#tiny floaties

[thedorfmirrin]

Meu?

[wilburewormarts]

microscopical miku!

[close up n stuff under cut!]

[cloudplpnt]

lil thing of ac2 raven - maybe i’ll finish it instead of leaving itt as a sketch?

[snowpuff79]

Silly ah ah merch I made in October during a party <3 I love side characters (tiny manticore)

Only guy I could paint without that good of a sketch

[ladydaybreaker]

not too proud of it but posted it in discord and might as well do so here.

Of Nightshade and Woodsmoke Uzi

[casually-salad]

if you follow my main you know ive became infatuated with pooltoys and ive been drawing them off and on but now heres a proper ref sheet! (( they/them ))

[kpop-bbg]

[darkeneddawning]

Since it's kinda hard to read the speech bubbles, they say:

Danny: So how come you're all tiny?

Dipper: Shrinking crystal flashlight. Long story. What about you?

Danny: Fenton Crammer. Also a long story.

Imma post these because I’ve had them lying around forever. I wanted to color them, but I feel bad for going so long without posting. :P The first two are Phantom Falls. 1- because both Dipper and Danny have been shrunk in their shows. I actually drew this one for shooshpapping (and I’m sorry I’m only posting it now orz). 2- Danny would be thrilled about Dipper’s birthmark. He might be the only person to actually be jealous of it. 3- Danny is distressed and in a hospital gown idk. Floaty! 4- Danny rematerializing after being released from a containment cube.

[smoothpeanut]

i'm bringing Alvin home from the shelter tomorrow so i've put out all the fun things at once to bribe him that this will be a fun place to live

but once he realizes what it's really like to live with me. oh boy

[chloeangelbaby]

Pillow princess

crybaby! Reader x Rafe Cameron

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————-

You were weightless, boneless, floating somewhere between sleep and reality. Your body was soft, limp against the sheets, your limbs draped over Rafe’s as he held you close. The air was thick with the scent of him—cologne, sweat, and the faintest hint of his shampoo.

You sighed, completely fucked out, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you nuzzled into his chest. “Mmm.” That was all you could manage, a tiny, content little noise, barely above a whisper.

Rafe smirked, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns up and down your side, his other hand resting on your throat, just where you liked it. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the rapid little beat beneath your skin, like a caged bird trying to escape.

His grip was never tight—just there, firm and grounding, a silent reminder that you were his.

You exhaled shakily, melting further into him. “Feels good,” you mumbled sleepily, voice hoarse and used.

Rafe hummed, dragging his knuckles over your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his. “Yeah?”

You nodded, lips parting, breath coming out in soft little pants as he ran his fingers back down, pressing lightly at the base of your throat.

Your lashes fluttered. Your lips trembled.

“More,” you whispered, barely conscious but still needy, still desperate for his touch.

Rafe chuckled, his hand tightening just slightly, just enough to make your body go lax. “Fucking pillow princess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there. “Can’t even keep your eyes open, huh?”

You whimpered, shaking your head, slipping deeper and deeper into that fuzzy, floaty space where everything was warm and perfect and him.

“Did so good for me, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with pride, fingers stroking over your skin. “Go to sleep. I got you.”

And you did—safely tucked away in Rafe’s arms, his hand never leaving your throat.

————————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊———————————

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi can you do dad Charles to a toddler where they are on a boat spending time with family and Charles teaches her how to swim thanks

Little Swimmer

The Mediterranean sun hung high in the sky, casting shimmering reflections on the gentle waves that lapped against the side of the yacht. A light breeze rustled through the white canvas canopy, keeping the summer heat from becoming overwhelming. Laughter and chatter filled the air as Charles sat on the edge of the yacht, feet dipped into the crystal-clear water, watching his little girl with a smile.

Yn, just two years old, sat proudly on a giant pink flamingo floatie, her tiny hands gripping the sides. She was wearing a bright red swimsuit, her curly brown hair still dry for now, though Charles doubted that would last much longer.

Arthur sat cross-legged on the deck, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, watching the scene with a smirk. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he teased, arms resting on his knees. "She’s small, Charles. What if she gets scared?"

Charles turned to his younger brother with an amused huff. "She won’t. She loves the water." He then looked back at Yn, whose big green eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "Right, ma petite?"

Yn hesitated, glancing down at the water. Her chubby legs kicked slightly, making the flamingo bob up and down. "Pas tomber?" she asked softly, looking at her Papa for reassurance. (" Not falling?")

Charles immediately reached out, placing a comforting hand on the floatie. "Non, mon amour. Papa est là." His voice was warm, steady. "Tu es en sécurité." ("No, my love. Papa is here. You are safe.")

Charlotte, sitting nearby with Pascale and Lorenzo, chuckled as she adjusted her sunhat. "She trusts you more than anyone, you know," she commented. "She’ll do it if you’re in the water with her."

That was exactly what Charles planned. With a final reassuring squeeze to the floatie, he slipped into the water, the coolness instantly refreshing against the heat of the sun. He looked up at Yn, who watched him closely, still a little hesitant.

"Regarde," he said softly, floating on his back for a second before righting himself. "Papa nage, c’est facile, d’accord?" ("Watch. Papa swims, it's easy, okay?")

Yn sucked in a small breath, glancing at Arthur as if to check whether he thought this was a good idea too. Arthur gave her a little thumbs-up, and that seemed to be enough.

"Okay," she mumbled, her tiny hands gripping the sides of the floatie a little tighter.

"Très bien, ma fille," Charles praised, his heart swelling with pride. He moved closer, his strong hands gently gripping the bottom of the floatie. "Je vais te descendre doucement, et tu bouges tes bras et tes jambes comme Papa, d’accord?" ("Amazing, my girl. I'm going to lower you gently, and you move your arms and legs like Daddy, OK?")

Yn gave a small nod, her lips pursed in concentration.

Very slowly, Charles lifted her under her arms and eased her into the water. She let out a little gasp at the sudden coolness against her warm skin, but Charles was there, steady and strong, his hands never leaving her. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

Arthur chuckled from the deck. "Looks like she’s not ready to let go just yet."

Charles just smiled. He wasn’t in any rush. "C’est normal," he murmured, rubbing Yn’s back. "Tu es courageuse, ma petite." ("That's normal. You are very brave, my darling")

After a few seconds, she leaned back slightly, still clutching Charles but no longer clinging desperately. He adjusted his grip, holding her under her arms again. "D’accord, essaie de bouger tes jambes comme ça," he said, demonstrating a little kick. ("OK, try moving your legs like this")

Yn watched carefully before hesitantly trying to mimic him. Her little feet splashed against the water, creating small ripples.

"Oui! Très bien, Yn!" Charles praised, beaming.

Lorenzo, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "She’s got good coordination for a two-year-old," he noted with a smile.

Yn’s face lit up at the praise. She looked back at Charles. "Encore?" ("More?")

Charles nodded, his heart full. "Encore."

For the next few minutes, they repeated the motion. Charles held her steady, letting her find her rhythm, always keeping her close. Eventually, he slowly eased back, keeping his hands just beneath her.

"You’re swimming, ma chérie," he murmured, voice filled with awe.

Yn’s eyes widened as she realized that she was, in fact, floating on her own. "Je nage!" she squealed, looking back at Arthur excitedly. ("I'm swimming")

Arthur whistled. "You’re a natural, Yn!"

Yn giggled, but soon after, she lost her balance and slipped under the water for a second. It was barely a moment before Charles scooped her up, pressing her to his chest. "C’est bon, c’est bon," he soothed, kissing her wet curls. ("It's alright, it's alright")

Yn clung to him for a second, then peeked up at him. "Encore?" she asked.

Charles laughed, absolutely amazed at how brave she was. "Encore."

The next time, she did even better. And the time after that, even better still.

Soon, she was swimming short distances between Charles’ open arms, her tiny legs kicking furiously, her face a mix of excitement and determination. Pascale, from her spot on the deck, wiped a proud tear from her eye. "She’s incredible," she murmured to Charlotte.

Charlotte smiled. "Just like her Papa."

After nearly an hour, Yn turned to look at Arthur, who was still sitting on the deck. "Tonton, viens!" she called sweetly, reaching her little hand toward him. ("Uncle, come!")

Arthur groaned playfully. "Oh, so now you want me to get in?"

Charles smirked. "She asked nicely. You have no choice."

With a dramatic sigh, Arthur stood up, stretching before diving in with an elegant splash. Yn shrieked with laughter, clapping her little hands. Lorenzo followed soon after, and soon, the three brothers and their little princess were playing in the water, laughing and splashing.

Eventually, though, exhaustion started to take over. Charles noticed it first—Yn’s movements became sluggish, her little hands rubbing at her eyes.

"Okay, ma chérie, c’est fini pour aujourd’hui," he murmured, gathering her into his arms. ("Okay, my love, we are done for today")

Yn let out a tiny protest but didn’t fight him too much. He swam them back to the yacht, where Charlotte was waiting with a fluffy white towel.

"Tu as fait un super travail aujourd’hui," she praised, wrapping Yn up and drying her off. ("You did an amazing work today")

Yn, still sleepy, rested her head against Charles’ shoulder, her tiny hand curling into his wet curls. "Papa…" she murmured.

"Oui, ma douce?" ("Yes, my darling?")

"J’aime nager," she mumbled, her voice drowsy. ("I love swimming")

Charles smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Et j’aime toi." ("And I love you")

Her only response was a soft, happy sigh as she drifted off to sleep in his arms. Charles held her close, his heart full.

Pascale reached out, stroking Yn’s damp curls gently. "You’re a wonderful father, mon chéri."

Charles looked down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, warmth flooding through him. "She is everythingfor me," he whispered.

And as the yacht rocked gently in the evening breeze, he knew there was no place in the world he’d rather be.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

Also, French isn't my first language, I'm still learning it, so please be patient with me.

-🩷🎀

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

wake up call - spencer reid fem!reader

a night partying turns the morning into one big whirlwind of figuring out how the hell you ended up in your coworker's bed

genre: fluff wc: 1.4k warnings: bau!reader, odd!reader, reader momentarily thinks she slept with spencer, reader walks in on spencer in a towel, embarrassment a/n: this is for my build a fic!!! thank you so much for 500 followers i can't believe it i feel famous💗 side note: this is dedicated to my baby @esote-rika i love you so much mwah mwah

see polls here

The funny—or rather, awful��thing about drinking is that it almost never leads you to good places. It leaves you floaty, giggly (more so than usual), and without any feel for what’s appropriate. Boundaries are tossed out of every window, crashing harshly onto the street below and ruining everything in its path. Shy demeanors flake away to reveal unfortunately weird girls.

Fun and games, they say. It starts with partying with your coworkers and ends with one big group of drunk idiots. Drooling on each other, placing far too much trust in each other’s unsturdy hands.

Far too wasted and stumbly for your own good, you couldn’t possibly drive yourself home.

You knew that.

Yet…

Your eyes flutter open as the flurry of memories from the night previous remain that—a flurry. Each snapshot of laughter and secret spilling lasts only a moment each. Looking down at your legs tangled within sheets that aren’t yours, you realize you don’t know how you got here. And, more importantly, you don’t know where you are. You scan the room with hazy eyes.

Navy blue walls, wooden old furniture, scientific posters on the walls, books.

Spencer?

Yes, it was his apartment that said partying took place but why are you still here at—you look to the small clock on his nightstand—6:47am?

It’s not like you could’ve possibly…

Could you? Surely not, right?

Of course you think he’s smart, awkward, totally your type, but that doesn’t mean anything.

You think he’s adorable because, well, you have eyes.

But at the current moment you’re not sure you can place your trust in them.

So, does that mean you’ve slept with your coworker?

Your eyes drop to your legs again, this time noticing that they’re still covered by sheer black tights. That’s a good sign. One you’ll take to heart happily.

When your feet hit the ground, you’re unsure where you should go.

The side of the bed you hadn’t slept on is slightly disturbed. The pillow has the imprint of a person in it. You wonder if he slept alongside you for the entire night. You wonder if he felt it every time you repositioned yourself.

It’s not something to put thought into, you conclude.

With not one teensy ounce of consideration or any form of forethought, you pad toward the door and slip through. The remnants of last night litter the floor. A trash bag sits by the leather couch, filled with bottles and wine corks and paper cups. A blanketed silhouette haunts the couch. She’s blonde, pink lipstick faded and smeared in a not-so-fashionable manner. Soft snores fall against the leather.

Penelope.

Your graceless feet stumble back toward the bedroom that’s not yours. Frantic eyes search the room like it’s the first time you’re seeing it (it’s the second). Your shaky hands push the door closed, letting it softly click.

On the (not so) off chance you really did sleep with Spencer, Garcia is not the first person you want to know. Although, who is?

Not relevant.

Finding a spot on the floor, you cover your face. A soft groan passes your lips—a groan filled with pure self hatred. Because how did you end up here? In a very abstract way, you suppose it’s beautiful how every tiny decision—spontaneous or planned—affects where you end up. In a very realistic way, it sucks.

You think your impulse control accounts for at least half of the places you end up. As if to prove that point, you stand and walk to what you know leads to the bathroom. Mindlessly, your hand finds the doorknob of the bathroom door.

When it swings open, you’re welcomed with the sight of Spencer. Half naked and afraid—mortified really. In only his boxers.

You squeal, eyes being covered by your hands as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—uh—!”

“It’s okay! Really—I should’ve…” his jaw goes slack when he realizes that you’re actually the one to blame. Not that he’d ever develop the capability to blame you for absolutely anything.

Spencer stares at you, standing there with your eyes covered and head low. His eyes trail over your crumpled clothes, your sweater, your shorts, your tights.

“I’m really sorry, I should’ve knocked or at least stepped really loud or—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” You can practically hear him shaking his head.

You nod and squeak, “I’ll leave.”

Your back is to him in an instant. Cheeks hot to the touch, you let out a long breath. You feel as though this whole morning has been plucked from your own personal nightmares. First, waking up with no memory as to what (or who) you spent the night doing. And then the horror you just caused.

You wipe smeared mascara from your under-eye, loathing yourself a little more every second that passes.

The door creaks open slowly before the silhouette of your coworker peeks out. Now, he’s in a hoodie and sweatpants—possibly the most casual you’ve seen him. Clearing your throat, you look down at your feet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble before going on a pure tangent, “I woke up and didn’t know where I was or how I got there or why I got there… and then I saw Garcia and then walked in on— well… you know.”

Spencer clears his throat in the same way you just did. “I know.”

You lift your head to find his eyes–wide and innocent.

“I’m really sorry!”

“It’s okay! I promise. I—I mean, you’ve seen other guys… like that.”

While he’s not lying a big lie, that’s not relevant information, is it? “Well, I— Yes… but I— That’s not—!”

“I just meant—!”

And then… silence.

Filled with awkwardness and tension, the room falls into utter quiet. You swallow to hopefully ease the queasy feeling settling in your gut. You’re unsure whether it’s caused by your liver trying to survive or by the man in front of you (and how you can now picture him naked). That is not a thing you’re trying to do, by the way.

“I know… what you meant,” you mutter softly, an awkward half-smirk finding your lips.

His eyes sweep over your face, taking his time to properly inspect each feature–eyes, nose, lips. This might be the first time you’ve been this close. In numerous ways.

You watch as his hand raises slowly to your face. Time is nothing but a unique concept understood only by the ones who crafted it. Slowly, gently, the pad of his thumb swipes away black product from your under-eye. It’s as if the slope of your cheek was sculpted for the purpose of slipping into place with the other half—him. Perhaps one lump of clay formed both of you. Those thoughts are redundant, anyway. Why not let them overtake you, even if only for a moment?

But the thought that still plagues you is if anything happened last night.

“What… uh… happened last night?” you ask shakily.

Spencer’s brows draw together. And his hand drops, cheeks pink. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, a frown haunting your lips.

His teeth dig into his lower lip so hard you think it could pierce the velvet skin.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, making you look like the closest thing to a fish out of water. But then you manage, in a high pitched mumble, “did we sleep together?”

Based solely on the comical widening of his eyes, you presume no. And you now want to curl up in a ball and roll under the nearest rock and set up camp for life.

His head profusely, insistently, shakes. “No, no, no! I would never– uh– you were intoxicated, I wouldn’t—”

“Okay!” you squeak, lips pressed into a thin line. That rock is starting to sound really homey.

He nods, his awkward smile mimicking yours. He clears his throat like he remembers something, and then walks to the side of his bed—the one you slept on. He leans down and picks up a pair of black Mary Jane flats. Yours.

He brings them to you and places them in your unsturdy hands. Your eyes meet and, frankly, you have to force yourself to look away. “Thank you,” you say to the floor.

You feel him nod.

With a lift of your head and the flats, you bid him farewell with a small smile.

And then you’re sneaking past Garcia, shoes dangling from your hand and eyeliner smudged.

A total cliché.

[777gojosgf]

thinking about dad!gojo and you enjoying a nice day at the pool to cool down from the summer heat.

with your thirteen-month-old baby sitting on your lap, protected from the sun by a parasol while you applied sunscreen to his face, satoru continued glancing at the two of you with a mischievous grin, and you knew exactly what he was up to.

because you enjoyed swimming so much and went to the pool on a daily basis, you made it necessary for your baby to begin swimming lessons when he was five months old. despite the fact that your husband's face was filled with dread, you realised it was better to be cautious than sorry.

funnily enough, he was a natural at it.

“he definitely has it from you,” satoru had murmured as he was perplexed at the baby quickly getting to know how to come back to the surface without freaking out and you only smirked confidently.

satoru kissed your forehead before lifting him up from your lap and carrying him on his shoulders. your eyes widened and you stood up from the bed, opening your lips to interject, but he pouted at you, making you groan in frustration.

"let me put sunscreen on you first, toru." you said it in a tone that permitted no dispute, and he mocked you before you applied the SPF 50 sunscreen on his face, shoulders, chest, and back before patting him to indicate that you were finished. the white cast of sunscreen made you laugh at him, and he merely rolled his eyes before stealing another kiss as he walked down the pool with the thirteen-month-old still on his shoulders.

let’s be real, with that white hair and sensitive crystal eyes he would be the first out of anyone to get heavily sunburnt.

the laughter of your infant drew your attention, and you couldn't help but follow them down into the pool, sitting on the edge with your legs in the water. satoru was tall enough to stroll into the pool's deepest portions, but for safety, he stayed at the shorter ends to play with you and his child.

he smiled, and you just sighed admiringly, unable to believe that you had finally found your own loving family, and you had no idea what you had done to earn any of this.

but that train of thought quickly ended by feeling a splash on your face, the culprit being none other than your devoted husband. but a tiny splash was added on by his mini version and you only laughed. “oh you little—“ you started but satoru jokingly defended him, putting himself in front of the baby.

“no. take me! he has so many years to come—“ he started to defend him with his annoying smirk that made you want to kiss off his face. “i’m not going to hurt him, idiot.” you pleaded your case while crossing your arms but your gaze never leaving him or your child.

you wish you could capture this moment forever.

“what about me?” he asked.

“not too sure, might just… you know?”

“oh, yeah?” he drawled before getting hold of your leg and swiftly dragging you into the pool. you hadn’t realized before the pressure of the water suddenly made you aware to come back up to the surface, and once you did you could only hear his laugh echoing.

followed by the giggles of your child, as well.

“can’t believe the two of you are ganging up on me,” you said dramatically while squeezing the cheeks of your baby who only stared up at you adoringly.

“nah, we’re not.” he shrugged nonchalantly and you narrowed your eyes at him.

he then placed the infant on the pool's edge, floaties around his waist and both arms, and a cap to keep him out of the sun. after he grabbed you around the waist with a gleam in his eyes that caused you to raise your brows.

“how about we play a little game?”

“a game?”

he nodded, “yeah. let’s see who can stay underwater the longest.”

your brows wrinkled in uncertainty, and you looked at the thirteen-month-old, who was staring at the two of you in wonder. probably attempting to make out any words.

"fine," you agreed reluctantly before he counted down to three, and the two of you immediately pushed yourselves into the water, opened your eyes and staring at him. you weren’t sure if the chlorine in your eyes influenced your perception, but you swear he was smirking at you underwater. however, you didn't have time to register before he pulled you in and kissed you.

he then quickly brought the two of you to the surface, allowing you to gasp for air before pulling you back in two moments later.

it felt fantastic.

however, the moment was cut short when your son blurted out a simple "blegh".

it was quiet for a time before you looked back at satoru, and the two of you burst out laughing, to which your child just giggled.

you wish this summer would never end.

©777gojosgf

[mixolya]

can i request a fluff with rin where reader wants to put makeup on rin 🥲 it'd be so adorable

ᓚᘏᗢ — rin itoshi: pretty boy !

synopsis: in which you convince your boyfriend to let you do his makeup.

rin itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / softie!rin (my fav) + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: AHHHH THANK YOUUU ANON i love this request omg

"stay still."

rin exhaled through his nose. "i am still."

"no, you're not. you're blinking like i'm threatening you with a knife."

"that's because you are," he muttered. "a very glittery knife."

you snorted, your free hand curling lightly around his shoulder for balance as you leaned in closer.

"you're such a baby," you whispered, tapping a dot of highlighter on the tip of his nose.

he sighed, long-suffering, dramatic but entirely fake. his hands stayed steady around your waist, fingers draped over your hips like they belonged there, which, to be fair, kind of did.

you were straddling his lap, knees tucked on either side of his thighs, your makeup bag beside you on the couch. rin sat still beneath you, back pressed against the cushions, while you carefully painted stars across his cheekbones with soft brushed and too much love.

you'd asked him as a joke, half a joke. okay, maybe not really a joke at all. just soft and teasing and full of affection. it was a lazy sunday afternoon. his head had been in your lap, your fingers in his hair and something about the way the light caught his face made your chest feel all floaty. so you blurted:

"can i do your makeup?"

you expected a no or a weird look. maybe a kiss on the cheek and a "sounds ridiculous, so no."

instead, rin blinked up at you, yawned once and said, "...okay."

which is how you ended up here, settled on his lap with a brush in one hand and his stupidly perfect face in the other.

"you have really nice eyes, you know," you said quietly, blending shimmer onto his eyelids.

he didn't respond, not out loud at least.

but one of his hands moved, slid up the small of your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades. just resting there.

you pretended not to notice. you definitely noticed.

"why are you even letting me do this?" you asked, laughing softly as you swept a warm blush across his cheeks. "i thought you'd say no and grumble about it for like an hour."

"i don't mind," he said.

"really?"

"you like it."

you froze for a second. just long enough for it to hit your heart directly.

"...you're such a sap," you mumbled.

"don't care." his voice was quieter now, more serious. "i like it when you touch me."

your breath caught. you paused halfway through reaching for lip gloss.

"oh, okay, wow. rude to just say that out loud."

he raised an eyebrow. "you asked."

you stared at him, flustered and probably getting warmer than he already was. he looked annoyingly calm about the whole thing, even with sparkles on his cheeks and the tiniest bit of mascara on his lashes.

"you're lucky you're pretty," you muttered.

"everyone keeps saying that," he deadpanned.

you laughed so hard you almost fell off his lap. your balance tipped, knees slipping and rin's hands flew to your waist, steadying you in that way he always did.

"careful, hm?" he muttered, but there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. like watching you be ridiculous warmed something in him he didn't know could be warm.

"thank you... okay, final touch," you whispered, lifting the dior lip gloss he gifted you on valentines day. "pucker up, itoshi."

he rolled his eyes. "never say that again."

"say please," you teased.

he just looked at you, eyes dark but impossibly soft. then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you. gentle and slow.

"are you done?" he murmured.

you smiled against his mouth.

"yeah," you breathed.

"okay."

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[mulloey]

like velvet

you love quiet, comfy days with your boyfriends. and if there’s a collar around your neck and they’re calling you ‘puppy’? even better.

part of my february festival

join my taglist

words: 2.4k

warnings: pet play, dom!yungi x sub!reader, puppy!reader, bdsm dynamics, collars, buttplugs, degradation/humiliation, face fucking, anal, mentioned punishment, dumbification etc

—

The first thing you notice is the velvet on your neck. Soft and delicate and wrapped tenderly around your throat, you know instantly what it is and what it means—at some point last night, or early this morning, someone has put your collar on.

So it’s one of those days.

You yawn softly, curling further into the cool, comfortable sheets. You’re in no rush, after all; you’re free to come down in your own time, whenever you’re ready—only then will your control be surrendered.

You hear them downstairs already; the hum of the TV, footsteps on hardwood floors, low voices still waking up. The sound of your boyfriends makes you smile and eventually you decide it’s time to get up. They—and you—have waited long enough.

Your legs wobble a little when you stand up but it doesn’t take you by surprise—after all this time together, just the feeling of the collar on your neck makes you fuzzy and malleable and needy for them them in an instant. In the floor-length mirror in front of the bed you see you’ve been stripped down from the hoodie and sweats you went to sleep in last night, to a tiny pair of white lace panties; you turn around to see the back and feel a twinge of disappointment when you realise you don’t have your tail. Maybe they’ll give it to you later, if you’re good.

The wooden floor is cold on your bare feet as you pad down the hall, heart racing. Having heard them just moments ago, you’re expecting to see them when you walk into the living room so you’re surprised to find it empty, the TV turned off and everything as you left it last night. You frown, confused. Did they leave, for some reason? Or are they toying with you? Perhaps they just want to let the anticipation build, so that you’ll be even easier to take apart later.

You’re not quite sure what to do now; you have your collar, so you know what they’re planning for you, but without them here to touch you or control you you feel a little unsure—caught in the middle, in the strange, floaty crevice between headspaces that you never like to linger in for too long.

You stand there for a few minutes, eyeing the room as if you’re expecting them to jump out of hiding at any moment and finally tell you what to do; and just as you’re about to give up and run back to your room, there’s the weight of a hand on your shoulder, pushing you down.

“Is there a reason you’re not on your knees?”

Yunho’s voice is low and firm and close and it sends a cluster of nerves through your body; but it also fills you with warmth and comfort and reassurance. They’re here, and you don’t need to know anything anymore. There’s nothing more to figure out.

Your body goes down automatically, compelled in the deepest levels of your subconscious to obey and you settle yourself on your knees, breath hitched. You hear his hum of satisfaction and the hand that was on your shoulder lands in your hair, clasping a fistful of it in his hold. The whine that leaves your throat is automatic and he tightens his grip. “Be good,” he mumbles.

The sound of sock-clad feet against the floor catches your attention and you warm at the sight of Mingi emerging from the kitchen, in the familiar slacks and sweater he likes to wear on cozy days like this. He takes a seat on the couch and bids Yunho good morning; his eyes rake over you as if you’re not even there, like you’re something insignificant. It makes your stomach twist in arousal.

Finally his gaze lands on you and his lips purse, a familiar glint flashing across his eyes. He tilts his head, leaning back into the cushions. “Hey, pretty puppy,” he drawls. “You bein’ good?”

“Yet to be determined,” Yunho says. He releases your hair and cups your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up to meet his gaze; it’s dark and scheming and all authority and it makes you shrink into yourself a little. His lip quirks. “Ah,” he smiles. He likes to know he’s affecting you.

He pats your hair a little, letting you melt further into his touch before he pulls away. His sharp command of “Stay.” roots you to the floor as he walks off; your eyes follow him with a sad pout but your body is still and rigid. Because he told you to stay, and good puppies follow orders. Bad puppies, on the other hand… no, no. You’re a good puppy. There’s no need to think about that.

Mingi’s voice grabs your attention again and you perk up. “Where are her ears?”

Good point, you want to say. And where’s my tail, too? But you don’t and you can’t because puppies don’t talk so you whine instead. Yunho cocks a brow, amused but warning. “Her ears are in her room,” he says. “As is her tail and her leash. Why don’t you fetch them, pup?”

With your brain so empty yet somehow also so overflowing, it takes a moment for the command to register. When it does, you turn back to the hallway; you feel their eyes fixed on your swaying butt as you crawl out.

It hurts your knees to crawl like this but you know they don’t care, and you care even less; you’re a puppy, and puppies crawl even if it’s uncomfortable, because there’s no other alternative. And it’s not like you can walk, is it?

You nudge your bedroom door open with your head, glad you forgot to close it properly earlier, and pad carefully into your room. You’re grateful for the plush carpets that soothe your raw, irritated knees while you fetch your things. You’re not sure how you missed them earlier; they’re right next to the door, sitting proudly on your little toy box. For a moment you ponder how to bring it back; you’d be in worlds of trouble if you tried to carry it like a human would, but it’s a lot to fit in your mouth. But there’s no other option, you suppose, so you pick them up with your teeth and hold them snugly in your jaw. It’s precarious at best but it will have to do; a few lashes of Yunho’s belt if you drop them is much more bearable than what would happen if they saw you trying to use your hands as if you were some sort of person.

Luckily you manage to make it back to the living room in one piece, the objects still in your mouth. Mingi stands up when you enter, staring down at you as you approach them. “Sit.”

Your movements stop instantly and you settle on your haunches, staring up expectantly. He crouches in front of you, holding his hand out. “Drop,” he commands.

You open your mouth and the items fall down into his hands, wet with saliva and hints of tiny bite marks. “Covered in slobber,” Mingi says. “Dirty puppy. C’mon.”

He walks back to the couch and you scramble to follow; your hands and legs move faster than your body can keep up with, desperate not to fall behind and you stumble a little on your way. He laughs as he sits back down. “Eager, are we?”

“Mmmf.”

“Good girl. Do you need your leash yet, or are you gonna stay still while we get you all pretty?”

You nod, making a show of staying still, eager to prove your obedience; you like your collar, but you don’t need it. You’re a good dog and you can stay still when you’re ordered to without being forced. Mingi nods. “Good.”

He makes quick work of your ears, clipping the drooping black fur into your hair while his other hand firmly grips your chin and you can’t help but stare at him; after all this time they still mesmerise you as much as they did when you first met. More, actually—their ability to dumb you down and break you into pieces and still make you feel so loved and warm and cared for makes them a million times hotter in your eyes.

In fact, you’re so mesmerised by him that you don’t notice that Yunho’s slipped off of the couch onto the floor or that your panties have been ripped off until you feel a familiar coolness prodding at your naked hole. It makes you jump a little, whining in shock but he stills you with a firm hand on your hip as he pulls you up onto all fours.

“Now, now, little mutt,” he soothes. “Nice and still for me, okay? M’ just putting your tail in, sweetheart.”

You try to obey; holding yourself still as he slides the plug into your asshole despite every inch of your body begging you to push back into it, to pull it deeper into you, to fuck yourself with it. But you don’t; Yunho decides what it does, where it goes and if you get fucked or not. They decide everything.

When it’s properly settled he stands up again, pushing you back down onto your knees and goes to sit back next to Mingi. “Aren’t you pretty?” He muses. “Isn’t she beautiful, Mingi?”

“The best.” Mingi’s practically purring now, completely enamoured with his little pup and you straighten up proudly at the praise.

Yunho chuckles. “Show Mingi your tail, pretty girl.”

You obey quickly, turning to let him see the fluffy black tail peeking out from between your plush cheeks. You wriggle your butt a little, feeling the softness of your tail tickling your thighs and Mingi groans deeply. “Fuck,” he grunts. “I have to fuck her.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Yunho laughs. You unconsciously push your ass up higher at the sound of Mingi’s affected moans and Yunho notices with a chuckle. “Oh, look, she’s begging for it. Aren’t you, puppy?”

His voice is light; teasing and patronising and you whine in response. Your entire body is taut and rigid with arousal, completely immobilised until you suddenly find yourself falling forwards, colliding with a loud yelp against the floor. Only when you hear the sharp intake of Yunho’s breath do you realise what you’ve done; you’ve arched yourself, face down ass up like a bitch in heat.

“Shit, you’re fucking horny, aren’t you?” Mingi groans. “Presenting for us just like we taught you.”

“Don’t think she even knows what she’s doing,” Yunho says. “Look at her, Min. Not a single thought in that little head.”

If you weren’t so sickeningly deep in subspace you’d be crying and begging them to just fuck me already but you can’t; all you can do is whine, pushing your ass towards them.

Hands on your hips calm you slightly and you feel yourself being pulled backwards until your ass collides with Yunho’s hips. At the same time Mingi kneels down in front of you, grabbing your hair; the expression on his face is pure need and burning desire and it’s dangerous. He shoves his cock down your throat without warning or consideration; you gag on it, more in surprise than anything else and he growls. “Don’t fucking choke on me, whore,” he snaps. “I know you can take it.”

You’re half expecting to feel Yunho sliding into your pussy and you brace yourself for the still borderline unbearable stretch, but it doesn’t come. He’s holding you close against him, rubbing his crotch against your bare ass but he leaves your pussy painfully untouched and empty.

Your eyes are brimming with tears and you’re barely breathing but you don’t ever want it to stop; you feel dizzy and delirious in the best way, completely at their mercy, completely under their control. You’re beyond a puppy now—you’re practically a doll, a puppet to be used and played with without resistance. You know you’ve gone limp, held up only by Yunho’s hold on your hips and Mingi’s crushing grip on your jaw and you’re hardly registering anything that’s going on. You hear a loud, desperate sound and it takes a moment to realise that it’s you, howling around Mingi’s dick.

It makes them laugh and Yunho thrusts his crotch against your ass just to toy with you as Mingi yanks your hair back to push himself deeper down your throat. “Yeah,” he grunts. “Bark, bitch.”

You don’t know if it’s the pressure in your throat or the unbearable feeling of an empty, gaping pussy, but the emotions come quickly, overwhelming you as you desperately rub against Yunho. He watches with narrowed eyes as you grind pathetically against him and you feel his dick hardening and twitching against you but he does nothing. It’s driving you fucking crazy.

“Jesus. I’m gonna fucking cum.” Mingi’s voice is distant and blurred like you’re underwater but you feel him approaching the edge; the quickening thrusts, his tightening grip until he finally releases, letting his seed pour down your throat.

As soon as he pulls out you collapse pathetically to the floor, your upper half lying in a crumpled heap while your ass is still held firmly against Yunho. There’s a soft hand on your face and you recognise the rings as Mingi’s; you manage to open your eyes enough to see him leaning over you, stroking your cheek tenderly.

“Don’t pass out on us yet, pup. Yuyu needs to get off too, doesn’t he?”

You whine pathetically in response; half from exhaustion and half from the desperation that still suffocates you as you clench around nothing. You feel yourself dripping; gushing, really, and Yunho laughs.

“Need your hole stuffed that bad, huh?”

“Course��� she does, Yu. Puppy needs a litter of her own, doesn’t she?”

Yunho’s hands are like fire on your skin, so painfully close to where you want them and every nerve in your body is fired up and on edge. “You need to be bitched, do you?” He asks you. “Want me in that fat cunt, you little mutt?”

You manage to make a sound that vaguely sounds like ‘yes’ and he laughs, squeezing the soft flesh on your thigh until tears are pricking at your eyes again. His finger drags across your pussy, making you gasp and your entire body tenses as you wait for him to finally enter you.

But Yunho was always the more sadistic of the two.

You’d honestly forgotten about the plug sitting snugly in your ass until you feel him pulling it out; your walls cling fruitlessly to it and you’re sobbing into Mingi’s lap as you feel something else press against your hole.

“Sorry, baby,” Yunho purrs as he pushes himself inside. “I just don’t think you’re ready for a pup of your own, little thing.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! this was slightly softer than i originally intended but i just need to be owned by them so fucking bad like jesus….. anyway love🖤🖤🖤

tags: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito @hohongsan @nopension

[bjlipss]

— bug, part vii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. yes they kiss and they do that a lot

part vi <- part vii -> part viii

it’s not like it’s a date date.

not really.

except—you know. sukuna asked. and you said yes. and then you smiled at him like it was the best thing anyone’s ever said to you, and now he’s standing outside your dorm room with clammy hands, trying not to sweat through his black hoodie.

he’s been standing there for like… a minute. maybe longer. just staring at your door.

which is stupid. he’s not nervous. not really. he’s been in fights that raised his blood pressure less than this.

but then the door creaks open—

and he just about forgets how to breathe.

you’re wearing a dress.

not a fancy one, nothing dramatic, but… it’s soft and floaty and falls around your knees just right. the sleeves are a little sheer. there’s a frilly bow at the collar, tied slightly crooked. your lips are glossy, your glasses are smudge-free, and your hair looks brushed and styled and like you tried.

and sukuna—who’s normally very good at not losing his cool—just stands there, totally silent, like a man who’s just seen god.

“hi,” you say, shy and small, tugging at your sleeve. “do i… do i look okay, suku?”

his mouth opens. nothing comes out. suku? he is weak.

you fidget. “is it too much? i wasn’t sure—”

“no,” he blurts. “you look…”

you look dangerous, he thinks. you look like you could ruin him.

“…really fucking good,” he finishes, voice a little hoarse.

your eyes go wide. your whole face pinkens.

he clears his throat, ears going red. “i mean. yeah. you always do. but. yeah.”

you beam.

he is, absolutely, one hundred percent, going to die.

—

you end up at a ramen shop just off campus.

it’s a tiny place tucked between a laundromat and a secondhand bookstore. warm and clattery inside, with handwritten signs on the walls and the scent of broth and garlic in the air. you picked it, of course. sukuna’s not picky, but you’re weirdly passionate about hole-in-the-wall food joints, and you’ve been talking about “this one place with the good gyoza” all week.

so now you’re here. across from him in a booth by the window, animated and glowing and talking a mile a minute while your legs bounce under the table.

he doesn’t say much at first. he just watches.

he’s not sure he’s ever seen someone talk so much and say so little and somehow still hold his entire attention. you tell him all about the jellyfish exhibit at the aquarium (again), about the fruit you found that looks like a brain, about the ghost you swear lives in the dorm laundry room.

you call him rude things affectionately. you slurp your noodles loud enough to draw stares. you drop your chopsticks three times and make him retrieve them from the floor while mumbling an apology through a mouthful of bean sprouts.

and he… can’t stop smiling.

which is horrifying. he’s not a smiler.

you glance up mid-bite and pause, frowning. “what?”

he blinks. “huh?”

“you’re staring.”

he shrugs. “you’re pretty.”

you choke. “what?”

“you heard me.”

you look down fast, suddenly all shy, and that’s when you say it:

“you have very kissable lips, you know.”

he almost knocks over his water.

you say it so casually. like you’re commenting on the weather. like his entire existence doesn’t just about short-circuit at those words.

“what?” he rasps.

you blink at him, all innocent. “what?”

he can’t speak. can’t breathe.

you go back to your noodles like nothing happened.

he grips the edge of the table so hard it creaks.

—

dessert is a shared bowl of matcha mochi with red bean. you feed him a bite with your spoon. he nearly forgets his own name.

and then you’re walking again, side by side, quiet now. the city’s quieter too—softer, somehow. streetlights blur into gold halos. the air smells like early spring and fried food and something sweet he can’t name.

your hand brushes his. he twitches. glances at you.

you glance back, shy smile curling your lips.

then you slide your fingers into his—light and gentle like you’re not sure he’ll let you. like you expect him to pull away.

he doesn’t.

he stops walking instead.

you stop too, blinking up at him. the streetlight above flickers.

his voice is low when he speaks. not rough, not sharp. just quiet.

“i want to kiss you.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“i’ve been thinking about it all night,” he says, like a confession. “and before that. and every time you look at me like I’m worth something.”

your breath catches.

“but i won’t,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

“…why not?” you whisper.

he shifts closer. lifts your hand to his chest, lets you feel how fast his heart’s beating.

“because,” he says, voice hoarse, “once i start, i won’t wanna stop.”

and you—blushing, dazed, glowing like the inside of a star—you just nod.

“okay,” you whisper. “maybe next time.”

he smiles, soft and a little broken.

he walks you to your door. you thank him for the night, call it fun, and hug him so tight he sways a little under the weight of it. he doesn’t kiss you.

but he thinks about it the whole walk home.

and then again. and again. and again.

—

it happens when he walks you home again.

third time this week. not that he minds.

you talk the whole way—about birds that mate for life and which bread is best (he says rye, you say the fluffy supermarket kind with no nutritional value, the kind that tastes like air and nostalgia), and he listens. nods along, snorts when you tell him penguins gift each other pebbles.

you don’t even notice that you’re swinging your arms in sync. he does.

when you reach your building, you pause like always, standing in the glow of the yellow streetlamp. there’s a moth circling the light, and you track it lazily with your eyes, blinking up at it, then up at him.

you smile. soft. sleepy. the corners of your lips quirking without effort. like you don’t even know what you do to him.

and something in him just clicks.

like, yeah. now. i need this.

he takes one step closer. close enough that you go still, blinking in surprise, shoulders hunching slightly like you’re not sure what to expect. your breath catches. he’s looking at you like he’s deciding something. like he already has.

“wanna kiss you,” he mutters, voice gravel-low, like it’s being pulled out of him.

you freeze for half a second. blink once. twice. then breathe, “oh.”

he raises a brow, amused, just barely. “that okay?”

you nod, quickly, heart hammering. “okay.”

and then he does.

slow, at first—like he’s giving you time to pull back, to change your mind, to breathe.

you don’t.

your lips meet his too fast, a little too hard. you bump his nose and clutch his hoodie like it’s an anchor and tilt your head the wrong way, and it’s clumsy, breathless, adorable.

he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise against your mouth.

“what was that, loser,” he murmurs, chuckling, as you pull back half a centimeter, embarrassed.

“sorry,” you mumble. “i don’t—I’ve never really—i mean—”

“hey.” his hand comes up, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. “shut up. just…” his voice lowers, lips brushing yours, “slow down.”

you nod again. “okay.”

this time, he kisses you with intent.

his hand slides into your hair, thumb stroking just behind your ear. his mouth is warm, sure, soft but confident—he presses in slowly, lets it build. your lips part on instinct, a tiny gasp escaping you, and he immediately groans into your mouth like he can’t help it.

you taste like your favorite lip balm, and whatever candy you snuck from your pocket earlier, and something soft and sweet that makes him feel dizzy.

your hands fist his hoodie, and you rise slightly on your toes like you want more.

so he gives it to you.

a longer kiss—deeper this time. his tongue flicks against yours, gentle, teasing, and you shiver. he kisses you like it’s a language only he knows, like he wants to teach you. and you follow every cue he gives, slow and careful and completely, stupidly sincere.

your glasses are askew. your heart is pounding. you whimper softly when he pulls away for air.

he swears under his breath. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“was that bad?” you ask, breathless, lips kiss-swollen.

he just stares at you. like you’ve reached into his chest and taken hold of something vital.

“no,” he says. “it’s just—fuck, you’re—”

he doesn’t finish the thought, kisses you again instead.

your hands slide up into his hair and he practically melts. his arm curls around your waist, tugging you flush against him like he doesn’t want to let go, ever. your body fits against his so perfectly it’s almost unfair.

he groans again when you sigh into his mouth.

“still okay, baby?” he murmurs, between kisses, mouth brushing yours, breath warm.

you nod again, a little dazed. “mhm. yeah.”

so he keeps going. quick kisses—little nips and stolen gasps, peppered along your lips, your jaw, your cheek.

you giggle, breath hitching. “sukuna—”

“hmm?” another kiss, this one lazy and drawn out.

“we’re—outside,” you mumble. “people could see.”

“don’t care,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “let ‘em.”

you’re breathless. glowing. everything about you feels real and close and perfect.

you blink up at him when he finally stops, lips flushed, eyes wide. you look like you’re trying to process the universe.

“…so,” you murmur, “that was really nice.”

he huffs a laugh. “yeah?”

you nod slowly. “can we do it again?”

his grin is feral and fond all at once.

“you’re gonna destroy me,” he says, shaking his head.

then he leans in again.

and kisses you until you forget your own name.