#Working Line Doberman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

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s-milesart · 4 months

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a doberman woman working for Diamond Securities. A top-of-the-line bodyguard service ready to save your ass when the chips are down.

"A Hand, for Every Suit. A Fist, for Every Fold."

"Hey, be glad you didn't hire the Joker. They're... A wildcard. Ha."

#my art #oc #sketch #furry #anthro art #character design #doberman #bodyguard

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live-love-be-unique · 16 days

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A little Gaz x reader blurb I thought of based on this pic

Rocky, Ro-Ro, Peanut, Sweet Boy, Baby.

You called that bloody dog every single name except for it’s actual name.

Gaz had brought Roscoe home for you as a gift. A beautiful Doberman puppy that he could train to watch over you while he was on missions. That hadn’t worked out though, the only commands that dog ended up learning were “walkies” and “treat” and the only thing that Roscoe was protecting was his food bowl.

But, you loved him. The way your eyes had lit up when he had brought home the small puppy and instantly bounding across the room to coo at the puppy and place kisses over Gaz’s face almost made up for the way Gaz swore you loved that dog more than him. Almost.

Gaz’s phone rang out during a briefing. Quickly silencing it, he glanced sheepishly over at Price. The ding of a message sounded soon after and Gaz’s heart dropped.

“There’s someone in the house”

He raced home, vaguely remembering offering Price and the team a hasty explanation for his departure as his car skidded along your street.

The door had been kicked off the hinges and the place had been ransacked. Gaz drew his gun, years of military training activated instantly, this was a mission. The most important of his life.

He found you, huddled in the small ensuite, Roscoe standing guard, hackles raised, teeth bared and snarling at the door. Your sweet baby Rocky was ready to lunge at the intruder, to tear them apart.

Rosco recognised Gaz and happily trotted over to him, his way of saying “I protected my mama” that dog definitely deserved a bloody steak for his dinner tonight. But Gaz still drew the line at calling him any of the baby names you called him.

#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 9 months

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Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part one)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone.

Taglist: @marshmallowinamess

A/n: Hi lovelies! Lia here, I'm back after a nerve-wracking week of school. This is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it otherwise. God I fucking hate school. I wrote all of this in a cold room, a heat pad on me (because period cramps) and at 3am so any mistakes will be edited out as soon as I'm aware of it.

This is divided into a multiple part thing (I think 2-3?) because God knows I can't fit them all in one post because of the limited amount of gifs and photos. I'll add more to these in the future, some are longer than others because I can't think. Also because I can't write them all at once, that's a lot to write okay 😭

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

John Price

ꕥ (OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS SMILEEE) (He's such a quokka)

ꕥ Price who literally is such a father figure, doesn't matter whether the relationship between you two is romantic or platonic. He often takes the dominant caring role.

ꕥ Doesn't smoke around you, doesn't matter if you insist he doesn't. He still won't and definitely will criticize you if you try or do smoke because he doesn't want you do end up like him.

ꕥ If there's a bit of an age gap between you, I'd say he's hesitant. Definitely afraid of what the rest of the task force thinks (He can't help it, they're basically his boys)

ꕥ John Price who wants to settle down with you, maybe have kids if you want but just a white picket fence life with you without the chaos that is war and his job.

ꕥ He only ever let's you have his hat, only when he gives it to you though. Most of the time it would be while you're out, he'd put it on your head from his. (Cowboy hat rule? I heard that in more respectful terms rather than sexual, it respectfully means that you are theirs)

ꕥ John Price who rests his chin at the top of your head no matter how much he needs to crouch down whenever hugging you from behind. Love doing it whenever you're busy doing something too. (Props for the effort because you cannot tell me he doesn't have back, neck and knee pains)

ꕥ Is constantly worried if you share the same line of work, like at first it was nothing but a tiny crush and slowly he finds himself caring about your well-being more and more over time.

ꕥ Can't help but think he's an acts of service type of guy, reaching up for things you need or better yet lifting you up so you can reach them and loves opening things for you like bottles or anything canned. (Girlies who get their nails done or wear press ons know this struggle ( I'm a press on girly)

ꕥ The kind of man who would turn on some oldies music and slow dance with you in the living room, your footsteps and breathing being the only other sounds as you smile at each other, foreheads against the other's.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

ꕥ Ghost who is such Doberman/Black cat boyfriend. Like have you seen this man? He's so tall and intimidating, one distasteful look from him and if it was physically possible that person would drop dead.

ꕥ Ghost whose a chubby chaser through and through, he just looks for something different from what he's used to.

ꕥ Is definitely a tits kinda guy, doesn't matter how big or how small they are. He'll definitely play with them in some way during doing the you know what.

ꕥ Feels like you can take him and his size better because of your plush body. Has a size kink and likes seeing it bulge a bit when he's inside you.

ꕥ You're just so soft and warm, he wants something away from what he usually feels doing his job. Not really that touchy but he gets quite clingy within closed doors.

ꕥ Likes to squeeze your thighs, his grip on them would not falter. Doesn't matter whether it's in a sexual or domestic way.

ꕥ Thinks you deserve better than what he can offer and needs constant reassurance, never says it out loud but you pick up on what he feels. (please be patient with him)

ꕥ More often than not, he thinks you're quite fragile. Even if you can protect yourself, one of his ways of showing you he loves you is through protecting you. Hence the Doberman boyfriend scenario.

ꕥ Doesn't like PDA but knows when it's necessary, him placing his arm around your shoulder is enough to keep perverts in their places. If that rando is really that bold then they'll most likely end up with a few broken bones depending on how pissed Simon is.

ꕥ If you work alongside him, he'd constantly worry about your well-being but at the same time is conflicted because he's confident that he can protect you.

ꕥ Only you and the TF141 can call him Simon, he still feels uneasy when he gets called that but when it's you saying it, it doesn't sound as daunting to him. Still dislikes in in certain tones of voice because his name reminds him of his past.

ꕥ You've seen his face, it took a long time but after that he trusted you enough to show him. The fact that you didn't find his face revolting and even kissed his scars while cupping his face was enough for him to want to marry you.

ꕥ Isn't fully insecure about his face but has his moments. (You know like the voice line where soap asks him to take off his mask and asked him if he was ugly and Ghost said "Negative")

ꕥ Takes a little while to get him to open up and little things like letting you hold him takes him a bit of time to get used to because it makes him feel vulnerable.

ꕥ God forbid something were to happen to you and he couldn't do anything to stop it, Simon would lose his fucking mind.

John "Soap" MacTavish

ꕥ Soap is a Golden Retriever boyfriend through and through. He's energetic, loyal and really affectionate.

ꕥ He's a lighthearted flirt at first because he doesn't wanna scare you off but damn does he gradually get bolder over time.

ꕥ Very hands on, touchy, and could be clingy at times unless you don't consent him, secretly always finding new ways to touch you.

ꕥ A sucker for cheek kisses, lips are his favorite but he can't help but break out a wide grin whenever you kiss his cheek. Can't help but feel kinda manly whenever you do.

ꕥ Adores making you laugh, no matter how stupid your sense of humor is he will absolutely say that joke if it gets a laugh out of you. Would be concerned if you had a dark sense of humor but will eventually get used to it. To describe it, hearing you laugh makes his heart feel full like in a content domestic way.

ꕥ Also, see the gif? You cannot tell me that he doesn't look at you that way because he absolutely would.

ꕥ Loves your weight against his body to the pint he's begging you to lay on him. You, him in the bed while he's shirtless with grey sweatpants on and you in your night clothes sharing each other's warmth with your head on his broad chest.

ꕥ Shows you silly and cute pet videos, especially the cat ones:

"[Name], look at this one!"

"Soap, we're not adopting a pet. Not right now at least"

ꕥ He was upset and gave you puppy eyes the whole time because the only time he had pet was when he was child, it was a hamster which was killed because it got sucked into the vacuum by his older sister.

ꕥ You're the only one allowed to tough his hair, he's very proud of his mohawk and will let you style it. Won't wear it out if you did something silly to it though.

ꕥ Soap who loves showing you off to everyone, loves light PDA but doesn't wanna potential put a target on your back.

ꕥ He definitely is the guy you want to take home to your family and friends (or found family <3), he's funny and easy to get along with. Very flirty with you but he'll straighten out because he's terrified on making a bad impression.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

ꕥ (HE'S SO FREAKING UNDERRATED WITHIN THIS FANDOM)

ꕥ He gives Labrador boyfriend vibes, you can't help but want to take care of him.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to do a double take when he first saw you, he turned to Soap with that "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" look in a good way.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to ask you out multiple times before you said yes thinking he's only doing it for a bet or a cruel joke.

ꕥ Constant reassurance from him because he doesn't want you to feel insecure about your looks because to him you are literally an angel.

ꕥ Loves to chill with you, cuddling and just relaxing. Maybe scrolling on TikTok occasionally and show you the funny ones he chuckled at.

ꕥ He has a sixth sense whenever you crave something, say you want chocolate or drink of some sort then he'd definitely being home whatever it is you we're craving without having to ask you.

ꕥ Kyle who has your Starbucks order memorized because he likes being the one to order things for you. Will playfully argue with you on who'll pay this time. (Don't even try anymore, he always wins anyway)

ꕥ Puts his hat on your head mostly when you're out, has done it the first time because it was hot out and the sun was in your eyes. He's picked it up from Price and once you smiled at him through the shade of his cap, he has not stopped doing it.

ꕥ Definitely a words of affirmation and acts of service kind of guy when it comes to love languages. Sometimes whenever he'd give you two thumbs up and a cheeky smile, you can't help but laugh a little.

ꕥ He's very thoughtful, so much so that he prides himself in knowing you better than anyone. Everytime you two go out to eat, when he gets something and know that you'll want to taste it (he knows damn well whether you'll like it or not when he tastes it) he'll bring it upon himself to order you one before you even say you want some.

ꕥ Soft snores when he sleeps, it's cute but you know damn well he's tired. Also I think he's very cuddly, like he just likes reminding himself that he's not alone and that his bed is warm because you're in it. Therefore at minimum always has an arm around you in bed.

ꕥ Dances in the rain with you and loves it when you pull him gently on his arm while your hands are intertwined. Takes note of how the the raindrops sometimes fall on your lashes while you look up at him smiling.

ꕥ Kyle Garrick who wants nothing more in the world to see you happy and smiling. His "this is the woman I'm going to marry" moment was when you baked his favorite cake for his birthday despite it being so hard, you nailed it perfectly. (Whether it's out of luck or skill is up to you)

Alejandro Vargas

ꕥ (idk how to write for this angry Mexican man but I'll try my best, love him and his megamind hairline though <3)

ꕥ Alejandro is definitely a flirt, a very bold on at that. He's quite forward when it comes to liking someone so yeah.

ꕥ He lives for it when you boss him around. That being said, he isn't picky about body type or any of the sort.

ꕥ Will teach you Spanish if you don't know any, definitely prioritizes the curse words and laughs whenever you jokingly call him pendejo.

ꕥ Wouldn't mind you teaching him your own culture and mother tongue. Bonus points if it's similar to his.

ꕥ Has Spanish nicknames for you because I imagine his own culture is important to him.

ꕥ Would hate it if you had the same line of work but will never take it out on you, it's just that it's so dangerous given the people he's involved with. (It's definitely Valeria)

ꕥ Speaking of El Sinombre, I don't think they had anything romantic going on. It's mainly platonic and the "betrayal" sucked on Alejandro's side. They definitely had some rivalry and the tension was through the roof. (Mainly because I headcanon Valeria as Lesbian)

ꕥ Can be so romantic when he tries, you can't tell me this mf ain't a smooth talker because he definitely is. Can be very blunt like in a forward way with his affection too.

ꕥ Likes kissing your wrist and feeling your pulse against his lips because it reminds him you're alive. (The amount of angst this scenario carries would be something I'm up for to write)

ꕥ Is sent on a fit of rage when something happens to you, say you got kidnapped then this man would tears off the walls of every building if he had to.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

ꕥ (ANOTHER UNDERATED CHARACTER)

ꕥ Another Golden Retriever boyfriend. This man is just loving and dotting, very husband material.

ꕥ Loves chubby women, has a soft spot for them and just likes holding them.

ꕥ He's definitely used to the insecurity that comes with the body, also doesn't get why such beauty standards are even in place. Has and would fuck the insecure out of you again if he had to. (It's in a very gentle and loving manner)

ꕥ If you hold him in your arms, he'd be absolutely living for it. He already has had a long day and being honest he hasn't had many lovers that went far so having you care in this way about him would have him wrapped around your finger.

ꕥ Worships the ground you walk on. That's it.

ꕥ Would take everything to heart whenever you teach him or mention something within your culture if you aren't of Spanish origins like he is. He just loves you so much that it makes him happy knowing more about you.

ꕥ Would adore slow dancing with you, brings him back to reality where he realizes that he has you and that you're there.

ꕥ Terrified that one day you'll end up leaving him so reassurance would be much appreciated by him.

ꕥ Definitely a sucker for receiving forehead kisses, as for giving he likes to kiss the back of your hand.

ꕥ If ever danger presents itself to you too closely, he would have a heart attack like full on crying but not in public though.

#cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #los vaqueros x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rudy parra x reader #cod headcanons #cod x female reader #Aethelwyne Lia writes

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moongreenlight · 7 months

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I will never stop comparing all the 141 boys to dogs in my fics. Unfortunately I am unable. Thanks but no thanks. Wdym they’re not a pack of strays? Wydm ‘pack’ mentality doesn’t directly translate? Literally what are you not understanding?

Wdym Price isn’t an Anatolian shepherd? Bred specifically to be a guardian of livestock? His life’s purpose is to defend? He instinctually knows how to keep the structure of the pack intact? Pointed corrections made by a bite to the throat or baring his teeth that may seem drastic to some, but his herd understands that it’s a necessary evil? Gentile giant to those who he’s serving for and with but an apex predator to anyone else?

Wdym Gaz isn’t a border collie who learned how to herd from Price? Follows in his footsteps by quickly learning to nip at the heels of stragglers to keep them in line? Loves learning new tricks because he’s agile and always needing stimulation? Insatiable need to work and see tasks through not only well but to be the best that’s ever been?

Wdym Soap isn’t a Belgian malinois? Snapping his jaws and vibrating with kinetic energy that’s just begging to be harnessed and used to his handler’s aid? Wicked smart and playful until he’s instructed to work? Needs constant attention and supervision and structure in order to reach his full potential? Quite literally sniffs out trouble and offers his full dedication to stomping out the problem? Competitive and destructive until his efforts are focused on something more productive? Needs a firm hand to be his motivating force?

Wdym Ghost isn’t a Doberman? Forced into a dogfighting ring and set loose to the streets by a group of well-meaning protesters like that was any better? Cropped ears and docked tail and freckled with scars where fur won’t grow? Conditioned by years of trauma to immediately bare his teeth and snarl to project a vicious front if made uncomfortable? Who’s rehabilitated into something much more palatable by the structure of a pack?

What do you mean dude?

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #captain john price #john price #price cod

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pervcoded · 14 days

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DOG-EARED AND DOUBTFUL starring yuuji itadori. part iii.

──☆*:・ﾟcontent warning: amab!reader (referred to as a boy), canon divergent, college au (18+ characters) inside of the hybridverse. artist!reader, sukuna is related to yuuji. awkward meet-cute, but yuuji is implied to be (and is) slightly unhinged. reader is human and yuuji is a doberman hybrid. fluffy, safe for work-ish. nude modelling. bashful , sorta pushover reader. reader has a stutter. invasion of privacy (yuuji goes through your sketchpad and gets comfortable fast). british use of trousers (pants) and pants (underwear). scent stuff going on, yuuji has a good nose. yuuji is sorta feral and reader's not in a position to (nor does he quite want to) argue. mdni! reblogs and comments appreciated!

wc: 4.2 words.

It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment. One more page wouldn’t hurt.

You’re just like any other boy in class, really. Maybe the round ears and lack of fur are a bit of a weird look, but Yuuji wasn’t popular when he first transferred to the university either - and some change is always good, he thinks.

“And your tongue—is it really that small?” Someone had asked on your first day in, your classmates ogling your skin, analyzing its novel texture. You’re good at acting nonchalant when you’re placed on the spot. Tone even, eyes level, posture loose and relaxed as you fold your arm over the back of your chair. You’re smarter than they’d ever give you credit for—laughed along with their jibes so they wouldn’t see how gently you swayed. Trembled. The claws of some touchy Wolverine mutt glancing at your collarbones, and you laughed it off, never once minding the sweat cascading down the apex of your temple.

But your scent is disloyal to you. He never thought to mention it. The sour notes of tangerine, key lime, crescendo in the spot where you stand, a heady cocktail of anxiety and embarrassment and horror.

You’re quite popular for a human, however. Maybe that was your conventional appeal. Or rather stood next to them you stick out like a sore thumb, and that makes you far more interesting—purely by virtue of your association. But Yuuji likes to think you have your own redeeming qualities too. You’re an artsy type. Try and spend a lot of time by yourself if you can manage, but your peers seem intent on laywaying your silence; coveting your time like shiny trinkets in a magpie’s nest.

Still, you’re nice to him.

You remember his name. Say “Itadori, hi,” and give him a solemn nod before going on your way. You give him your leftovers you don’t want if your class schedules happen to line up that day. You share your notes from Anthropology, and sketch him in the margins of your notebook on the days you can’t focus.

The patience of hybrids doesn’t often extend to their own kind, and Yuuji’s felt terribly lonely since his grandfather passed - what with his uncle not being much in the way of making conversation. But you’re easy to talk to.

“Ah, Itadori, can you come here?” His tail wags a little at the acknowledgement, but if you notice you failed to comment. “Uh, yeah? What’d you want? I’m a little busy right now, so,” He smiles half-heartedly, suddenly a little uncomfortable to be seen with you like this. You move your stuff away from where you want him to sit at the table, and his eyes are acutely drawn to each movement of your hands. Gathering up runaway pencils, stacking textbooks. “You can call me Yuuji, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Your face lights up at that, and you tell him your name in kind. He tries it. Once for his pleasure. Again to make sure he got it right. He looks back down at the now emptied table, though he doesn’t go to take a seat.

Your lunch is sparse. Two pieces of bread with peanut butter and something else sandwiched in the middle. A browning apple eaten to the core. He thinks about mimicking the impressions of your teeth.

“Ah, well, I know we don’t talk and um - I’m still kinda new here and - please, you can sit,” Your hand fans out to gesture at the chair in front of you, and Yuuji settles into it uneasily. He can smell you’re afraid of something.

“Yuuji…” You tap your pencil on something he can’t see, draped over your thigh. “I.. wanted to draw you.” Yuuji tilts his head, finger absently reaching towards his chin. “Me?” “Yeah. It’s for an art assignment. We’re practicing portraits.” Your smile is disarmingly charming. “If it was okay with you, I wanted to see if… we could find some time to—y’know. Have you model for me.” Yuuji doesn’t let himself get excited so quickly, the hair on his forearm bristling a bit as he digs his nails into his thigh. Keep it from bouncing. “Okay. Yeah. Sure - that’s fine. I’d love to.” Yuuji sounds like he’s speaking through grit teeth, but his expression doesn’t expose anything other than slight apprehension. You sigh, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Okay!” You try not to sound too happy about it, but a smile keeps weaseling onto your face. “Okay so, we’d have to book one of the art rooms, but that shouldn’t be too hard—nobody really lingers around after class. Lucky us, right?” You’re fishing your phone out of your pocket, and Yuuji nearly forgets to grab it with his unbloodied hand.

“Here. Add your number, take a photo if you’d like.” You’re teasing, but Yuuji never was good with sarcasm. He smiles big and wide for it, pointed teeth all in the front row.

He saves his name as ‘Yuuji 😎’, and hands your tech back to you. You send a quick ‘hey’ to make sure you got the right number. When his pocket rumbles he’s off no later, barely waving goodbye as he leaves you to your own devices.

You text out the details later. Tomorrow, at 7:00.

He gets there at 6:56 on the dot. Campus has been largely deserted this time of day, and the few stragglers left, student and faculty, each flock to their club space or the odd, afterhour meeting. You’re all set up by the time he’s there. You’re well-prepared, graphites and eraser shavings finding a home on the floor around you. Sticks of pastels lie short and chipped on the easels mantle, your fingertips already blackened by charcoal. This wing is new to him, but the hallways look just like this rooms walls. Student made murals scaling taller than him, ferals unfurling across the unorthodox canvas; a magnificent sky. Ceramic busts settle atop storage cabinets; baked and glazed vases filled with paper flowers, tucked into empty corners. Paintings hung to dry. Thick ink stains as he sidesteps a rolling chalkboard, gently pushing it to the side.

You glanced up when the door opened, but it was more reflexive than comprehending. You saw him, then looked back at the canvas, focused. Only when he nearly stumbles do you look back up again, and you’re smiling really wide. You wave excitedly. “Hey Yuuji!” His ear twitches near imperceptably, tail high and wagging. “Hey.” He’s decent at acting, if you think he’s faking casual you don’t mention it, just gesture to the seat beside you. The chair you saved for him has tall legs and a strong, straight back; perfect for a model.

“Well, you can take this chair when you’re ready,” he’s taking a peak at the easel sat in front of you, identical setups matching yours haphazardly set up around a squat stage in the center of the room.

Your sketchpage: marked with vague gestures and dancing, people-like shapes. You’ve been practicing. You absently tug at your collar at the lack of distance between you two (forgot you were using charcoal, so you quickly stop) and a strange aura radiates from you, the smell of frayed nerves stinging his nose. His tail lulls in its movement, a tad disappointed you weren’t as comfortable with him as he thought you were.

“For a portrait, you being closer is ideal, so we don’t h..have to use the stage. I’ll just do my thing over here and… Oh! I brought some water and um, snacks.” You tilt your head in a familiar, curious motion, ”You like shrimp chips?”

He shrugs at you and smiles. “They’re okay.” He’s flattered you considered him, mostly. He really did like that about you humans, such soft and compassionate creatures; moreso than any of the hybrids he knew. Where they-mournfully, himself included-took a unique pleasure in watching another squirm, your kind wasn’t like that at all, were they? Perhaps an underdeveloped survival mechanism. A tail to tuck in the presence of a predator’s bared fangs. Regardless, your grin crinkles the corners of your eyes and makes his heart soar, your anxiety easing out as you stand from your seat, revealing your true smell. Heat and sweet and pastry-light; a creme bruele after the top has been carefully cracked open. Tickles his cheeks pink.

“So, how long you been doing this art stuff for anyway?” You seem startled by the ask and pause before you answer, probably not used to being asked about your interests by the other hybrids. “Years now. E..ever since I was a kid I always liked art, drawing-” You curse as something rolls out of your bag and say sorry to nothing and no one. “Drawing, traditional, digitally. I was thinking about going into graphic design! - I’m still technically undecided, but I love art… It just calls to me, you know?” Oh, he has no fucking clue what you’re talking about. But he hums in the affirmative and reckons now’s a good a time as any to check. Take a peek through your lens and see the shape of your artisan mind. An artist’s sketchpad to him seemed the appropriate equivalent to their soul; so he takes the opportunity to flip through the pages on your drawing pad.

He’s admittedly expecting something grander. Maybe the inside of an old world colosseum or perhaps something abstract and profound, the kind of things disheartened schoolchildren write essays about; A Great Wave or Thinking Man, befitting of the brand of mystery he’d superimposed on you. Nothing suitably miraculous happens. The task merely becomes more intimate by virtue of your artistic repertoire. Surely, not the fault of his plain nosiness.

All flesh upon the paper is laid entirely bare. Inscriptions of bodies wrap around the canvas from the top to the very bottom like the prayers in a holy book. Any free tarp is not spared, a bared torso and breast here, the sole of a foot en point over there. Largely unfinished yet tangible, beginnings and inbetweens and many more ends; scores of tails, teeth, tongue and claws. “Oh, wow.” You’re still digging through your bag so you don’t mind him, preoccupied second guessing kneaded erasers and rags to wipe your creativity off on.

To describe your work as a product of mere fascination would be a woefully inaccurate assessment. Not a proper acknowledgement of your time, effort, sweat, (more than a few smudges in the graphite, a whiff of salt that sticks out above the rest) and conviction.

There’s quick notes scribbled between poses and observations, some names - none of which he immediately recognizes, but makes his head fog with some vague posessiveness regardless. Jealousy maybe. He doesn’t linger on it, instead flipping to the next page. Bodies more and more bodies, some without heads; long torsos; hips; thighs and legs and asses,

Lips, mouth wide open, teeth and tongue presenting. There’s a notable lack of vulgarity to the images. A seemingly clinical observation of how the parts move, some independent of the others; but when it all comes together…

One more page wouldn’t hurt. (It’s just admiration he’d say, when the real reason he’s so riled up is because he’d been hoping for this moment; all his anxieties of pursuing you assuaged by your apparent obsession for him- er- hybrids like him—can’t get ahead of himself just yet—) His fingers move with deft purpose.

You come back with a whole bag of stuff; chips, ramune, what smells like pocky, but he’s not looking towards you as you return. Surely, you think, a blank page can’t be that interesting, and you’re right; that’s not what he’s staring at.

He’s found your page.

Your life drawing class encourages you to practice still lifes in your free time. There aren’t many hybrids tripping over themselves to be ogled by a human - some models even abject to posing in the room while you’re there - so when the opportunity presented itself to observe something more than a picture, someone else, removed from your wheedling peers, obviously you lept for it.

You’d grown tired of drawing yourself.

“Ah, Yuuji-” Your inhale quick and sudden, the sharp clatter of a glass bottle twitching him out of his stupor. You stiffen up when he looks back at you despite his brevity (because he is just fascinated with your canvas all the sudden), your hands flapping anxiously as you step close, you’d collapse in on yourself if you had the option. “Um wait, please! That’s private!”

You are deeply gifted. He doesn’t have to stare it like he did the other ones cause he recognizes it as you so immediately. (Letting his eyes wander all those times seems to have payed off). Recognizes the arch and swell of your muscles, the slope of your back and the softness of the dimples in your hips, the gentle curve of your -

A hand darts over the artistic nudity before he can fully commit it to memory, and you shout: “Yuuji! I got the snacks, okay? Just- we can get started now,” He can’t read the expression on your face as you reset your canvas and flip to a blank page. He desperately tries to meet your eye; but your gaze is leagues away. An inkling of some base, carnal attraction blooms in his chest; your unwitting submission appealing to some feral hindbrain before he recalls your humanity, disappointingly gentle emotions and sensibilities.

He feels sad for you after though it only lasts a moment, his tail drooping pathetically and eyes sagging similarly as the compunction grapples him; and in a frenzied moment of attempting to sooth your shame (smells dull and salty like wood grain) he gets a good idea. According to his standard, anyway. He smiles at you and pants a little. His finger is digging into his collar at an angle, tugging up; in demonstration.

“If you want me to get naked, I really wouldn’t mind!” His whip tail thud-thuds into your easel. “Excuse me?” You initially abject, dumbfounded. Your face feels warm and your skin tingles, the blood in your cheeks stinging it darker, body tensing up. “W-why would you..? I..I wouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. I-it’s a, well - Portraits are mostly sup..supposed to be your face, so, getting naked? Really not necessary,”

He’s already taking his sweater off. “Yuuji, please.” His tail wags a little when you whimper and he has a mind to admonish himself for taking pleasure in such a thing.

“It’s fine, really!” Sounds so easy for him to say, when you’re on the verge of an aneurysm. “I was reading a little about it-” (and hardly did he ever read), “-and apparently, portraits can be half, or full bodies. Well, you’d probably know that better than me anyway.” His voice is dampened by the fabric, but you’re too dazed to notice he said anything. Everything is happening too fast.

He kicks off his shoes and drops trou in your choked silence, your hands tremble as dread wars in your mind and you remain uncertain of where to put them. Nevermind your eyes. The thought of trying to stop him warrs with the concept that having to touch him, see him, will surely kill you. “You seem to draw a lot of hybrids- so I assume you’re already used to seeing us naked? Though I didn’t see a lot of dogs in there…”

The room kicks up a few degrees and your blood simmers beneath your skin, your boundaries bent and bowed as you struggle to figure what happens next. Your shirt feels too, too tight. His is starting to come off. The slow drag of cotton across his body is amplified by the emptiness of the space, at a pace entirely too casual for an impromptu strip tease. “But there’s nothing wrong with trying something new every once in a while, y’know?” He stumbles a little when it’s past his shoulders, self consciously fixing his hair after he’s gotten it slung over his arm.

As if he has anything to be nervous about. He looks at you triumphantly when he’s finished (pants regretfully still on), and he wishes you couldn’t meet his eyes this time; get a good eyeful of how excited he is for you. In what must be respectful to you, you catch his gaze this time, with these big round prey eyes that makes the fur on the back of his arms bristle in the studio’s cool air. A vein in his throat jumps and his pupils dilate, but (too) soon you turn away.

You’ve seated yourself back on your chair and fixed up the workspace, though he has a hard time gauging this new expression on your face. Maybe apprehensive, again? Bashful? You chew your lip with this insistence, bruising the delicate skin there. Your hands move with opposed intention; flattening out the canvas and arming yourself with graphite. “O-kay. Y..you can.. Make yourself comfortable I guess..” He can still smell you, too.

This scent is new. Near cloying and knitting to the inside of his nose as it pours off of you, slight, topping off that twinge of orange peel and grapefruit.

“Okay!” He brusquely shoves past your apprehensions; looking mighty pleased with himself-the dog-the muse’s chair dragging agonizingly against the floor as he goes to set it in place. You do nothing at first. He is seated within seconds and after your hand suddenly is no longer your own, flexed potential in every muscle put to pause in the air, your brows furrowing in newfound frustration.

You don’t look at him, still. Yuuji’s triumph of domination having past, he finds the selfish desire to be observed and admired comes gnawing back to him. He doesn’t want to push you (so he says while shoving you) but he really is going all out. He’d like some of that signature human hospitality back, pretty please? He leans closer.

You get infinitely stiffer and he whimpers. An honest to god beaten doggy whine, and your shock is what finally gets you to look up. He’s far more relaxed than you at present, pouting expression at odds with his slouched posture and occasional pant. His floppy ears tilt open and he momentarily mirrors your wide-eyed wonder. “Finally,” he chirps. ”I was starting to think we weren’t actually friends!” You scoff, still staring saucer-eyed. Your eyebrows go up and down and up, your forehead wrinkles. “You ge-get naked for all your f..friends?” The incredulous twang to your voice wants to read to him like jealousy, but projection is a fickle thing.

Yuuji genuinely thinks about your question, further astounding you. “Well. I guess only for the ones I really like.” The statement is made sincerely, the smile accompanying it darling, and could have perhaps romanticized the situation had you not been a sane-minded human man. The warmth in your face has turned to fire hot heat and you sputter on your words. “I’m fl..flattered. But humans? Don’t do t..this,” you attempt to gesture to the entire situation, “With their friends! This is, frankly, too, too-” You stutter into nothing, the thought dying on your tongue. “Too what? I mean, you don’t smell like you hate it,” he sniffs. “My nose is pretty good! If you-” you dislike the way he stresses the syllable, like you’re special some how, “-were scared, I’d smell that miles away. You have a very strong scent you know? It’s not a bad thing though, don’t worry! At least, it isn’t for me anyway. It makes you feel more.. Genuine.” He hums matter-of-factly, your pencil beginning to tremble above the page. “But aren..aren’t you cold? Or-or something? It’s always freezing-freezing in here!” Yuuji shrugs, ”Aw, it’s no worries really. I sorta run hot, so,”

You knew a lot of things about hybrids. About their keen noses, most gifted with perceptive capabilities beyond that of your kind. Still it feels no better to hear that for despite your subtlety, you never had a chance to evade their prying eyes. You sigh with a shake of your shoulders, and Yuuji takes your silence as an excuse to move closer. “Hey, don’t worry. What’d I say about new things?” You don’t feel terribly reassured, but you nod along for your own sake. “You got an assignment due, don’t you? Just focus on that. Forget Yuuji, focus on capturing..” “The form.” You finish. Yuuji would have said ‘these guns’, but shrugs. “Yeah, that.”

You look at him again, but only now do you truly perceive him, resigned yourself to capturing his image and replacing the blankness on your canvas. Your gaze is sharp and surgical, your pencil connecting with the paper as you change focus between him and it. Him, his infuriatingly cheeky grin and easy-going eyes and loose limbs. This body worthy of envy. Laid bare for you to wrangle and tame, reduce to your second dimension.

You begin to draw.

Yuuji sits in a silence punctuated by the sounds of your scribbles. Upwards stroke, down again; quick curving motions. Stare right at him, into the depths of his soul. Turn away, and sketch some more.

It’s a lot more boring than he’d imagined it. He is very excited you have your eyes on him; don’t get him wrong, but your stare doesn’t possess any of the fullbodied fascination, like he has for you. He almost wished he could give you his nose just so you could smell his pheremones, or his eyes, so you could catch every little jump of his muscles or twitch of the tail. He’d refrain for a few selfish reasons; Your changes in mood. The straightening of your spine and the twitching of your eye after you got a rhythm going. You ditch the graphite, go for the charcoal, and make some bigger shapes, Strikes some fine lines. Stillness comes simply to him, studying you as intently as you are him.

Your movements slow to an inevitable stop after a time, “Okay…” You stare stonily at your canvas. Briefly compare in silence. “I… think I’m finished.” You don’t move away, seemingly taken by your own creation.

He shoots up from his seat and moves close. “You’re no..not gonna put your c..clothes back on?” He looks down at you with his head at an angle, suddenly peered over your shoulder. “You want me to?” Your silence is loud. “Okay then.” He smiles, finally taking a look at your drawing.

The expression you gave him is burrowing and severe. An intense glower that catches even him off guard. An unbidden hunger beneath his eyes accentuated by whisps of charcoal, a pinprick of yellow nestled into his irises. He is in both awe of it and horrified that is how you saw him. How he truly was. You define the slant of his collarbones after the fact, rounding out the muscle of his pecs. You sketch and erase, sketch and erase under his curious eye, sketch. Your palette grows. Swirled into colorless grey by your finger, pencil replaced by your finger. You draw without a model, so he no longer sees the point in teasing you with his nudity. Forgive him for expecting something more dramatic- he’s been reading too much manga, surely…

He gets dressed slow and gets as close as possible to your face whenever he has a question.

“Is art always this boring?” He whispers close to your ear and you shiver. “M..maybe if you’re not the one…the one drawing. This.. I-I’m having fun, actually.” He tuts at you, “You need to teach me how to draw then. Next time when we do this, I can take a crack at drawing you!” His clawed finger crawls down your shoulder, you sweat a little under his attentions.

“Y..yeah,” you swallow. “Maybe..” He smiles cooly as he eases back into the seat opposite you. “I just don’t think it’s fair you get to have the fun all to yourself, y’know?” You shoot him a look, lip pursed. “A-a lot more people would be more … excited about getting a free portrait.”

“Well, a lot more people would be more excited about getting to see me half naked.” Practically naked, to be a precise as possible. Your exasperation beats out your nervousness and you’re no longer afraid to set your brows with attitude, scoffing in irritation. Like he knows how you feel. The sheer restraint you’re exercising. How adamantly you will not allow this to get out of hand; you will not allow yourself to do something you'll regret- “G..get them to draw you, then!”

“Nah.” He drags his chair closer, but it’s not casual like before. Now the oxygen feels stuffier. Hotness that makes the air thicken and drag you down, a heat that blazes too close to your ears and seemingly makes the air tremble before you. You look toward him, not knowing what to expect (but twitching, aching for it).

His tongue runs over his canines in a raw, animalistic fashion, the deep pools of his amber eyes threatening to drown you beneath their surface. “I don’t like them nearly as much.”

all content written by me @pervcoded is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

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luvhughes43 · 2 months

Text

baby loves | blake hughes au

[blake hughes au]

summary: blake and nico find out they're expecting their first baby + the announcement.

word count: 1.2k

the bitter wind nips at blakes neck and hands as she trudges back home from the corner store a few blocks away. walking it seems - is the only she was going to be getting her workouts in as she was too tired to do anything after work. she could feel that familiar fatigue now, the droop of her eyes as strangers whip past her in their cars. she had thought that she was just bored and the business of her schedule had been exhausting her, but naps became more frequent and the excuses less plausible.

when she opens the door to hers and nico’s new place her animals quickly find her - another recent development. charlie, her doberman dog of the past 6 years, was anxious when it came to leaving blake unattended. goldie, the black cat, seemed to pick up on charlies traits and also loved to follow blake around the house.

blakes phone rings and she answers easily, “yes i’m home now. completely safe,”

“you shouldn't be out walking so late... it makes me nervous,” her husband replied in a thick swiss accident. she texted him where she was going out of habit, loving to narrate her day to him through brief texts. it made her feel like she was less alone when he was gone.

“i’ll take the car next time. i was just hungry,” she supplies, setting her two heavy grocery bags onto the counter. “how was the game? i meant to watch but i fell asleep,”

nico sighs, “you didn’t miss much”

blake pauses from unloading her food, “i’m sorry. you guys will find your groove soon,”

there was a brief silence on nico’s end and she could imagine the hurt and upset etched across his face from the teams losing streak.

“yeah… uh, …” nico stumbles on his words.

“i love you” blake speaks softly.

nico sighs, “i love you. I’m sorry for being quiet tonight. i’m just tired of this…” the this in question being losing.

before blake could manage a reply, the phone was snatched from nico’s hand and a surprisingly energetic jack spoke loudly into the speaker.

“hey blakey, nico said you weren’t feeling well this week?”

“i’ve just been tired. nothing serious,” blake remarks, continuing her effort in putting her groceries away. she went a little too crazy in the small store and now she had three different salsas and a variety of chips all calling her name…

“tired… i’m kind of tired too,” jack announces before entering his own conversation with his seatmate.

the line went quiet again and for a second blake thought jack had hung up on her before nico’s voice sounded through her speaker. “alright well, i’ll let you eat. we’re just driving back to the hotel now so i’ll call before bed,”

blake hums as she cracks open a jar of salsa labelled scorching, “alright love you, bye”. nico echoes her sentiments before hanging up the call.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

three boxes of pregnancy tests sit stacked under the cabinet in the master bedroom. since the teams baby shower last week, blake has had this overwhelming feeling that she was pregnant. it would explain the fatigue, the sickness, all the food, and the animals being so protective over her… she just had to wait for nico to come back home from a roadie so that she could test.

she was anxiously sitting on the couch with charlie resting across her lap when the front door opens loudly. “blake?” nico calls out, setting his suitcase in the entryway before walking into the living room.

“hi,” blake breathes out nervously as she wrings her hands in her lap.

“whats going on? are you okay?” nico’s eyes melt as he tries to study blakes face.

“i think i’m pregnant,” blake gets off the couch slowly, and nicos eyes follow her every movement. “i just have this feeling and i-”

“have you taken a test?” he asks and the corners of his mouth twitch as his excitement grows. they had been talking about starting to try for a baby a lot recently and nico couldn't wait for them to have a family of their own.

“no but i have some upstairs,” blake explains as nico grabs a hold of her hand. “i wanted to wait for you before taking any”

five minutes later, nico and blake sit on the edge of their tub as the timer on nico’s phone counted down from 3 minutes. the newlyweds hold onto each other tightly as they eagerly await their results.

soon enough nico’s timer echoes throughout the bathroom and the two are enveloped in nervous tension as they each grab hold of two tests. with shaky hands they flip over all of the tests.

pregnant

| |

pregnant 3+

“oh my gosh,” blake gasps as she turns to face nico with tears in her eyes. “we’re having a baby!”

nico’s slow to look away from all the positive tests but when he finally catches blake’s eye he starts softly crying. “we’re having a baby,” he echoes, pulling blake into a comforting hug.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blake.hischier posted 4 months ago

liked by nicohischier, jackhughes, madisonbeer, and 37 919 others

blake.hischier late summer post🫂

tagged: nicohischier

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nicohischier Love you❤️

trevorzegras i miss the cat

user08 anyone notice how she hasn’t posted any full body / ootd pics recently? i miss them so much ive got no style inso now

user12 there’s a thread going around on twitter right now speculating that she’s pregnant and tbh i think she is!

user57 pretty girl!!💘

user94 baby hischier soon?👀

user36 i’m missing the podcast but i’m so happy that you’re moving onto new things! love you so much <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a few months later...

blake.hischier

liked by nicohischier, jackhughes, _quinnhughes, and 57 129 others

blake.hischier surprise !! rudi hischier was born in november 🧸🤍

tagged: nicohischier

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nicohischier Our boy🧸❤️

blake.hischier im crying again 🥹🤍

jackhughes 😭😭😭😭😭

jackhughes Now tell everyone that im his fav uncle

blake.hischier well….

trevorzegras middle name: trevor ✅

blake.hischier ?

_quinnhughes You guys are already the best parents. Rudi is so lucky that you’re his mom, i’m so proud of you blakey!

blake.hischier thank you so much quinny😭

lhughes_06 whens he getting in skates ?

user01 OH MY GOD?????

user24 i remember becoming a fan of yours when u were skating and now youre a mom… im crying

user16 they had a baby😭😭🫶

user87 your “N” necklace🫠 congrats u guys!!

nicohischier

liked by blake.hischier, curtislazar95, jesperbratt, and 43 012 others

nicohischier Rudi Hischier ❤️

tagged: blake.hischier

comments on this post are limited

blake.hischier my boys🥹🤍

tmeier96 congratulations to you two!

holtz_10 baby hisch in the house⚡️

lhughes_06 Cutest kid

dawson1417 Congrats guys!❤️

trevorzegras about the kids middle name ..

_quinnhughes Love you guys, congrats!❤️

jackhughes nephew looking fresh💯

#blake hughes au #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fic

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devilstruly · 1 month

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DETANGLED

pairing - sakusa kiyoomi x fem. reader (with any hair type that isn't pin straight)

summarization - you are frustrated when you meet with your best friend and he's tired of you speaking badly about yourself

includes - mutual pining, dogs shipping their owners, rich boy kiyoomi, sexual tension (+ anything i might've missed)

a/n - please accept my sincerest apologies bc this is incredibly self indulgent 😭😭. i wrote this on a bad hair day and i just kept thinking about kiyoomi and his pretty hair. also both he and reader have dogs. kinda short, not my best work. again apologies

A cold wind blows through the streets, sending a part of Sakusa's coat flying behind him. The man inevitably shivers as he buries his nose deeper into the knitted scarf and balls his gloved hands into fists.

Above his head, the sky is a very soft shade of gray, with the clouds so thickly condensed into a barrier for the sunlight. Across the dog playground a loud bark can be heard, the sound feeling all too familiar to the man.

He smiles softly beneath his mask when he sees the energetic doberman, happily approaching his friend. And soon enough, the owner joins Sakusa's side as well.

'Hi!' You greet him with a smile when you take your place on the man's right, with your back leaning against the metal fence.

'About time.' Sakusa's remark earns him an eye roll and he can't help gloating a little on the inside.

'Listen I almost had a mental breakdown over my hair you should be lucky I even got here.'

With a huff you cross your arms over your chest, blowing away a stray hair that disrupted your view. To your surprise however, Sakusa turns to face you, eyes roaming over the strands formed into a very messy updo.

'I told you before, your hair looks fine. You're stressing over nothing. Again.'

'It's not nothing!' You protested. 'I just wish I could make it look prettier. Like get the curls to be defined or something so it's not just a blob.' Your reasoning was followed by another eyeroll, this time accompanied by a small pout.

Sakusa looked in the direction of the two black dogs again and stood quiet for a couple of seconds before he called his pet over. The black shepard rushed over happily, with your doberman trailing behind him.

Once they were seated before the two of you, the man crouched down and secured the leash before turning towards you.

'Let's go.'

'Where?' You questioned while mirroring Sakusa's previous actions and following him through the gate of the playground.

'Just follow me.’ Was the only thing he let be revealed before switching the topic of the conversation. 'How was your day?'

Sakusa navigates the busy streets expertly while he keeps up the conversation with you, before his steps come to a halt in front of a store. It's a pet friendly one, of course it is, because even though you're not aware of it, he plans on spending at least forty-five minutes inside.

Brows slightly raised in curiosity, you trail behind him, only to nearly head face first into his broad back when he stops.

'Gah! Warn a woman next time?'

He promptly ignores you and instead reaches out to touch the front strands that fell out of your bun.

'Hm.'

Feeling slightly exposed by his soft touch and the proximity, you do your best at avoiding direct eye contact, which he fortunately doesn't seem notice.

'I think these would work best for your hair type.'

His arm stretches out and places two bottles in the basket he picked up on the way in, before continuing.

'You use the shampoo twice, only on the roots, and the conditioner once, just the ends.'

You can only manage a small nod, feeling kind of clueless with him leading you through the store like this.

'I should've made a list...oh well...these will do.'

He shoves another load of products in the basket and at this point you've given up on trying to be of use, giving him free reign instead.

Once the two of you are in line, you instinctively reach for your wallet, assesing the items in the man's hands.

'What do you think you're doing?'

His voice is as smooth and gentle as ever, and his dark eyes fix on yours so intensely that you want to slap yourself for all the inappropriate thoughts that run through your mind.

'You're not seriously thinking of paying for all of this!'

'I brought you here, it's only fair.'

'Kiyo-'

'End of discussion.'

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n

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themiscyradobermans · 1 year

Photo

5 week old portraits! Puppies are growing like weeds and they are everything I was hoping for and more so far! We currently have 1 male available for a working co-own home in Ontario/Quebec/NY or New England states. If you’re interested please fill out the contact form here.

#working dobermann #working dobermans #working line #AC: Valhalla litter

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lani-heart · 3 months

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> kang yeosang x reader warning(s) -> mentions of prostitution, mentions of sex toys, mentions of non-conscensual sex, spiked drinks, abuse/neglect, etc. words -> 3.8K

abstract -> The famous doberman hybrid... something is happening behind closed doors and not just fruits and chocolate.

y/n perspective

“You are somehow worse now that you have hybrids” Wonyoung scolded me as she looked through my closet forcing me to go out with her. She said that I hadn't hung out with her and the girls for three months now.

Which honestly was true… Now with Wooyoung and San, I don’t really leave. And I was busy with my new book that I've started writing.

“There, you're ready! And the driver will be here in five minutes so let's start going down” she said as she dragged me out and I saw Wooyoung and San fighting over the remote.

“Stop hogging the TV!” San scolded and I laughed at the two which must've caught their attention. “She’s leaving so be on your best behavior with you both! I’ll return her soon~” Wonyoung said as we were now in the elevator I waved at the two hybrids who seemed displeased.

“Where are we even going?” I asked and she smiled. “There's this new restaurant that just opened. Apparently, Winter got us reservations for tonight” she said and I sighed.

No wonder she dressed me up this way.

The drive was a bit long as we arrived at this restaurant which had quite a big line. “Woah,” I said and she giggled. “Told ya!” she said and we cut the line as the hostess let us in and took us to our table. It was a really pretty place.

“y/n!!” I heard as I saw Winter, NingNing, Liz, and Eunchae. “Hi! It's really been a while” I said and they smiled. “Yeah cause you're busy with your hybrids. You’re welcome by the way!” Eunchae said and I smiled. “I owe you one” I said and she smiled.

“Even though one of them attacked you?” Liz asked worried and I sighed. “We don’t mention that," I said, forgetting what happened.

“How is the traumatized one?” Wonyoung asked while looking at the menu. “San is doing better. Working through some things but he’s a lot better now” I said and they nodded.

“I heard this place is actually the best at their dessert!” Eunchae sad Winter, NingNing, and Wonyoung whined. “Diet?” Liz asked and they nodded. “It's a special night! Cheat it!” I said and they chuckled. The waiter came to take our order and we talked when…

“Hello, girls!!” I heard as I saw someone I didn’t recognize. Suddenly Wonyoung’s mood seemed to drastically change.

“Oh? I don’t recognize you three?” she said pointing to me, Liz, and Eunchae. I also noticed the hybrid beside her… he looked thin.

“Introduce me!” She said annoyingly and the three looked annoyed and unamused. “Eunchae, Liz, y/n. Meet e/n '' Wonyoung said and she smiled sweetly. e/n… I heard her through Wonyoung stating how rude and conniving she was. Two-faced snake as she would say...

She was apparently famous because of her hybrid Yeosang who was a model, and online influencer.

“I didn’t know you guys were friends with people outside of the beauty industry. That's a bit risky” she said and the three scoffed. “I have a reservation with others, but honestly they’re quite annoying. You guys don’t mind me joining right?” she said as she laughed it off and sat down.

I already hated her.

“So what do you girls have planned?” she said, ignoring us. I looked at Liz and Eunchae who looked quite annoyed. Eunchae pointed at her phone…

I opened mine to see a new group chat…

Beauty Influcers + “Common folk” Eunchae – so are we gonna just take this slander? Liz – suddenly I wanna go to the restroom 🧍 y/n – why’d she come in that way though? Just barged in our girl's night 😢

We were complaining through the group chat when: “You know it's rude to be on your phone when you're in a restaurant” she said and we looked at each other.

“Well, when you ignore them and tell us it's risky that they are our friends I don’t blame them? What are they supposed to do, sit there and get ignored?” Wonyoung said and she scoffed.

“It's not my fault you're friends with people like them? They’ll destroy your reputation” she said and I scoffed. “The daughter of a rich CEO, an actress, and a model will destroy our reputation, girls,” NingNing said sarcastically. “Oh? Upcoming model and actress? Who’s the daughter of a CEO?” she asked and the girls looked at me.

“So what do you do? Or are you even planning on working?” she asked me and I scoffed. “I’m actually a writer," I explained and she laughed.

“A writer? Are you any good at it?” she asked with a clear judging tone to her attitude. “She’s done lots of things, but she writes novels now,” Winter said in my defense and she hummed.

“You know… I need a script to write for videos I do with Yeosang here. He’s a popular hybrid. I'm sure you’ve seen his videos~” she bragged and I rolled my eyes.

“No thanks. I’m currently writing a book” I muttered and she hummed. “I hate to break your passion, sweetie. But believe me, I can pay you more than you’ll ever make on those silly little stories" she said and I couldn't defend myself as the waiter finally came and took our order.

She made the conversation about herself… I half expected her to leave for her so-called reservation. Instead she stayed until dessert.

That's when I decided to pay attention to the hybrid next to her. She’d order him very small plates of food. He’d also barely touch his food while she ate much more than him.

He wouldn’t look up at us and he sat up properly.

“He’s pretty right?” She said while looking at me. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff I have to do just to manage him. He’s just so pretty that everyone wants a piece of him” she said with a clear smirk on her face.

“She already has hybrids,” Eunchae said and she looked surprised. “I bet not as pretty as my Yeosangie~,” she said and I scoffed.

“Honestly… If San wasn’t bad with people, he could’ve been a really good hybrid model” Liz said and I smiled. “San is really pretty. It's always exotic hybrids who also are sought after '' Winter said and I think they were doing it on purpose. Now taking her attention of.

“I bet Yeosang is better behaved. He can do anything and everything right!” she said and I wondered what she meant by that.

“You look confused? Wanna find out?” she asked and I was confused as to what she was implying. “Maybe it’ll convince you to work for me?” she asked and I scoffed.

“Please… we told her time and time again that panther was nothing but trouble but she always gives him the most attention along with that fox of hers," Wonyoung said as she fixed her lip gloss in front of our unwanted guest.

“Oh, but he's so sweet! And he’s the best cook I've ever seen!” Liz complimented Wooyoung. “You have a fox and a panther? What a weird duo” she said and I shrugged.

“Here,” she said, now handing me a card. It was a QR code with a location on it. “Trust me. Go and you’ll understand what I’m talking about” she said with a smug face.

Yeosang beside her looked… sad? His ears twitched downwards and he had a tired frown on his face as he looked at his full plate, not even enough for a toddler.

“It’ll be fun~”

“y/nnie!!” I heard as I walked inside and kicked off my heels. I hugged Wooyoung who was right in front of me. “Are you okay?” he asked and I sighed.

“I hate people” I muttered and I heard two chuckles. “What happened, kitty?” I heard San say as his face got closer to mine and smiled.

“I’m never leaving this place again,” I said he now looked concerned. Wooyoung lifted me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. “You must've had a really bad day,” Wooyoung asked and I hummed… “But you got all dressed up… how could you look so pretty and be sad” San teased and I sighed.

“Can I ask you two something?” I asked and I could only see San nod clearly confused. “Can a hybrid really be happy with an owner who can buy everything but be used and overworked?” I asked and they sighed.

“I don’t know… All I wanted was to belong somewhere, I wasn’t given everything I wanted materialistically but I just wanted attention and love” Wooyoung said as he put me down to my bed. “I wouldn't be. You offered me the world but I was sure you’d abuse me… even with everything you gave me, that thought made me angry. I would’ve resented you '' San confessed and I thought back to Yeosang.

He had to have been lying right?

“Why do you guys keep your collars on without taking them off?” I asked and they shrugged. “I like it. It's a sense of security, '' Wooyoung said happily. “It's a pretty comfortable collar… I haven't had it bother me. It's almost like when you wear those tight-fitted necklaces' ' San explained.

“If it did hurt though I wouldn’t wear it for long periods of time” Wooyoung explained. “Why do you ask?” San asked and I shook my head.

“There was this hybrid I saw with this woman. She… was cocky, rude, and insensitive, and yet the way he acts around her reminded me of a trained hybrid. One who was abused and taught to be submissive” I explained and they looked at each other.

“Well… that's common. It's why hybrids pity those in the upper class. They get abused more than a common household would. Even then the percentage is still high” Wooyoung explained and I felt my heart ache.

“Which is why we’re thankful for you. You actually care about us ” San said as he now jumped onto my bed next to me. Wooyoung also joined.

I only ever felt loved by them… and I loved them back.

yeosang's perspective

“How many times have I told you?! You’re just constantly humiliating me!” she yelled while throwing a wine bottle.

“It's fine… you’ll make it up to me right?” she asked with a soft smile and ‘innocent’ eyes. Why did I always fall for it? Why couldn’t I make her proud…

“That girl. The writer, she’s well connected not to mention the daughter of rich parents” she said and I felt dirty as I knew what she wanted.

“You know what to do right, yeosang-ie!” she said with a big smile. I nodded and she left me alone in my room.

All the luxury in the world wasn’t worth it.

Her stupid penthouse apartment just made me feel unloved, neglected, and like a slave.

The beautiful clothing made me feel disgusting… and this stupid sparkly collar with this lock only gave me pain. A constant reminder of how I was just a pet.

That girl… she had two hybrids. I pity any hybrid who had a rich owner.

But at least they weren't alone.

I sat on the couch waiting for the door to open. I was dressed in simple black clothing… There were a lot of erotic items in the bedroom and even the kitchen.

What fantasy would I have to portray this time?

I heard the door click and I stood up with my head down to show her respect… even if she didn't deserve it. “Have fun~” I heard my owner’s voice. I saw the same girl from the other night look at my owner as she closed the door. She is pretty… I'd at least admit that.

She turned to me and her face was flushed. Was she drunk? Most of the people who come here are… I hate this apartment.

“Hello, how may I serve–” “Is there any food?”

She cut me off and I sighed… I couldn’t have guessed she was into that. Then again it's always a surprise. She opened the fridge and sighed. “Why is there so much fruit and chocolate?” she whined. She brought it out and began… eating it?

Was she just hungry?

“Is there something specifically you wanted? I could request it from room service?” I asked and she sighed. She shook her head and continued eating the bowl of fruit. Occasionally dip it in chocolate. “I think he has food ready at home… When is the driver gonna be here?: she asked. “W-what?” I was confused. “The driver? e/n told me they’d be here…” she wandered off.

Did she not know what she was pushed into?

“By the way, she's a bitch?” She said casually, making me let out a quick laugh. It was a random thing to mention. “Hmm. Is it offensive to call someone a bitch if you’re a dog?” she asked and I laughed. “No… not really. Humans made it an insult and if you haven't noticed im not a female” I explained and she nodded.

“Why are you here? Did she want you to convince me to work for her again?” she asked and I didn’t know what to say. “Cause she's a bitch. I make a living off my books… So why is she asking me to do something so simple as scripts? Shouldn’t that be her job?” she complained and I smiled softly.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I asked and she nodded and felt my heart drop. “I’m waiting for the driver,” she explained and I let out a sigh. “I really want to go home. I’m hungry and these fruits aren’t helping” she complained and she started to hiccup. She really was drunk… out of her mind.

“What do you want to eat?” I asked now curious. She smiled softly… “I think Sannie wanted meat again. Anything he wants is fine” she said with a smile. Was that her hybrid?

“Who is he?” I asked and she grinned. “A beautiful panther” she muttered as she wandered off with a stupid smile on her face. “Is that right?” I asked now envious. “Mhm… he deserves the world, him and Woo. I’d give them everything I own to make them happy…” she trailed off. Was she actually good to them?

“What are they like?” I asked and she giggled. “The best…” she said progressively now, getting sleepy after eating. “That collar… doesn’t it hurt?” she asked me and I was shocked she’d ask.

“I’ll be okay” I lied and she hummed. “When’s the driver getting here” she muttered as she now closed her eyes. She sat there with her head in her hands.

She looked like an angel… suddenly her phone rang. It sounded to be coming from her purse… I opened it making sure not to move her to try to turn it off. Instead, I answered the call… “y/n? Where are you, Wonyoung has literally texted everyone to know where you went?” a male voice said… the name was read as Doyoung?

“y/n?” he asked and I didn’t know what to say. “Do I have to call you, Yuta or Johnny?” he asked, sounding worried. “She’s drunk,” I said and it was silent. “Who are you?” he asked now with an angry voice. “e/n took her to an apartment? I’m her hybrid…” I said and he sighed. He asked where the apartment was and I told him. She wasn’t supposed to be here… she was supposed to be at a party out with friends and go home to a warm meal with her hybrids. I was jealous.

I watched as she slept and I thought about taking her to the bedroom but… I didn’t want to see the array of toys, rope, etc to be there. She was better off sleeping here…

The door was soon met with aggressive knocking. I picked her up bridal style not wanting to let them in. They’d know if they saw everything in here… I stopped at the door. They’d know everything here… would they help me? Report it? I’ve tried before… could it be a trick to punish me?

The door soon swung open to reveal a girl and a guy.

“Do something, you're the hybrid specialist!” she yelled/whispered. Hybrid specialist? Would he help me… was I even considered abused? “I’m a hybrid doctor, not a specialist!” he said.

I could hurt her… but she didn’t deserve it. She seemed like a good person…

He soon tried inching closer… he was gonna grab her from my arms–

“Ouch!” he yelled in pain and I hoped he’d do something. Call hybrid control… I’d beg on my knees for him to do something about the bite mark now oozing blood.

“Doyoung!” the girl next to him yelled out as he grip his arm.

“Call, Kun we don’t know what he did to her and he bit me. We’ll have to do an investigation”

-> y/n’s perspective

“She’s always been a heavy sleeper” I heard as I realized how cold it was. “y/n!!” I heard as I realized how bright the room was. “Huh?” I was confused… Where was I? Why did I have such a big headache? “Jeno, give her some space” I heard and I saw three figures looking down on me.

“Uhm… hello?” I said and they smiled softly. “We’re glad you’re okay,” Taeyong said and I nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, realizing how big of a headache I had.

“You were in an apartment with a doberman hybrid. He bit Doyoung and is being investigated” Taeyong said and I was confused. “Just know that you’ll have to make a statement if you remember anything. I hope you’re okay” he said as he left and Jeno rushed to get Johnny as they helped me check out of the emergency room. “y/n!!” I heard that I saw Wonyoung in last night’s dress. “What happened?” I asked and she shook her head.

“I was hoping you’d tell me”

The elevator door opened when I saw San and Wooyoung slumped over the kitchen island sleeping. Have they been waiting for me since last night? Everything is such a blur…

I rubbed San’s arm knowing I should wake him up first since Wooyoung might startle him. His eyes opened and he saw me with relieved eyes. He suddenly tackled me in a tight hug as I noticed his ears were pinned to his skull. “Where were you!” he yelled and I didn’t know what to say.

“We waited all night!!” San scolded them and they looked angry… “I don’t know” was the only thing I could say. They seemed to soften up a bit before calming down and hugging me.

“What do you mean by that?” they questioned and everything was a blur. “I don’t even remember drinking that much… I was told apparently someone took me to an apartment where her hybrid was? Then Wonyoung and Doyoung found me asleep” I confessed.

San looked angry and Wooyoung worried.

“You smelt of alcohol… and medicine but no one’s scent that would imply anything,” San said.

“Do you think someone spiked your drink?” Wooyoung asked and I shrugged. “That seems like the logical reason…” I muttered now feeling stupid.

“You said someone took you to another apartment. They most likely spiked your drink, it isn’t your fault” San said and I only looked down.

I need to try to remember what happened… maybe after a nap.

I woke up… very confused and with a huge headache. I needed to call Taeyong.

I left the bed that had Wooyoung and San as I realized it was night. We went to sleep early in the morning when I came back since the three of us lost sleep.

“Are you okay?” I heard as I was now on the balcony. “Taeyong, is it a crime to spike someone’s drink? Could they get arrested for it?” I asked. “Of course. Do you remember anything?” He asked me… he almost seemed hesitant.

“Yeah… e/n she’s an influencer who manages her hybrid—“ I soon saw the door to go back inside open as I saw San and Wooyoung looking at me worried. I offered them a small smile and tapped the seat next to me. “— I remember her handing me a drink and we had a conversation about her stupid job offer” I explained.

Wooyoung hugged me and rubbed his head on my shoulder almost as if he wanted to keep me warm.

“Do you remember anything that happened in the apartment?” He asked with worry laced in his voice.

“Nothing happened… her hybrid was there alone. I remember just raiding the fridge of strawberries?” I said, trying to remember.

I heard his laugh as San now held my free hand. “I’m glad to hear nothing malicious happened. I’ll make sure to give information to Jaehyun in case a lawsuit comes” he said and I nodded to myself.

“Taeyong? There are rumors about her… Wonyoung at the party told me about her invitation. She handed me one about three days ago? It’s a sex invitation with her hybrid… he does her sex work” I said and I felt San and Wooyoung’s grip tighten on me.

“Did he push you into doing anything?” He asked, sounding a little angry. “No… actually he seemed sweet. The night of the dinner he seemed submissive, I think he’s forced into it” I said my opinion as Taeyong only hummed.

“Do you know anything else I should look into?” He asked and I sighed. “I think she blackmails people… I remember Wonyoung mentioning her suing a few people for inappropriate behavior towards him. I think she wanted to do the same with me” I confessed.

“I’ll look into it,” he said as we said our goodbye and hung up.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung asked and I smiled softly as I kissed his head. “Yeah… nothing happened despite her intention. I just feel bad for him” I said and they nodded.

“I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be forced into a life like that. You said he was famous right?” San asked and I nodded.

“I feel bad for whoever it is… but if it was me I would just take it. At least I had a home” Wooyoung said sadly and I hugged him. “But it’s not you,” I said and he smiled softly as he kissed me softly.

“And I’m thankful to you and San for that,” he said as I saw San smile softly.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way”

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