Mr. Chopped had been warned. She told him, clearly and gently, that she wanted to give him kisses. His initial reaction had been a mix of skepticism and quiet curiosity. Kisses? He repeated the word in his rough, simplistic language, rolling it over in his pitch-black mouth like an unfamiliar taste. It wasn’t something he disliked; he just needed to know exactly what to expect.

"Alright. Me ready," he eventually muttered, his orange eyes narrowing with the slightest edge of nervous excitement. He wasn't one to enjoy surprises, but this wasn’t a surprise—she’d told him. He had agreed.

When she leaned in, her soft lips brushing against the pale curve of his forehead, he let out a sharp, childlike gasp. "Oh! Oh!" his head tilting by her just enough to follow the press of her lips. The second kiss landed on his cheek, and his amber pupils flickered brighter.

"Again!" he barked, eagerly this time. He felt warm, like he’d been wrapped in his favorite blanket. Each kiss left a spark, a sensation that lingered and tickled at something deep inside his chest—if he’d had one.

A kiss on the tip of his nose made him wiggle slightly, an exaggerated pout creeping onto his face. "Weird! That tickle!" He narrowed his eyes, but the pout was short-lived. He shuffled forward on the surface he’d been placed on, daring her closer.

His voice came in a softer tone now, low and almost bashful. “More,” he said, with a pout. The kisses rained down again—temple, jawline, forehead—and his cheeks tinted faintly, a blush more emotional than physical.

“Good... warm... happy,” he murmured, eyes slowly shutting as if the affection was lulling him into a dreamlike haze. He felt cared for, deeply and undeniably, and it wrapped around his expressive face like the softest cloud.

When she finally pulled back, he cracked one eye open, his voice sleepy but insistent. "No stop. One more. Maybe two..."