#he'd be so goddamn gentle with that dog

[symbioticsimplicity]

No but Billy adopting a therapy dog but its a rescue pitbull from an abusive home and in learning to care for it it helps him to learn to care for himself too.

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 4

Summary: After their reunion at the Atomic Wrangler, Cooper decides that he wants more than just a quickie out of his wandering trader.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Drug use and Alcohol. Fluff and Smut. Little longer than the other ones ❤️

DHGP Masterlist

Cooper sits on the side of the bed, inhaler in hand as he stares down at the chem. You are still asleep behind him, body tangled in the sheets, exhausted after the exciting reunion between the two of you. You had been a breath of fresh air for the ghoul, especially after finding out the truth behind the fate of his family, and then Lucy, the vaultie, had left him too. Gone back home to her vault to save them from those goddamn Bud's Buds.

Cooper had elected to stay in Vegas. He likes the city, and the booze was cheap, and the chems were even cheaper if you knew where to get them. However, now that the ghoul was borderline sober, and with you by his side, Cooper realized that he'd had something to look forward to. To live for again. You.

Every time the two of you had crossed paths, you never failed to send the ghoul's black heart racing. You were a wastelander through and through, but you were good, and Cooper didn't want to let that go. No. He would hold on tight, and nothing in heaven or hell would get him to let you go.

First thing first, however, was to show you that he was serious and that he cared for you beyond a quick fuck and drug transactions. Cooper turned in the bed and leaned over you, tucking his knuckle under your chin and kissing you until you woke up. A soft sigh escaped you when the ghoul pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see him above you.

"Well, that's one way to wake a girl up," you murmur, and shift to your back, opening your arms so that Cooper can fall against your chest, his face pressed in the crook of your neck. You hum softly and press a kiss to his bald head, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Cooper buries himself against you, shoving his arms under you so that he can hold you close. He listens to your heartbeat, and the sound of content he makes sounds more like a cat purr than anything else. He debates with himself before deciding to hell with it.

"Let me take you out. On a proper date," He began, and the more he spoke, the more he felt like his old self, Cooper Howard, before the end of the world, "You deserve it after everything you've done for me."

You eyed him, though your lips were already turning up at the idea. Who knew your ghoul was such a romantic? You tilt your head to the side, "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

Cooper rises to his elbow and admires how your hair halos around your face. You are beautiful, even sleepy-eyed, and dressed in nothing but your panties.

"We're in Vegas, Baby. Let's make the most of it."

~~~~~

Mick and Ralph's had a surprising number of preserved prewar clothing, and you picked through the dresses looking for the perfect fit. You spotted a cute, blue number that would hug you in all the right places and billow out at the waist. Mick even had a cute pair of kitten heels that he gave you on the house.

Cooper had also done some digging around and conveniently found one of his old set costumes. The colors were faded, but they looked brand new compared to the get-up he always wore. Dressed to impress, the ghoul admired himself in the cracked mirror. If you ignored the obvious, Cooper looked like he'd just come off set of A Man and His Dog.

He wold whistles when you step out of the back room, and even though you're custom to his flirty behavior, you still blush bright and give Cooper a tiny grin. You've never had an opportunity to wear something so nice before, and it made you feel different, but not in a bad way.

"Well, look at you, Darlin'. All dressed up and beautiful for little ol' me," He crooned and snagged your hand, spinning you in a slow circle so that he could admire you from all angles. You give him a smile so full of fond amusement that Cooper’s heart stutters in his chest.

"Only for you, Cowpoke," you say and curl your hand behind his head to tug him down for a quick kiss that Cooper melts into.

After paying Mick and Ralph, Cooper escorts you to the gate of the Strip where the securitrons let the two of you by after flashing the passports you'd paid the shop owners for. Inside, the flashing neon lights made you squint, and you did your best to take it all in at once.

"A lot's changed since the last time I've been here," Cooper comments and casts his gaze around. It's been over two hundred years, but the Vegas Strip still felt the same. The two of you bypass Gomorrah and the Ultra Lux, and instead, head for the Tops where a man with blonde, slicked-back hair greets them with a suave grin.

"Hey, hey cats. My name is Swank. Welcome to the Tops Casino. The floor is open, and Tommy's got some real class acts tonight on stage if you're interested."

The two of you hand over any weapons that couldn't be concealed and head upstairs to the theater. A live band is playing on stage, and a place has been cleared in the middle of the room for dancing. Cooper leads you to a corner booth and drops to kiss your brow before he lopes off to order you both a drink.

From there, the night goes off without a hitch. The two of you drink til you feel tipsy and brazen enough to tug the ghoul out to the dance floor where Cooper upstages you and everyone else there. He twirls and dips you, leaving you a giggling mess and eyes only for him.

At some point, Cooper gets the grand idea to spend some caps on some chips, and you stand beside him as he cleans the blackjack table, coming away with more chips that you have to help him carry back to the exchange desk. The two of you eventually stumble out of the Tops and mosied back down the road to Gomorrah.

Their weapons are confiscated once more, and Cooper pays the receptionist for a hotel room for later on. He doubted that they would be sober enough to leave this place later on.

His hunch was right hours later when the two of you stumbled to the elevator. Coop's arm is tight around your waist, holding you close to keep you from tipping over. You cling to him, giggling as you wind your arms around his neck, and he catches your eyes, glassy from the jet that one of the dancers had given you.

"Your eyes are so pretty, ya know that?" You slur, and Cooper snickers as he leads you out of the elevator and down the hall to the room he'd rented. He's not nearly as gone as you, but he chalks that up to being used to the substance abuse.

You plop on the bed and reach back for the zipper of your dress, feeling too constricted in the blue fabric, and get stuck with it halfway off. Cooper laughs at you and comes to help, tugging the dress away and tossing it behind him before he pounces.

His lips meet yours in a slow kiss, a gentle give and take that turns heated when you bite his lip hard enough to hurt. You sooth it with your tongue, and groan when Cooper curls his own around the slippery muscle, the kiss wet and sloppy. He looms over you, keeping himself propped up with his elbow, while his other hand grips your waist, and rocks his hips down.

Cooper groans into the kiss when his clothed cock meets the heat between your thighs. You buck against him, whining into the kiss and demanding he take his damn pants off already.

"Patience, young grasshopper," Cooper rumbles above you and slides off the bed to button his shirt and jeans. He folds them almost reverently before he turns back to the bed and crawls on top of you, "Great things come to those who wait."

You scoff at him, though your lips are tilted up in amusement, "I've been waiting forever, Coop."

Your legs fall open and wrap around his waist. You are so wet that the ghoul can see slick glistening in the low light of the room where it clings to your puffy folds. He swallows harshly when you reach down and spread them, giving him an excellent view of your clit and twitching hole.

"Now I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

Cooper doesn't need to be told twice and spits in his hand before wrapping it around his cock and stroking himself twice before he lines up and sinks down to his balls. Your cunt throbs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and he falls forward, hips humping forward as you cling to him.

Coop fucks you like it's his last day on Earth. He shifts to his knees, and his cock slips even further, pressing against something inside you that makes stars shatter. You curse loudly, Cooper’s name falling from your lips like a mantra as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and bends you over. The new position makes it hard to breathe, but all you want is more.

"'M close," Cooper grunts in your ear, and you lock your knees around his head, meeting him thrust for thrust as you work for your release. He unlocks his jaw and bites into the hollow of your throat. The pain is enough to send you over the edge, your pussy fluttering and gushing around the ghoul's cock.

"Ah-fuck," He snarls and follows you right over the edge, pumping you full of seed until it dribbled out from your stuffed cunt. He finds your lips kissing you as he rides out his orgasm, hips jerking when you tighten around him.

Cooper lays there, breathing you in and curling his arms tight around your waist. He is far too tired to move, and you don't seem to mind the extra weight with how tightly you hold him back. The ghoul feels at peace as if a part of his life he'd been missing has slotted back into place. He raises his head just enough to catch your eyes, and you reward him with an adoration-filled smile, but it's your words that cause his heart to explode like an atomic bomb.

"I love you."

You don't expect Cooper to pull you in for another kiss, this one soft and slow. He rests his brow against yours and wonders how he ever made it this far without you.

"I love you, too."

Holy moly, that got way sweeter than I intended. I hope you enjoyed it!❤️

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡-𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐧

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: fluffy fluff

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

Being on deployment meant no proper affection. Being on deployment for two months without it was making your husband go insane. When he got home, he had never been so affectionate.

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

It felt like the journey home was excruciating. John was clinging to his back for dear life. His knuckles going white from how tight he squeezed.

Coming to his driveway; the beginning of a long winding gravel road. Eventually, he came to the cottage door and swung it open (you left it unlocked when you knew he was coming home).

As soon as he saw you, his hands slipped around your waist and lifted you up, spinning you around with his head in the crook of your neck "Ooh- John! I missed you too but I'm going to knock something over-"

"Don't care-" he mumbled.

His face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck. Taking in your smell, grasping you just as hard as he was grasping his bag.

"Oh John-" you cooed, stroking his hair, running your hands up and down his back.

"I'm sorry darling," he says moving his head to look at you face to face. "I just- fuck. I just missed you so goddamn much."

And then he went back to molding himself against you, giving you small kisses here and there.

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

You had always seen a different side to Simon then other people. The gruff exterior didn't rattle you one bit. Well... that's because he never spoke to you how he spoke to everyone else.

He always treated you with love, respect, dignity and equality. Not something that everyone can say.

That's how you knew he was going to be your life partner.

And as his partner, you know how physical touch means to him.

He isn't one to ask for comfort, but will initiate it. Particularly when he's been on deployment for a long time. That's when you get puppy dog Simon, who keeps you by his side.

"Are you alright?" You said in a quiet, soothing voice. Simon's head was resting on your shoulder as you watched the new Bridgerton.

He'd been quiet for a while, not unusual; but the comfortable silence had been tension-gripped since he came home yesterday.

"Yeah," your husband grumbled, shifting his head from your shoulder to your lap.

One of your hands was on his head, dragging your fingers over his scalp. The other hand rested on his neck. You felt the goosebumps on his skin, a small smile on your lips.

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉

Every time Johnny came home, you would hear him before you'd see him. As an extrovert, he's vocal about the lack of affection he's recieved

"BONNIE, I'M HOME!" He continuously bellows in his loud thick Scottish accent. Walking around the house, practically hunting you in your own home.

Dropping whatever you were holding onto the bed, you raced down from the bedroom and nearly squealed.

"Johnny!" You yelled, helping him locate you.

"There ye are!" He replied, thudding towards you with his big boots still on his feet.

In a quick movement, he scoops you into his arms and presses you to his chest. A move you were all too familiar with now.

His hands grip you tight, his neck dipping to press into your neck. He took a big whiff.

"Are you smelling me, again?"

"Aye. Is that a problem?" He replied, not loosening his grip on you. Nor letting you move.

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌

Your loverboy, always so tender and caring. He never puts his needs before your own.

So instead of rushing inside and nearly bulldozing you over, he's gentle in his search for you (although he never needs to search too long)

It's usually you who initiates the affection.

It's like Kyle is still decompressing from his time away.

And you're all too happy to help him. His affection makes you feel fuzzy inside.

But whenever he comes home, you want to be the first to initiate; you want to be the romantic one.

And he appreciates it to no end. He feels so loved when you woo him after coming home.

"Thank you, love." He whispers in your ear as you hold him in your emrace. The bouquet of flowers in his hand. A slight blush over his face.

"Anything, and I mean anything, for you Kyle." You whisper back, planting kisses over him.

𝑲𝒐̈𝒏𝒊𝒈

Your huge Austrian husband does his best not to wake you in the early hours of the morning.

And even though he has the squeaks in the floorboards memorised, his heavy foot falls still give him away. Subconsciously wanting you to wake.

You weren't really sleeping anyhow. You were too excited for him to return home.

Hearing your bedroom door open, you instantly called out your husband's name.

"It's me schatz! Just me-" he said quickly. The tension eased from your body and you audibly sighed. Months of pent up stress and fear (for both his safety and your own) whooshed away.

Kicking the blankets from your body, you rolled out of bed and jumped into König's arms.

They were outstretched - ready for you.

He was always ready for you when he came home. Nearly a tradition where you practically throw yourself into his arms.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" The same words he says every time he comes home.

"Yes," you whisper back to him. Because your heart always aches the same amount as his.

[stressfulsloth]

Thinking about Harry and all the animal parallels that follow him through the narrative. It's true that these animal parallels reflect the way that the brutality of individualist moralism strips him of humanity as someone who has fallen through the safety nets, and his agonised shout of 'I don't want to be this kind of animal anymore' can be interpreted as a direct admission of the RCM's dehumanisation of him as a disabled addict who is no longer as 'useful' as he once was. Gottlieb even directly tells him '[he] lost [his] human visage a while back.' Jean calls him 'the most dangerous animal of them all'. The rabid dog that needs to be put down, the black dog (also a common metaphor for chronic mental illness!) that Mollins shoots as it licks its wounds; the scared, hurt, frightened animal lashing out, chewing off it's own leg to escape the trap that it's caught in. The wild dog is all they can see.

But then there is a flipside to these parallels too; a kindness, a gentleness, almost a freedom in Harry’s animal parallels. He's strong like a 'goddamn ox,' like a bear ('I had to kill the bear to become the bear'). He's a harrier hawk, a name given to ensure his safety, raised up to the level of the aerostatics looking down over Revachol, 'soar[ing] on the wings of [his] spirit hawk.' He's a leopard ('its impossible to know where you end and the leopard begins'), discovering or rediscovering a love of softness and sensuality that he'd not known before via the leopard print leotard that 'speaks to the animal inside [him]' and touches on his relationship with his gender ('Yes, this is the type of animal I want to be.').

He's a 'seagull', a bird that will do 'whatever it takes to survive,' a 'bird of paradise' that tells a story of 'endurance- and adaptation' ('You! You and the seagull are just alike!'). He survives, despite everything, despite the grimness of the world around him. He endures. Even the sea monster comparison is oddly kind ('You've become a sea monster -- giant, hidden and... strangely tender at heart'). Even as a monster, he's still gentle; he still has so much love for this world that has wrung every last bit out of him. As if his tenderness is such an inherent part of him that no matter what monstrous face he wears, no matter what creature is there in his shadow, he cannot help but have some trace of it at his core. His tender soul 'quivering like jello.' The pain he feels is raw and animal but so is the love he feels. So is the hope and the fear and the wonder.

[passivenovember]

Billy knows he's pregnant because he has a double whopper with no cheese on the way home from Loch Nora.

Billy hates the Burger King. It tastes like cardboard and the cheese burns noxious holes in his stomach, probably, but things change when you're gonna be a mom.

A dad. Whatever.

Steve Harrington shoots his wad and, like magic, like Steve Harrington's spunk has turned everything inside him into stardust, Billy can't get enough of the shit. He'd buy cologne made of BK's burger fat, if he could, and spend all day sucking on his wrist like a dog.

So. Billy's pregnant. It's obvious. Among other things.

And no one ever said Steve Harrington was smart, not in any way that matters, and Billy can't learn his lesson. They fuck on Thursday night because apparently this is a middle-of-the-week kind of arrangement, now, and Harrington comes apart inside of Billy because you're on the pill, Malibu, it's okay.

Billy likes it. Lets him. Thinks, there's probably no harm in it now that he's no longer the Virgin Mary. It feels immaculate, anyhow, that this could happen.

Steve fucks into him sloppy, losing his rhythm until he spills, and tears swamp Billy's vision so he misses the whole fuckin' thing. The main show.

He wants to keep the baby. No one ever said Billy was smart, either.

But there are things in this life he'll keep to himself. He's allowed that. He shares so much with Max and Steve, and by association all the other fucking people that love Steve, and it gets old.

He can have this.

Billy thinks that this could be just for him.

"Fuck, Billy," Steve pulls out, but not before peppering Billy's face with soft butterfly kisses. His breath smells like them. Like blueberry seeds, underneath it all, "Goddamn, your pussy's magic."

Billy's hole runs sloppy. Too fucked out to hold anything in.

Billy almost laughs out loud, because. It's magic. It's a joke, right, his pussy swallowed and now there's--

"Love that thing you do with your hips. Love the sounds you make when my shaft rubs--"

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I was normal, before you let me hit," Steve trails damp, sticky fingers through Billy's chest hair. "You hungry?"

I'm pregnant. "No."

"Sure?" Steve rolls closer on the mattress, nosing Billy's damp, pillow-squashed curls out of the way, "You smell like you could eat a fucking village."

"I'm fine."

"Orphans and all, baby."

"So fucking weird."

Steve hums. Pulls on Billy's earring with his teeth and then licks a wet, fat stripe over his bonding patch. Teasing. "If you're hungry I could get us food."

"I'm fine."

"Really, I just need to put some shorts on and I'm outta here, fuckin'. Pedal to the metal--"

"Jesus Christ, I said I'm not hungry so fucking drop it, asshole," Billy shoves away, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He feels around on the carpet for his jeans, his t-shirt, his converse.

Steve runs out of him, gluing him to 500 count Egyptian Cotton. Pisses him off.

"Billy," Steve says.

Billy tugs his socks on. He was freezing, apparently. Never realized it. His teeth chatter so he stoops, reaching for the closest hoodie shaped thing in their heap of discarded clothes, and then.

"You don't have to go, baby," Steve pokes him between the shoulder blades, gentle as a falling leaf. "Please stay."

"You're pissing me off."

"What else is new."

"I'm gonna--"

Steve wraps around Billy like a blanket, cock soft and sticky against Billy's tailbone. His legs are lean and strong, all muscle and good intentions, just like the rest of him.

Billy hates it.

He melts back against Steve's chest, anyway, vision swamped again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I gotta beg?"

"Little manners might be nice."

"Billy Hargrove. Please tell me what's got you smelling like a sugar factory caught fire." Steve pets through his hair. Knows how it turns Billy to putty. Has to. "Omega troubles?"

Billy bites down on the inside of his cheek. Tastes blood. "You wouldn't get it."

"I could try," Steve tells him. His lips are soft against he back of Billy's neck, at his ear lobe, on the tense knob of his shoulder. "Please. Tell me so I can fix it."

"You can't," Billy says, traitor voice cracking open, raw, "You can't fix it. It's mine."

My life. My baby.

"Okay," Steve says easily. Kind and good and sweeter than anything Billy could ever deserve, "Stay the night, so I can cook for you before you fall asleep, and again in the morning."

Billy swallows, throat clicking like a dead lighter. Can't breathe, can't--

"It's alright," Steve kisses his neck, "Everything will feel better in the morning."

"We never should've started this bullshit," Billy sits up, heart lurching at the soft, pained noise Steve lets out into the air between them. He can't handle this shit. He can't do this, he can't--

"Billy--

"I'm pregnant," Billy says to Steve's Duran-Duran poster. Can't believe how young he feels, in this moment. Can't begin to wrap his head around the fact that he's twenty years old, and he's in Hawkins, Indiana, and he's going to have a fucking baby with someone who's got such a shitty taste in music, and--

He wants it.

More than he's ever wanted anything. Billy opens his mouth to say it, to scream it at the popcorn stucco, watching like a trillion angel eyes overhead.

But Steve breathes, like an old car trying to start. "You're sure?" He asks.

Billy's shaking even though Steve is a warm, solid weight against his back, burning them up. "Yes."

"How?" Steve asks, full of wonder, and Billy has to get away.

The carpet is heaven under his feet. "I've been. Eating a lot of Burger King."

"Burger King."

"Yeah. Cravings for shit I never liked before. Double whoppers with no cheese," Billy wrings his hands, "And. I didn't have a heat this month, so Joyce took me to the clinic. They said I'm only a few weeks along, but everything is good with her."

Steve makes a wet, heavy sound.

"I dunno. It kinda. Feels like one," Billy rubs a palm over his belly, quick as lightning, "I think it's a girl."

"Billy, please look at me."

Billy does, horrified but swallowing it, one bitter mouthful at a time. He plants his feet and everything bubbles up inside him. This is his life, his body, his baby, and he's going to to this for himself. Steve doesn't have to worry or fork out any cash or put his life on hold just because he knocked up some desperate omega--

Steve's crying. "We're having a baby."

Billy didn't expect this. He falters, mouth working in shocked silence.

But then Steve moves.

He pulls Billy to him, chest heaving as he laughs, high and bright. "Holy, shit we're gonna be parents," Steve twirls them, hooping and hollering like they just won the NBA championship. "Goddamn, your pussy really is magic!"

Billy giggles, in spite of himself. All the other shit melts away, for now, shadows receding under the blinding light of Steve Harrington.

"I can't fucking believe this," Steve says, pulling back to hunt over Billy's face, full of wonder. "Do you think she's gonna have your eyes?"

"I. I don't--"

"I feel like in high school science class we learned something about the brown eyes gene kicking the blue eyes gene's ass? But I would fucking die if our baby comes out looking like you."

"You're not," Billy swallows, choking on tears. "You're not mad at me? Or disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" Steve repeats, his face falling. "Billy, are you serious? No. No, I've fucking. Ever since I met you I've been sitting in this room every night twirling my hair around one finger and kicking my feet because, I--"

Steve's thumb rubs soft, soothing circles against Billy's cheek.

"Billy, I love you," He says gently, "I love everything about you. You're smart and you're hilarious and you're so beautiful--"

"--Steve--"

"--You make my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. I can't believe you let a loser like me climb on top of you, much less--"

Billy kisses him, eating up Steve's next words.

They don't matter, when Steve leads them back to the mattress. He eats every soft, gooey whimper out of Billy's lungs, swallowing them down and tasting the damp running between Billy's legs.

Makes love to him, while they talk about the future.

Steve only makes one joke about his dick hurting the baby's head, and Billy thinks they should sign up for a class or two.

[starrystevie]

allergy season attacks hawkins particularly badly one year and it hits steve like a freight train. stuffed nose, headaches, body chills, fatigue, the works. he's never been good at being sick; he gets too whiney and too dependent on those around him even though he can indeed get out of bed to make his own bowl of cereal. and poor eddie has no idea what to do so he makes steve the thing his momma would make him when he was sick, the cure all to feeling better: chicken and dumplings.

eddie's in the kitchen for hours as he tries to perfect the recipe, calling up wayne to help decipher his sister's handwriting from an old recipe rolodex, shooing steve out of the kitchen when he comes in moaning and pitiful and seeking cuddles. the dumplings might turn out too tough and lumpy and the broth a little too salty, but he's proud of himself nonetheless. eddie carries the bowl into their room on a little tray with a gentle smile and extra biscuits on the side, and pulls a chair up to the bedside to spoonfeed steve like the miserable baby he is all because of a stuffy nose.

but the first bite has steve grimacing, causing eddie's smile to shift into a frown as he blows on another bite so it won't be too hot.

"you don't like it?" eddie asks, pouting and giving the puppy dog eyes to end all other puppy dog eyes.

and steve doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's never liked chicken and dumplings, even when his great-grandma made it that one time she visited and made the dumplings from scratch. so he forces himself to smile, forces his face to unpinch and happily take another bite as eddie offers it.

"no, it's not that," he says as well as he can around a mouth of food and stopped-up nose. "just can't taste all that much right now, you know 'cause of the mouth breathing and stuff, and that bite was just a bit too hot and... umm..."

with no more excuses coming to his allergy-riddled brain, steve opens his mouth like a baby bird and eddie grins like there's no place he'd ever want to be and feeds him another bite of his least favorite food in the world. or well, that's not entirely true since this version is his new favorite, and it's all because of the love that was put into it. so he'll hide his disgust and eat the goddamn chicken and dumplings if it means steve will get to see more of those smiles from eddie.

[rosedom]

massive size diff stupid boy and a boy who just wants to bottom for them <3

oh my god you are so immensely !!!!!! i hope i'm interpreting this right: big himbo x boy who wants to be spread open on his cock, right? ୧⁠(⁠＾⁠ ⁠〰⁠ ⁠＾⁠)⁠୨

ⓘ THIS WORK IS FOR 18+ ONLY ,, PRESS KEEP READING TO CONTINUE .

now, i sincerely doubt you're thinking the same train of thought as i am, but: god. a big ol' stupid boy with way too much muscle and far too large a cock to know what to do with it; a smaller boy, easily dwarfed in himbo's arms, who so terribly-badly wants that soft cock he feels pressed against him pressed inside him.

but we all have a breaking point, don't we? we can't blame the small boy for getting fed up. it'd also be comical, the way big himbo constantly has his arm wrapped around the smaller's waist; or his large hand engulfing his own far daintier one; or, maybe, the way he'd grind his thick cock right between his thighs—which, by the way, are both, together, the size of only one of himbo's—but never going further.

"c'mon, big guy," the smaller one'd whine, pressing down into the hardening swell of himbo's cock. it's so close, but so far. "i can take it."

i love to see a good ol' fashioned himbo who doesn't know how down bad his pretty boy is for him. him replying, breathless and with delicious friction across his cock, "i—i don't wanna hurt you."

"you—" of course, we can't have the smaller guy thinking he's in charge here, callin' the shots; so a particularly delicious grind upwards sends his breath hitching before he can continue, "—you won't hurt me."

himbo'd sigh, but he'd fall prey to smaller boy's puppy-dog eyes. fitting, then, to call him puppy as he gets his fingers—so thick, so much larger than his—slicked up with lube and gentles one into him.

big, dumb stupid boy, pressing right into his sweet boy's sweet spot without even trying; his fingers are just so stupidly large, able to brush against all the perfect spots just by pushing in. he may play it dumb, but i can guarantee that this himbo isn't quite that stupid—he know what he's doing when he brings one, two orgasms out from him just from his fingers alone.

but he'd have to ask, "are you sure?" with the head of his cock resting against the smaller's hole. the smaller'd try and sink down on his cock anyway, but he won't be able to—not when himbo's got his large hands around his waist, holding his tight, his longest fingers almost touching.

whining, "yes !" before his mouth falls open on a gasp when the head of himbo's cock starts fucking sinkin' in, in, in. himbo's got him so lube-slick and loosened up that his cock is buried to the hilt in no time. i wanna see him fucked dumb without himbo even havin' to goddamn try—just a cute lil' guy left spread so obscenely wide, filled so deep.

oh, just imagine: the himbo drawing out real nice n' slow before thrusting in, caught between watching the way his pretty boy's small hole is stretched tight around his cock and how his face is absolutely broken, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, OR the damning bulge appearing and reappearing below his navel with each thrust.

"feel that?" he'd say—rhetorical, of course, because how couldn't the smaller boy?—, grinding in reeaaallll deep, pressing his large hand over his bulging stomach. holy fuck, the snark that the smaller boy had earlier, gone so quickly and with only one fat dick to make him behave.

the amount of cum, too . . . himbo sliding out as fat globs spill out . . . small boy hiccuping as himbo cares for him in the aftermath, so fucking soft with those gentle giant hands as he cleans him up . . . himbo absolutely cocooning his smaller body within his own when they fall asleep together .

(⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠) m such a pervert for cum and aftercare. i had sm fun with this ask !!

JAN. 17, 2024. @rosedom, rosey .

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 1

Masterlist |-| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

AO3

Summary: When Bernard DeMarco is forced to find ATS Commander Susie Lamb, his expectations are tainted by her less-than-savoury reputation. However, the more time he spends with her, the more he begins to suspect she's been misjudged by the people of Thorpe Abbotts.

Warnings: Language, drinking, smoking

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd

Bernard DeMarco stared down at the steadily cooling coffee in his hand, the warmth of the mug heating his palms, which had been chilled to the bone even through his gloves on the long-haul flight over from Greenland. Almost ten hours in the sky, staring out at nothing but rolling clouds and the faint grey line of the horizon. Even with Cleven chatting at his side and Meatball nudging the back of his seat, it had been difficult to stay alert for so long, and now he found himself in dear want of a rest.

Instead, he was here, sitting around a long table in the mess hall when he could've been in bed, listening to his friends' chatter, his dog resting its snout against his knee. Benny knew how to pretend he wasn't feeling the wear - to put on a grin and laugh along to everyone's jokes as if he were still awake and raring to go, when the thing he wanted more than anything was a chance to shed the uniform he'd been wearing all day and just sit down somewhere quiet.

The door to the mess hall swung open and the Colonel wandered in, peering with a frown at the piece of paper in his hand, a typed list he couldn't make out stamped upon it. "Colonel," Egan nodded, tilting an imaginary cap in greeting. Hugh stopped at the end of the table, surveying the faces of the group that had assembled.

"Afternoon fellas. I got a supply list I need running up to the ATS - just some stuff we're gonna need brought in for the next run. Uh... DeMarco? D'you mind?"

DeMarco's brow furrowed in confusion, glancing around at the others to check if anyone else had noticed how unorthodox this order was. "Sir? All due respect, but ain't that a job for a runner or somethin'?"

"Usually, but... I'd like someone a little more experienced."

At the opposite end of the table, a playful grin had begun making its way across his face. "Oh-ho, he's gotta talk to Commander Lamb, don't he?"

Bucky had begun to smirk to himself, lifting a hand over his mouth to make it less obvious. Benny figured he must've looked somewhere between dumbstruck and panicked by the way Hugh had begun to speak in a soothing, gentle tone. "Look, the Commander's just a little difficult. We send the runners up there, she gets 'em all turned around, and they don't get the information we need. I'm lookin' for a firm hand, is all. Besides, you can give the dog a walk."

He was thoroughly unsatisfied with this justification for making him walk halfway across the airfield, but it was becoming clearer by the minute that it wasn't something he could get out of. With a disgruntled sigh, he rose to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he grabbed Meatball's leash, the dog already at his heels, tail wagging and ready to go, far more chipper than his owner. DeMarco grabbed the list from the Colonel without so much as glancing at its contents, heading towards the mess hall doors to the sound of Biddick's chuckling.

The sun hung high in the sky, a beacon in a sea of blue, the weather so blissfully perfect that it actually seemed to worsen his mood more than anything. He was usually a fun guy, everyone thought so, but today he was just too goddamn tired. Meatball was having the time of his life, drinking from every puddle and pissing against every tree they passed, the constant stopping only succeeding in doubling the time their journey took. By the time he reached the ATS garages, DeMarco was confident he never wanted to see Hugh's stupid list - or whoever this Commander Lamb was - ever again.

The garages were a bustle of activity, trucks and motorbikes pulling in and out all over the place, Air Force and ATS alike hauling crates of all kinds of ammunition, food supplies, and whatever else the air base could possibly require. Standing in the doorway of the nearest building was a woman - easy on the eyes, orange-haired, staring down at a clipboard in her hand as she ticked off whatever the men nearby were carrying inside.

"Uh- ma'am?" He called, tugging on Meatball's lead as they approached. The woman seemed to see the dog before she did DeMarco, a pleasant smile creasing her cheeks as she looked up at him.

"Yes... Captain?" She asked, peering at the insignia on his jacket for confirmation.

"I gotta supply list from Colonel Hugh to pass onto a Commander Lamb?"

The woman raised a brow as if to say 'You sure about that?', but she turned nevertheless, yelling over her shoulder into the huge supply hangar behind her. "Susie!"

Peering past the woman, DeMarco watched as a figure approached from inside, initially obscured by the shadow of a huge supply truck, but when she stepped into the light it gave him pause. Her hair fell unpinned halfway down her back, brown waves shining red in the sunlight. She wore olive slacks instead of the standard-issue uniform skirt, and a leather bomber jacket with 'S. Lamb' printed on the breast like the ones he'd seen some of the pilots wear. She hardly looked like she was supposed to be on duty at all, but she marched up to them all the same, taking the clipboard from the other woman and looking it over.

"Charlotte, go help Fisher - she's got some stuff to go to Sergeant Bevan on the hardstand," She ordered, and the woman scurried away inside. Once the two of them were alone, Susie stared back at him for a long moment, brow raised as she waited for him to speak. "...So?"

Suddenly DeMarco was beginning to understand what the others had meant. Her accent was harsh, less refined than the other English workers he'd met since his arrival, and she didn't exactly look pleased to see him. Frankly, she had a face that suggested she was never glad to see anyone.

"Got a list from Colonel Hugh - requests for ammo supplies," He stated, holding it up to her. "We need-"

"Ah-" Lamb raised a hand to stop him. "If you're gonna talk, you've gotta walk with me."

She began to walk before he had a chance to respond. "Well alright then," He muttered under his breath, beginning to trail after her, tugging at Meatball's lead so that he would follow along. "Five hundred AN-M30s, four hundred AN-M64s, six hundred USAAF five hundred pound-ers..." DeMarco rattled off Hugh's list, squinting to read the paper as it shook in his hand against the breeze. Ahead of him, Susie was peering into the backs of the row of trucks that had just arrived, scribbling away on her clipboard. He wasn't entirely sure she was listening.

He stopped talking just before they reached the end of the row, having to tug Meatball along as he got distracted by the crates of food being brought in. Lamb ticked something off in her notes before turning on her heel to look at him. "That everything?"

"Yeah, that's it," Benny confirmed, sliding the list back into his pocket. She raised her brow again in that inquisitive way she did. It was already getting annoying.

"I'm not gonna remember all that, am I? Gimme the list," She huffed, holding out her hand.

"Then why did you have me read it all out?" He grumbled, fishing out the wad of paper and handing it over.

"I didn't ask you to do that. I just said if you were gonna, you'd have to follow me," Thinking it over, he realised she was right. He hated that. "But, yunno. Most of the runners Hugh sends up here would've already shat themselves and run off by now, so good job."

DeMarco bristled, squaring his shoulders. "I'm not a runner, I'm a Captain."

Susie was looking down at the list, but she peered back up at him with a wonky grin. "Jesus, what'd you do to get stuck with the 'Susie Lamb punishment', eh? Did your dog take a shit on the Colonel's desk or summat?"

He frowned, her self-awareness almost alarming. She clearly knew what the others said about her, but she simply didn't care - in all honesty, there was something he admired in that.

"I think the Colonel just wanted someone who wouldn't get scared off," He confessed.

She snorted. "Maybe he should try hiring runners who don't piss themselves whenever a woman frowns at 'em." For a moment the shell almost seemed cracked, a not-so-scary Susie peeking out. But then a loud clatter sounded across the yard, and DeMarco turned to see one of the deliverymen scrounging to pick up the machine gun rounds that had scattered across the tarmac when he accidentally dropped a crate. "Oi!" Susie yelled, beginning to storm off, raising a hand in what could've either been a wave goodbye or a dismission

Meatball tried to nip at her heels as she marched towards the deliveryman, tugging on his leash with such force that DeMarco was almost forced to follow, but he managed to stand his ground. He couldn't make out what Susie was saying at such a distance, but by the way the colour drained from the poor man's face, it was nothing good. Letting out a chuckle, he counted himself lucky that he had yet to meet Commander Lamb at her most formidable.

After all, she did have access to all the bombs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had barely risen by the time the pilots stepped onto the runway, the airfield bursting into a bustle of activity as the last planes were prepped, and the flight crews readied themselves to board. DeMarco had managed a decent half night's sleep, and was at least in a better mood than he had been the previous afternoon. Although, the powdered eggs they'd served up for breakfast hadn't helped.

There were a dozen things to worry about concerning the flight ahead, but in all honesty he was mainly concerned about what he was going to do with Meatball. It seemed not to have occurred to him when he first adopted the stray that he couldn't bring him on missions, and the prospect of leaving him all alone damn near broke his heart.

His train of thought was severed by the roar of engines as a supply truck rolled up to 'Our Baby' just along the runway to deliver the last of the spare machine gun rounds. A familiar flicker of red caught the light as Susie Lamb craned her head out of the driver's seat window, barking to one of the ground crewmen as he scurried to unload the cargo. An idea sparked in DeMarco's mind, and he could already see Curt shooting him a confounded look as he bounded up to the vehicle.

Susie was just reaching for a lighter, an unlit cigarette poised between her lips, as he reached her window, plastering on the best friendly smile that he could muster. She hadn't heard him approach over the hum of the engine, and the shock of the face suddenly at her side made the cigarette tumble from her mouth, falling into the footwell. "Jesus fucking Christ," She hissed, voice thick with irritation. "Can I help you?"

"I don't have anyone to watch Meatball while I'm up," Benny explained, and she peered out of the window at the dog, who was staring slack-jawed up at her, wagging its tail. "I was wondering if I could trouble you for the favour?"

There was that eyebrow again. She had a way of drawing out those painful silences that just made him want to squirm, immediately regretting whatever he'd asked. Perhaps Hugh's runners had had a point.

"You want me to babysit your dog?"

Suddenly the suggestion felt ridiculous. "Well, I just-"

"Eh, fuck it," Sticking her foot out, Susie kicked open the passenger side door. "Chuck him in."

The moment DeMarco moved to unclip Meatball's leash, it was as if he knew exactly where he was going, claws skittering against the tarmac as he bounded around to the other side of the truck, leaping unprompted up into the seat, tail wagging wildly. It was almost offensive, how pleased the mutt was to be rid of him. "Alright, alright," Benny muttered, closing the door behind him. "Thanks for this. Seriously."

"It's nothing - he already seems to prefer me, anyway."

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat- loudly. "Name's DeMarco, by the way. Bernard DeMarco."

Susie was already tugging at the handbrake, the engine roaring to life once more. "Yeah, I know," She nodded, an almost-smile tugging at her lips, pulling away before he could respond as Meatball's head lolled happily out of the window.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The supply depot was almost empty by the time the pilots returned, the rumble of DeMarco's freshly commandeered jeep splitting the silence as he rolled to a stop, looking around for some sign of his dog. "Susie?" He called as he clambered out, peering into each hangar as he passed, unable to locate any signs of life. The ATS women seemed to have all taken the afternoon - that or they were all busy delivering supplies to the mechanics.

"Susie?"

A familiar bark pierced the air, and he followed it around to the back of one of the buildings. A bench ran along the back wall of the hangar, basking in the afternoon sunlight, and there she sat, a book open in her lap, halfway through eating a sandwich. Her hair was pulled back messily into a bun, stray auburn curls sticking out at random angles, and Meatball lay stretched out at her feet, occasionally jumping up to chase after a tiny yellow butterfly.

"Ah. You're alive then," Susie stated plainly, squinting in the sun as she looked up at him.

DeMarco shrugged. "Just about."

"That's good. Didn't know what I was gonna do with him otherwise," She gestured to Meatball using her sandwich, chuckling as the dog snapped his jaws at a passing insect. "... You ok?"

"Do I not look it?" He took at seat at the opposite end of the bench, a deliberate gap left between them. Benny didn't exactly want to hang around; he was just tired, and he appreciated the opportunity to sit on something that wasn't moving.

"There's a cut on your cheek," She pointed out, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she talked around her food. Raising a hand to his face, DeMarco's fingertips came away red. He hadn't even noticed the pain.

"Occupational hazard... did you feed him?"

"Gave him a sandwich."

"You can't feed a dog a sandwich!" DeMarco exclaimed, and Susie shrugged, nonchalant in a way that annoyed him.

"Well, you're the one who made it my problem! Didn't even ask if I knew what to feed the damn thing!"

"Well, I just assumed you were a human being and had some inclination that dogs might eat dog food. Forgive me."

Susie shot him a glare. "Having a dog isn't a prerequisite to being alive, mate. D'you think I've got dog food sitting around? I have an actual job that I have to do, it gets in the way a bit."

He turned sideways on the bench to look at her properly. "Y'know, I thought people didn't like you because you're mean. But it's really because you don't give a shit about anything except yourself, isn't it?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He wasn't that kind of person - he didn't say those kinds of things to people. He didn't want Susie to think that he did. But she seemed entirely unphased, taking another bite of her sandwich with so little a reaction he almost doubted ever having spoken at all. She chewed and swallowed painfully slowly, and he began to realise she was prolonging the silence on purpose, giving him time to stew on his own words. DeMarco felt his face begin to heat up.

"You can take the dog back now," She said after a while, turning to the next page of her book.

"Susie, I'm sorry," He blurted. She looked at him then, and for a moment he swore he saw surprise in her expression. "I shouldn't've said that."

"Heard worse. Though, most people actually mean it," Susie shrugged. "And I do give a shit about other people. It just... takes a minute."

Nodding slowly, he let out a whistle, and Meatball bounded over, tail wagging as he dutifully allowed him to reattach his leash. DeMarco wasn't quite sure what to say. He didn't know this woman, not yet, but he was getting the distinct impression that the others had been wrong about her. As he stood up, running a hand across his chin, he took a deep breath. "Hey. Me and the fellas are gonna get drinks tonight, to celebrate the mission. You should come."

The corners of her lips turned up in a smirk. "Yeah. I mean, I was going anyway - but I'll be there."

"Alright," Benny nodded, smiling involuntarily. "I'll buy you a beer. Call it payment - for the babysitting."

"Well if I'm getting paid I definitely won't feed him sandwiches next time," Susie joked. He let out a laugh, suddenly realising that, yes. There would be a next time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If there was one thing Thorpe Abbotts would have benefitted from, it was an additional pub. The village had not been prepared for the sudden influx of pilots and crew and the hundreds of other workers that came with them, so a night in the pub had become a sure recipe for claustrophobia and havoc. Meatball was curled up at DeMarco's feet, half sitting on him for lack of space beneath the table. A pile of empty pint glasses was growing in the centre of the table, laughter growing louder with each passing drink as they grew steadily more intoxicated - drunk on victory more than they were alcohol.

Susie stood at the bar with a small group of ATS girls, beer in hand, listening and chuckling along to their stories of workplace mishaps and awkward encounters with the men they had to work with. Even if every single other person at Thorpe Abbotts thought poorly of her, the women under Susie's command never would. She was a protector - a personification of a rougher class of women, utterly unafraid to throw a punch where the others shied away. In Norfolk, it was uncommon to find an English girl working in a job like this who hadn't been raised in privilege - middle-class families in country cottages, who had never had reason to find an occupation until war broke out. None of them quite understood why Susie Lamb had come all this way, her Manchester accent sticking out like a sore thumb - but they were glad she had.

"-And then I told him, 'Mate, if you're not gone in five minutes, I'll kick your balls so far up your throat you won't need breakfast'," Susie explained, the women around her erupting into laughter as she wiped a thin line of beer foam away from her top lip.

Charlotte chuckled, the red-haired Subaltern finishing off a half-pint of cider as she reached into her pocket for a cigarette. "The pool table's freed up - we should get in there before the Yanks get a chance."

Susie nodded in firm agreement, and was about to follow the other women towards the far corner of the pub when a sudden mass at her feet almost tripped her, beer sloshing over the rim of her glass and landing on Meatball's head as he let out a bewildered yelp. Letting out a tsk as she sucked her teeth, she crouched down beside the dog, grabbing for a napkin as she dabbed at his fur. "You've gotta watch yourself, lad," She scolded gently, soft voice barely audible in the pub's din. "Can't go wonderin', your dad'll worry."

Tilting his damp head up at her, Meatball let out a whine, his tail beginning to wag as he seemed to recognise her face. "Hey, Meatball, quit runnin' off," A familiar voice called across the crowd. Giving the dog an affectionate scratch below its chin, Susie rose to her feet, lifting a hand to beckon DeMarco over. "Oh, hey. Well, at least he found a familiar face in this damn place," He huffed.

"Well, he did get covered in beer for his trouble, not sure he'll bother again," She shrugged, batting Meatball away as he tried to stick his nose up under the hem of her skirt.

With a sudden, sinking feeling, DeMarco realised he'd forgotten to buy her the drink he'd promised. Rummaging in his pockets, he handed over a few coins to cover the cost. It wasn't the same. "Sorry, I, uh... I forgot you were coming," He admitted, red tinting his cheeks in shame.

"No worries - I noticed you were far too busy losing at darts," Susie teased, shoving the money into her pocket.

"Hey, now, I wouldn't call it losing," Shaking his head, he moved closer to where she stood at the bar, stepping out of the way of the crowds.

"Really? Failing, then?"

DeMarco batted a hand in dismissal, a smile curling his lips. "Oh, well, if you're so good at darts-"

"I am actually," Susie shrugged.

"Of course you are. You're gonna say you Brits are all good at playing darts - just like you're all good at making tea and... I dunno, sheep herding?"

She let out a laugh, teeth peeking through her grin. He liked her smile. There was a rosy pink in her cheeks, and he couldn't tell if it was the warmth of the pub or the alcohol or something else, but it suited her.

Susie nodded as she took another sip of her drink. "Aw, you got me. You've found my secret hobby - I do love to herd sheep. Yes."

Benny smiled warmly, leaning one elbow up against the bar as he watched her. A curl had slipped loose from behind her ear, and in the warm light of the room, it shone a flaming red. From across the room, a few of the ATS women let out a cheer, the orange-haired woman he'd met at the supply depot grinning as she passed her pool cue to the next woman. He cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way, could I talk to, uh - Charlotte? Is it?"

Her smile vanished. A wave of panic filled him. Susie began to nod bitterly, gnawing at the inside of her lip. There was a look in her eye, like she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally had.

"Are you kidding me? ...Yeah. Yunno what? Fuck you, DeMarco."

“What? I don’t-”

“No, no. I get it. You thought being nice to me would get you an in with the pretty ATS girls - you’re not the first one who’s tried it,” Tilting her head, she upturned the rest of her beer, swallowing it in a single gulp. “Charlotte’s engaged, by the way. I’m sure you can try your luck somewhere else.”

"Susie, I didn't-"

"Hey Benny!" Egan's voice rang out from over by the dartboard. "C'mon, it's your turn!"

"Yeah, Benny, it's your turn," Susie repeated, her words laced with venom, practically spitting his own name back at him. "Although, two losses in one night might be a bit rough, eh?"

His mouth gaped open and shut for a moment like a dying fish, and before he could find a word to say she had scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed away from the bar, diving into the crowd as she fought to put distance between them. Meatball had almost tried to follow her before the wall of people separated them, and he let out a defeated whimper, returning to his owner, tail between his legs.

Charlotte was about to bend over to take her next shot when she felt a hand pressed against her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Susie, cheeks flushed, a frown furrowing her brow. "Can I bum a cig? I'm heading off," She whispered.

"Yeah, sure," The subaltern nodded, holding out the crumpled box she carried with her. "You ok?"

"All good. Thanks," She nodded, propping a cigarette between her lips as she made for the door. The night air hit her face with such chilling force that it almost hurt, a cloud forming as she sighed, plucking a lighter from her pocket, the cigarette embers releasing a comforting heat.

The walk back to barracks was a long one, a seemingly endless row of identical Nissen huts stretching out before her by the time Susie reached the airfield, exhaling one puff of smoke after another. There was always too much stewing in her mind - a solid wall of white noise, her thoughts stirring together like ingredients to the most repugnant soup ever concocted. It was difficult to even pluck out a single emotion amongst all that hubbub.

I hate you DeMarco, but I like your dog, but you're just like everyone else, except if you're not, except if I was wrong.

The lights in her hut turned on with a click, the room filling itself with a yellow glow, the faint hum of lightbulbs audible in the silence. Everyone else was out - dress uniforms taken off their hangers, the smell of freshly applied perfume still lingering in the air. Susie had stomped her cigarette out on the damp grass outside, the smell of smoke permeating her clothes. She raised her hands to cover her face, agonised groan muffled by the sweaty skin of her palms as she collapsed backwards onto her bed, the springs creaking noisily.

Staring at the ceiling didn't solve anything - not the anger in her chest, nor the lingering feeling in her gut that she'd gotten something badly wrong. Letting her head loll to the side, Susie stared at the picture frame propped up on her nightstand, the photo's corners battered and bent beneath the layer of glass that encased it. Her mother, rounded and warm, a tiny, swaddled baby in her arms. Her father, sturdy and dependable, holding a spindly, blond-headed toddler against his hip. And a row of six little children, flashing the same gap-toothed smiles, all dressed in their nicest clothes, which never quite seemed to fit properly.

She could see her own face - a tiny, chubby, three-year-old face that wasn't really her own anymore, curls erupting like a lion's mane around her head. They were all squinting in the sun, lined up outside the only house she'd ever called her own. She could feel their eyes on her - her own most of all. Reaching out, Susie caught the top of the frame with her finger, flipping it over, out of sight, as if covering their faces would somehow make her feel less judged.

"Oh, piss off, you lot."

[tachimichishrine]

First of all I must say that... THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE VALUABLE CONTENT OF TACHIHARA, I NEED MORE OF THIS BEAUTY, I LOVE EACH OF YOUR WRITINGS AND... It's still going around in my head how the virgin Tachihara would react receiving his first oral, I need to see this guy cry 👏.

<oh my godddd yall need to stop making me meltdown with these compliments so i can elaborate on virgin tachi getting his brains fucked out so good he forgets his own name>

"first time"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

virgin!tachihara michizou x fem! reader

▸◃▵pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3▵▹◂

warnings: nsfw ; drug + alcohol use implied ; slight voyeurism/ public sex ; degradation ; masturbation (m) ; oral (giving) ; intended lowercase ; cursing ; pt 2 of ruining pre-hunting dogs tachi im making this a goddamn series and it's gonna have more episodes than one piece

the engine purred quietly when your grip on the wheel was loose and your toes dipped on the pedal. your windows were rolled down and the breeze was blowing through his ebony hair.

the scent of the damp night horizon mixed in quite nicely with the sensation of your fingers dancing up and down tachihara's leg. you were leaning back in the seat, a gentle laughter as you snuck glances at his expression.

"the night's still young," you murmured teasingly, thumb rubbing up on his inner thigh. "you sure you don't-"

"shut up." his voice was shaking a lot more than he cared to let on, the quiet sigh almost lost in the wind.

it was too easy. you could see the silhouette of the bulge in his pants from after you'd pulled him into an empty car and ruined him, and his face was doing a terrible job at concealing it. your eyes were trained on the street but every sense was honed in on his subtle squirming and the hitching of his breath.

"woah, someone's uptight. need some help letting loose?"

not a chance was given because your fingertips were getting way too close and he couldn't back his hips into the seat to shy away from your touch anymore. you swerved on the empty roads, running lights and accelerating brashly, partly because you wanted to instill in him the high pressure, blood-pumping adrenaline that your hazy mind was experiencing.

he let out a muffled whimper once you pushed down with the palm of your hand and rubbed along the length. you were high on the aftertaste of the blunt you'd been smoking and drunk on the control of having him come apart so easily when you increased the pressure and stole a husky groan from his chest. he was practically twitching in your grasp when you curled around him and handled him just a little harder.

"want me to pull over and take care of ya?" you asked, the words kind and considerate but the way you were almost jerking him off like you wanted him to break were anything but.

his ego wouldn't let him. "nah, I-I'm... mnnn I'm good."

you shrugged your shoulders with a coy smile. "if you say so."

the ride back was worse than he could've ever imagined. he figured you'd act like last time, when you wasted no time in sliding under layers of clothing and got straight to the point. maybe you were taking it easy before, and the fact that he was hard all over again just thinking about it was signal enough that you had the green light to do with him as you pleased yet you did nothing drastic.

he didn't know what to do with his hands. any action to shed a few garments resulted in you pulling off of him completely with a teasing 'tsk' like you weren't pleased he was trying to do something himself. it took begging - something he'd never thought he'd do - in the most lustful, pathetically needy pleads just to get you to go back to teasing him. the closest thing he got to relief was when you slid your hand up his shirt then down his pants to keep playing with him without ever making skin-to-skin contact.

tachihara let out a frustrated groan. "please, stop fuckin' with me, and just-"

"fuck you?" you completed the thought, giggling at yourself while he kept shifting himself on the seat to get you to be as close as possible. "you wait this long and suddenly you're so impatient, tachi. what ever happened to good things come to those who wait?"

his mind wanted to tell you to shut the hell up with your perky responses but it was busy being corroded by pulsating senses shooting up his body. he couldn't handle it anymore; you oscillated between a slower and a faster pace in order to give him the one he didn't want. if it wasn't for his need for you to do it for him, he would've pounded himself just for a temporary escape from the embarrassing situation of moaning in the stolen car in front of you. he tried to cover it up with more curses but every attempt was getting further and further away from fooling everyone.

it was a wonder how you hadn't gotten him to cum in his pants from the stimulation alone by the time you'd arrived back at the apartment. who knows whose it was, all you cared about was that your gang of misfits crashed there every night and right now the windows were flashing bright colours and you could basically hear the music from down where you were.

"so that's what those dickheads have been doin'," you remark as if nothing had been happening, climbing out of the vehicle you'd parked and taking a look upwards. "that's too bad, I'm sure you would've preferred privacy."

"I would've preferred...?"

his half-formulated question received a half-formulated answer when you pulled him by the wrist onto the side of the building, an alleyway that was dirty and grimy and dark and perfect for what you were about to do.

"mmnf~" he had a hard time resisting, let alone taking charge when you had his slammed against yet another hard surface with your hands all over him and your lips grinding up on him almost as roughly as your hips. if he wasn't already stimulated, bringing up your thigh to the side of his hip in order to hump yourself on him was the final straw.

"shit, don't make me ask again," tachihara tried to say forcefully but one roll of your clothed cunt got him nearly apologizing and begging you to be nice. there was no way you were going to let him brat tonight.

"better," you considered, your hand going back down to where it had previously ventured, but this time sliding under both pants and underwear in one fell swoop. there wasn't enough space, his pants taking the brunt of the aggression when you yanked your wrist back and the button popped off. he barely had time to register that you'd done away with his belt again when you were jerking him off so expertly he felt his body go weak and whole world blur.

maybe he was inexperienced, but maybe you were just too good: your command for him to spit in your hand brought another layer of red over his features, but goddamn was it worth it when you were lubing him up with his own saliva while pulling and pushing with talented fingers. you toyed with the end, which you could guess would be flushed a pretty pink if his cock wasn't veiled by the night. you drew circles around the pre-cum that was already pearling out the tip then smeared it all over the sensitive flesh. you paused the stroking for a moment to center it in your palm and rotate it softly and slowly, and for a second through his clenched eyelids he could've sworn he was being handled by a deity.

you didn't bother kissing him anymore, as the distance allowed you to look at him with his features illuminated by glowing neon and low yellow. your free hand pinched his face, his chin resting in the junction between index and thumb while you squeezed tightly and brought him at an angle to look at you.

"open 'em," you commanded, and he did after a bit of hesitation, or was it shame? the answer wasn't clear until you noticed water pooling over his lashes and struggling whimpers. "aww, am I takin' it too hard on ya?"

a rhetorical question; you slammed your hand back into his hips and his cock was having a difficult time not unraveling with every hard, borderline violent thrust. you checked in every once in a while, 'too much?', 'does this still feel good?', 'you want more, baby?' but every sultry sentence was just a ruse. the only confirmation you needed was the spasming of his muscles as he came all over your hand.

he was so glad the high had passed and the buildup was over, even though every second felt so fucking good it was also humiliating to hear the echo of his own moan in an alleyway right outside your apartment complex in the dead of the night.

except that you didn't stop.

you knew just how sensitive he would be after his orgasm washed over him, yet you were mercilessly watching the tears stream down his perfect little face while you fucked him roughly in the aftermath. it was only through whining and begging to slow down that you kissed him again to get him to shut up. his lips tasted so good, salty from the tears and you opened your mouth against his gasps to let your tongue dance along the back of his teeth and roll over on the roof of his mouth.

too much, it was too much: your hand pounding him harshly with fingertips groping at his balls to balance the pain with pleasure, your teeth wrapped around his bottom lip while sucking it into you, not to mention your free hand grabbing at and massaging his ass. he didn't know what to feel except aroused as the blood rushed back down into his cock and he was about to do it all over again.

"hard again so soon?" you quipped. he didn't have the ability to respond since your hand had resized its grip again and he was losing his mind for a third time tonight. "you really are a fuckin' whore. fucked you in my cunt, fucked you on my hand... all that's left now..."

and you dropped to your knees.

he couldn't even look at you, his throat dry and rasping while he recovered from the sudden lack of touch for the instant where you positioned yourself with your face on his hips and somehow managed to tease him worse than before.

tachihara preferred it like this. at least this way you didn't have a direct view of his tears and sobs while you fluctuated once more from dreadful overstimulation to languid motions. it was still cold out, but his body felt so warm from everything pumping in his veins, particularly his cock once you'd had your fun edging him with your tongue and slowly shifted towards sucking him off.

"nng... fuck, fuck, fuck," he panted, voice breaking with every word. "d-don't... don't fuckin' st-ahhh~"

you had no intention of stopping until his knees were weak and he couldn't manage a single word. your tongue rolled over every part of him that got his body twitching and the strong muscle sucked down so hard he thought you'd just slurp his cum straight out of him like a goddamn sippy cup. his hands gripped onto the back of your skull to hold you, but he couldn't figure out whether he was trying to pull you off or push you on.

it didn't take long for him to snap once more and shoot hot liquid down your throat and face. he couldn't see you spitting it all out on the dirty pavement because the pleasure was just too much and he was trembling from all the sensations, porcelain cheeks adorned with streaks of his lust broken apart by your own. you dusted off the dirt from your knees and shot him a devilish smirk before kissing him, making him taste himself.

"shhh, it's ok," you murmured into his lips, hand caressing his face softly while you rubbed the tears with your thumb. "you did so good for me, baby. I wanted you to have a real taste of what I can do, so why don't we head in and you don't worry your pretty little head about this, yeah?"

his panting was loud, but he managed to cool down enough to sound coherent. "mmmn, yeah... yeah, let's do... that..."

"don't tell me you want more, you little slut." it was reflexive, at this point, to react this way when he was acting cute and oh so corruptible. your hand was loosely wrapped around his neck with the other trailed down his abdomen, all the while your entire body was trapping him against the brick wall again.

"'cause there are a whole lot of other ways I can fuck you, baby."

[nagdabbit]

For the prompt should it inspire (and if you’re not passed out) werewolf getting adopted from the pound au with mox/Yuta?

you know what's funny ive never actually had a pet before so i dunno what adopting a pet is actually like

title: raised by wolves

He hadn't ever thought of himself as a dog person, so he was certain he wasn't going to leave with one in tow. But he didn't really know what possessed him to go and meet the dogs on his trip to the shelter in the first place. Well, he knew, but My boyfriend ghosted me extremely suddenly and he kinda reminded me of a dog at times, so I thought it would be nice to have one around who would love me and wouldn't just suddenly stop replying to my texts didn't seem like a reason he wanted to tell the shelter staff.

There were a couple other families there, cooing over wiggly little pitbulls and lab mixes. There were German shepherds pacing their enclosures, a shih tzu barking loudly, a lab mix waiting patiently for treats. They were all cute, but none of them really spoke to him.

And then he'd passed the biggest goddamn dog he'd ever seen.

Not just big, and not even a dog, the thing was a wolf. Big, fluffy and peach fuzz blonde, sure, but the thing was clearly a wolf. Maybe a wolf-bear mix.

He hadn't been pacing circles or sat with a nose pressed up to the chainlink door—at least he hadn't until Wheeler had neared. The beast rose in a fluid motion, ears perked and nose twitching, and jesus christ, he came up to Wheeler's ribcage without even trying.

But he didn't growl or bark for Wheeler's attention. He whined a little, his massive paws tapping impatiently.

And Wheeler didn't have the room for a whole wolf, let alone an actual dog, but the longer the thing looked up at him with those wide, imploring blue eyes, the harder it was to think about turning away. Even when the staff tried to dissuade him, telling him the dog was mean, the dog growled if you moved too fast, the thing refused to eat kibble, the dog needed a big yard, or a whole forest to run in. He had a yard, even if it was small, but he liked going on hikes. And he didn't have irregular hours, so it wasn't as if the dog would be unattended for an unreasonable amount of time. And, most of all, the dog actually seemed to like him, which seemed to be a first for everyone in the shelter.

When they finally relented, allowing him to take the dog—and they had no imagination, naming him Jacob—out into the yard, it had gone far better than any of them seemed to fear. They'd made him sign a waiver, and for what?

He had looked down at the wolf, and the wolf had looked back. I bet you don't fetch, huh?

The big beast had just sneezed at him.

Wheeler had laughed, and sat himself down in short grass—only for the wolf to flop gracelessly down on top of him in an undignified sprawl. He weighed too fucking much, but he was soft and he rumbled in pleasure as Wheeler scritched his nails over every bit he could reach. Especially that spot at the top of his head, right between his ears, where his peach fuzz fur was softest.

After that, they practically threw the thing at him, happy to be rid of him. Even waived few items on the application that Wheeler didn't think was legal, but the beast seemed more than happy to be free of the shelter, so he didn't question it. When he told the confused woman at the front desk that he was renaming him Larry, as in Lawrence Talbot, he felt like the beast's answering woof was one of laughter.

All in all, he thought they made a pretty good match.

Larry didn't try to run once they were outside, didn't pull at his leash or chase squirrels. He happily took up the entire backseat of Wheeler's tiny car, content doze the short drive back to his tiny house. He didn't seem to even care to explore the new house once he was in it, sticking tight to Wheeler's side for all the gentle pets he could get. When Wheeler presented him with a celebratory steak, red and rare enough it was practically still mooing, Larry took enough of a moment to nose his dish closer to Wheeler's chair before he set to work devouring dinner.

When he went to bed and Larry happily hopped up into the bed with him, nestling his snout down into the crook of Wheeler's neck.

Had he been asked that morning if he felt comfortable enough around dogs, let alone honest to god wolves, to allow one that close to his throat, he'd have said hard no, never. But Larry practically purred like a cat, massive tail thumping as Wheeler hugged him close, like he was the least scary teddy bear the world had ever seen.

He might not have been a dog person, but Larry was just about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Which was why it was all the more strange when he woke curled around what was decidedly not his fucking dog.

He shoved himself back with a shout, flailing a little as he tumbled backward off the bed. He'd hit his head, or he was in the middle of a wild fever dream, or something, because there was no fucking way his dog had been replaced by his naked, idiot boyfriend without him noticing. No way, none.

"What the fuck, Mox?!"

He blinked owlishly, then yelped as he looked down at his hands. "Oh thank fuck," he breathed, and practically collapsed in relief.

Mox had ghosted him, almost a month before. Just disappeared out of Wheeler's life, if his gym friends were to be believed. No calls, no texts, didn't even leave him on read. He was just gone.

And now he was in Wheeler's bed, naked.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Oh, fuck, c'mere baby, I missed you so fucking much," he rasped and scrambled across the bed, reaching for Wheeler. "I can explain, I just need to kiss—"

He threw a pillow at Mox, and then a pair of jeans left lying on the floor. "No, explain now."

He swatted the projectiles away, easily, and pouted. As if everything was normal and Wheeler wasn't losing his damn mind. "But, babe, it's been—"

"Do not babe me, you were a fucking dog!"

He held up a finger, "Werewolf."

Right. Of course. Werewolf. He adopted a dog, which was his boyfriend and also a werewolf, which was a thing that actually existed in real life. Just a normal fucking day.

"Okay, don't freak out," Mox said, holding his hands up, placating.

"It's a little fucking late!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, I—"

He threw another pillow. "It's a little fucking late."

He flopped onto his stomach with a sigh, "I didn't mean to get stuck, so it's not my fault!"

"You got stuck?"

"You know how werewolves can turn into wolves?" he asked, and ducked the shoe Wheeler threw at him. "Well, sometimes we get stuck. Usually when we get separated from our pack. It's a whole thing."

He stared at the man. Wolf. Thing. "Jonathan fucking Moxley," he said, slowly, watching the man wince, "you got stuck as a wolf, trapped in a fucking animal shelter, for a month. And your explanation is, and I quote, 'It's a whole thing.'"

"I'll explain everything later, promise, but I thought I'd spend the rest of my life being let outside to piss by my boyfriend, so that's a little more important right now." He made grabby hands at Wheeler, eyes wide and pleading. "But I finally have my pack back, so can we cuddle some more now, please."

"You better explain," he grumbled, his own resolve slipping. Mox just had those eyes, hard to say no to. "And I mean everything."

The grabby hands intensified. "I will. All of it. Now, please, c'mere."

"You owe me, like, $200 for the adoption fees," he grumbled, and finally let Jon pull him back up off the floor. Werewolves were real, and it was kinda really fucking weird, but... Well, he hadn't had weirder, but he did have Mox back where he belonged, so he figured he could get used to it. "And a new fucking dog."

He just laughed, that familiar smoker's rasp, as he wound himself around Wheeler, "Baby, I'll be your dog whenever you want, jus' say the word."

He laughed, despite himself, "Oh my god, can you not make it sound like a sex thing?"

Mox just shrugged, easily. "We can do both."

[twothpaste]

deliriously surreal little 1k fic snippet under the cut. three psychics try to tame the rampaging natural killer cyborg with some gentle telepathic persuasion. but it turns out the creature's mind palace is a very strange place...

(cw: blood, body horror, animal death, general visceral unpleasantness)

Leder's got a library copy of the Inferno. A scrappy, shitty, well-loved old paperback, with dog-ears on half its pages. Kumatora ate it up, during her punkass Satanic phase around age nineteen. Even got a Cerberus tattooed on her back. It ain't any snappin' teeth or serpentine horrors, though, that stuck with her most dearly. Not even the torturous plights of all them sinful human souls. Nah. What's haunted n' captivated her ever since, is the fate of the underworld's overlord. The great reveal, that even Lucifer himself was utterly damned to his Ninth Circle. If y'ain't read it, she'll tell ya: it goes like this. Dante n' Virgil find him down there, at Hell's deepest depths, imprisoned in a lake of solid ice. Frozen just as miserably solid as the wretchedest traitors he held prisoner. Cryin' frosted tears from his three hangin' heads. "Y'can't help but feel sorry for the guy," she'd told Ash. N' Lucas. N' just about everybody else. "He ain't some kinda evil king. Ain't even callin' the shots, really. All he did was stick it to the man - shit, I wouldda, too! N' then he's stuck with the rest of 'em. Freezin' his nuts off, 'til the end o' time…"

… Anyways.

She thinks of that. While she lets loose PK Freeze Ω from her stalwart palms.

An icy barricade seals pig to pit. Clings upon its walls of flesh, like binding chains. Holds it, softly, forcefully, in place. Maybe the cold-numb'll coax it to settle down, wishful thinking suggests. Maybe it'll ease its agony. If just for a short while. Steam billows where ice meets pink-red skin. A hot-blooded protest. Its bellows would put Cerberus to shame. Wet brain meat writhes, sickly swollen, against a half-shattered glass dome.

Claus joins his brother, at the labyrinth's gate.

("He's from a dream I had, you know," Master Porky said. With deathly shrieks still ringing in his nightmare ears.)

(The Capsule keeps screaming.)

(Lucas grips Claus' wrist, as they tread forward. Sticky sap tugs at their boots. Crunching tiny exoskeletons, and brittle wings. He wonders - and therefore, they both wonder - whether fruit flies and mosquitos screech as they suffocate, too. How many death throes we can't even hear. Or if, through some dark, impossible miracle, they're still alive. Schrodinger's smother. Amber crystalizes, turning your whole world gold in retrospect. You can't budge. Can't even breathe. But your mind thrashes evermore against its binds.)

("There's a way out," Claus insists. Shakin' their head. "I know the way. We do. We can show ya.")

("Shhh…" comes Lucas' soft spring breeze. It brushes over both chimeras.)

(The screams grow louder.)

(The heart-splitting sound of a child's untimely demise. Ribs shattered on solid stone. Some could mistake a pig's distraughtest wails for a human's, given the right-wrong acoustics. A tweenaged Butch'd said ol' Gertrude was due for slaughter in a couple weeks. And cracked a joke about makin' bacon. Biff elbowed him real hard. N' said he ain't s'posed to say crap like that in front'a the rugrats. Kid Claus chased a piglet about. Jested that it'd make a fine Christmas ham, someday. Little Lucas scooped the thing up, in the grass-stained arms of his sweater. Covered its floppy ears. N' sobbed himself halfway to hysterics. Claus was laughin' so hard, he could barely wheeze out an apology. He'd be screamin' like hell when it came for him, though. Crucified on the chopping block. Teething his goddamn limbs off. While a ten-year-old Lucas sulked past the old slaughter shed. Exhaled a silent, wintry cloud. And pulled his scarf over his chilled-pink ears.)

("These… These aren't your memories.")

(The Commander had stared into the Natural Killer Cyborg's vessel. Only to find its own reflection, cast back on the glass.)

(The boy named Lucas had tried to quell it. Ended up with his hands at his own throat. Gaspin' the same strangled breaths as every other chimera he'd ever bashed into submission.)

("It ain't like that. I swear, we don't wanna hurtcha. Y'can let us in.")

(They're up to their knees, now. At the Capsule wall, where ice stings flesh. It's searing hot to the touch. As if all the red and guts smeared to its surface are still broiling, and seething, with live mammalian body temperature - and a rage that spans far beyond. Lucas tends the fresh burns on his brother's hand, when they wipe it clean. Claus does the same for him.)

("M'sorry. M'so, so sorry. Y'didn't deserve any of this.")

("We're gonna make it up to ya. We promise.")

(Their pity earns them boils, and lesions. Skin charred black, like an overcooked waste of meat. A persistence that speaks volumes of burned pages. The two of them find the window, prying with peeling fingers. Wipe away the human carnage that sullies its pane.)

(They show it the Sanctuary. Straight from their minds' eyes. A sleepy sunset, over the palms and coral trees. It's mellow-warm. Summertime's brink. When they last left, the Hippo Launchers'd already taken to the tides and puddles. N' the Rhinocerocket herds were nappin' peacefully in the shade. Where all creatures've got a right to life - just as they always have - and all 'cause they've made it so. The real world's a beautiful place, they tell it. It's out there. Waiting for you.)

(A porcine nose twitches between the crimson smears. Between vicious screams. Close breath fogs up the pane. Somewhere, on the very fringe of consciousness, Kumatora's valiant struggle seems fainter than before.)

("Easy, now…")

("That's it…")

(A set of tusks glints perfect white.)

(The beast bashes its full weight against the Capsule's interior.)

(It rolls forward. And crushes them both.)

The Natural Killer Cyborg activates a PSI Counter Device.

They snap back sputtering. The older twin reaches, outta sheer muscle memory, for his cane. The younger lifts an arm, to summon a Shield. Tries to, rather. It's with shivering shock that they realize they've been sealed stiff - in a gnarling ridge of PK Freeze spires.

"Agh! God, damn it!" Kumatora yowls. Clamped up right beside 'em.

Ninth Circle indeed.

[lowkey-yyy]

what animal would each bsd character be?

OH MY GOD YESSSSS

Stares at my extensive animal knowledge

Okok i'll give a domestic (or pet) animal and a fully wild one for each because goddamn i love this. I'll do only a few more main characters and maybe more if its requested,,

ADA:

Dazai, he is a cat, man is cat have you seen him? For wild animals though id say he would be a hyena, some of the most misrepresented animals, they are the cutest things and extremely deadly if they need to be. These guys hunt better than lions and are neither canine nor feline, they are genuinely some of the most fun and adorable little things ever along with being smart as hell and just gimme his energy (second runner up is a crow because they are mischievous little shits >:)) )

Kunikida is a dog,, not like a german shepherd though more like a rough collie, constantly herding everyone else. For the wild though he reminds me of a squirrel, very picky and fussy, he wants everything organized and done his own way! He is so picky and so are they, setting up nests and storing food hehe

Atsushi,, unpopular opinion not a cat but a chinchilla, very nervous and keeps to himself, but curious and fascinated when allowed to explore and try new things! For the wild definitely a cheetah, nervous and needing support but strong when needed to be!

Ranpo is definitely like a husky puppy, too smart for their own good and heavily food driven, loves praise and treats.... for the wild i'd say a bear, soft sweet to loved ones but mean to strangers, they are tolerant animals and again food driven!

Yosano gives me a hognose snake vibe, nippy but sweet and a little bit venomous, they warm up to you though. For the wild I would say specifically a polar bear, some of the most protective moms to ever exist and she definitely has that energy when it comes to the ADA, they are her family and she will maul you like a bear.

Fukuzawa gives specifically Maine Coon vibes, gentle giant cat who has one of the best personalities, for the wild I would say the wolf is perfect for him, a protective leader who gives his all for his family, wolves are devoted animals.

Kyouka is a hedgehog, shy and weary with a very quiet personality and excellent memory it just fits her so well, her wild counterpart would be an owl, a solitary bird who is immensely smart and quick thinking. They are also very quiet and can be considered intimidating at first but cute up close.

Kenji is a degu and thats that. Mans is a degu... in the wild,, a dolphin again i dont feel i need to elaborate on why lol

Tanizaki is a pygmy goat, needs companions to be happy and in general is friendly also tiny but tough!! For the wild side id say a lion , a pride animal who protects family no matter the cost

PM:

Chuuya is a chihuahua, tiny angry but fiercely loyal and protective of their families. On the wild end i'd say an eagle, strong willed, loud, competitive and powerful hehe,, but he'd be a small one

Akutagawa is like a mean ferret, he is mischievous and playful in his own way but also impulsive, mans got too much energy in him lol, on the wild end id say a stoat, somewhat independent animals who are fearless in attacking animals bigger than them and surprisingly good at surviving, he also looks like one .....im not wrong

Mori is a pig, too smart for his own good and gets into stuff, oddly sensitive and can be awfully mean,, on the wild counterpart.... a honey badger... i wont elaborate just look it up and you will understand....

I may change my mind on some of these but this is just like a rougher idea hehe

[storiesbyrhi]

Can I get a quick little eddie drabble? Something with metallica in it? Pls and thank you.

Hello friend. Here's a very small thing for you. I have a vague idea for part two if you (or anyone else) want it?

No warnings. Just vibes.

Drabble 002 (part 1) 576 words

Eddie Munson was a lot of things to a lot of people. Luckily, you didn’t care too much about what other people thought. And while you knew he was smart and totally wanted him to graduate, you were kind of happy to see him back in the hallways of Hawkins High for another yet. It meant you would finally share classes. Senior year, baby.

The next thing to do was to, you know, talk to him. That was turning out to be a much more difficult task than any of the work assigned in class. Opportunities were abundant but backbone, not so much. Eddie was just so goddamn pretty and anytime you tried to say anything to him you lost yourself in his stupid puppy dog eyes.

None of it was very metal of you. And that’s the thing… you were kind of metal. You listened to the same bands as Eddie. You worshipped at the alter of Ronnie James Dio, just like he did. It was in your blood, and when Eddie glanced over at you one afternoon and he saw the sketch in the margins of your English book, he learned that about you.

The sketch was the other Eddie, the one who represented Iron Maiden. Your version was wearing the dumb sailors uniform the dweebs at Scoops Ahoy wore but was otherwise still his zombie-esque self. The usual Eddie, the one who represented the freaks and geeks of Hawkins, started to take far more notice of you.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t noticed you. He had. You were kind and gentle, and seemed different to your peers. You were glued to your Walkman and read fantasy novels. Yes, Eddie Munson had certainly noticed you.

Finally, on a Friday afternoon, he made your world collide with his. You were on your way to the library when his unmistakable voice called after you. He was calling your name and that alone was enough to fuel your fantasies for the weekend.

“Hey, glad I caught ya,” he said, grinning. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You had a date with your record player and self-pity. Metallica was playing a show in Indianapolis but it sold out before you could get tickets.

“Um, nothing,” you said, aiming for nonchalant, hitting close enough.

“Me and Jeff were gonna go see Metallica, but he got grounded. So, I have this spare ticket… if you maybe wanted to, like, go with me?”

He held out the tickets, let you take them in your hands.

“I know we don’t know each other well, but I’ve seen your drawings. Think maybe we have some stuff in common,” he continued. “And I did my research. Your dad works with my uncle. Wayne said he'd put a good word in with him. Promise him I’m a complete gentleman.”

Holy shit.

You nodded before you could speak, trying to buy time while you thought of something to say.

“Just say yes,” Eddie said like he’d read your mind.

“Yes. Definitely. Yes,” you quickly replied.

Eddie twirled on the spot and did a little victory punch to the air. “You hold onto those for us. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Maybe a bit early? We can get dinner in the city first?”

“I’d like that,”

“Alright then. I’ll let you go re-borrow The Hobbit,” he said, taking a step back.

“How did…”

“How did I know? I know a lot. I’m observant... I’ll see you tomorrow. Midday.”

Edit: Here's part 2!

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

sleepy prompts; Cuddling under far too many blankets :>

aaaaaawwww a cute one~

Chilly Mornings || So Cries the Wolf AU (spoilers to ongoing story?)

-

Winter could get very dicey out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. You did your best to ensure proper maintenance of the generator, covered over the windows to keep more of the heat in, and pulled out the thick downy duvet for your bed. However when your goddamn generator broke down then things started to get....complicated. Rapidly.

"What's the verdict?" Montague called over as you hung up your phone. Your response was to fling the phone in aggravation in the direction of the sofa, watching it bounce harmlessly against the pillows beside Eclipse. Both demons stared at the phone, then back at you.

"...That bad?"

"They're not able to send anyone out here for two days," you groaned into your hands. "We're not the only place whose power has gone out so they're backlogged to hell. Not their words. Sorry boys."

"No offense taken," Eclipse grumbled with a double hand-wave.

"But yeah. Bunker down, make one room the warmest in the place, cover up windows, no gas stove, and just...try to keep warm," you said with a low sigh. Sun's metal hand settled on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. It was all too easy to fold into the light comfort.

"Small steps, sunshine. Let's get the blankets together."

The living room made the most sense. It was technically the biggest room of the house which was less great, but it meant you could keep the kitchen above freezing and since neither Montague or Eclipse could enter your bedroom, then you figured it was better to keep them close rather than have them left in the cold. Could demons get frostbite? You asked this as you carried out another armful of blankets over to the sofa.

"I don't think we can," Eclipse replied.

"I haven't been inclined to try," Monty agreed. Good enough. Their presence was more than welcome in any case. You knew Montague was comfortable with cuddles - this was not your first rodeo at long, cold nights, although it was the first time that it was more than just two in the house.

It did present a...new and interesting scenario though. The sofa could certainly be unfolded into a bed, and that helped, but you were still looking at one human, one demon (tall), one demon (dog), and one animatronic shuffling up together in order to stay warm. Sun did decline sharing on the sofa, stating that his internal processing would be enough to keep himself warm, but you made sure he knew the offer was still left open.

Once every blanket in the cabin had been gathered together, you started the process of making a suitable nest. Eclipse's arms made it for light work, carrying and folding and draping with ease. At one point you were sat out in the middle of the sofa, plumping up one end of blankets to act as a barrier for pillows, when a heavy weight dropped down over your shoulders. Letting out a startled "WHA-", you wriggled underneath the weight, trying to scramble free if not for the weight to double down.

"Got you," Eclipse purred at your ear. He'd made a thickly layered net of multiple blankets, including your heavy down, and had flung it over you. It certainly made for an effective trap. Laughing quietly, you rolled over to look back up at him.

"It seems you have," you said, smiling warmly.

"You were shivering."

"Yeah, it's cold." You'd been seeing your breath for the past couple of hours as the sunlight left and frost drank up the household shadows. Eclipse frowned, poking your nose with a tender claw.

"You are most at risk of all of us. Need to stay warm, keep the cold off you," he said, his teasing tone sliding into the two-toned concern.

"It's fine. I'm under the blankets now, after all," you reassured him.

"Mmm, not good enough." Shifting around, he wriggled in from the side of the blankets, curling his arms around you and tugging you close to his feathered chest. If you thought the down duvet was soft, this was a whole other understanding of 'soft'. The feathers fluffed up against your cheek, the metallic chest far below an afterthought. And the warmth - it rolled off his body like a portable heater. Regardless of any displeased thoughts you may have had of Eclipse's teasing and grabbing, you wrapped your arms around him in return, nuzzling up close. With his warmth and the multitude of blankets above you, you were certain you'd be able to handle the lack of heating in the cabin for a day or two.

"Cute little pup," Eclipse purred, a hand gently running over your head. "You are warm now?"

"Absolutely," you mumbled, smiling up at his very pleased expression. He could have this smugness, just this once.

[tired-biscuit]

Random thought, but do you think in an AU Kiba would be like a wild barbarian that lives in the forest surrounded by nature? I feel like he'd be really feral and Akamaru would be his loyal companion!

yesss, i said he'd fit either a war general or a barbarian in a royalty AU; both are very suitable. thoughts below!!

i actually talked about a similar kind of thing with a moot; where he's like this completely feral man that you have to teach entirely new mannerisms in order to let him join society ahdhdhdh......... it was so funny, like he doesn't even know how to use utensils, wearing 'normal people' clothes bothers him and the collar chokes him up, he feels weird sleeping in an extremely soft bed with all the big, feathery pillows, so he sometimes prefers a simple blanket and the floor that's been warmed up right next to the fireplace. that kind of thing.

but yeah, i think he'd also be ruthless; perhaps even more so than general!kiba. rips out people's throats with his goddamn teeth kind of ruthless. roars like a beast while going in for the kill. allows rage to control him and his actions until he's blind with it.

and he scares you; with his burly stature, crude language that you have immense trouble understanding, lack of respect and the red triangle markings on his face that remind you of nothing else but big, deadly fangs and make him look like a heathen. he just always looks so mean; even the brown in his eyes has gone cold because of the hard glare that never seems to leave his face.

and he just doesn't know how to behave either. it's infuriating and frightening, especially because his temper is short; it makes him unpredictable like an animal. he keeps you as his mate, or his wife in your context, even if you barely understand each other because of the language barrier. and as if that wasn't bad enough already, coming to a mutual agreement is seen as nearly impossible, when he gets way too frustrated to even try communicating with you because of said barrier.

and as months pass, you settle on despising him; him and his crude manners and greedy hands and a tongue you can't speak and reach compromise with. but then you catch him enjoying the sunshine with his canine companion one morning, and the opinion you'd previously held for him changes.

the white dog is the only living being he seems to show any form of affection towards. even now, as he sits with it in the tall grass, he's absent-mindedly petting its thick fur with his eyes closed and his head angled towards the sun.

the increasing warmth tints the apples of his cheeks into a slight pink, subduing the otherwise angry crimson that make up the barbaric markings on his face. his tan skin is painted golden because of the special hour; the light even manages to bring out subtle reddish streaks in his otherwise chestnut hair. it's uneven and crudely cut - probably by him - as a means to keep short and fight the fast-approaching summer heat.

and watching - spying on - him like this, you can't help but think that it looks like the sun itself adores him. that mother nature accepts him as one of her own even if he's cruel. he just looks so peaceful and content in that short little moment, his facial features are soft and relaxed for a change, his mouth is missing that firm line of disapproval it constantly dons on whenever other people are around. it's like he's become one with the sun, and the grass, and the gentle breeze that sways its green blades. it's like he's home.

you fall in love with him right then and there despite not wanting to and denying it to yourself for ages. however, it takes you an even longer while to successfully lure out that specific side of him and make it come out to play again.

[talesofmetalandmagic]

(dad) Nasus and Kassadin

When Xerath kidnapped Azir and Sivir informed Nasus of what has occurred, he sent her off to find Taliyah, Akshan and Samira – she's a brave and capable warrior, but Xerath is on a whole another level of power – while he departs on a solitary mission to find his little bird.

A mission that proves fruitless, for more than a year: not because Nasus is a bad searcher (he's a goddamn DOG) but because Xerath purposefully misleads him with false informations, summoning out of season lightning storms to throw him off track and the most vicious sandstorms on this side of Shurima.

Why doesn't he just kill him? Because this, to him, is a much crueler punishment: knowing that Azir is undergoing the Renekton treatment and he's not there to help him, and every day he spends unable to find him is one more day where Azir suffers.

During one of those long travels he comes across a man in a purple armor, who introduces himself as Kassadin, and they sit side by side for a drink by the moonlight – tea, of course, since none of them drink alcohol – as wanderers are known to do.

Nasus, who's fretting every day more for Azir – Xerath makes him feel his pain through dream and vision, and even though he cannot see what he's going through he knows he's not happy – takes it out on the kind traveler, and since he cannot say who he's looking for since the name "Omah Azir" isn't very popular in those modern times, he just says "his son"

And he doesn't even know why. He's not Azir's father, even though he knows he'd be a better choice. He could have called him a brother, a pupil, even a lord – why did he go for the son thing?

But Kassadin doesn't seem to understand his confusion. He holds his wrist, giving it a squeeze, and pours himself another cup.

-I had a daughter once. She's lost, alas. Your pain is mine-

Nasus doesn't even want to think about losing Azir. He'd be to blame, of course, just like... just like Renekton.

He remembers how wrathful and desperate his brother was when the imperial convoy was attacked, and the lives of the princes and princesses lost. He was there, and he couldn't help any of them. Not even little Azir did he save. He blamed himself for days on end, training relentlessly and unable to look little Azir in the eye. Which, paradoxically, pushed them even closer.

Maybe I deserve to suffer, for both of them.

-If I may give you an advice, my friend,- Kassadin speaks. -This fight is worthy, but it's on you to keep it so. You fight for love, but love begets fear and loss, and from those, doubt will stem. I tell you to face this doubt, and let it sink among the forgotten things.-

There's an air of gravitas, when he speaks; as if he truly knew his millenium of pain.

-My enemy, a madman by the name of Malzahar... beware him, my friend, and keep your blade close if you come in contact with a rumor of him. This Malzahar would want us to believe that this world is for naught, and the cruelty of man is deserving of annihilation. Don't give credit to his rambles. Don't lose your love. This is what you fight for, and it's a noble fight indeed... I pray you meet him, my friend.-

Even if it's for Omah Azir. Nasus takes another sip of tea to melt the chokehold in his throat and squeezes Kassadin's wrist back.

-And I too will pray for your wife and daughter: may their rest be sweet.-

~ ~ ~

Months pass. After being entombed, chained, beak clamped, hood sown onto his head and no chance to escape, Azir sees the light at last – and a gentle woman smiles at him as she helps him sit up.

-Kai'sa is my name, my lord. I'm a warrior. You're safe with me.-