#chewing on you like a dog would chew on a new chewing toy

[tontoemojis]

back here once again to chew on ur emotes /silly

ur new art style is SO vibrant and pretty !!! slightly reminds me of marzipan ,,, and i love the patches on some of the emote guys u drew ! especially the star one

STOP THIS IS SO SILLY WE WILL KILL YOU . THANK YOUUUU SOOO MUCHHH ALL MOOT !!!!!!!! 🌈🌈🌈 YIPPIEEE

[benveydraws]

[roaldseth]

TAG GAME— List 10 of your favorite characters from different fandoms

Tagged by @space-spring! Thank you!

Roland (Digital Devil Daga 2)

Benedict Pascal (Triangle Strategy)

Josef (Unicorn Overlord)

Vander (Fire Emblem Engage)

Z’aanta (Octopath Traveler)

Fugen (Monster Hunter Rise)

Nikkari (Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse)

Hellagur (Arknights)

Syuveil (The Legend of Dragoon)

Kabu (Pokemon Sword/Shield)

Play along if you want @schrl @alien-onyx @denbprikola @getwetdryboy @tntdragon109

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Wendigo Disorder.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Cannibalism, No Curse AU, Chef Sukuna AU, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Kidnapping, Gore, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Prolonged Captivity. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Sukuna kept the basement door locked.

That was the only part of his rustic, oversized house that was off-limits to you. For the first few weeks, he’d kept you either collared and leashed to the headboard of his bed if he was home and locked in a roughly human-sized dog kennel when he wasn’t, but now, you were allowed to wander freely, even if he still kept deadbolts on the windows and doors. Occasionally, he’d lock you out of the kitchen while he was working on a new recipe or tell you to stay in your bedroom while he talked to his every-mysterious “business partners”, but for a kidnapper, Sukuna was surprisingly trusting. The basement door was the only thing that was always locked – and you should know. You checked the knob at least twice a day.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of you escaping, or hurting yourself, or god forbid, hurting him. Even in the early days, before you’d proved you weren’t going to run away, he seemed to be more concerned that you might be a nuisance than that you might be any kind of threat. The only thing you really knew was that the basement was where he kept his meat locker, and while you were curious, you were sure that wasn’t what he was keeping you away from. Sukuna had you sample everything he made. If he was going to start withholding food, then he would’ve had to—

“Oi, brat.” You felt his elbow jab into your side, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Quit daydreaming and try this.”

You glanced towards him, pouting as you straightened your back and repositioned yourself on the kitchen counter. You would’ve been more comfortable to sit on the floor, or better yet, at the table in the next room, but he liked to have you as close as possible whenever he was cooking. Not that you’d have it any other way. “You’re always so mean to me,” you sighed, in a pitchy mock whine. “One day, I’m not going to want to spend time with you at all.”

“As if. You can’t get enough of me.” He rolled his eyes, turning back to the stove top. Currently, he was working on something for his restaurant – a variation on karaage, a spread of vegetables and meat (pork, maybe, but you weren’t entirely sure) sitting on a cutting board off to the side, a greased skillet waiting next to it. His attention was on the broth simmering in the pot in front of him, though, which his ingredients would strew in before being fried. He’d been toying with it for the better part of an hour, and you’d sat diligently within arm’s reach, only slightly motivated by the fact that he’d threatened to break both your ankles if you tried to move.

Your sample turned out to be a piece of broccoli – likely chosen to best compliment the flavor of the broth – and you accepted it eagerly, letting Sukuna bring his chopsticks to your lips and feed you by-hand. Of course, the flavor was heavenly, and of course, you took long seconds to savor it, letting your eyes fall shut as you chewed and swallowed. Sukuna watched you intently, his dark eyes never leaving your lips. It wasn’t a secret that his favorite part of you had always been your mouth. You didn’t mind – his cooking was the only thing you’d ever liked about him.

Praise would’ve been pointless. It was a given that anything he made would be the best thing you’d ever tasted, so you tried to focus on something more productive. “It’s… salty,” you surmised, pursing your lips. “Did you use your…?”

“Cum?” Sukuna finished. “Just a tablespoon. ‘m surprised you can even taste it.”

A month ago, you might’ve recoiled, refused to eat, but now, it was all you could do to pretend to be surprised.

You watched intently as he added another cup of water, another round of herbs all kept in mismatched, unlabeled jars. Your heart skipped a beat as he finally reached towards the cutting board, but he pulled away at the last minute, turning to you, instead.

“’kuna,” you whined as he slid into the space between your legs, planting a large hand on either side of you. “I was actually hoping to eat sometime tonight, y’know.”

“I know, I know.” And yet, he didn’t seem concerned, chuckling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. “You’ll get to, just sit pretty for a little while longer.”

“But—” He cut you off with another kiss, this one immediately followed by feeling of his pointed canines burrowing into tender skin. You flinched into yourself, and Sukuna groaned into your neck, drawing back just far enough to run the flat of his tongue over the twin puncture marks.  Your hands shot to his shoulders, but you resisted the urge to push him away. Even if you did, it was already too late; you could feel something stiff pressing against the inside of your thigh, hear him murmuring something low and affectionate into the dip of your shoulder. Resigned, you leaned back against the kitchen cabinets and shut your eyes.

At least, if he got this over with quickly enough, you might still get to eat.

~

Your first impression of Sukuna, unsurprisingly, was that he looked more like a body builder than a chef.

Calling him massive would’ve been an understatement. He stood a head above you, with biceps as thick as your head and a chest so defined, you could see the outline of his definition through the thin fabric of his black (presumably not Health and Safety compliant) tank top. He had piercings, too – twin studs underneath his bottom lip, lining the bridge of his nose – and tattoos, black lines forming intricate patterns across his jawline and bands around his wrist. You already had your back to the concrete wall, but you pressed yourself against it, regardless, eager to put as much space between you and him as possible. Sukuna remained where he was, perpetually unimpressed.

His introduction was brief, succinct. “You’re the little bitch Uraume sent out?”

“I… I think so?” You genuinely weren’t sure. The waitress had only told you that the owner wanted to talk to you outside, which you hadn’t been surprised by. It was your fourth time coming in that week, since his restaurant didn’t do takeout and the last person to order more than they could eat in one sitting was promptly and proudly taken outside and beaten half to death. You couldn’t risk that, not when more than half of your meals came from his shop.  “I’m sorry, I just—Are you the chef? I really like—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He took half a step toward you, and you glanced down the alleyway behind his restaurant. One end was cut off with a chain-link fence, and while the other side opened up onto a proper road, it was still more than fifty feet away. You never would’ve made it, not with someone like Sukuna chasing you. “Who sent you? The Gojo clan?”

Sent you? You had no idea what he was talking about – if you had someone to fund your addiction, you wouldn’t have to resign yourself the cheapest section of his overpriced menu. You opened your mouth, but must’ve taken longer to answer than you realized. You blinked, and suddenly, his hand was planted on the wall beside your head, his body only a hair’s width from yours. He had to tilt his head forward to look at you, which while not surprising, did little to comfort you. “Answer the fucking question.” And then, when you shrunk into yourself at his tone. “I swear to fucking Christ—Did he tell you what happens to the people who piss me off? Because you’re about to—”

“I can’t eat anything else!”

You were just as surprised as he was to hear your own voice. Still, you did your best to recover quickly, falling into a stiff bow as deep as the confined space would allow. With your eyes fixed on the pavement, you forced yourself to go on, to say something that would stop the owner of your favorite restaurant from murdering you in the alleyway behind that aforementioned restaurant. “I—I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, but—but a classmate brought me here a few months ago, and—and I haven’t been able to eat anywhere else since. I can come in less often, if that’s what you’re bothered by, but please.” You forced yourself to inhale, to breathe. “Please, don’t ban me.”

At that, Sukuna broke. You didn’t dare to look at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice, the airy laugh lacing his tone, as if he found something about your desperation funny. He did, obviously. You’d quickly realize that Sukuna found most things about you funny. “You think I’m going to… What was it? Ban you?”

You nodded furiously. “I—I know you kicked out that salaryman last week, and a couple students the week before. They were all regulars, but I haven’t seen any of them since.” It was a rushed explanation, only half-coherent, but you still tried to go on, bowing your head. “I—I can’t cook, and I can’t eat anywhere else, anymore. If you ban me, I really don’t have a lot of other options, so—”

“You can go back to your table.”

It was your turn to blink, this time, to startle. You didn’t straighten your back, not until you felt Sukuna’s hand on your shoulder, heard the grin in his voice sharpen. “Really?”

“Mhm. Don’t order, I’ll send something over. And you’re going to stay until closing.” And then, as you stared up at him with as much gratitude you’d ever felt, “We’re going to grab a couple drinks after I close up shop. Try to think of a few more compliments, before then.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless. After scurrying back to your table before Sukuna could change his mind, a white-haired woman who you’d never seen working the front of house before brought you a meat dish so rare, you could’ve sworn it hadn’t been cooked at all.

It went without saying that you savored every bite.

~

“Needy ass brat.”

His bicep dug into your stomach where you were slung over his shoulder, your legs dangling uselessly was your hands clawed half-heartedly at his back. You weren’t really upset that he’d caught you – you knew it’d only be a matter of time the moment you slipped out of bed – but it was frustrating just how quickly he’d come to get you. You’d barely gotten to the kitchen, let alone the fridge.

Your mind drifted back to the basement door – to the meat locker. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you decided that you would try to pick the lock tomorrow, after he’d left for the day. Whatever punishment he’d dull out would be worth it, if you could actually get in.

Unceremoniously, you were dumped onto the floor of his bedroom, left to shamble to your knees as he collapsed onto the foot of the bed. You moved to stand, but Sukuna was quick to catch you by the hair and force you back down. “Disobedient, too,” he muttered, his voice still rough with exhaustion. “Tell me what you were trying to do before I decide you can’t be trusted with the ability to walk.”

You sulked, letting out a shallow sigh and resting your cheek against the inside of his knee. “I’m just hungry,” you explained, feigning thoughtlessness. It was more or less true. You were eating better than you ever had before, and yet, your stomach had never felt emptier. “I was gonna come back, after I got something.”

Sukuna chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. You melted into his thigh, eager to keep his mood light, sentimental. “I feed you three gourmet meals a day, baby. Don’t act like you’re starving.”

“But I am.” You sighed, stared up at him with your doe-like expression. “I’ve really been craving meat, lately, ‘specially that stuff you keep downstairs. Can you make it again tomorrow?”

“We’ll see. I don’t want you getting spoiled, and ‘sides, I’ve gotta save some of it for the shop.” You frowned, sinking deeper into his thigh, and Sukuna sighed, raking his nails over your scalp. “But, maybe, if I got some motivation from my little helper…”

He trailed off, and suddenly, it was your turn to play oblivious. “Well, yeah, I’d obviously help,” you chirped, mimicking his smile. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, though, so you can’t blame me if—”

“That’s not what I want from you, babydoll.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. It wasn’t painful, but the way his fingers tugged at your hair was.

He didn’t pull. You tried to be thankful for that, but it was hard to be thankful for anything when his free hand was already at the waistband of his sweats, freeing the semi-stiff cock formerly hidden beneath the grey fabric. You frowned, but didn’t pull away. “How are you already hard?” And then, as you settled onto your knees, “You woke up, like, two minutes ago.”

“Always gotta have something nice n’ warm ready for my baby.” Rather than let your whining deter him, he focused on drawing you into his lap, encouraging you to lean into him, to brace yourself on his muscular thighs. Controlling as always, Sukuna guided you gently towards his cock. You half-expected him to force you down at the last minute, to laugh as he suffocated you on his length, but of course, he didn’t. He wasn’t that kind.

He wouldn’t let you play such a passive role in your own dehumanization.

You moved as quickly as you could without making your unwillingness entirely transparent, taking the head of his cock past your lips and running the flat of your tongue over his slit (already leaking, as if this couldn’t get any worse). You couldn’t pretend to be some pure-of-heart, dewy eyed virgin, not when most of your mornings were started with Sukuna thrusting three fingers lazily into your cunt and most of your nights ended with his face buried between your thighs, but you never seemed to be able to completely brace yourself for just how wide you had to open your mouth to take him, just how mindful you had to be to not let your teeth scrape against his shaft as you struggled to get past his tip. Like everything else about Sukuna, his cock was too fucking big. Not that he seemed to care.

If anything, Sukuna seemed to like the way you gagged around him. As you wrapped a hand around his base, pumping over the parts of his shaft you couldn’t swallow and trying to ignore the fact that your fingers didn’t touch, you heard him groan, felt his grip tighten on your hair, and knew he was staring at you, drinking in the sight of you choking on his cock with as little shame as you had dignity. “Good girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Are you gonna start moving, or does the spoiled princess need a little help?”

‘Help’ meant him holding your head in-place while he fucked your skull. Resisting the urge to shake your head, you bobbed shallowly, the veined underside of his cock gliding over your tongue as a knot of ache formed in either corner of your jaw, the strain already too painful to ignore. You could taste his arousal in the back of your throat, feel him throbbing against the hollows of your cheeks, but you forced yourself to dip your head lower, to take him deeper, to at least attempt to match the stuttering pace of your hand with that of your mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him distracted. His hand drifted from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, his thumb pushing rough patterns into your skin. “Still can’t believe I get to keep such a sweet thing all to myself.” It was almost cruel, how composed he sounded while saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth. “It would’ve been a shame if I’d fucked up and done something really mean, that first day. I don’t think I would’ve gone through with it, though. As soon as I got a good look, all I wanted was to see what that pretty mouth looked like wrapped around my cock.”

His breath hitched, his hips bucked, and you audibly gagged as the blunt head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat. You jerked away on reflex, but Sukuna didn’t let you go far. His hand wrapped around your neck as he rolled his hips, forcing another inch of his cock down your throat, then another, until it was all you could do to blink away the tears quickly forming in your eyes. Your hand fell away from his shaft to scramble and claw at his thighs, but if Sukuna mourned the loss of contact, you couldn’t tell. The only thing you could make out was his cock pulsing against the convulsing walls of your throat and his voice, as distant as it was deafening. “Fuck,” he sighed, then again, “Fuck. Desperate little bitch. My desperate little bitch. Can’t go three fucking seconds without needing me to take care of you, isn’t that right?”

Your only response was a desperate, keening whine – mostly muffled by the twitching object lodged in your airway. Rather than a plea for mercy, Sukuna seemed to take it as confirmation, taking you by the back of your head and forcing you that much further, that much closer. “Fucking—Take it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to spit, let alone pull away. Your nose brushed against the defined muscle of his abdomen as you felt something bitter and searing flood down your throat. Calling it swallowing would’ve been too generous.

That night, you vomited twice before letting Sukuna carry you to bed. Despite everything, you would dream only of the taste of fresh blood and burnt meat.

~

Despite everything, you only saw the kitchen of Sukuna’s restaurant once. He expected you at your usual table almost every day, invited you out for drinks at one of his classy, dimly lit lounges (a severe juxtaposition to his own hole-in-the-wall establishment) nearly as often as that, but he only let you see his back of house once, late at night, hours after closing.

Coincidentally, that was also the night he took you away.

Admittedly, it was difficult to remember why you’d been called back to the kitchen. That section of your day was blurry, distant, fuzzy around the edges from the moment you stepped into his shop to the second you woke up alone in a bed you didn’t recognize, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke thick in the air.  Still, you could remember the feeling of chilled titanium pressing into your back, the heat of Sukuna’s body above you, what he’d looked like as you stared up at him from below. You remembered thinking, possibly for the first time, that you hated everything about him, from his inflated ego to his resonating voice to his awful, conniving smirk, and realizing that you’d never be able to leave him.

You also remembered the white-haired server being there – standing in the doorway, her expression one of pleasant indifference as she explained something grotesque and nonsensical to Sukuna, either oblivious to or uncaring of how deeply he was buried inside of you. You watched her lips move, but only a few words broke through the haze – disposal and witness, nothing that made any sense. You remembered noticing how pretty she was, and thinking that it was a shame she wasn’t the owner, rather than Sukuna.

You could remember asking for something, and Sukuna humming in response before something was shoved past your lips – heady and thick and raw. You tasted blood on your lips, felt yourself choke, and then, everything was dark.

~

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known he’d gotten home. You’d been able to make out the sound of his footsteps through the floor above, been able to feel the light spill onto your back as the basement door and its useless, mangled knob were pushed open, but it wasn’t until you heard his voice that you could bring yourself to care. Even then, your hold on the raw chunk of half-frozen meat only tightened, nails digging into the ruddy, bleeding tissue. As much as you didn’t want to put a name to it, it would’ve been impossible to deny what it was – to ignore what you’d seen inside of the meat locker, to pretend you hadn’t recognized the disassembled bodies hanging on rusted-over hooks, to act like you could mistake the taste still heavy on your tongue for that of pig, or cow, or some other, inferior animal. It would’ve been useless, even if the temptation was still there. It would’ve been futile.

Almost as futile as trying to deny that it was the best fucking thing you’d ever choked down.

You heard the tell-tale creak of Sukuna starting to descend the staircase, and before you could stop yourself, dug your teeth into the brunt of the sinew, tearing off the largest mouthful you were capable of and swallowing it whole. You dipped your head for another bite, but it was too late – Sukuna was already behind you, his hand already wrapped around the collar of your shirt, your body already being jerked back and away from your hard-earned prize. You tried to dig your nails into the thick of the fat, to stuff the last of it past your lips, but with an airy chuckle and a quirk of his wrist, the cut was torn away and discarded just as thoughtlessly.

For the first time, you snapped towards Sukuna, your teeth bared and your eyes narrowed into something furious, something hostile. “Why would you—” And then, letting out a miserable sob and turning away from him, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break anything, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then—”

“I get it, baby. You aren’t in trouble.”

“And then I found something heavy enough to break the knob and I couldn’t stop thinking about—” You cut yourself off suddenly, letting out a sharp exhale. “…I’m not?”

“No, princess, you’re not.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve mistaken his tone for something gentle. His gaze fell to your chest, and for the first time, you noticed the blood dripping down your chin, staining the fabric of your top. “We should get you cleaned up, though. You’ll only feel shittier when it dries.”

You didn’t protest as he pulled you into his arms and carried you upstairs, out of the basement, away from the meat locker. You didn’t say anything as he set you on his bed, your back leaning against the headboard, and eased your top over your head, replacing it with one of his own, and produced a damp cloth from the nearest bathroom. Gingerly, he cleaned the gore off your face, never rushing through a stroke or applying more pressure than was absolutely necessary, stopping often to kiss your forehead or the bridge of your nose. You were sniffling by the time he finished, crying by the time he left the room, and sobbing when he came back – a bowl in hand with a pair of chopsticks laid across its rim.

Its contents were predictable: meat, pan-grilled in thin slices and, as far as you could tell, left unseasoned. “I’ll make some rice when you’re done,” Sukuna went on, as you struggled with the chopsticks. “To balance it out. You’ll need something to take the edge off.”

You nodded vacantly, accepting the bowl greedily despite your shaking hands. It was better raw – the flavor richer, the taste fresher – but you weren’t in a place to complain, not when it was so much easier when you didn’t have to gnaw and tear like some wild, starving animal. Not that you weren’t eating like one – keeping the rim of the bowl pressed into your chin, never letting more than a second lapse between one mouthful and the next. You only paused when you felt the mattress dip, noticed Sukuna positioning himself between your legs, and but he only smiled, only rested a hand on your knee. “Keep going,” he urged. “It’d be a waste to let it get cold, right?”

“I don’t like this.” Your voice was still unsteady, prone to cracking, but it was true. You didn’t want him to pretend to be nice. “I’ve never really liked you. I’d leave, if I could. There hasn’t been a moment since you kidnapped me that I haven’t spent fantasizing about getting out and fixing what you’ve done to me.”

“You’re just saying that to hurt my feelings, doll.” You were, but it wasn’t. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his chest, one hand spreading your thighs apart while the other toyed lazily with the hem of your shorts. You felt him lean against your thigh, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the tender flesh. You’d gained weight during your time with him – not much, just a few pounds, a little plush to soften your harsher edges. You weren’t sure whether or not to care. “I’m just proud, that’s all. Don’t you want me to be proud of you?”

You didn’t want anything from him. Your appetite gone, you placed the bowl haphazardly on the bedside table, watching through clouded eyes as Sukuna removed your shorts entirely, taking agonizing seconds to guide them down your legs before letting them drop to the floor below. You expected your panties to follow, but Sukuna only settled into place, dragging the pad of his thumb over the length of your slit, pausing to draw slow, idle circles into your clit through the silken fabric. It went without saying that he picked out your clothes, even if he rarely had the patience to tell you exactly what to wear. You were allowed to choose your outfit day-to-day, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t, not when your entire closet was suited to his tastes.

His hands curled around your thighs. You felt his tongue before you realized what he was doing – wet and warm and thick, his saliva soaking through the thin material and infecting you, spoiling you. You tried to ignore it, to remind yourself that you should be used to this, used to him, but this just… wasn’t what you were used to. Normally, you could expect him to be cruel, degrading, impulsive, but tonight, he seemed more than happy to bury his face between your thighs and play lover – albeit, a lover who still must’ve known he was unwanted. A lover who must’ve known you would’ve preferred a captor.

Your panties were dragged to the side, his tongue immediately finding your cunt. He took his time, laving over your entrance, coaxing reactions out of you despite your best attempts to dig your teeth into your tongue and hold back. He knew too much about you. He’d had too much time to learn. Heat pooled in your core, leaking out through your pussy, and Sukuna lapped it up like a fine wine – his thumb finding your clit as his tongue traced patterns into your cunt, and—

And oh, god, you were crying again, tears dripping down your cheeks despite your pitiful attempts to brush them away. Sukuna’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you felt him smile against the inside of your thigh, his tongue dipping shallowly into your cunt once, twice before he pulled away, straightening his back. His hand quickly replaced his mouth, two thick fingers thrusting into pussy with a humiliating sort of ease, spreading apart and curling against you and filling his bedroom with those embarrassing, wet, vile noises you’d never been able to stand. He didn’t seem to mind, holding your gaze as he spoke. “When did you put it together?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t play dumb.” And then, as his thumb traced harsh circles into your clit, “You knew what you were looking for. What gave it away? The texture? The smell?”

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t answer, a fractured moan falling from your lips in the place of anything more intelligent. Sukuna hummed, adding a third digit, and you spilled open in an instant. “Your restaurant,” you managed, the words rushed and sloppy. “No matter what I ordered, the meat would always taste the same. At first, I—I thought you were just being cheap, but then I noticed how often your regulars would just suddenly stop coming in, and—”

You were cut off by your own miserable, keening whine; his calloused fingers catching on something tender and vulnerable inside of you and taking advantage of it. “And you kept coming in,” he finished, hushing your whimpering. “Loyal little brat. Uraume wanted to get rid of you, but I knew I was right to take you in.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy moving your hips against his hand, seeking out the pleasure that your body craved and your mind rejected. Sukuna took pity on you, cooing as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap, supporting you as the movements of his hand turned short, erratic, as he edged you closer and closer and closer to your climax. You came undone with a sob, burying your face in his chest, and Sukuna was kind enough to nurse you through it, to hold you against him as your body crumpled and your poor, beaten soul seemed to give out entirely.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I think,” he said, bowing his head and running his tongue over your cheek. “It’s time for you to learn to cook.”

You couldn’t think, but you didn’t have to. There was only one thing you ever would’ve said.

“I’d like that.”

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[silversodas]

Some Interesting Things About Peri and Dev

Truthfully this is more about Peri and his interesting flaws, but there is some character analysis about Dev too.

I think when Peri and Dev finally do become friends, they would actually make an interesting pair, we actually learn that they are conflicting opposites

Peri: Rules are the only thing that separates peace from total chaos

Dev: But Peace is boring

Now, Dev may be a neglected kid, but he is the furthest thing from a wet Cat. He is smart and resourceful and a force to be reckoned with when he feels a certain type of way. It’s not entirely what he can do it’s what he is willing to do that makes him dangerous. Speaking of which, I may be calling it early, but I think that the glass ball on Peri’s wand/cane is a stabilizer and that Peri is still insanely powerful but also a pacifist. So Peri will reason with you and let’s his all powerful self get bulldozed but his human, ten year old Godkid will feed you your hair. That dynamic has the potential to be hella interesting

We also learned that Peri has an interesting flaw, he has jealousy issues. And lies to his parents?

I mentioned before that in the Birthday take back episode that Peri showed to be a little bit jealous of Hazel but didn’t see that it was a hint to his issues with jealousy till he got really jealous of Irep in the next episode

In that next episode Peri tells Dev that he’s done, that he quits. But when Dev informs Cosmo Wanda and Hazel of this apparently Peri told Cosmo and Wanda a different story

Wanda: Peri didn’t quite, he was waiting for you to call

Cosmo: He thought you two were on a brake

Uhhhh that is not at all what Peri told Dev. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad he talks to Cosmo and Wanda about his problems but boy straight up lied. He probably changed his mind and just told his parents that because he feels like they would be disappointed in him if he actually quite. And at this point I am thinking he is only sticking around with Dev for his parents, but that’s not entirely the case

Before Dev and Irep unalives Cosmo and Wanda Peri steps in with Jorgan and straight up LAUGHS in Ireps face (this took me by surprise) and gloats informing him that he never actually quite so Dev was still his Godkid

What’s so interesting is that this is the most immature we have ever seen Peri. Like this is basically the equivalent of a child running up to another child and yelling MINE! Before snatching a toy away. And that’s basically what Peri did, he basically went MINE! And snatched Dev away.

I mean look at him here. He looks like a kid who is happy that another kid he doesn’t like is in trouble. I wonder of Irep brings out this childish side of Peri. And does Jorgan punish Dev for attempted murder-

Nope…man Jorgan must have less fucks to give this time around, from what I remember if Timmy so much as farted while in Fairyworld Jorgan would appear out of nowhere like “TURNER! THIS JACKASSERY WILL NOT STAND!!!”

In case we needed it to be any clearer, Peri accidentally admits that he was jealously spying on Dev, so Peri can be a bit jealous and possessive? Interesting.That actually didn’t really bother me till this frame

Like, really dude? Your just gonna mark your territory, snatch his new friend away and not even talk to him about it? I mean he almost killed your parents at least chew him out! Ok honestly if the episode had went on longer it probably would have shown Peri turning away from his parents to face Dev and talk to him only to see that Dev ditched him. But Peri ONCE AGAIN! Got distracted by his parents at a time he needed to have his attention on Dev.

If seeing Peri at his parents place is anything to go by, I would say that Peri is definitely in the dog house

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade googling, "Is my boyfriend a werewolf?" When things start getting colder because;

Logan starts nesting, curling up under 5 duvets, stealing hoodies, and fluffy hello kitty pants to add to it.

He's is extra growly and practically nonverbal at times.

Wade has witnessed him ripping up a pillow with his bare teeth, shaking it the way dogs do with toys. He now fears for his stuffies' lives.

When Logan starts instinctively devouring their kitchen, packing in food for the winter. (Wade has already gotten his hand slices off for poking fun at his weight gain and trying to grope his hips)

When they're out in public and he's visibly shaking like a leaf but snarls if anyone touches him (even on accident)

Takes hot baths and does not share them, wanting all the heat to himself.

Pops out his claws a lot more, for little things that he already is aware of that aren't threats. Perking up from whatever spot he's at to go investigate. Esspecially if puppins barks, it gets him twice as riled up.

The other day, he stood in the window growling because someone he didn't know was helping the neighbor fix their car.

"Wade? He's doing it again."

"Doing what ma- Oh for fucks sake Peanut."

He's at the window like a dog, growling and death glaring the mechanic, puppins is on the back of the couch, wagging her tail and yapping at them too.

"What has gotten into you two? Go on, off. Off! Shoo. Get. And you, go to your room, mister."

A huff of protest, but Wade already shut the curtains and picked up puppins. "Go on. You aren't going to just sit at the window all day looking for a reason to be all broody. It's not good for you. Look are you hungry? Ill make you some eggs. Go take a nap or something you're scaring granny over here ya big bad wolf." He sighs and with a final grunt he goes to curl up in the bedroom.

He also gets jealous the more attention puppins gets but he doesn't, lingering around the corner with a pout.

"That makes me riding hood, doesn't it? Yeah, Huh? Oh yes, it does. But litsen perfect angel, I know you're trying to be like daddy, but shhh! Were not supposed to have any pets, girl. No dogs allowed. It's bad enough that we have mister murder mittens trying to attack our landlord, let alone I had to tell him you were one of those giant New york rats." He tells the dog, who just licks him and was happy to join along in one of her papa's protective beefs with a random person.

Wade has only seen it a couple of times, but sometimes, after popping them out too much, he regrets it and licks his knuckles.

At first Wade thought this was just Alternate timeline Logan stuff, only to quickly realize that it was probably just in the Howlett genes, having been told that Laura also ripped up pillows and stuffed animals, chewing on them like a puppy and Gabby also licked her knuckles when they hurt from growing pains.

Apprently, gabby was a big whiner, too, whimpering instead of grunting most times. It made Wade wonder if she would grow up and grunt too like Laura.

[celestialprincesse]

https://www.tiktok.com/@5minutefails03/video/7224318474368093441?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc

this would be simons K9 riley and single!moms kid

OH MY GOD this is the cutest thing I've seen, thank you anon baby!!!!!!💕

It totally would. Y'all know how dogs are super perceptive to their owners emotions?

Yeah, that's Riley and Simon. Riley isn't used to seeing people, isn't used to guests and most certainly isn't used to this new woman who spends more and more time in their home, bringing treats and food over, and a very tiny, very giggly toddler. But Simon loves them, the woman and her baby. Simon's eyes crease with a smile when the little girl yanks at his hair or wraps her entire little hand around his pinkie. So Riley loves them too.

Simon would undoubtedly lay down his life for this new woman and her child, so Riley would too. Simon panics when the baby cries, so Riley does too. Puts his little furry head on the baby's lap to show her that he loves her, brings her his ball or his chew or a slice of day old pizza Simon accidentally left on the counter. Simon brings her toys, right? So Riley will too. The woman looks after him when Simon goes away too, even lets him sleep on her bed, and he plods loyally behind her when she goes to check on the toddler if she cries during the night.

Both Riley and baby's favourite thing though? Cardboard boxes. When the woman puts her daughter in a discarded packing box on the floor, which the little girl is already utterly fascinated by, Riley obviously wants to play too, grabbing one of the cardboard flaps of the box, dragging it slightly across the carpet. When the little girl squeals and giggles? It's over completely, and Riley's channeling his instincts pulling her around the living room like a husky would a sled, the sound of pure, childlike joy emanating through her flat as she sends a video to Simon, hopefully to make his workday just a little brighter.

🤍Mama : 1 Video Attachment 🤍Mama : Riley's made a new best friend.

Simon (Hot neighbour)🖤 : I hope he's taking good care of my girls. Simon (Hot neighbour)🖤 : Missing you two.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 8 continuation of your little date, I hope you enjoy! Also haven't proofread it because I didn't want to make you all wait another week for it. Sorry. You're welcome to point out errors to me. English words were hard this time, sorry if some of it is redundant. Part 7 | COD Masterlist | Part 9

Simon watches you from the corner of his eyes while you two walk alongside each other through the park. You’re tossing a ball for Wraith and the guard dog basically turned into an overgrown puppy at the sight of the toy.

It’s gotten late and after you spent the entire afternoon in the Café talking, Wraith needed a walk. Instead of saying goodbye you invited Simon to tag along. That’s a win, right? It’s a big step. You voluntarily decided to spend more time with him and Simon can feel himself vibrate with excitement.

“So an ex-soldier. What exactly did you do?”, you ask him while you toss Wraith’s ball for the thousandth time. You turn your pretty face towards him and he meets your eyes, puts his hands into his pockets and slightly shrugs his shoulders.

“Spec Ops.”, is his simple answer and you furrow your brows.

“Spe- what?” The confusion in your voice is adorable and Simon balls his fists, stuffs them deeper into his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid (like pull you in and kiss you breathless).

“Special Operations. We weren’t really deployed somewhere permanently, instead they sent us wherever we were needed. Lots of stuff I am not allowed to talk about.”, he explains and wonders if you’ll be scared of him again.

When he looks at you, your eyes are wide. “Oh.”, you mutter and seem to think hard. It grows quiet for a minute and a small smile finds its way onto Simon’s lips. You’re chewing your lips again, seemingly troubled and who the fuck allowed you to look so adorable doing that.

“What is it, sweetheart.”, he asks, his voice warm and soft. He really hopes you can’t hear the lovesick undertone.

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask.”, you explain and grin self-conscious. He wants to lick the awkwardness off your lips (whoa okay, he really needs to get his thoughts in check).

Instead of doing that like a total creep, he tells you: “You can ask whatever you want, sweetheart. We’ll see what I can answer.”

You nod and think again. So far you haven’t protested his continued use of petnames. He enjoys it, enjoys claiming you with words in a subtle way. The only thing he’d enjoy even more would be you claiming him back. With words, marks, a collar, anything as long as he gets to be yours.

By now you’re walking closely besides him, and every now and then your arms brush against each other. It sends a shock up his arm every time, makes his neck tingle and his jaw clench in an effort to hold back, to not overwhelm you. The last thing he wants is to fuck up with you. As much as he wants to hold you he’d rather endure torture again than make you uncomfortable by coming on too strong.

“Why did you retire?”, you finally ask. “You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not!”, you immediately add in the same breath and Simon chuckles a bit at that.

The way you’re glancing at him seems nervous. It’s oddly endearing, like you’re nervous of misstepping with him. He quite enjoys that look on your face. Making you nervous in a way that doesn’t stem from fear is weirdly thrilling and he wants to keep doing it (would you be nervous if he pushed you up against a tree? If he used his height to his advantage and had you at his mercy? Would you be nervous if you had him at your mercy? God, he wants to be at your mercy).

“’s alright, sweets. Had a mission that went south, can’t really go into details. After that they set us up with a comfortable new life and told us to start over.” He can see the curiousness plain as day in your eyes and he wants to kick the officials who’re keeping him from just telling you everything.

Maybe someday he’ll do it anyway. Fuck if anyone can dictate him what to talk about. He’ll definitely tell you someday. Once he’s yours and sure you won’t run from him for revealing his past.

You cock your head at that. “Can you tell me about your team?”, you ask instead of prying and he could kiss you for that alone (he’s not sure he could have denied you, had you asked with your sweet voice and big curious eyes).

He nods at you and your face practically lights up with a big smile at the opportunity to finally get more info. He’s tempted to tell you every single confidential thing he knows, just to see you light up like that again.

“The lads are all in town. We’re four. Johnny, the fucker, owns a bakery. Flirts with everyone that comes in. People dig the accent.”, he begins and you perk up.

“Accent? It’s not the Scottish one, is it? What was his name…”, you seem to wrack your brain for it. “Mac…. Mac…”

“MacTavish.”, Simon supplies and you beam at him.

“I know that guy! His bread is to die for.”, you claim and Simon can’t really tell you that he already knows you frequent his friends bakery (he might have seen you there when he went to visit Johnny at work; might have worked out the times you go to Johnny’s and visited him more often around that time).

“He seems really nice but…”, you trail off and when you don’t continue Simon gently nudges you with his elbow to go on (you don't seem bothered by the contact, and he's surprised by himself for daring to do that so casually), curious what you might have to say about Johnny. You hesitate.

“Go on, sweetheart.”, he urges gently.

 “… he kinda intimidates me.”, you finally admit and suddenly Simon is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Johnny intimidates you. Who would have ever guessed.

Johnny, who only recently teased him that ‘the cutie’ would never warm up to him because of his scary mask, intimidates you. Yet scary Simon is the one you’re taking a stroll in the park with. He desperately wants to rub it in Johnny’s face.

“Don’t tell your friend about it, but I can’t ever seem to remember his name. My friends and I refer to him as MacFlurry.”, you add, blushing but grinning mischievously.

Simon stares at you for a second and he can see the smile slowly drop and the apology forming on your lips when he starts laughing. He clutches his ribs, doubling over. Oh he’s gonna have so much fun with this information.

After a few seconds your laughter joins his as you’re helplessly giggling along, his booming laughter infectious.

“That…”, he laughs. “That’s great. Fucking MacFlurry.” He practically wheezes in laughter. Shit, he wants to marry you. Right here, right now.

Your giggle is beautiful and slightly bashful. Simon wishes he could catch it in a jar so he might listen to the heavenly sound again and again.

Finally he catches his breath and straightens up a bit, his eyes are twinkling, creases all around them from smiling so widely. He wants to tug you in close and thank you for existing.

“You know, sweetheart, I could always introduce you to MacFlurry and the others. We’re meeting up this evening. Wanna tag along?”, he blurts out before he can reconsider and your eyes grow wide and alarmed.

[that1nerd-20]

Imagine a Dog!hybrid!reader with human 141, so shes like an anomaly in a mostly human world. She's a doberman hybrid, like ghost she always has a ski mask on. Her eyes are visible, no matter what your eye color is reader has piercing amber eyes, (because of her being a dog hybrid, the only doberman that can have blue eyes different than the range of browns is the albino and I don't support the breeding of that gene) I'm imagining that she was a lab experiment and was found as a kid, found by some higher up that can keep her secret classified. I like the idea of Laswell finding her and just deciding to adopt her. She learns her ticks and tricks easily enough. And reader doesnt really have any visible "dog" features other than her ears, tail, and teeth. Her claws grow a little faster and pointyier than regular humans nails. But like just imagine...

Doberman hybrid!reader needing to have a job at all times, being a working dog she gets antsy and destructive if she's understimulated. Laswell figures that out very early on after a shirt gets chewed up and has to be thrown away.

Doberman hybrid! Reader having hand puzzles and fidget toys on hand at all times to keep her stimulated.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that does laps around base when she's not on a mission. Or she's carrying around extra weight while she does mundane things so she feels useful.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that always waits for instructions before doing anything

Doberman hybrid! Reader that wags the tiny stump of a tail, that hides in her pants, anytime she gets praised, her body immediately relaxes when laswell calls her, her good girl. This gets worse once she meets and starts going with the 141.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that calls laswell mom or mama when they are alone.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that loves head/chin scratches.

Doberman hybrid! reader that wears a ski mask and helmet at all times to hide her ears.

Doberman hybrid! reader that is called anubis around base, most don't even know why they just heard it one day and went with it

Doberman hybrid! reader that has canines that grew in when she was 10 ish, she was teething and had to have so many chew things to help

Doberman hybrid! reader who doesn't really have a heat or period, more like a mixture of the two, it's not as often as a period but not as long as a heat cycle. Reader nests during her cycle and is a little bit more horny than usual. She gets very clingy during this time as well.

When she meets the 141, I imagine it's because some dumbass higher up said that laswell and reader couldn't work together anymore because they are mom and daughter. Even though anyone that knows about r's condition knows the reason they work together is because of r's condition. Like any work dog she needs a knowledgeable handler. When they meet her, they're all intrigued. She's quiet and does everything laswell says without complaint. For this specific reader I think ghost and soap would take one look at her eyes and immediately stake a claim silently. Soap is a bit more vocal about it in subtle ways, ghost is just looming and quiet, but if you know him well enough, like the 141, you can see the possession flickering in his eyes. The only thing is reader wants nothing to do with any of them. When they go on their mission, reader is a little lost, she waits for orders like the good girl she is and price starts getting frustrated with this, he's used to his boys knowing exactly what needs to get done without asking even though for certain reasons he still voices his needs for missions. He tries to understand because she's new to the team but he can't seem to. Eventually he blows up at reader, she cowers and gets that guilty look in her eye even though she didn't do anything wrong per say. Ghost clenched his gun tightly not like the tone price was using, soap was a little less subtle with his anger, he glared a hole into prices head. Gaz tried to get the captain to back and eventually he did but the damage had been done. Soap tried to talk to reader but it wasn't much use. Once they got back to base, reader immediately goes to laswells office, wanting to be comforted by her person. Laswell was beyond pissed when she heard what happened and marched down to John's office to tell him right off. Angry mama bear mode activated. After a few more missions (over a few months), laswell tells the boys what reader is, like maybe they are on a mission and at their safe house. Reader is asleep in a hoodie and a mask. They don't believe her at first untill reader wakes up from a nightmare crying and freaks so she rips her mask off, ears pinned back. Laswell goes over and holds her telling her mama is here. When she falls back asleep, she sets her back down against her bed and gives her a spare t-shirt cause hybrid!reader has a sensitive nose and a comforting scent will help her. Ghost and soap test this later down the road while on mission, they grab an old t-shirt of theirs and give it to asleep reader. She cuddles it and eventually sticks it in her mouth unknowingly, she doesn't chew on it. Laswell taught her better than that, she just let's it sit in her teeth. Once johnny and Simon have her as their girlfriend she just stuffs whatever t-shirt they're wearing to bed, or maybe even fingers (as long as they are clean.)in her mouth when they settle in for the night. Eventually when she moves out of Laswells house and into the boy's she's now going to have to get used to not being the only dog in the house. Riley at first doesn't know how to react to this strange woman that smells of Dog in his home. Reader doesn't know how to act around a dog, the dogs at base usually didn't like her. But eventually they become best friends. She's able to understand what Riley needs most of the time and when they both get antsy they take runs together. Simon's a little mad that his dog stole his girl but he makes her feel better so he guesses its alright. Once they retire, reader doesn't get as antsy anymore mainly because she's stimulated, even if she's not working anymore. She still has her moments but with Simon, Johnny, and Riley all in her life she's got plenty of things to keep her occupied. Even more so if she has some smaller pups running around if you know what I mean... 😏

[owlcomics101]

“Dog trouble.” task force 141 x fox hybrid!Reader

Warnings: bit of blood, animal violence, mentions of animal abuse/hunting (I do NOT condone), SFW (I am a minor), wholesome fox cuddles, reader is an Arctic fox hybrid

Please read the head cannons first

You are an arctic fox hybrid. You have the fluffy fox ears, tail, feet paws, and fangs. Gaz was taking you on your morning walk when the two of you walked by some military dogs who gave you the stink eye. Usually military dogs would never attack unless instructed by their handler otherwise, but these weren’t the properly trained and experienced military dogs. They were new and haven’t even seen the field of battle yet. Of course when they saw you strutting in front of Gaz with your tail up and proud as Gaz couldn’t help but snicker. The dog’s instincts kicked in. “Bullet no!-“ The handler whistles for one of the dogs to sit still but bullet wouldn’t listen. The dog had its eyes and soon its fangs on you. Bullet immediately sprinted towards you. The handler tried grabbing a hold of the dog, but Bullet was too fast for his handler to grab a hold of his harness. Instinctively Gaz grabbed and picked you up immediately and out of reach of the blood thirsty canine. “Get your god Damm dog here!” Gaz shouted. Bullet jumped on Gaz, trying to bite your tail but instead bit Gaz’s wrist, causing him to drop you. You fall to the ground with a thud as bullet jumps off of Gaz and chases after you.

“Shit-Y/N!” Gaz scrambles to his feet. Your ears perk up at the dog’s footsteps and you snarled. Your tail and ears puffing up to try and make yourself look big and intimidating to the mutt but Bullet could smell your fear. You never thought in a million years you would ever have to worry about a snot-nose dog in your face trying to hunt you down like back in the tundra. Your mind could not forget all the pain and trauma those dogs brought you. You have the bite marks and scratches to remember each hit well. These dogs could never compare to the real predators you would face like wolves. At least wolves were only hunting you for food and survival, these domesticated mutts were only hunting you for their master’s approval. Bullet lunged at you as you quickly slipped away, running down the block with the mutt right at your tail. Soap was just leaving the mess hall when he saw you outside being chased.

“God pumpin' dammit! Y/N!” Soap bolted out from the mess hall and after you and bullet. He wasn’t going to let the mutt lay a single fang on you, not if he had anything to say about it. Gaz was running after you as well. Clutching his bleeding arm from Bullet’s bite to stop the bleeding. Soap looked over to Gaz and quickly stopped him.

“Go get some help Gaz! I'll handle this!" Gaz was hesitant on leaving you. It was his fault, at least he think it’s his fault. He should’ve known the dogs would be out at this time. He should’ve taken you out earlier or maybe skipped the walk all together.

“No Soap-“ Gaz tried to protest but Soap was already gone along with you and Bullet around the corner. You kept running and slipping under passing soldiers left to right as bullet chased you. Soap swearing and shoving everyone out of his way to reach to you. Soap shoved past Ghost who was walking by. Ghost’s brows furrowed as he was shoved.

“Johny what the bloody hell!?” Ghost snapped as he grabbed Soap’s wrist tightly, the day has just begun and Soap was already on his nerves. Soap quickly tried to jerk away from Ghost in a panic.

“Let go! It’s Y/N-Their-“ Soap was cut off by a shriek and it wasn’t Bullet. Soap’s skin went pale when he heard it again. Ghost’s eyes widen as his breath hitched in his throat. You were shrieking and snapping as Bullet bit onto your leg and shook you around like some kind of messed up chew toy. You tried thrashing and biting your way out of the dog’s grasp but bullet wasn’t budging—its jaws clamped shut around your ankle like a bear trap. You could feel the fangs digging into your flesh and tissue, blood seeping and dripping out like a stream as it filled the dog’s mouth. All the blood and struggling around just made the dog tighten its grip and bit into you more. You felt like you were trapped in the snare again, dangling and running around in circles as the noose grew tight. Soap saved you then but where was he now? Just then the dog let out a yelp and let go of you as it was shoved to the ground by Ghost. Soap immediately scooped you up in his arms.

“I’m here, I’m here! I got you.” Soap reassured you as he held you close to his chest. Stroking your back and giving you kissing on the forehead. You couldn’t help but watch Ghost deal with the dog. Ghost grabbed bullet by the harness and held him back for the handler to go get their Damm dog back. Ghost saved you..

“What’s going on out here!?” Price snaps, Gaz following behind him with his wrist bandaged up and stained with blood. Price looked down at the dog and over to you, trembling in soap’s arms as blood trickles down your ankle and foot. To say Price was pissed, would be an understatement. He was livid! He walked over to you and inspected your leg. Soap still stroking your back and head to calm you down.

“Take them to the infirmary and get them looked after. After that I want them safe back in MY office!” Price ordered Soap as he quickly nodded and took you away. You look over Soap’s shoulder to see Price shouting at the handler along with Gaz, but Ghost…Ghost looked over to you. Watching Soap take you away to get cleaned and bandaged up. Maybe Ghost wasn’t so bad after all?

writer’s note: Maybe part 2? We’ll see how this does ^^

[shadowhearts-ponytail]

christmas with abby anderson!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

a/n: I love winter so so much! and I love abby, so here you go!

warnings: this is just fluffy Christmas activities. there is a bit of a suggestive joke. but nothing too bad. let me know if I missed anything!

words: 1,066

abby is a Christmas girly. for sure. she loves Christmas. it is the most wonderful time of the year for her. by far. her favorite holiday. she goes all out.

abby has one of those mistletoe hats. the ones that hang mistletoe over you and another person. she wears it all the time as an excuse to pull you into a kiss. her hands on your hips as she leans down to plant a long kiss on your lips.

she has mistletoe all over your shared apartment. for extra kisses. in every single doorway. she keeps some mistletoe in her pockets to pull it out when you both are out so she can hold it over your head and pout for a kiss.

making Christmas cookies. she's a sugar cookie girl. simple. easy to make. plus, she likes decorating them with frosting after but will complain that the frosting "makes them overly sweet" when she's the one that drenched it in red and green icing and snowflake sprinkles.

she always makes cookies to give to her dad. she always makes him a big tin full of different kinds. chocolate chip, sugar cookies, oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodles, gingerbread men.

she's actually quite a skilled baker. old family recipes she knows by heart. muscle memory usually kicks in when she kneads the dough. she hums when she bakes. while she waits for the oven, she'll do a little dance if she thinks you aren't looking.

she makes fresh bread and cakes and so many sweets around the holidays. she's not one to eat sweets, but she loves making them for friends or family.

she makes enough to feed a damn army of 5,000 gren men and then sends them with you to work for your coworkers or to your family.

"no, baby. you know I hate cookies and cake. just give it to your family. or I'm sure your boss would love 200 cookies, right?"

"sure, abs. sure. whatever you say." you playfully roll your eyes at your girlfriend as she has once again gone overboard with the Christmas cookies, just like last year and the year before that. it's tradition at this point.

getting custom Christmas stockings with your names on them. the stockings mean a lot to her. getting to fill your stocking with little gifts, candies, and love notes would bring the purest smile to her face. and seeing her stocking next to yours. she loves seeing it. she's always wanted that. wanted someone to make her a stocking with her name on it.

she would get alice one and put it next to both of yours. full it with dog treats and chew toys. she says it makes you three a family.

abby buys alice a new collar every year and gets those doggy Christmas sweaters. she gets alice bones to chew on and toys and clothes to wear. that dog is spoiled rotten.

abby would want to take "family photos" with you and alice. she has alice wear one of the shirts in the photos.

she like hires a photographer, and everything. you go out to some field or somewhere nice to take professional pictures. she hangs them in your apartment and makes a Christmas card with them to send to both her family and yours from "The Anderson Family."

"I hope it's okay I used my last name. I'm sure you'll end up taking it anyway."

when she says this, you about choke on your water. "i-" cough, cough, "Yeah, that's fine, baby. I'm sure you're right." you tease with a little wink.

abby gets you small gifts every day of December up until Christmas. a small bouquet of flowers, a little handwritten note, candies. simple things. she sees it as an extra excuse to spoil you. not that she ever needs one. but she's just a sappy romantic like that.

she always wants to come home to you as soon as she gets off work to cuddle up and watch some Christmas movies, and warm up the apartment by cooking you dinner or baking.

abby probably isn't one of those people who's crazy particular about the ornaments on the tree. like they don't have to be all the same colors and shit. she would like handmade ones more. ones that were passed down in the family. sentimental ones.

she always puts the same star on the tree every year. one her dad got her as a gift. it'd very important to her. she packs it in a metal box wrapped in bubble wrap and blankets to keep it safe.

but she refuses to get on the ladder and out it on the tree. she's too scared of heights. she won't get further than the first step on the ladder.

"abby, cmon. just put the star on the tree. I'll get the ladder."

"No! I can't. what if I fall and break my neck?" she asks with puppy eyes and a big pout.

"abs are you serious? the chances of that are, like, zero!" you argue back to the muscled woman before you, "besides you're taller than me."

instead of arguing back, she picks you up in her massive arms and hoists you to sit on her shoulder.

"abby!"

"there. now you're taller. now you have to do it"

she wears boxers with Christmas prints on them. snowmen, reindeer, santa, snowflakes.

you guys are bickering about something meaningless, and to lighten the mood, she just unbutton her pants and push them down to her knees to reveal boxers with a mistletoe print on them then yell, "kiss it then!"

you can't help but burst into laughter and clutch your stomach as you double over in a fit of laughter.

abby looks at you with a cheeky grin, "still mad at me, baby?"

abby is a fanatic about Christmas lights. she likes going to the park closer to Christmas to see all the lights at night. she'd be so excited. begging to go every night until they take them down.

she brings you to the annual anderson family dinner. the first time she brought you, she was so excited, but you were so nervous.

she was practically bouncing with joy when her dad brought you into a tight hug the moment he met you. he immediately started to talk your ear off. making you feel welcome.

you are definitely invited to next year's dinner.

a/n: feedback is always welcome!

[maestro030403]

What toy the Batch would buy Omega for her Birthday

(Does she have a birthday??? Whatever - what they would buy her for any occasion because I bet they would buy her presents all the time if they could)

Tech

He would try to buy her a set of books or her own datapad, but would be made fun of by the other members because "that's not a toy"

He would definitely find some sort of chemistry set and quietly observe her playing with it

He's not the type of guy to actually play with it and show her how to play with it, although he wants to step in when she "does it wrong"

He doesn't let Wrecker touch it even though he's intrigued by the chemical reactions

"Independent play and discovery are very important for children's development. I read it in (blah blah blah)"

Hunter

He would totally get her a little play set with dolls

A mini marauder-like ship and five little action figure clones with an extra little girl doll

He would definitely play house with her when he's not taking care of his other children he has the time

One time she got them all into the game and each of the members got to pretend to be the others

Echo

He would buy Omega some fidget toys because he thinks they're cool and will keep her busy

Hunter ends up finding them and showing Omega cool tricks with a yo-yo

Wrecker breaks about half of them

Crosshair sneakily steals one and uses it when he gets anxious

One of the batch sneaks one into Tech's hands when he's talking and he doesn't even notice. He keeps it.

Wrecker

He would buy her an easy-bake oven and "make snacks" and play chef with Omega

Tech boosted up the power so that it could actually cook - "if we have this thing we might as well be able to use it"

Crosshair puts something metal in it and it causes a fire

Hunter bans any sort of cookware that wasn't already built into the ship

Crosshair

He gets her a "build your own weapons kit."

Crosshair: "Don't show Hunter"

Wrecker: "Where'd you even find this?"

Echo: "This isn't for kids"

Tech: "It appears none of us can use it - the box says 'you must be 18 years or older to use'"

Hunter ends up finding it and making himself a weapon out of it

Bonus

Omega insists that Batcher needs her own toys, too

The batch gets Batcher lots of chew toys and fetch toys

Echo insists that Omega's new chore is to clean up the dog toys when Batcher leaves them all over

Tech insists that they do not play fetch in his ship, especially after the so called "fetch incident"

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 03: WAR WITH HEAVEN. izuku midoriya (2K)

about. upon spending time apart from your pro-hero fwb, deku, for a work trip — he quickly realises he wants it all with you. heaven, hell and life on earth.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, sneaky links, long distance relationships, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, friends with benefits to lovers, journalist + fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

things to note. another saturday is upon us and so is another instalment!! i really like this one n can’t believe we’re half way through already !! anyways i hope you enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

whether you believe it or not, izuku midoriya has never been hopelessly in love. 

like most people with an overexposure to romance saturated media — the number one hero has always had that nagging feeling, craving for something more. the person to come home to, the partner, the kids and the dog that chews through the white picket fence or makes a mess on the freshly cut lawn. he wants a family like most individuals. but with a schedule as busy and a lifestyle as reckless as his…there’s hardly any time for izuku’s dreams. 

dreams were for losers, anyways. 

after high school, izuku quickly learned that dreaming wasn’t enough to get by even if it had motivated him to become a hero. reality is harsh and full of hard truths — bearing the responsibility of future number one and being all might’s prodigy had taught him that. so his rose tinted view of the future he had planned for himself quickly collapsed, the stain glass window shattering above him while its shards nicked at izuku’s youthful, hopeful skin.

he wasn’t so pure and good after leaving U.A — at least not in front of the public. behind closed doors izuku was a pessimist. he was sly and maybe a little sleazy, always on the prowl for something or someone to toy with. little deku was all grown up, no longer baby-faced and bright eyed but instead buffer with an unfairly tiny waist and an angular sharpness to his jaw that could cut diamonds. 

he was attractive and he knew it — his new found confidence bled into his sex appeal and sky rocketed his popularity and now…the number one controls the whole of Japan in the palm of his hand. everybody wants a taste of the new and improved izuku midoriya. 

everyone including you. 

mindless hookups, despite being easy stress relief, always left izuku with a sour taste in his mouth. conservations with the elite that happened to stumble into his bed never went further than superficial talk and the odd ‘lets do this again sometime’s. he hated how people would change around him, clinging onto him after a night in the sheets like deku owed them a piece of his soul. 

being the number one was no longer enough for hungry mouths. sex no longer satisfied those in his circle. 

that was until he met you. the first time deku encountered you (at a hero press junket), you had been a shy intern journalist forced to follow around her mentor with an extreme lust for the green haired hero. he felt bad for you, you were obviously there to learn and do your job but the senior professional they’d stuck you with couldn’t help but slobber all over him instead of teaching you. 

half-way through the junket, izuku had managed to sneak away from the pestering paparazzi to get a moment to himself — and it seemed, you’d had similar ideas. his initial assessment of your character was way off too. you were quiet, sure, but observant and snarky as well. a realist just like him. and somehow, you’d managed to convince him to leave to conference; get drinks at a secret roof top bar for only the highest members of japanese hero society, and talk and talk for hours about everything and anything. from quirks to the best snack combinations at the only kombini open past three AM on your street.

izuku liked you, he hadn’t felt such a spark for someone since his rookie days. you were cute, he couldn’t stop looking at your eyes and how they sparkles. your lips when you sipped the drinks he ordered for you and the way you instinctively leaned up to deku just to hear what he was saying. 

the way you ended up in his bed that night was no mystery to either of you. 

except the sensual and sultry night you shared together didn’t end there — at every event, every occasion, where journalists were required to be present, you found yourselves gravitating towards one another. one moment you’d be sharing bedroom eyes with one another from across the room and the next deku would have you bent over in bathroom stalls, his hushed moans in your ear and his fingers deep in your mouth to keep you quiet.  

months went by and the sex didn’t stop, neither of you wanted it to. you made izuku feel a little bit whole again, you made him feel good and made him laugh all in the same breath. he didn’t just like it when you left your claim on his neck bordering the line of keeping your rendezvous a secret and letting the whole world find out — but he liked it when you stayed over and wore his shirts around his luxury apartment. or came to hang out with him at his private gym with a bag of cheat-day take-out katsudon and an earful of gossip from your office. 

deku really liked you, more than he should’ve for a girl who was meant to be just a fling, more than he should’ve for someone who didn’t have time in his day for a lover.

“did you get over me?” the hero pouts into the FaceTime call, watching you struggle to grab your luggage off of the conveyer belt in baggage claim. if he were there, he’d have gotten it for you by now.

despite not being anything serious to one another, izuku had made it a habit to weasel his way into your everyday life. you sent cute little good morning and goodnight texts to one another, along with other messages like ‘get home safe’ and ‘have a good day’ too. those text messages quickly escalated to phone calls once the green haired number one admitted to you that it’s hard to fight crime whilst looking for the right kao emoji to send you.

you roll your eyes, coy smile budding on the edges of your lips. “it’s only been two hours, izuku.” you say, finally managing to grab your bag before you head out to the main lobby of the airport.

one thing about that man, is that he’s clingy as fuck. all of your attention has to be on him or he’ll feel like he might die. with you being away for the weekend at a journalism conference instead of in his arms, izuku feels like he might burn the whole world down from the ground up. just to be near you.

either that or he’s just extremely pussy whipped. 

“streets are sayin’ you might sleep with that guy from your team while you’re there, is that true?” deku fires back, running a scarred hand through the mass of curls atop his head. he lets it run down to smooth over his face, peach fuzz starting to grow through — but you made him promise not to shave until the day after you got back. apparently his light stubble against your inner thighs made you cum so much—

“—i don’t even like him like that, you big baby,” you tell him matter of factly, cutting through his train of thought and bringing your phone up to your face once more to let emerald eyes peek down your sweater. “and i think he’d get the hint if he saw all these damn marks on my neck.” 

pink blooms underneath the freckles on midoriya’s cheeks at the sight of the purple hues decorating your neck and shoulders. he remembers the extra turtlenecks you had to pack because of it. “couldn’t help it, i needed to give you a reminder of what you’d be missing while you were away from me.” 

“you’re so dramatic, deku.” 

“oh, you wound me, angel.” he purrs into the mic with a sly grin, knowing that he’s affecting you just as much as he misses you. especially when you give him a pointed glare. izuku let’s the conversation wither out as you order yourself an uber that’ll take you the hotel. he can’t help but chuckle when you perk up and notice the amount of money he’s sent you to cover the costs of it. “yanno…” deku mumbles, resting his cheeks on his knuckles. “you’re like heaven away from hell to me.” 

you won’t admit how sexy he looks, even if izuku is all googly-eyed and soft for you. even if his forest green locks curl over his pretty eyes and hide them. it almost pisses you off. that he’s so blissfully unaware of how fucking pretty he is and how that mere fact manages to ruin you you even though you’re miles apart. “what’s hell, then?”

“my work. this city. this apartment, without you.” he says smoothly, filling your stomach with butterflies. izuku has a away about him that makes you feel like you’re his entire world and only his — but there’s never been any strings attached, you’ll never fully be his and he’ll very much be the nation’s hero (and dick) until someone manages to tie him down. 

“are you asking me to move in with you, izuku?” there’s no expectancy in your voice — you say it mostly as a joke because you have no idea how much the number one pines for you. how tonight, he’ll drink himself into a stupor with his friends and whine to them about how much he misses you. izuku may have changed on the outside, may be stronger and faster but he’s still that insecure teenager on the inside. 

he has to force his knees to stop knocking whenever you’re around. he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat whenever he thinks about the possibility of you being with someone who isn’t you. he feels sick to the stomach and panics at the thought of losing you. you mess with deku’s head in the worst of ways and yet he finds himself wanting more. nevertheless, he smiles, loving how his name sounds on the sweet glaze of your lips. 

“you’ve got a place in my bed. you’re always here anyways.” 

“you’d never let me leave it, if you had a say in the matter.” 

“you’d never have to work again if you let the number one hero take care of you angel.” izuku sighs longingly, giving you his cutest pair of puppy dog eyes that never fail to make you swoon. “but you love your job.” 

“i do.” your uber pulls up and you reply curtly so you can properly greet your driver. they aid you with your suitcase and you slip your headphones on while in the back seat to keep your special conversation private. 

“do you love me?” he can’t help but ask. izuku is hopelessly enamoured by you, you’re like a virus that’s spread across his brain and controls his every thought or action. he needs you like his lungs need oxygen to breathe — you’ve changed him for the better, shown him that maybe he can have both work and luxury. a family and foundation. with you, if you’d want him. 

“izuku.” you warn, but playfully.

“so it’s true,” the hero drawls across the line in faux disappoint  though his eyes speak mischief. “you only like me for my cock ‘n my money.” you can practically hear the pout on his pretty plump lips. 

a fondness takes over you and you can’t help but squirm happily. “and your pretty boy smile,” you squeal cutely, filling midoriya with the same amount of fondness “don’t forget.”

“so you do love me.” 

“i can’t answer that until you ask what you want to ask me properly.” 

“alright then,” sitting up, deku grasps at his phone between shaky fingers and holds it above his head — giving you the perfect view of his freckled and scared (and chiselled) body. he chews on the swell of his lower lip, dancing around the question he knows he wants to ask. “angel. i want you. more than just a fling. i want you to be mine.” he blurts, closing his eyes so that his thoughts come easy and he can’t see you reject him.

midoriya doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you, he’s seen what losing your love has done to his friends. kirishima and his partner had almost broken up with each other recently. he’d be a mess in that situation.  izuku has faced too many hardships in his life, his career, to let this one good thing slip from between his fingers. 

“will you? be mine?”

he sees you poke your tongue into your cheek, laughing as you pretend to think. “i will, izuku. i want nothing more,” you coo. “keep my side of the bed warm. i’ll be home soon.” 

relief floods through deku’s body. “don’t be too long, gorgeous.” with a couple of blow kisses, he lets you go with the reminder to call him back once you’re settled in at the hotel (so he can pay for your room service). it’s only when you’re alone again that izuku realises he’d rip stars from the sky to be with you, pull the heavens right down to earth to be by your side.

you’re everything to izuku, and for you, he’d go to war with heaven. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[luveline]

steve zombie au —you and steve celebrate his birthday with a frank discussion and some new fun. [5k]

fem!reader, afab!reader, fluff, MDNI smut (hand job, implied oral), cw for mentioned circumstances of the apocalypse; food insecurity, danger, zombies, nightmares, injury

April 29th starts exceedingly warm. Summer is fast approaching, and it's being felt all over The College community. You can forget zombies — a world without air conditioning is much scarier. 

You're kidding, obviously. Geeks are scary. Both for what they are, slimy decomposing husks that want more than anything to chew on you like a dog toy, and what they could be, the end of your life. There have been times where you wished for something of the same calibre, but these days you have someone you want to hold onto. 

And that someone is turning twenty three. He's still sleeping, the limp hair in his eyes freshly shorn. He doesn't know that you know it's his birthday today, but you do, so you'd traded with Mel the used-to-be hairdresser to get you both haircuts. You would've traded just for him —her services aren't cheap— if you thought he'd ever let you, or ever get one without you.

It's exactly that reason that you'd wanted him to have a haircut in the first place, and why you want him to have a good birthday. He's so loving, and sweet, and good, he deserves to feel special. He needs to know how much you appreciate him. 

You're hoping you've prepared enough to do that. 

You brush the sweat damp hair out of Steve's eyes as he begins to stir. You've been up for hours, now, and it's a credit to how much you like him that you would wake up early on a day you could've slept in, sweaty but safe in the circle of his arm. You've washed up for the morning so he doesn't have to wake to your oily face, and you press a spearmint-fresh kiss to his cheek as his eyelashes strain. 

"Hey," he says, rough with sleep. 

You love his voice in the mornings. "Hey, handsome. Good morning." 

You lay your cheek against his pillow, watching as he opens his eyes. Your hand roves over his naked torso selfishly, feeling the soft indentations of muscle. He's put on weight since you got here. It's amazing. 

"It's fucking–" He stretches out beside you, his sentence scythed in two by a low groan. "S'fucking so hot. I just woke up and it's so hot." 

"I think it's finally summer." 

"I don't know," he argues lightly, "it shouldn't be this hot. Not for another two months, Jesus." 

He traces your face with his eyes as he talks, and as his sentence finishes he pauses his searching. He brings a hand up between your two bodies and rubs his thumb against the highest point of your cheek. "I guess it's almost May." 

"It's April 29th," you say softly. 

His lashes come together slowly, a subtle suspicious squint souring his otherwise serene expression. "Robin told you?" 

"Yes, she did. Happy birthday, baby." 

He looks at you a little longer. You like to be looked at by Steve because you know he's thinking nice things as he does, but for those long, stretched seconds you worry you've given him a reason to wrinkle his nose. Maybe it's cringy to be romantic about it. After all, he'd kept his birthday to himself the entire time you'd known him. 

"Thank you." 

He tugs you in for a hug, so tight you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own. 

"You're welcome," you say, words smothered under his cheek. 

He clings to you. You can't count how many hugs you've shared after so long together. Even before Steve told you he loved you on the floor of this very room, before he asked if you were together in a cold car shivering for your lives in the middle of an abandoned highway, he was hugging you when you needed them, or when he needed you. 

You feel your eyes warm thinking about it, until the heat becomes tears, and the tears roll down over the bridge of your nose. You push your head as far as you can over Steve's shoulder, your hands hugging behind his head to keep him with you if he tries to move. You're selfish, and you don't deserve him but you have him. It counts for something. 

"I love you," you say, tears making your voice all wobbly. Cicadas call from the open window, and the earth seems deathly still. Steve is quiet for a while and you worry you've put him off crying on his special day, but then his arm shifts against your back and his embrace tightens again. 

"I can't believe it took me," —he presses his forehead to yours— "twenty three years to find you." 

"You found me ages ago," you remind him, fighting for your life because isn't that the most romantic thing, isn't he the sweetest guy? 

"Are you crying?" he asks, frowning. 

"Not really. I just love you." 

He holds your face in his palm and gives you a gentle shake. "I love you. But you know that. It's embarrassing how much you know that."

"Embarrassing how much you love me?" you ask, poking for extra compliments. Again, you're selfish. 

Again, it counts for something. 

Steve pushes your shoulders back into the bed and follows with his weight on top of you, his chest pressed to your chest and an elbow by your arm so his face doesn't smash into yours. You're a little daunted —Steve doesn't come on to you so suddenly, but it's his birthday, and you just asked him how much he loves you. Maybe he's excited. 

His laugh fans over your face. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, "I saw the look on your face." He turns his head to kiss your cheek. "I love you so much. That part isn't embarrassing, at all, I just mean I would've had the shit kicked out of me in high school for being whipped." 

"You're whipped?" you ask lightly, trying to maintain casualness as his lips dip lower. His kisses show how he's still far from being properly awake, mouthing at the column of your throat one slovenly inch at a time.

"I'm worse than that," he says, his lips parting over your pulse. 

His teeth scratch. 

"Steve–" You laugh as he sucks your skin between his teeth, not his worst hickey but the start of a sore one if you let him finish. "Baby." 

He pulls away, his words scorching against you, "You sound flustered." 

"I am! You're biting me." 

"I'm not not biting you," he agrees, kissing his hickey. It won't last, he hadn't worked at it for very long, but it turned you to jelly under his big hands. "Sorry, I like when you do that." 

"Do what?" 

"You relax," he says with a smile. 

"I relax with you." 

It's true and untrue. It takes you time to decompress, for months you hadn't felt safe, and then things had happened to rob you of that feeling again, but Steve's persistence and insistence that nothing is going to happen is one you believe. You crawl into bed with him and sometimes it takes an hour, but you relax. You sleep well with him. 

"I know," he says, pulling up to meet your eyes again, "but when I kiss you like that you go somewhere else. I'm not saying it to be cheesy, although it's definitely cheesy and I'm a romantic weapon." He smiles at your smiling. "I'm trying to describe it to you but I got a C in English and I never went to college." 

You laugh again. He would've been hard pushed to go, considering the circumstances. 

"We're in college now," you say. 

The community that you live in has been nicknamed The College. It was a smaller college campus once upon a time, and now it homes a couple hundred people of all ages trying to make a life. 

"Let me brush my teeth and then I'm gonna kiss you stupid," Steve says, climbing off of you. 

There isn't an ensuite in your room but there is a small sink, and he stands there in his boxers and short-sleeved t-shirt bent over the basin. He puts paste on his toothbrush and tries to talk to you around brushing, his hair rumpled and sticking out at the back, his boxers lower on one hip. 

You're trying to talk back to him, but you've noticed something you hadn't meant to. 

Steve has a bulge. 

Steve usually has a bulge, you're not stupid, you know your boyfriend is well-endowed. It would be impossible not to notice, you've woken countless times to something warm pressed against your thigh, but you honestly hadn't cared. You and Steve haven't had sex, and that doesn't bother either of you, you know it with surety. Your relationship has always weighed heavily on other things. But you have to wonder if he wants it. You know you do, in moments like this where he's had you pressed down into a box and nipped at your neck, suggesting the salacious to the shell of your ear. 

He swills out his mouth and washes his face as boys do, rough and quick, water dripping down his neck and soaking the hairs surrounding his face. 

You have your heart in your throat as he slides back into bed. 

"You have your shift soon?" he asks, hiking up on his pillow and pulling you toward his arms. 

"I swapped with Shirley to have today off, it's your birthday." 

"Ah, but when I gave you that necklace for your birthday there was no need." 

"It's different." 

Steve kisses the top of your head, sounding fondly defeated as he says, "It's not different." 

You turn in his hold, head by his elbow as you look up at him with a question you don't wanna ask in your eyes. He stares down at you. 

You shift your leg against him, and you can't miss the slight twitch of his mouth. Like he enjoyed the feeling. 

"Stevie," you murmur. "I have something I want to talk about, but I think I'll probably die of shame before I can say it out loud." 

"Is it your period? I already told you it shouldn't bother you, honey, it's natural–" 

"Progressive," you say with a laugh, "but no, I know you're not a big baby about it." The only thing that bothers Steve about it is that you're in pain when it happens.  

"I don't know what else would embarrass you like that," he says. 

"We don't have to talk about it. It's your birthday, I want to celebrate," you say, regretting your honesty. 

“It’s my birthday and I wanna talk about it,” he says. “Hit me with it. Tell me tell me tell me tell me–”

"No," you mumble, knowing you'll have to tell him now. 

"Please?" he asks. 

His tone slows everything down. Your mixed emotions, your apprehension and nerves, your excitement over his birthday, they slip away into the palm of his hand where it strokes under your breast. He takes it all. 

You look up into his face and try to look serious. 

"How come we don't have sex?" 

Steve is noticeably thrown for a loop. His hand lightens its hold. 

"Do you want the short answer?" he asks slowly. "Or the long one?" 

"Why are there two answers?" 

Steve is quiet for a second. You sit up some, not entirely but enough to feel as though he's hugging you rather than acting as a place for you to rest your head. He helps you without asking, hand like a brand considering the topic of conversation. 

"I just–" A muscle in his jaw moves as you talk. "I know sometimes I can– that you want to. I mean, that your, um–" 

"That I'm obviously excited," he says. 

You both cringe, and then you both laugh quietly. 

"Yeah. And you've never tried to do anything. I just wondered if maybe you don't want to, ever, or if you're waiting for me. If you are waiting for me…" 

"You're ready," Steve says. 

"Yeah." 

"I kind of knew that already, babe." Steve's fingers curl in toward your rib, knuckles resting against you, an arm behind your back. His face dips down to yours, and he kisses your cheek fondly and almost too softly, you barely feel it. "Not that you're obvious, but, you know, we've been together for a long time. I'd be an idiot if I couldn't read you." 

"So why haven't you asked me?" 

"Why haven't you asked me, 'til today?" He sounds immeasurably happy, now, his tone golden and silky smooth as pure honey, murmuring. "Being with you has never really been about that. I mean, we never could've on the road, how could you relax there?" 

"Maybe it would've relaxed me." 

"Maybe, but I kind of assumed it wouldn't. And I… I didn't want you to think you didn't have a choice, either, like I was looking after you so you had to do stuff you didn't want to do." 

"I wouldn't have thought that." 

"Good, then I was less of a dick than I thought." He pauses, breathes in the skin of your cheek as though it smells like something other than hand-soap turned face wash. "There were times when I really wanted to. But I guess most of the time I wasn't thinking about it, and then we got here and," —he smiles against your cheek— "I didn't want you to think I was saying I loved you and that having sex would make a difference." He turns bashful. "It sounds stupid now I'm actually telling you." 

"It doesn't," you say, immediate and soft with awe. "It doesn't." 

"Then you weren't safe, and you were having nightmares all the time, but now you're doing better and lately I've been thinking the same thing. Why aren't we?" 

You turn your face to his. "Well? Do you have an answer?" 

His lips pout up and his eyes squint a little as he nods, a melodramatic defeat. "The short answer. I can't find a box of fucking condoms." 

You're speechless. 

You cough. 

"...You've been looking?" you ask. 

"Sometimes. I looked in the mall pharmacy but they only had finger condoms. What am I gonna do with one of those?" He laughs at his own joke. 

You're thankful it isn't awkward. Thank whoever for your stupid beautiful boyfriend who cares about you more than anything. Too chivalrous to make a move but horny enough to look for condoms when his life is in danger. 

You settle your arms heavily over his shoulders and look him in the eye. "I really don't think that would work for you, Stevie." 

"You're flirting." 

"Is it working?" 

He touches the tip of his nose to yours. "It always works, but I really can't find any rubbers, I didn't want to ask you without being able to deliver. We're stuck." 

"I mean, maybe we could just… not use one?" you ask, genuinely wanting to hear his opinion. 

The side of Steve's nose touches yours, his breath warm on your cheek. "I thought about it. About asking you, but I just need you to be safe." He pulls back. "You couldn't have a baby." 

"I don't know. I don't think I could now, but we'd make it work." 

"Do you want one?" he asks. 

You think about the obvious. It's too fucking dangerous. Pregnancy before the apocalypse was dangerous. Pregnancy now is so much worse. It could kill you, and if it didn't labour could, and if it didn't and you did have a baby, that baby would live this life. You're too young to make that decision, you think. And if none of it mattered and you and Steve were a couple in a regular world, would you want one then? So soon? 

"No," you say. It feels good to say, because Steve will support every decision you make and you know it. 

"No. I don't want you to have one either." He licks his lips. "Maybe someday?" 

You smile at his hope. It cracks a yawning gap down your chest to the pit of your stomach. 

"Maybe someday," you say. 

He kisses you. Chaste but somehow sharp, pressing at the same time. Not trying to initiate anything he can't finish, but now that it's on the table the implied what-if feels heavy between you.

You hug him as the kiss breaks, your lips by his ear. "You could pull out?" you whisper. You love him and he's amazing but it's still a mortifying question. 

"I don't think that always works. Is it worth it?" he asks. 

Not really. Not if you aren't prepared to make big choices.

His arms wrap around you, and his hand rubs your back. "It's not like it'll never happen, honey." 

"Steve," you say softly, hand running down his back, "what if we did other stuff? Sex isn't just… I could make you feel good." You're trying hard not to sound crude, harder still not to sound as scared of his rejection as you feel. He's more than allowed to say no, but you hope he won't. You hope he wants you. 

"You could…" He swallows. You hear it loud and clear. 

"I could make you feel good," you repeat, lowering your voice. "What do you think, handsome?" 

"You don't have to do anything you're unsure of," he says. His breathlessness has your heart leaping in your chest. 

You pull back to see his face, find his cheeks warm as you press your palms to them. "I'm not unsure. If you want it, I want it. How do you feel?" 

"If you… if you change your mind," he murmurs. 

"I'll tell you," you say. You give him a look, the kind of bright-eyed, loving expression you save for special moments with him, pouring all your adoration and trust and wanting out for him to see. You lift your chin in question, and when he kisses you, you take it for a soft yes. 

You kiss him while you stand on knees, while you ease yourself over one thigh. Your knee rubs up against him and he shudders into the kiss, his hands leaping to your waist. 

"Do you," —you break away from his lips but can't stop yourself from dispersing honeyed pecks between words— "ever do anything by yourself? When I'm away? When I'm at the kitchen and you don't have to go, have you–" 

You're asking because you have a great suspicion that he has —one time you came home and he was so, so needy, clingy and sweet and relaxed. Another you might have found him midway, but he hid it well.

Steve nods hurriedly and steals another kiss. "Just a few times," he says. 

"How do you do that, sweetheart?" you ask, your hand trailing down his chest achingly slow. 

"I– I lay on your side of the bed." 

You kiss him harder than you mean to. "Why?" you ask into his lips. 

"It smells like you–" 

His hands roving up and down your back give you more than enough confidence to grasp at him wildly, your kissing suddenly, painfully desperate, your top lip on fire as Steve pulls your face down to his. You don't have the wherewithal to speak as your hand coast past his t-shirt to the rising tent of his boxers. 

Foreign and familiar at once. You've seen Steve naked a hundred times having lived in close quarters with him for as long as you have, and if Steve hadn't seen you before, all those times he's had to sit in the shower room with you lest you panic someone else is in the room would've made sure. You know what the other looks like bare. What you don't know is how they feel, and how they want to be touched. 

You reluctantly break your bruising kiss, resting your temple at his cheek as you look down. You slowly, slowly let your fingertips stroke down the line of his cock, beside yourself with giddy excitement as Steve moans breathlessly in your ear. 

"Fuck," he says. 

You've barely touched him. You flatten your hand as you approach the bottom of his length, pressing your thumb gently into the swelling of his balls. He hisses at your touching and you look up worriedly. "Sorry, am I not supposed to touch there?" you ask, whispering though there's no one else around to hear it. 

"Please," he says. He cuts himself off with a laugh, his head tilting back in pleasure as you put your hand back. "Please, touch anywhere." 

"It feels good?" 

"Please, honey, keep going," he says. 

You rub the length of his cock over his soft boxers, near awed as it hardens. You knew he was well endowed, and you've seen him hard and pressing against his jeans, but it feels different when it's under your hand. You drag your nose against the side of his throat, whispering, "Finger condoms really would've been useless," and laugh as he starts to laugh himself, breathless, throaty chuckling that lights a flame in your stomach. 

You start to kiss his neck slowly. Your hand is curious but not shy as it works up and down the length of him. Steve readjusts your grip, the pressure of it, his hand gentle on yours. 

Your face smushed to his neck, you watch what he's showing you and try to commit it to memory. It's tugging, almost. Kind but with a firm hand. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

"Please." Steve is quick to pull his boxers down, exposing the pale length, his ruddy tip, the tiniest bead of precum shiny as it oozes from the head's slit. Your breath catches at the sight of his hand, his long fingers encapsulating the thick girth of his cock and tugging up. "Fuck," he says again. 

"Can I do it?" you ask. "Or is it–" 

"Honey, it's okay, you can do whatever you want to me," he reassures. "Just do it, baby, please." 

He rarely ever calls you baby. "Poor boy," you murmur. 

Steve laughs, as if to say, Fuck you, but he's distracted from his plight when you wrap your hand around his warm cock. He pushes your face into his neck instinctively as you start to move against him. 

You've enough sense to spit in your hand and work it around. He's hot, heavy in your hand, tip of his cock to the belly button if you press it toward his torso. 

"I don't think I'll last long," he warns. 

"How do I– do you want me to be gentler?" 

He bucks into your hand with a shiver, groaning like the suggestion is agonising. 

"Should I use my mouth?" you ask. 

Steve really does sound pained, then, his head falling back, his abdomen rising and falling quick against your bicep. "I'm trying to last, baby." It's as though he's begging for something without saying what he wants. 

You try to distract him a little, prolong the inevitable as your fingers flex around his cock. "Kiss me," you say, using a tone you hope —you know— will hook his attention. "Please, Stevie, kiss me?" 

He drags his head up, cheeks as red as the ruddy head of his cock, the heat practically emanating from him as he gives you what you want. These kisses are sloppy rather than messy, lavish rather than tired. Your tongue presses at the seam of his lips and your head turns heavily to the left, sighing into his mouth as his spit paints your lips. His cock leaps in your hand, and you speed up just a touch, the skin bunching ever so slightly with your ministrations. It gets harder and harder for him to kiss you as his climax builds, his breath coming in pants, his thighs and stomach tightening in anticipation. You pull away, letting him shudder and whine by your ear, his hand like a vice around your forearm that's not helping but holding you. You push kisses into his jaw, the skin under his ear, and weave the hand that isn't wrapped around his cock into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly as you confess. 

"I love you," you say, nipping at his neck, printing red crescents in your wake, "I love you," you repeat, hot breath fanning over your hotter kisses. "I love you," you mouth, resting your forehead against his neck.

His head clamps down on top of yours and breath catches, held, his hand practically crushing your wrist as frantic pleasure builds. You speed up even if you're not sure that you should, and it must be the right thing to do —Steve goes white out still and tense as stone, your eyes widening a touch as the first string of cum spills over your fingers. Something snaps in him and he's moaning like he might cry into your hair, breathless panting as sticky cum bumps down over your fingers with each pump, his cock twitching uselessly in your grip. 

You soften your grip but don't slow until he gasps and says, "Honey– ah, ah, don't, don't. Please, that's so–" He laughs deliriously. "I'm gonna pass out." 

You take your hand from his cock, not grossed out or anything but definitely not sure what to do now. Steve's all but collapsed beside you, his torso sliding behind you into the pillows, twisted up and breathing hard as he wraps his arms around your waist. It's an odd position, not the cuddling you'd pictured, but you're content to let him cling to you if he needs to. He breathes in harsh breaths against the small of your back. 

You watch with a burning pit in your stomach as a last bead of cum wets his cock and seeps into his boxers. 

"Did that feel okay?" you ask. His cock twitches again at the sound of your voice. You'll have to ask him what that means.

Steve doesn't answer you straight away. He sits up, and he tucks his cock away, and then he sees the mess he'd made of your hand and laughs. He's definitely high from the pleasure of cumming like that after so long, 'cos he grabs your hand and wipes it clean on the literal t-shirt he's wearing.

"Steve, I could've washed it," you complain, laughing with him.

"I'll wash the shirt," he says. He keeps your hand in his.

"Did it feel good?" you ask again. Low, you're shy to have to ask twice, worried he avoided the question. It obviously felt good, but you want the reassurance that you did it well.

He pulls your hand to his chest and leans down for a kiss. "I'm really worried we shouldn't have done that. That was like, pot. You're gateway drugging me." He kisses you again, and he rubs your hand with his thumb. "Felt good, honey, couldn't you tell? You did– you did so good, honey. It felt fucking good." 

You descend into another round of messy kissing. He must feel the shape of your pleased smile, as he smiles too, and it's very difficult to kiss each other seriously when your lips are hardly touching. 

"Can I ask for something else?" he asks, pulling away. 

Your heart skips, 'cos you think he might ask to fuck you, and after all his pretty sounds and the heat between your thighs, you'll probably say yes, and that would be a terrible fucking idea without any protection—

"Let me go down on you," he says. 

You gawp. "What?" 

"Let me go down on you, sweetheart, please." 

"I didn't even go down on you," you say shyly, heart beating in your stomach now. You shove your hand between your legs impulsively. 

"If you went down on me I would've embarrassed myself," he says. He follows your hand, his own slipping between your legs. "Only if you want to." 

"You don't have to, Steve, I just wanted you to feel good–"

"This is, like, the best day of my life," he says, "or second best, because the first time you told me you loved me was a fucking immense feeling–" 

"'Immense–'" 

"–I want you to feel like I just felt," he interrupts your interrupting. His eyes are imploring and his hands are soft where they roam. "We can stop if you don't like it, but I think you'll like it," he continues, rubbing the inside of your thigh teasingly. "If you want it, please let me." 

You nod quickly and pull him in for a kiss, though you pause when his lips are close and whisper, "I get to go down on you, then?" 

To which your boyfriend groans and kisses you roughly. Your lips are tingling from so many. 

"I guess it is my birthday," he says, with a faux-bashfulness that has you both giggling.

Later, at Robin's, when you're sure "We just got each other off repeatedly," has been written across your forehead for everyone else to see, and a small party of the older friends have gathered for a drink in Steve's honour, Christopher tosses a rectangle in Steve's direction. It slides right into his lap. 

You both look down. 

"Happy birthday, Harrington," Christopher says. "Don't worry, they shrink to fit." 

It's a box of condoms. 

Steve glares at Christopher for the public humiliation, but he puts the box of condoms in his pocket, and everybody gives you shit for it when you're making excuses to leave barely an hour later. 

—

thank you for reading!! I get asked to write about their first time more than anything else which isn't a bad thing, I really love that people like this au and that they want to see that, but I haven't personally been in the mood for that! I figured I'd post this even though it stops at hand stuff / isn't an explicit scene of them fucking because it was gathering dust and also because it hopefully answers some questions I get sent often about their sex lives! maybe I can write them fucking in the future but for now I hope you enjoy :D <3

[judasbreed]

Could I request headcanons of Franco Barbi with a gn shy reader who is a new reagent and it's their first trial? :) thank u sm!

of course! and thank you so much for being my first request :D!

Franco Barbi with a Shy Reader During their First Trial

headcanons below the cut!

- Getting Franco as your first prime asset is an... experience, to say the least.

- Franco had a preference for newbies, their fear was enticing to him. He saw a new reagent like a new toy- a new piece of meat for him to gum away at. They posed no threat to him, so he could play with them all he liked.

- When you stumbled into his trial, he knew he'd hit the jackpot. He could tell you were especially frightened by him, and that was just how he liked it.

- Franco would put great care into teasing you. He wasn't worried about you completing the trial easily, so he toyed with you a-lot more than he would with an experienced reagent. He would tail you, shooting his lupara at your heels to make you "dance", or hide just around the corner to jump out at you when you walked by.

- He noticed how your face burned at the lewd comments he'd throw at you, and he loved it. He'd deem you "pretty" and "juicy", saying how he was gonna "lap you up like a dog" and how he wanted to "crawl inside of you". Seeing you get flustered just spurred him further.

- Franco didn't like sharing his toys, so he would be oddly possessive of you. Hed warn the others in the trial to "keep their filthy mitts" off of you, and if someone else happened to get too close, he'd chew them out like they owed him money. Even if it put him at a disadvantage, you were his to play with.

- In the end, if you managed to complete the trial, Franco would be livid. How could you walk all over him like that? A sweet boy like him? He just couldn't fathom it. He would throw a major tantrum at the exit gates, swearing he went easy on you. "You fuckin' snake! I'll get you next time!" he'd scream and cry, firing his lupara in the air.

- Though, if he caught you, he would take great pleasure in executing you.

"Youre a real pretty one.. can't wait to tear you apart."