, he probably notices a lot more than people think he does

he's quite kind but also has his flaws - he doesn't quite notice how hurt tony is about changing the story unfortunately and he teases quite a lot to the point it could be unintentionally hurtful

i think because of this, after tony goes missing he'd definitely blame himself and have survivors guilt, and also probably bad anxiety, maybe even agoraphobia

he probably would be lured into the pizzaplex under the guise that tony is there because he'd definitely go out to find him

i have a lot of headcanons but ill put those in the tags because those arent actually canon

if you want a list of all my headcanons you could do a separate ask about that but ill just put a couple in the tags

one thing that is canon though is that he likes physical affection!!! he wraps his arm around tony or greg several times if i remember correctly

i have 2 fics up on ao3 (my acc is under the same name) which are ellis-centric - i wouldnt recommend never needed a friend more though because i mischaracterised tony in that quite a lot so

[keeps-ache]

been telling my siblings 'you would NOT make it in vulcan academy' when they do smth goofy recently and nobody's been able to refute lol

[autizmotbh]

its meee!!!!!!! :3 im a silly little critter just like that

[averysmolkirbo]

I think ive said this before but one of the reasons i love them so much is because of how cat-coded their relationship is. like maomao is like his strange scrunkly little cat. (Much like my cat!)

I love my cat. i really do. but i also do look at him EXACTLY like this a lot. Just Pondering The Creature.

Someone made a Maomao laughing maniacally compilation on YT and Jinshi's judging her ass so bad in like half of the clips. Observe:

He may be in love but he sure as heck ain't blind.

[ssorenz]

༯ warnings. mature content, fem!reader + toji fushiguro, unprotected sēx, piv, pwp. minors do not interact, please and thank u.

wc. 1.7k (not proofread 🥸)

toji fushiguro is a nice guy.

not in the annoying “i’m a nice guy why won’t women date me” way, but in the “i’ll fix your sink, walk your dog, and probably kill a man for you if you say please” kinda way.

the ex-assassin (and your next door neighbor) is always doing something for someone— mowing the lawn for mrs. takada across the street, teaching the neighborhood kids how to patch a flat tire like he’s not patched gunshot wounds with duct tape before. probably hand-knits blankets for stray cats behind closed doors too.

so when he sees you wrestling with a massive ikea box on your porch that you honestly never stood a chance against in the first place, he doesn’t even hesitate.

“fuck is in here, a whole corpse or somethin’?” he jokes, like he didn’t just pluck the box from your arms, like it was filled with feathers and not the broken promises of swedish furniture.

you give him an airy laugh, wiping sweat from your brow as you tell him it’s your new bed from ikea.

“ikea?” he repeats, like you just told him it really was a corpse in that god forsaken box. “yeah, nah. you’re not building that.”

you blink. “i’m not?”

“uh, did i not just say no? i’ll handle it. don’t want a pretty lil’ thing like you losing a finger over some overpriced planks and an allen wrench.”

and listen. you could’ve argued. you could’ve said you’re an independent woman, with your crappy youtube tutorials and a rusty ol’ hammer.

but instead you just say,

“. . .do you want water or beer?”

god, you swear your bedroom has never felt this small.

toji’s presence takes up space like he was built for it—one knee down, the other bent, thighs straining against those well-worn jeans like they’re one bad movement from tearing right at the seams. his tank is drenched, clinging like it’s got a personal vendetta, outlining every broad inch of him like a glove.

he’s hunched over the partially assembled bed, brows furrowed, scarred lips parted in quiet concentration like he’s studying scripture, not step six of some swedish-coded nightmare.

and it’s filthy, the way your brain strayed, drinking in the way he moved—tight, efficient, obscene without even trying.

every low grunt, every flex of his arms, every time he shifts and that heavy chain around his neck clinks against sweat-slick skin—it’s like you're watching the start of a bad porno.

your gaze drops, uninvited, right to the swell of his chest—broad and heaving—and lower, past the way his shirt clings to his dreadfully slutty waist, all the way to the waistband of his jeans.

the way they sit, low and loose, slung across those hips like temptation incarnate—

“you good over there, sweetheart?” his voice breaks through the haze, all casual and smug. “been eyein’ me reeaall hard over there.”

you choke.

“oh, uh—i was…” you mutter, blinking like an idiot, “just… making sure you’re not screwing m- it up.”

he hums, not even looking at you, allenkey twisting slow in his grip.

“mm. real thorough inspection you’re doing.”

your a/c is blasting, full arctic tundra, and yet here you are—skin flushed, thighs clenched, your mind absolutely nosediving into the filthiest trenches imaginable.

you open your mouth about to retort back, but he cuts you off with a simple, expectant:

“wrench.”

just that. hand out. palm grasping. not even looking at you.

you pass him the tool, and your fingers brush his. his hand is warm, rough - those thick, ragged fingers that have probably shot bullets into yakuza leaders skulls, probably broken bones, lingering just a beat too long.

and suddenly you’re not thinking about this stupid swedish furniture anymore.

you’re thinking about those same fingers digging into your hips.

gripping the back of your neck.

pressing into your thigh as he—

“you gonna let go, or you just like holdin’ my hand?”

you snap out of your. . trance, retracting your hand like the wrench had transformed into molten lava and burned it. “just um, didn’t wanna drop it. s-safety first, right?”

“riight, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

even though it’s your bed, he hasn’t let you touch a single piece of it. 

not one panel. not one sad screw.

and it’s not like you didn’t offer to help—you did, multiple times!

yet every single time, he just waved you off like you were a gnat.

“jus’ sit n’ look pretty. this ain’t a group project,” he utters, dead serious. you open your mouth once more to argue, and all he sends you is a glare— playful, yet still warning.

and after three long, sweaty hours,

you—

no.

he is finally done.

toji leans back on his heels, wiping beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand “there,” he grunts, satisfied. “all done miss.”

you glance at the bed. it does look good. solid. intimidatingly so. 

“looks sturdy,” you murmur, and toji hums in agreement. thick fingers drag slow over his stubbled chin as he leans back, marveling at his piece of work.“mm. might wanna test it out first, though.”

you blink. “…test it?”

he nods, rolling his shoulders, towering and terrible, that glint in his eye nothing short of criminal.

“how ‘bout i help ya out, yeah? call it uhh, ‘mandatory safety inspection’ .”

ᥫ᭡.

“ngh, to-tojiii,” you mewl, nails grasping helplessly at the cushioned mattress beneath you, your glossed dolly eyes fluttering back with each filthy fuckin’ thrust. his strokes are relentless, sharp, each one leaving a raucous snap from his toned v-line on your poor sore thighs.

for such a ‘sweet’ and ‘beloved’ guy, his dick game sure was mean as hell.

“atta girl, look at that,” he grunts, “takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

your swollen bottom lip is caught between your teeth, an embarrassingly desperate attempt at concealing these lewd noises toji is managing to string out of your chest.

but with the way he’s fucking into you like this, those calloused, worn palms spreading the fat of your ass to give him a front-row view of how his cock is sinking in and out of you, before raising his hand to give it a nice hefty spank—

it’d be damn near impossible to not stay quiet.

your body feels so hot, practically melting as your spine arches further with each roll of his firm hips. the pads of his fingers are digging into the plush of your waist, burning against your skin like he’s trying to brand you with his hands alone.

toji sloows his pace, not enough to give you a break, but enough to make sure you feel all ten inches of him, that evilly thick stretch making your walls stutter. his chest dips down your spine, peppered stubble scratching at the nape of your neck as his full weight sinks over you.

“uh uh, shhh,” toji croons hotly, his breath warm as he leaves a wet kiss along the shell of your ear, “you hear that?”

“h-huh?” you hiccup, and he’s got you soo dumb off his dick that your surprised your still coherent.

“girl. listen.”

and you do. or try to, atleast.

your breathing slows just enough to catch it, between the wet slaps of skin and your pulse bursting in your ears—

creak… creak… creak….

“looks like she’s startin’ to talk,” he murmurs. “guess i forgot to tighten all the screws. oops.”

haha. you'd roll your eyes if they weren’t already damn near in your skull.

toji’s body shifts, swole chest hefted on your back as his beefy arms cage you in. he’s got one hand curled around your wrist, pinning it to the matress, while the other bruisingly grips your waist.

your plushed thighs quiver, ass rippling back with each fluid snap of his hips. he’s so deep, his entire length bottoming out in your sobbing cunt. landing countless blow after blow on that poor spongy spot of yours.

“f-fuuck,” it slips out breathy, caught between a gasp and a whine, your voice cracking with each draaag of his cock. “s’too much— i can’t—”

“yea you can,” toji huffs. “already are.”

creaking turns into clattering, death rattles now, and he’s still not stopping nor slowing. every hit leaves the mattress screaming, legs of the frame wobbling as it lurches underneath the weight of you both.

and your bed isn’t the only thing ready to give out eithet.

“ ‘m gonna, hnnghh— m’ gonna cumm, toj’ ” you sob, shuddering as your core tightens.

“shiit, thaaat’s it,” he pants as your pussy swallows him oh so snugly, and you can feel him start to throb inside of you. “ let ‘toj’ feel you cum ‘round his cock, baby.”

toji’s strokes sloppen, grinding now, likes he’s trying to engrave each and every inch of his cock into your unforgivingly tight cunt. your hips begin to spasm as your pretty glossed lips sputter out mindless, repetitive catches of his name.

he sends one more thrust, mean and s—

crack!

that poor lil’ ikea bed of yours sinks beneath you with a jarring snap, the headboard dipping rudely as one stubby leg snaps completely off— making you and toji slip forward with it.

you yelp, yet it slips into a broken moan as splotches of white fill your blurred vision, body jerking as your saccharine juices spill out onto him.

you let out a pouty whine, lashes fluttering as toji groans, gutturally, his posture stiffening, jaw hanging slack before you feel him begin to spill into you—sticky hazed shades of white rudely painting your insides like his own personal canvas.

the scent of sweat and sex hangs heavily in the air, the only sounds being you and toji left panting. he stills momentarily, assuring his sticky load is plunged deep enough inside of you before easing out with a sharp hiss.

“guess she, uh, failed the inspection,” clicking his tongue as he breaks the silence, acting all disappointed despite the way he’s grinning like a fucking fool— as if he didn’t just knock all you and your beds screws loose.

“you’re buying me a new bed.” you mutter, voice hoarse as your shooting him a mascara stained glare over your shoulder.

“ ya’ gonna let me break her in too?”

and it’s not like you decline— it’d be rude if you did. .

because toji fushiguro is a nice guy, after all.

@ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[theorphicangel]

you wouldn’t expect sukuna to take care of you when you’re ill but surprisingly when you answer the doorbell you see your oversized cat — I mean your boyfriend standing there with a bag in his hand.

he tuts, looking at you up and down. runny nose, disheveled hair and tired eyes.

‘Stay away from me if you’re ill’ the tall figure states, coming into your apartment and taking off his shoes.

‘you’re the one who came over kuna.’

‘yeah only because you needed medicine.’

‘I could have gone and got it myself.’

‘fat chance. I also brought soup.’

‘you made some?’

‘no.’ He deadpans, looking at you. ‘who do you think I am? I bought it.’

‘right, sorry for assuming.’

‘why aren’t you in bed?’

you rolled your eyes, ‘I’m answering the door for you idiot.’

‘if you stand near me any longer you’re going to get even more sick. go away.’

that’s code word for ‘get your ass in bed and let me take care of you.’ you’re pretty fluent in the language of your boyfriend.

you say nothing in response and does as he says, disappearing under his sheets.

soon, he approaches you in bed with hot bowl of soup and your medicine. a glass of water is placed on your bedside table and he hovers around, making sure that you eat every last drop.

he doesn’t leave until you’re done, taking your bowl and telling you to sleep.

‘are you going now?’

‘going where?’

‘home.’

‘why would I?’

you shrug your shoulders. your head is heavy from your illness, throbbing from a headache. ‘thought you didn’t want to be around a sick person for too long’

sukuna holds back a scoff, ‘gotta make sure you don’t catch a fever or something as soon as I leave, I know you’ll try to do some work instead of resting.’

‘so you’re guarding me.’

‘If that’s how you want to see it.’

‘romantic.’

he makes a disgusted face, ‘go to sleep.’

Just as he promised he’s there when you awake and sukuna doesn’t leave for the next two days, making sure your illness is gone and that you’ve fully recovered.

spoiler alert: the soup he gave you was homemade but he didn’t want to admit it. :)

[futurefind]

//also s.o to the fact that one rumor/theory about fate/ rea circulating in clock tower (esp after they get their paws on her/SEE her as not just a hypothetical made up heir) is that, if she wasnt a kidnapped child/relative of the main rodas branch, is a straight up homonculus

(which like. probably for the better she'd get even MORE targets on her back if everyone internalized she has a fully* functional crest from a family/line she has no blood relation to but also. oh my god shes rattling in her cage))

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Piece of you- L.MN

SURPRISE!! Today is a triple special day for me, so let's get started

First of all, it's my babygirl @sweetlifeofjoy 's bday!! Happy birthday, Nari! I hope you have a wonderful day, surrounded by those you love and I wish a lot of happiness 😊 And thanks for making my day a lot funnier whenever we talk... or flirt haha

Now, the second thing I wanna celebrate, it's Minho's debut on this blog yay! I tried to make something very Lee Know coded here, I guess it's giving off his vibes. I hope you all like it

And last but not least, I want to celebrate the 700 of us. I didn't even have time to thank you for 600 so consider that a combo. I am really really grateful for each one of you. Really. You make my little heart very happy 💜🤭

Word count: 1.0k

No warnings

Alexa, play Ink by Coldplay

Minho had been gone less than a day when you found the first note.

It was tucked beneath your toothbrush, folded into a tiny triangle with a doodle on the front— a cat  version of him, with exaggerated pouty lips and two big bright eyes that he asked Hyunjin to sketch. Underneath, in his unmistakable handwriting, it said:

“Miss me yet?”

You laughed, even if your chest ached a little. Opening it, you could listen to his voice in the ink.

“Brush your teeth, sleepyhead. I’m not there to kiss you good morning, but I still expect fresh breath when I call”.

You stood there for a long moment, grinning down at the paper, toothbrush forgotten.

The next one showed up that afternoon, in the hoodie you stole from his wardrobe. You slipped your hand into the front pocket and felt it— another folded piece of paper. This one had small hearts all over it and a simple message:

“Wear this one often. It smells like me. I gave it a final hug before I left. You're welcome”

You giggled, hugging the hoodie tighter.

Minho had always been the quiet type when it came to words, more teasing than tender, but it felt like he had left tiny pieces of himself all over the apartment just to keep you company.

Every day you found a new one. One was taped to the coffee jar:

“Drink water too. No, coffee doesn’t count. Neither does bubble tea. I'm watching you”

Another slid out from between your laptop screen and keyboard:

“Take breaks. Don’t sit there for six hours straight or I will find out”

And then there was the one beneath his favorite mug:

“Play our playlist. Skip the sad ones unless you’re missing me a lot. If you do listen to them, please don’t cry while holding my mug. It’s bad for the aesthetic”.

They were scattered everywhere— beneath your pillow, taped to the ice cream lid in the freezer, inside the pages of your current book. Each one perfectly timed, each one so Minho. 

One, though, made you stop in your tracks and cackle like a hyena. It was taped to the front of the air fryer, written in red ink:

“I SWEAR TO GOD if you break my air fryer while I’m gone, I will haunt you. Not gently. I’m talking about flickering lights and mysterious cat hair in your cereal”

And then, like the cherry on top, a tiny postscript:

“(Miss you though. Please eat something that isn’t chips)”

You shook your head, grinning like an idiot. Only Lee Minho could threaten you with ghostly vengeance and still make your heart flutter.

Another note had been left on the windowsill where the cats loved to take a nap. This one was softer, written with a little paw print doodle in the back:

“Tell Soonie he’s in charge. Doongie gets extra head kisses. And Dori… can’t be trusted, so watch him”

“If they look at you dramatically and cry like they’re starving, remember: they are liars. Do not fall for it. But also… maybe give them a snack anyway”

“If they sit on your lap, don’t you dare move. I don’t care if your leg goes numb. That’s the price of love”

“PS: If you fall asleep with them like that… just know I’m gonna be insanely jealous. But also please take a picture so I can melt over it for five minutes and then pretend I’m not crying in the tour van”

You were crying laughing by the end of that one.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail leading you right back to him, even while he was miles away.

But the note that made you sit down and press a hand to your chest, was under his pillow.

You only found it on the third day. You weren’t even looking, you were just making the bed out of habit, and there it was— thicker than the rest.

You sat on the bed and unfolded it slowly, heart stuttering.

“This one’s for the nights that feel heavy”

“You don’t have to be okay just because I’m not there to see it. I know you’re strong, but I also know you. So cry if you need to. Eat ice cream for dinner. Watch that movie we’ve seen a hundred times”

“Then call me in the morning. I’ll listen to every word. You don’t have to do this alone. You never have to”

By the time Minho called you that night, the notes were lined up across the wall, like a paper mosaic. 

He appeared on your phone screen, hair damp from shower

 “Wow”, he said when he saw the background, “I didn’t think you’d actually keep them”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the hoodie tighter around you. “Shut up, you wrote them! You thought I’d read them and toss them in the trash?”

“I mean, yeah”, he said, “That’s what you do with my texts”

“I react with a heart to them!”

Minho looked at you, inexpressible

“You reacted with a heart to ‘did you eat?’ like it was a love confession”

You bit back a grin, “Wasn’t it?”

He paused, pretending to think, then nodded. “Well, you are right. I’m very romantic”

You laugh softly before confessing, “Damn, I miss you”

“Yeah”, he said, rubbing the towel over his hair, “If I were you, I’d miss me too”.

You let out a loud, theatrical gasp and flopped dramatically back onto the bed like you’d just been betrayed.

“I can’t believe this! I’m dating a menace. An actual menace”

He blinked at the screen, “You’re so dramatic”

“You’re not even pretending to miss me!”

Minho shook his head in disbelief, “You’re wearing my hoodie, laying on my pillow, surrounded by my notes and you’re gonna sit there and act like I don’t miss you?”

You were still pouting

He rolled his eyes

“I miss you so much it's annoying” he said, “Happy now?”

“No! You said it was annoying!”

“Because I’m annoyed at myself, he grumbled, “For being this whipped”

You grinned.

“Say it again”

“No”

“Say it!”

Minho sighed like he felt physical pain

“I miss you”, he muttered, “More than the cats. But don't tell them that”

You melted instantly.

“See?” You are romantic indeed”

He huffed, but his smile lasted— warm, bright and entirely yours.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[fortunxa]

❝ LOSING STREAK ❞ (nsfw)

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

# cw. streamer!Jinx, established relationship, oral under the desk (J!receiving), body worship, face-riding, affectionate degradation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, giggly/pleasure-drunk!Jinx, smut with plot, modern au. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

# wc. 2.5k

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

Jinx is going to break her fucking keyboard.

she’s been live for almost two hours, and nothing’s gone right. her kill count is shit, her reflexes are off, her hoodie’s sticking to the small of her back, and if she dies one more time to some idiot who blind-fires through smoke, she’s really going to break something.

her hands are tight on the mouse and keys, colored nails clicking too hard, arms tense with frustration. her headset sits askew, one cup off her ear, like she needs to physically feel the rage rippling through her. her eyes are wide and darting, bloodshot from staring too long without blinking, deep into a losing streak.

“bro,” she barks into the mic, “peek the corner. it’s not hard—jesus fuck, do i have to carry you on a leash?”

‘damn girl’

‘she MAD today’

‘chat say sorry rn’

‘someone get her a juice box’

she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even fake it.

her jaw is clenched too tight.

“fucking hell,” she hisses, leaning forward so hard her headset nearly slips off her head. “no way that hitbox makes sense. who coded this? a drunk toddler?”

she can hear herself on the mic and hates the sound of her own voice—too sharp, too bitter. her body’s coiled tight, and her leg is bouncing under the desk like it’s trying to launch her into the ceiling.

you watch from across the room, curled cross-legged on the edge of her bed, draped in one of her oversized hoodies that still smells faintly like her. she doesn’t even glance at you, too busy self-destructing in real time.

at first, it was funny.

Jinx getting flustered is always cute—her little stompy tantrums, the way her whole body seems to twitch with impatience, her dramatic threats mumbled into the mic like curses meant for the game gods. she gnaws on the cord of her headset like a dog trying to kill something, jaw flexing, eyes wild. you know her tells. you know the moment when frustration tips into frenzy.

and this isn’t cute anymore. this is pressure building behind her eyes, teeth grinding so hard she’s probably got a headache forming.

you tilt your head, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

yeah. you can fix this—in your own way.

you slide off the bed silently, crawling over the floor like a cat, just out of frame. she doesn’t even notice, too focused on queueing up the next match as she clicks through menus, grumbling to herself.

and then you’re slipping under the desk, ready to ruin her in the sweetest way possible.

Jinx flinches when a hand grazes her knee—light, casual, almost teasing—and she jerks sideways, nearly knocking her mic over. “what the—” she starts, breathless, turning downward in a frantic snap only to meet your gaze, already looking up at her, mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh. she’s always been so soft there—silken and fragile. the kind of skin that bruises too easily and begs to be marked.

her jaw drops, and realization hits her like a static charge. you’re already tugging down her pajama shorts, easing the worn elastic waistband past her hips and down her trembling legs. her skin is almost luminescent under the soft blue glow of her setup—milky white, kissed with heat, twitching where you touch. her boyshorts cling to her, cotton stretched damp and slightly sheer at the center like it wants you to see everything, that familiar shade of blue darkening between her thighs.

“babe. don’t,” she whispers, panic slicing through her voice as she forces her gaze to lock in on her monitor, inconspicuous. “baby, i’m losing. i’m already losing.” her pulse stutters, and her hands hover uselessly over the lit-up keyboard. her eyes flick toward the webcam light—still red, still glowing, still live.

her heart lodges itself in her throat. “you’re insane,” she breathes out, barely audible, pressing her knees together in a last-ditch reflex. you just slip your hands between them, prying them apart like it’s your right, your palms firm and commanding.

and fuck, Jinx thinks, this is hot.

the danger. the fact that she has thousands of people watching her—laughing at her rage—and none of them has a goddamn clue what’s happening right now.

her whole body shivers at the thought.

you nose up her underwear, nuzzling against the heat there. she bites her lip hard, a high-pitched whine catching in her throat. you grin against her, slow and sinful. your tongue flicks out, a teasing little stroke up her cunt through the fabric.

she clutches the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles turn white. “fuck you,” she hisses under her breath, yet a grin of her own is twitching at the corner of her mouth.

you hum against her, low and dirty, the vibration buzzing right through her core, making her legs jerk.

another slow, lazy lick. a little more pressure this time. you watch her twitch as you trace the soaked slit with your tongue, letting the taste of her bleed through the thin cotton.

another kiss pressed to her clothed pussy, almost mocking in how tender it is.

another deliberate drag of your teeth across the curve of her mound.

Jinx exhales like she’s been punched. her head tips back, and her voice breaks mid-sentence—something about recoil and map layout—but it doesn’t matter anymore. her whole body’s so tired of being angry and so ready to be taken apart, every line of tension begging to be undone.

her hips buck forward slightly—instinctive, desperate for more, seeking you. you tug her underwear down, exposing her, and the sudden rush of cool air on her wetness makes her suck in a sharp breath through her teeth.

she smells fucking divine. you breathe her in like perfume—sweet, salty, earthy. all heat and silk, sweat and desperation. her cunt is already flushed. pink and pretty and damp, glistening with arousal she hasn’t even acknowledged yet. her folds are delicate, lips soft and slick, already swelling from the tension she’s been carrying all night.

and then—contact.

your tongue presses right against her clit, wet and hot, followed by a slow, sucking pressure that makes her whole body seize. she bites her own fist to keep the moan in, lashes fluttering. her knee jerks up and slams the underside of the desk with a dull thud, causing the camera to wobble. she exhales through her nose like she’s fine, like she doesn’t have a mouth on her cunt while thousands of people are watching her try to form a coherent thought—just another day in streamer paradise.

her chat lights up.

‘wait why is she red???’

‘bro she’s blushing into the camera help’

‘caught in 4k’

she is blushing. that pretty shade of pink you like, from her cheeks all the way up to her ears.

worse—she’s smiling now.

you flatten your tongue and drag it through her slit, slow and slick, letting her taste spread across your mouth. it’s sweet at first, like melted sugar on warm skin, but deeper in and she’s wet velvet, all salt and raw slick. you lick her again—harder this time—and her hips jump, clit pulsing under your tongue.

and suddenly, all that tension melts into heat.

giddy, sweet heat.

Jinx laughs like she’s been tickled from the inside. it starts small—one breathy huff through her nose. then it bubbles up like champagne: high and soft, warm and stupid, a sound that’s almost delirious.

“god,” she whispers, clamping a hand over her mouth. “you’re so fucking annoying.” she twitches in her chair and giggles again, high on endorphins, like her brain’s short-circuiting in the best way possible.

your tongue gets firmer, more deliberate—pressing, circling, dragging up her soaked cunt with slow, hungry strokes like you’re trying to pull every last drop of rage and tension out of her and replace it with slick, wet, aching need.

she hunches forward, pretending to fidget with her keyboard, her hands trembling slightly as she dips her head to keep her face hidden from the camera. her bangs fall into her eyes, mouth half-open in a silent gasp as you mouth directly over her slick folds.

the sound is obscene—wet and shameless, every drag of your tongue loud enough for her to fumble blindly, shaky fingers finally hitting mute just as she chokes on a moan.

‘WHY SHE SITTING LIKE THAT THO’

‘posture check’

your tongue is sin, slow and thorough, lapping at her like you have all the time in the world. the heat of your mouth makes her hips stutter forward—her whole body trying to lean into it, chasing friction, chasing anything. she lets out the softest little squeal and buries her face in the crook of her arm.

“babyyy,” she whines, giggling and breathless. “i’m live. i’m literally—i’m muted, but i’m—fuck.”

she tries to sit still, tries to keep her back straight for the camera, but the pressure builds fast, and she can’t help the way her hips start to roll in subtle little thrusts, slow and sticky, using your mouth like she’s meant to. like her cunt knows what it needs and it’s not rhythm or mercy—it’s filth.

you moan beneath her, and Jinx gasps at the needy vibration. her grip on the desk tightens until her knuckles turn white, and the muscles in her stomach clench. “f-fuck,” she whispers, dizzy and breathless. “you like that, huh? you like when i ride your face?”

you groan into her, and she laughs again. it’s a fucked-out, breathy little giggle—giddy and drunk on it, drunk on you. “god, you’re such a slut,” she coos, and it comes out soft, affectionate—like a compliment. “my slut, though.”

she grinds down harder, smearing slick over your mouth, her swollen clit catching against your nose. her hoodie sticks to her chest, clinging to the curve of her perky breasts. her nipples are hard, pressing faintly against the cotton for those who look close enough, a single drop of sweat rolling down the valley between them.

her body’s already trembling, trying to ride your face as subtly as possible. her hands grip the desk like a lifeline, and one of her feet kicks something over—a water bottle, maybe a RedBull can—plastic clattering across the floor, forgotten.

she doesn’t care. she can’t care.

she’s gonna come.

live. on stream.

and there’s nothing she can do about it, because that’s what gets her off the most. the fact that people are watching—thousands of them—thinking she’s just gaming, just tilted, just flushed from effort… it makes her pussy throb. it makes her come faster.

her breath stutters, her lashes flutter, and then it hits her. she lets out the softest, most desperate moan—head tipped back, hoodie sleeve shoved in her mouth, thighs shaking as she gushes in your mouth with a stuttering gasp.

you hold her down, licking her through it, savoring every drop like you earned it as she rides it out with helpless little whimpers, throbbing against you. the moment drags on, too intense and too raw for her, until she twitches hard, overstimulated. “okay, okay—fuck—enough,” she hisses, folding over the desk like a ragdoll, panting into the wood.

you don’t care about the game. you don’t care about the stream. what matters is the way Jinx’s thighs are parting again, the way her fingers are threading through your hair like they always do when she gets needy again.

she unmutes herself, thinking the therapy session is over, but she still hasn’t pushed you away.

so you dive back in.

and the second time? it’s worse.

deeper.

sloppier.

you spread her open with two fingers, tongue fucking into her while she squirms in her chair, mouth hanging open. your moans are louder this time, and she has to keep coughing to mask the sounds.

she’s coming apart faster now, already sensitive and raw. her hand flies to mute herself again, barely making it in time as she leaks slick all over your tongue. “stopstopstop,” she gasps, breath ragged. “you’re gonna make me cry.”

but you don’t pull away, not even giving her a second to recover, and she breaks.

not loud, but her jaw clenches, teeth sinking into her hoodie sleeve as her eyes glass over. her lashes flutter with tears. her body rocks helplessly in her chair as she whispers frantic little “yesyesyes,” and “don’t stop,” and “holyshitfuckyes” into the fabric, her voice shaking with every word while the screen flickers with bullets, scores and the chat exploding in half-baked jokes.

she doesn’t even dare to look at her second monitor as she comes again—harder, wetter. you simply lick her clean like the stream doesn’t matter. like Jinx didn’t just have over 13k people watching her try to fake normalcy—poorly—while riding out the aftershocks of a second orgasm from the mouth of her girlfriend under the fucking desk.

she isn’t even mad, just gone and wrecked.

fucked-out live.

the camera catches everything: the glassy sheen in her eyes, the moisture in her lashes, the flushed cheeks, the way she leans forward with her arms crossed on the desk like she needs to recover. her muscles feel like jelly, and her skin’s humming—overheated, oversensitive.

and yet she’s glowing now.

eyes sparkling, a dazed little smile curling at the corners of her spit-slick mouth, soft laughter bubbling up every time you press a tender kiss to the inside of her thigh, to the crease where her pussy meets her hip, to the mess you made of her.

it’s filthy, yet somehow sweet. “god. you’ve got me smiling like a fucking virgin,” she finally says, her voice slurred and soft.

‘she’s back to smiling???’

‘bipolar streamer arc’

‘she’s high on something’

‘smile if you just got head’

she bites her lip to keep from laughing again.

her mic’s still off—thank god—and her thighs are sticky when you finally pull away, slow and satisfied, chin glistening with slick and spit as you lick your lips, tasting her all over again, her scent clinging to you.

Jinx slumps back into her chair, boneless, like she’s sinking in warm honey. “holy shit,” she breathes, head lolling to the side. “what the fuck did you just do to me?”

you peek up from under the desk, pupils blown wide, a little too pleased with yourself. “fixed your attitude,” you say, voice soft and smug. “or at least… knocked it loose.”

she starts laughing again—loud, ruined, and completely undone in the best way possible. she flips the mic back on mid-giggle, breath still hitching in her throat. “sorry for the technical difficulties,” she says, voice wrecked but sugar-sweet, still smiling in the afterglow. “we’re… all good now.”

her tone is off—too light, too satisfied, and she doesn’t even bother hiding it.

‘her voice changed???’

‘why she sound freshly fucked’

‘we’ll never know what happened but i believe in love again’

she shifts in her chair and winces a little, legs still trembling and thighs pressed together like she’s trying to hold something in, but her eyes are twinkling, hands finally steady as one curls around the mouse.

spoiler alert: she wins the next round. sharp, effortless, dripping confidence.

and she does it smiling.

long-awaited streamer!Jinx smut omfg. do i get endorsement from the citizens of scissor city now???

[rainrot4me]

HAIII RAINYYYY!! i luv your new style its so cutesy!! anyway i wanted to ask you what you think all the creeps/proxies smell like?? like do you have a certain cologne or something reminds you of them? pls reply my beautiful queen 🙏🙏

Thank you!! I loved doing this, it was so fun!!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Metal, spice, and rusted nails.

When he doesn’t reek of blood and rotted entrails, he smells like burnt matches, iron, cheap leather jackets, and Armani Code Absolu (the kind of cologne you steal off someone else’s bathroom counter after you’ve mutilated their body). Gives the vibe of stale air, the kind that gets trapped in a broom closet that’s been shut for too long.

“Tch. You like it? Thought so, sweetheart.”

He’s got blood and cigarette smoke on him constantly. You hug him and suddenly your hoodie smells like him for days.

He couldn’t care less how he smells, but when you harp about how you don’t want blood all over your fresh bedsheets, he rolls his eyes and shuffles to the shower.

✦ . ticci toby

Warm earth and cinnamon, but in a sweaty way.

Think woodsmoke, gasoline, pine sap, and a weirdly comforting warmth like a cinnamon bun that exploded in a forest fire, but layer that all on top of an overworked, sweaty body.

He tries to smell clean, really. Uses Old Spice Swagger when he remembers. But when you’re constantly on the move in a truck cabin and dragging dead bodies around like grocery bags, your smell kind of falls to the back-burner.

“Stop sniffin’ me, weirdo…” (blushes like an idiot.)

If you swipe his hoodie, it’ll smell like cedar and whatever the last thing Masky smoked when they were on the ride home.

✦ . eyeless jack

Tense, cold, and addictively like night time.

Smells like sterilization wipes, rain-soaked forest, old books, and a bit of Tom Ford Oud Wood (naturally, without even really trying *eyeroll*).

His skin has this dark, earthy tone like moss in a cave. Somehow it’s comforting and terrifying at once. It’s like the same feeling you get when you smell rain on pavement, but put it on a warm body.

“Fascinating how your body responds to scent, isn’t it?”

He leaves behind that cologne-on-your-pillow scent… plus the faintest metallic hint of blood. He always makes sure to clean himself up though, he has the preciseness of a cat grooming itself, he won’t stop until he feels spotless again.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Hard, masculine, and distinctively like marlboro reds.

He’s a sandalwood, tobacco, and musk man. He doesn’t wear cologne often but when he does it’s Bleu de Chanel or nothing. In the words of Ethel Cain, “He looks like he words with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds.”

“If you like how it smells so much, then just take the whole bottle. Damn.”

Don’t tease, but he definitely smells like coffee that’s been spilt on t-shirts and ashtray ashes he accidentally spilled onto his lap. Everything about him screams working man, both comforting and nauseating.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Warm vanilla, but like for real.

Leather-bound journals, firewood, vanilla bourbon, and one-too-many fights in the dirt. He’s definitely the best smelling out of everyone because he values that, his still-normal smell is the only tying him to his old life. But also just because he hates how he feels when he’s dirty.

He wears Replica’s By the Fireplace and smirks when you take deeper inhales near him without thinking. Unlike Masky, the cigarette smell sometimes makes him snurl, so he likes to keep the smoke-smell away from his things.

“You miss me already? Hah. Cute.”

Has this comforting scent that sticks to your sheets and makes you ache when he’s gone. Definitely the kind of smell you’ll randomly get whiffs of in the grocery store or library and wonder if he’s nearby.

✦ . ben drowned

Sourness with sugar, better than you’d think.

Smells like Sprite, dusty electronics, Red Bull, and oddly enough? Abercrombie Fierce. Kind of gives the vibe of a men’s section of American Eagle if it was housed in an abandoned RV. It’s not horrible though.

That sweet, boyish scent with energy drink stains and static on old television screens. If he wants to, he can change his code receptors and alter his scent, but he likes to keep it simple.

“Wanna smell something better? I hid an old suck under Jeff’s pillow. Go give that a whiff.”

You don’t even dare.

✦ . clockwork

Steel, lavender, and oddly like early morning air.

Mix of machine oil, lavender lotion, peppermint, and YSL Libre. She gives the vibe of spilling something on the carpet and trying to cover up the smell with perfume, but you just know there was something there before. It’s unmistakably her.

Axel grease, gasoline, and rusted work tools all wrapped together in a nice little bow of whatever fragrance she can swipe from the H&M clearance section.

“Do you always cuddle me this much? Or just after I take a shower?”

She kind of just smells like a working woman. No point in trying to mask a scent that lets others know she’s not one to mess around with.

✦ . laughing jack

Candy shops, old antique stores, and thick smog.

Cotton candy, carnival smoke, sharp peppermint. Hints of Demeter’s Funeral Home perfume for unsettling flair when he’s feeling frisky. The only way to really put your finger on it is all the colorful smells of the fairgrounds, but also the gas-powered generators that sit next to them.

Smells fake and perfect simultaneously, like nostalgia you get from looking at old photographs and remembering what your childhood bedroom smelled like.

“Do like the new perfume I got? Addictive, right?”

You’re not sure if it’s him or the hallucinations, but either way, you’re hooked.

✦ . slenderman

All the complexity of the woods, the earth, and the air that surrounds it.

Doesn’t wear cologne, his presence is the scent.

Think fresh black ink on paper, petrichor, white tea, and that weird smell dew has on grass. Like walking through a forest that exists deep underground, rich and cold and wet.

“You are… intoxicated by me. Aren’t you?”

It’s clean, chilling, and overwhelming. His scent dominates a room without effort. If you don’t pay attention, the smells could blend together and you’d never even know it was there. It takes a couple of times before you realize it’s not the air, but him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[animatewarriorcats]

Lightleap! She is the Daughter of Dovewing and Tigerstar, sister to Pouncestep and Shadowsight, mentored by Stonewing. She is born in the City where the Guardian cats live and they travel back to the clans as kits. She is a spitfire, and I love that for her. She wants to be important and has one braincell. Himbo but girl. honestly, slay. I wasn't sure I was going to like her as much as I do, but I'm a lightleap fan. Tries to step up in the Broken Code arc to defend the clans in the Dark Forest, but loses her nerve and Shadowsight takes her place. After that she tries to prove herself several times, to both her peers and her clan. She also is Sunbeam's best friend, but lets her ego get in the way before falling for Sunbeams crush, which ultimately leads to them becoming distant. She protects Frostpaw in the climax of the arc, finally coming through on her desire to make a difference in the clans. I forgive her for being an idiot, she's trying her best.

[miumiaoomyzi]

GETTING SICK EQUALS no practice. and also equals to 13 of your members treating you like a total baby.

you had already told them 'oh its fine.' 'i'll get well in a flash.' but they refused to acknowledge your words. and here you are now, in your room with a bowl of soup in your hands as 13 men pamper you.

"do you want me to feed you? here comes the choo choo train!"

"are you feeling well? do you want me to turn down the ac?"

"nooo! my y/n! you've turned into a sneezing monster!"

"awh look at you! so red and puffy and cute.." seungkwan cooed, pinching your cheeks and pulling on them, earning a growl of protest from you.

and whenever you wanted to get out of your blankets and drink some water, the members insisted. especially mingyu.

he'd make a code for you whenever you were thirsty.

"mingyu.. code blue.." you looked to the side to see him already there with a bottle of water.

oh and he'd shove it down your throat alright. sometimes he even squeezes the bottle unconciously while you're drinking. you ended up choking for a straight minute.

and there was hoshi, who after every 10 minutes he goes into your room to check on you.

one time, he cheerily opened the door to your room, holding another bowl of soup. only to see you missing from your bed.

"y/n..? where is she?" hoshi looked around, panic rising in at the thoughts of you escaping the room and potentially harming yourself or worsening your fever.

"y/n! y/n!!" he called out your name only to receive no response.

he ended up gathering all the members to look for you.

"where is she? noooo she must've succumbed to the evil aura her fever is emitting!"

"now look at her.. she melted into a water puddle." dino pointed at a water spill, evidently caused by mingyu when he accidentally squeezed a water bottle while you were drinking from it.

dk let out a hearty laugh, "but seriously. we have to find her."

the members searched everywhere and couldn't find you. they even called your parents to see if you were there, but you weren't.

entering your room after a prolonged search for you, jeonghan plopped onto your bed, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. "finally.. i'm tired of running everywhere."

the members were clearly stressed out, they kept discussing where you could've been, an argument between seungkwan and hoshi almost became another incident.

until the bathroom door opened, revealing you with headphones draped over your neck and a toothbrush on your right hand.

there was a silence. "uhm. what's going on?—"

"y/n!!"

until you were tackled into the floor.

"where were you?? you idiot! i told you to stay in bed and sleep! we need you at 100% when you recover!" seungkwan scolded.

"..what?? i just brushed my teeth!!"

"who brushes their teeth for a total hour huh?!"

"me..?"

"get back in bed!" they all shouted in unison.

mingyu picked you up, earning a fist of protest from you. you lifted the hand holding your toothbrush up, "nooo.. i still have another episode to watch.."

"and you've been using your phone? tch. save it." mingyu threw you into your bed and rolled you into your blanket.

"awh look! y/n burrito!" dino took out his phone and immediately took pictures.

3 days passed and you were finally well. pretty much nothing changed. except the members were now overly guarding around you and always kept you away from things that could potentially cause sickness. including cats.

go stream beam rn its so good

[hoetachi]

HAPPINESS OVER EVERYTHING (H.O.E) — J. TODD

suggestive themes

I hope she don't think, that I think that she's some kind of hoe

A SOFT KNOCK graced the dark oak and he already knew whom it would be. without words being exchanged, he heard the chambers turned followed by a slight creak. there you were… in your newest ‘outfit’. off the record, this was your skimpiest outfit by far (which he loved a little too much by the slight tent in his slacks) and just knew you were getting tipped well for it.

jason relaxed a bit in the chair, umbrella twisting lazily between his fingers whilst keeping his shielded eyes on your figure. a mischievous smirk graced your glossed lips as you pressed your back to his door, which he picked up on the chambers turning again. you locked it.

time for your scheduled ‘cat & mouse’ game.

you pressed yourself free off the oak and switched your hips towards his desk. “5th time this week, doll” he pointed out as you inched closer. you now was right before him leaning over, pushing your breast together slightly whilst your perfume invaded his senses. sweet as ever, a scent he’ll never get a enough of.

“they say you pickin’ favorites mista hood” you finally spoke, your hair falling over your shoulders while you stared at him doed eyes. he always liked how you said ‘mista hood’ with your slightly hidden brooklyn accent. you don’t know it, but you’re the only one who’s allowed to refer to him as that. for everyone else it’s either ‘boss’ or ‘sir’

he exhaled, “i don’t do the favoritism bullshit.”

“then what do you do?” you asked, circling his desk. ghosting your hand over the nape of his neck, if he didn’t achieved the self control he currently had, he would’ve shuddered from the ghost of your touch without hesitation. he sees why bruce stayed up on those rooftops now, the mere thought about going against your own code for desire was a thrilling experience

“i treat people how they deserve to be treated” he stated curtly. he was never the one to sugarcoat the truth, that’s what most of the staff secretly disliked about him.

if he wanted to say ‘fuck off and rot in a ditch’ he had nothing holding back, absolutely no remorse. he knew everything about everyone who worked under him and knew majority of them weren’t kind people in their day to day, so why would he treat them how he would like to be treated if they were mere scum?

“so if they wanna act like gossiping schoolgirls, i wouldn’t take their comments seriously”

“is this why you’re lingering in my office instead of… displaying your talents?”

you finally made it back before and leaned again on his desk. you pretended to think about for second. how cute you are “maybe… maybe not” another cheshire smirk graced your lips

“so.. how do i deserve to be treated, mista hood?”

“i’m letting you avoid working right now for one. two between you and i, i pay you more than your coworkers out there, even though you’re here less” he chuckled at your face at the little jab towards your absence around the lounge

“you know why though” you rolled your eyes at the jab. he loved to push your buttons, your reactions were just the cutest thing to him plus he knew you couldn’t really stay mad at him.

“how’d your exam go?”

“i feel that i definitely scored the lowest on it. im way too over my head with this veterinarian thing”

he used the hook of the umbrella he’s been twirling with to pull the strap of your bikini top and snapped it back, causing a yelp from you. you dropped your head and pouted as you rubbed the suddenly aching spot between your breast, however the same hook tilted your head up.

you were meant with crimson lens and from the looks of it, he wasn’t too happy with your comment. “don’t say that. do i look like i hire idiots?” he questioned coldly, you parted your lips to answer but realized it was a rhetorical question and thought best to not say anything. “you passed that entrance exam with flying colors, which is amazing considering there’s an 9% acceptance rate so don’t dare discredit that mind of yours”

“are you intelligent!?” he raised his voice, causing you to straighten your back with a flinch before nodding your head rapidly, “say it y/n!” he raised his voice again, “i’m intelligent” you said rapidly, making you stand up straight with your gaze falling to your feet. he mentally scolded himself for his outburst. he knew better to always watch his tone with you knowing you already get enough shit while on the clock from the others. “im sorry for yelling,” he apologized

“it’s okay, mista hood” you reassured, giving him a sheepish smile. “i just don’t ever want to catch you beating up yourself. you’re a good woman” he complimented with a much softer tone

“hmph, some woman i am” you huffed, twirling the end of your hair between your fingers unamused

his brows knitted at your comment, “what did i just say, y/n?” he scolded

“i know i know im sorry, but cmon mista hood. look where i work at?”

“it’s a fixer upper… i see potential still” the last part more for himself than the actual lounge. he’ll give credit to cobblepot, he took good care for the place but it was better under jason’s ownership.

“no man wants a woman who flirts their way into their pockets” you whispered whilst looking out the tinted window towards the vip section. the urge to cup that pretty face of yours and have those hypnotized eyes on him and him only came in droves. the fight with temptation around you could make him weak than any fight with the toughest rogues in gotham.

“speed dating ain’t workin’ out for you?”

“after the compliments and pleasantries, they don’t quite stick around once the question of what i do shows face” you joked half heartedly. no matter how much of a front you put on, he knew you wanted someone to take care of you and not just try to take you home for night

“doesn’t sound like men to me”

“then what does it sound like?”

“boys trying to play big man. someone’s way of paying the bills shouldn’t define them, so don’t let them define you. this is temporary, y/n just like those boys”

“you definitely know how to flatter a lady mista hood” you smiled softly, walking around his desk and he scooted back some to make some space for you to hop up on his desk to sit

he shrugged, feeling a bit more relaxed with you closer to him. “i’m just telling the truth”

“or maybe the truth is, you’re a really good ladies man..” there was a sudden glint in your eyes and he knew it was finally time to test how strong-willed he was against his own desire

“y/n…” he warned once you brushed your leg against his

“am i toeing the line?” your voice dripping in playfulness and your eyes shadowed with seduction, he was more than thankful for the tints on goggles how he had to close them to control his urges. how did the old bat do it with the cat for so long is all he could think about. you two barely even touched and he already so bothered

disregarding his caution, you continued your pursuit of him. “i would expect you of all people to love a bit of risk every once in a while”

“don’t start something you can’t finish” that was his second warning for you

“you see, mista hood, that’s the problem”

“you won’t let me finish. got me thinkin’ you may be into edging” you moaned, pulling in your bottom lip. he almost put together how sweet the actual melody of your moans would sound and that alone practically put him closer to the edge

“i don’t mix business with pleasure”

“it didn’t seem like a problem with liz and all the other girls” he watched again as you tried to your best not to roll your eyes at the name. liz wasn’t nothing to him nor others, if he had a rough night, he knew they’ll do anything to get even a smudge of the attention that he gives you

“they throw themselves”

a pout formed on your face and god, he could’ve been putty right in your hands. “am i not throwing myself hard enough?” you batted your lashes towards him.

“you’re better than that, doll”

you giggled as you placed a hand over your chest dramatically being flattered, “you think too highly of me, mista hood”

“i do, but who can blame me of thinking of you?”

“and that’s your other problem too” he watched as you smirked. pushing yourself off of the desk, you moved the umbrella aside and decided to find a more comfortable spot to sit. you slowly sat yourself on his lap, making sure he had the perfect view of your arched back before looking over your shoulder with an innocent expression. “is this spot taken by chance?” throwing your legs over his knee, really settling against his tailored suit. you were going to be his second death for sure

he exhausted exaggeratedly, you’re the only woman he has set of rules for himself.

he can’t touch you. you can comb your fingers through his hair, acrylics scratching his scalp comfortingly and he has to fight the urge to nozzle into your touch.

he can’t taste you. he’s tempted every time you leave a glossy kiss on the corner of his mouth because knowing your love for toeing the line, he’s just curious how’d you react if one day he just captured those plump lips and explored that sweet mouth of yours and pull a moan from the depths of your core

you’re completely right

you’re his biggest problem

part 2