[18+ Yandere Meowscarada x Reader] I'll Make Them All Disappear!

✿ | Forever in Heat

Flashback Chapter 04.

A warm word -- summer. What's even warmer lies in between soft fingertips.

I wonder what that is.

"Home sweet home," you call out into the house from the doorway. Part of you expects the house to call back at you, or you'll get the urge to break into a musical number over your excitement at finally returning home from the beaches of Alola. You're met with silence, and then a fuzzy warmth brushing past your calf. You look down and watch Flora skirt away in a hurry.

"What's the rush, girl?" you ask, shutting the door and following close behind. The cat bounces through the house, leaving tufts of green fur behind in her stride. You shoot each one a dirty look -- you'll have to be the one who cleans that later. "Seriously, what's gotten into you, Flora?"

She leads you all the way to the bathroom. Unexpected. You were first expecting her to dart into the kitchen for a snack, like that gross cereal or those cat treats that happen to be shaped like potato chips for some reason. Typically she's a big eater, straight to the cabinets for something to gobble down, but today looks to be shower day. The only problem is... she's a little too eager for that shower. Practically sprinting for it. When she reaches the bathroom and bursts through the door, nearly throwing it off the hinges, she pounces into the shower and frantically switches on the shower head.

The moment you step in the room after her, there's the sound of rushing water guzzled down the drain. You look over, utterly confused at the sight of the temperature she put it on. Cold -- like, the coldest temperature possible. Compared to most showers, your level of cold is paramount freezing.

Flora drops to her back haunches and sits with her legs spread, letting the water wash down her body. Her lush fur is turned soggy, the yo-yo dangling from her scarf soaked. Within the absence of soapy aromas is the smell of sopping wet cat. You fight the urge to pinch your nose.

You prop yourself up on the sink. "Didn't you lick yourself clean pretty much the whole plane ride over here? Loud as hell, too. I heard slurp-slurp-slurp for hours. So why are you showering?"

All Flora does is groan as she soaks herself in the spray of water.

"And why is it on arctic temperature?"

She's not having any of it. Flora shoots you the dirtiest look a cute cat can muster, her eyes drained of all mischief and carelessness, like she's cursing you out with only eye contact. Staring back, you feel some kind of pressure gnawing into your chest. And that's when you realize. Getting the death stare from your lovely feline friend doesn't feel very lovely.

"What did I do?"

Flora makes another disapproving noise, something between a scoff and a salty meow, then shifts on the floor so she's sitting with her back to the shower wall and her legs spread wide open. She's looking at you still. That sense of malice behind her eyes has quickly become something else. That pressure weighing on your heart melts away into confusion. Flora's eyes have been filled with emotion — desperation and lust.