#pink lion plush

[tixeplush]

Steven Quartz and Pink Lion Plush Toys I present to you Steven Quartz and Pink Lion Plush toys inspired by the characters from 💗💗💗💎Steven Universe💎💗💗💗

Follow latest updates on Commissions, New offers, projects and plush toy ideas

Thank you for Commission Tixe ❤️💖🧡💛💚💙

[mewtoz]

y’all like webkinz right? :0c

[littleguymart]

(source)

[yeoldwebkinzcollector]

just jordan in a shirt fo' today

[thylacines-toybox]

Lion from Steven Universe, sewn by me in 2015 but mostly remade in 2017. He has a tiny hidden pocket in his mane.

[stimtoy]

🦁 || skye_blues_shop

[stevebabey]

have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[prettyprettypaci2]

Drool - Part 4

💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊

"Come on, honey, you just told me you were starving! Either there's a big scary lion growling in your tummy, or now you're fibbing. Open up."

Nurse Molly's rosy perfume fills your nostrils as you breathe hard through your nose. You're being careful not to bite your lips as you keep them pursed shut, revolted by the appearance of the brown goop dangling at the end of the nurse's pink spoon. The waxy sheen of the sticky, moist food does nothing to make the unidentifiable chunks appear more appetizing.

Your pink puffy mittens remain snugly wrapped around your fists, leaving you no outlet for nervous movement except pumping your legs back and forth in the bizarre high-seated chair you've been strapped to. Nurse Molly had said it was dangerous for you to eat lying down while still recovering from the muscle relaxers, and the restraints were necessary to keep you from falling out and bumping your head. Worst of all, as you whimper and squirm in your purple t-shirt and fuzzy cotton bib, wrinkling your nose and glaring at Nurse Molly, you can't help but hear it: the constant, gentle, singing, mischievous crinkle of your puffy diaper.

You're hyper-aware of its every hug and tug on your body: the way the leg guards press into your thighs as your hanging feet kick the air. The way the plush cotton shapes itself to your bits and bum as you sit on the cushioned seat. The way the stretchy tapes, tipped blue like a French manicure, squeeze the plastic wings to your hips, keeping it snugly in place.

But right this minute, even your humiliatingly thick diaper is not your biggest concern.

"Come on, honey. You've got to eat something! We only serve fresh, healthy food at the clinic. It's easy to digest and has all the nummy vitamins you need to keep your treatment on track!"

Nurse Molly hovers the pink spoon in front of your closed mouth as her syrupy voice coaxes you to give in. You swivel your head from side to side, and the brown goop follows the path of your lips like a homing beacon. This whole thing feels ridiculous! Why can't they let you feed yourself? Why can't they serve you real food?! And why must you be RESTRAINED in a chair where your pink jelly sandals can't even touch the floor?!

"Oh, I think I know the problem. You miss having your device in your mouth, don't you? Is that it, honey? You want your sucky little buddy back?"

This has to be a joke! You scowl at the giant pink pacifier resting on the plastic tray in front of you, its silicone shaft still glistening with your creamy drool.

"N-n-no! Ohhhhnnnngh!"

You can't stop yourself from stammering out a denial, but this serves only to form your mouth into the perfect "O" shape for Nurse Molly to slide the pink spoon past your lips. Shocked by her quick reaction, you swallow reflexively, and the first bite of brown goop slides its way into your rumbling tummy.

It tastes awful. Like bitter vegetables pulverized with protein slurry. You scrape your tongue with your teeth to get the sticky substance off your taste buds and thrust your head forward, gagging. Nurse Molly clearly interprets this as you smacking your lips and leaning in for more, which she obliges with another gooey spoonful of the brown mush forced into your open mouth.

As the horrifying feeding begins in earnest, your only goal is to get the revolting taste of the food out of your mouth. You realize, paradoxically, that this means swallowing it all as quickly as possible. But every time you force more of the sludge down your throat, it's replaced just as quickly by an even thicker spoonful thrusting past your lips. After a minute, the pace of your feeding becomes a marathon, and bits of goop you can't swallow begin dribbling out of your mouth, onto your chin, and staining the front of your drooly bib.

"Look at you go, honey! That's it! Nom nom nom! Just like that! Whoops, don't fidget, I just got some on your cheek! That's okay, just a little snack for later, hm?"

You're struggling to breathe as more mush is shoveled into your mouth than you can possibly take. Your eyes roll up to the ceiling as your jaw hangs open stupidly; more sticky food is spilling from your lips than is making it to your stomach, turning your bib into a canvas of disgusting brown slop. A heavy chunk falls onto your thigh, along the seam of your puffy diaper's leg guard, looking all the world like a messy accident that was too big for your padding to contain.

"Nnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhh," you moan pathetically, spraying even more goo across your face. You're not so much trying to communicate as prove to yourself you're still conscious. Stupefied by the slimy, horrible-tasting drool that now streams from your face, your pink-mittened hands pull at the restraining straps of the high-seated chair. Why? Why? Why?

"Wunngh? Wunngh? Wunngh?" You gurgle through a fresh mouthful of sludge. Tears drip from your eyes and snot from your nose, mingling with the oozing mess that decorates your cheeks and chin.

"Don't worry, honey. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, you'll have your sucky back between those pretty lips. We're going to fix you and make it all better. There's no need to cry."

Nurse Molly scrapes the bowl for a last spoonful of the brown slurry. Your eyes widen in horror as the final bite comes sailing not towards your mouth, but towards your nose. With a playful giggle, Nurse Molly intentionally smears the foul-smelling goop across every inch of your face, massaging it into your skin like lotion, mixing in your tears.

Setting down the spoon, she picks up your pacifier and leans in close, wielding the silicone nipple like a pestle to push the last of the disgusting food into your now-bulging tummy. The motion of the nipple sliding in and out between your lips is strange and humiliating, yet you can't stop yourself from sucking and slurping the soft, rubbery shaft.

"This feels better, doesn't it, honey?" Nurse Molly whispers, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand. "This is what you wanted all along."

You realize with crippling shame that you do feel calmer now. The taste of the awful food begins to evaporate in the streams of drool that the pacifier coaxes from beneath your tongue. Despite yourself, you settle into a suckling rhythm, and breathe a sigh of relief when the pink leather strap is secured around your head. The pacifier is locked back into place. Your mouth is yours again.

All you have to do is suck.

💊 Part 5 💊

[tixeplush]

Hi it's me Tixe 💗💗💗💗 I present to you Pink Lion. Plush inspired by the character from Steven Universe

Thank you commision Tixe ❤️💖🧡💛💚💙

[aclowntiny]

✧･ﾟ: *✧Spa Days With Seventeen!✧*:･ﾟ✧

I did this for Ateez quite some time ago, but after a day of working outside in 43 C/110 F weather for 8 hours spa hours have returned to my head 😅 anyhoo Warnings: just 🤏🏻 suggestive in a couple places

S.Coups

♡ All Seungcheol can do is giggle as you ‘aggressively’ insist on taking care of him, resembling a miffed kitten in his mind more than the lion you thought you were as you shuffled him off to change into cozy pajamas for the day.

♡ Enjoy basically wrestling with him over who gets to pamper who, because nearly as hard as you tell him he needs to relax he wants to be the one to fetch all your relaxation supplies for you and peel your sheet mask for you as you sit against his chest.

♡ You guys get ✨jacuzzi access✨ for the occasion and Seungcheol literally physically carries you into the water because he can and very much wants to. Pretends to drop you at first, smiles at the way you hold his neck tighter and squeal, then lowers you in gently.

♡ A purchase you made for the occasion was floating light-up speakers you were so excited to burst out, coordinating the lights to bob in cool colors to the calm beat of the playlist you chose to lay back together to.

♡ You go back to miffed kitten mode when Seungcheol pulls you into him to rub your back, insisting that's your job and only letting him when he says you can reciprocate, smiling at you with loving eyes and shaking his head as you practically dart behind and in front of each other like Looney Tunes at your request to alternate, feeling like he'd done plenty over your time together to make you feel like royalty, now it was your turn.

Jeonghan

♡ In all honesty, Jeonghan was a bit concerned when you suddenly approached him with an idea for the so-called best date, wondering what was up your sleeve, but the moment you said the words spa day at home it was like a spell came over him, pulling him all in on the introvert dream day. “Can we get these too?” “What are those, headbands? Don’t you think we have enou-” “But (y/n), they’re so cute and we can use them when we do the face masks!” “Oh, alright.”

♡ So there you are, rolling back your hair or simply accessorizing with fluffy headbands- Jeonghan’s being pink with bunny ears on it and yours being black with equally plush kitty ears- as you stick sheet masks on each other. His of course has a bunny print and yours matches your headband too!

♡ Another relaxation method you wanted to try is meditation, so you two sit, legs crossed, adjacent to each other and practice some deep breaths beneath lavender-scented air.

♡ Your significant other being Yoon Jeonghan, though, it’s not long before you feel a poke at your side, barely suppressing a giggle and trying to ignore it. Then another, and another, and you fold completely or rather unfold, collapsing from your perfect posture and falling onto his side, looking up into his smiling face.

♡ Your day ends in a tangle of pajama-clad limbs, Jeonghan holding you close and running his fingers through your hair and up your loose, fluffy sleeves to ghost along your arm as the both of you lull to sleep.

Joshua

♡ It's his idea. He wants to pamper you and thinks it seems really romantic ever since he saw another couple have one and wants to recreate it for you, but even better if he can.

♡ He starts by giving you a foot rub with this really high-end moisturizer they recommended in the video. Somehow he seems to know the exact amount of pressure you like without you even asking him to apply it!

♡ "I got you flowers today, just, you know, not like usual," Joshua jokes as he produces a glass jar with cute lace around its neck. Knowing you like to exfoliate, he had a scrub made with your favorite flowers in it for you to use, too!

♡ The pièce de résistance? Joshua opening the doors to reveal he'd prepared the classic candlelit bath, rose petals drifting lazily across the surface and a whole host of fine things to add to the otherwise-undisturbed water at your discretion. "Do you like it?" The way you fly into his arms hastily pulling his head down answers his question well enough, and you feel him smile against your lips.

♡ "What did I do to deserve this, hm?" You hum as you glance up with fluttering eyes from your legs resting atop his under the water to meet Joshua's across the tub. "All you had to do," Joshua replies, eyes radiant in the face of yours, "was be you."

Jun

♡ Two words: matching pajamas. That’s step one of spa day, just getting all changed into the coziest cutest couple set Jun could find for you two.

♡ "Let's try this massage gun I got that looks like a piece of exercise equipment!" Leave it to Wen Junhui to find the oddest yet most practical contribution he could make, you thought as he held up the strangely triangular device. Before you could protest that it was overkill, he held it up to you and pressed the button really quickly, giving you a little buzz that had you laughing, shaking your head as you accepted it from him.

♡ The thing was powerful, but you had to give it to him: it felt good. Yours and Jun's muscles were practically jelly by the time you slowly ooze up from the couch to brew a pot of chamomile for your afternoon tea, for which Jun had also bought your favorite biscuits. The man never failed to bring a smile to your face.

♡ This time standing up was easier, not least of all because of the large, secure hands that wrapped around yours, practically sending you leaping out of your chair and into Jun's arms as he slow danced you across the hard floors in your animal slippers. At least it didn't hurt if you stepped on his feet!

♡ Your day of self-care ends in the shower, where you get the full Wen Junhui hair was experience aka the 'if I get shampoo in your eye, hit me'. It never runs even close, though, to either of you as you massage each other's scalps, smiling contentedly as warm water cascaded over you both, encapsulating you in more than one steamy embrace.

Hoshi

♡ Hears ‘spa day’ and thinks only of two things: either laying around in robes with cucumbers over your eyes or you guys giving each other massages.

♡ Wants to do both frankly. Takes your idea as an excuse to buy cute robes for you both and also to play around with you, getting DIY kits to mix your own face masks and deciding to try a mixture of both on because it can’t be bad for him, right? “I’ll just by cleansed and moisturized this way!” He exclaims with a grin as he smears the odd green and pink swirled mixture on his eager face.

♡ Of course he has to remark that the odd mixture gives his face the stripes he needs as he bought himself an orange tiger patterned robe, completely uncaring of the clash between the colors on his cheeks and the rest of him.

♡ It’s a massive 180 from him giggling over tiger stripes, horanghae-ing, and eating the cucumbers off his eyes when he’s suddenly sliding your robe off your shoulders, each brush and motion deliberate.

♡ The robes and masks are fun and all, but Soonyoung can’t let that massage oil go to waste. He always starts either a little too tough or a little too gentle, always feeling a bit cautious or a tad too excited, but your guiding words have him turning you to putty in his hands and feeling all the more ready to return the favor.

Wonwoo

♡ So surprised when you suggest having a spa day, he just looks at you with shining eyes and a smile of endearment. “You want to have a spa day?” He repeats back to you, thinking you’re the cutest thing ever.

♡ You end up researching how to make things together, going to the market the day before to seek supplies. “So this is really going on our faces?” Wonwoo chuckles as you mash avocados in a bowl. “Yep,” you joke back, “and the baking soda and sugar aren’t for baking, either, remember?” “Well, I guess that makes sense. Sugar would exfoliate and avocados are rich in oil. As long as it’s good oil! I’m more surprised about the vinegar honestly.” Oh, how you loved having a smart boyfriend.

♡ Removing his glasses, he can’t help but smile as you gingerly dip your hand into the avocado-honey-apple cider vinegar mixture you'd insisted on adding lemon juice to "so it doesn't smell so bad for you", holding his head still by the chin with the clean hand before beginning to smear. Your fingers tightened just so beneath him as he jumped from the cold, nose crinkling slightly at the sensation, and you both giggled. Soon Wonwoo had your face in his hand as you took your turn to turn green, making Kermit jokes all the way.

♡ You’re most interested to see how the bath bomb you guys made turns out, unmolding it into your hand with great focus and nudging Wonwoo with your leg beneath the bathwater when it comes out nearly perfect. A little powder drifts into the water, making little purple swirls between you before you drop in the whole thing, accidentally making a splash that has Wonwoo teasing you for being irresponsible with your creation.

♡ In response, you push the fizzing heart shape his way and he sends it back toward you, creating an impromptu little ball game between you two as you sent the floral-scented bomb zipping along the water’s surface. Finally it dissolves, giving you less reason to slosh violet-tinted water out of your tub and more reason to lean forward, hands on the smooth surface, face almost touching Wonwoo’s. “Having fun?” “M-hm,” he hums in response, hand instinctively reaching up to rub your back. “Good,” you reply, closing the gap between you two as you teased, “I liked our little chemistry experiments almost as much as this chemistry.” That earned you a light swat, but also more kisses.

Woozi

♡ “This seems a bit silly now, doesn’t it (y/n)?” This in question being one of those little foot spas you picked up at the store and insisted on starting your day of relaxation with. “The warm water is supposed to feel good,” you reply with your best puppy dog eyes, “is it not working?” The moment you give Jihoon that look, he caves, shaking his head as his own expression falls into a smile and starts rolling up the legs of his pants.

♡ Honestly it does feel good and he has to admit it as you sit there each in your own bubbling soak, you scooting closer and closer until he notices and teases you about it, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders as he laughs.

♡ Once you’re all dried off from the little spas, you reach into your bag of tricks supplies, producing a little bottle. “What’s that?” Jihoon asks. “Massage oil,” you reply, motioning to the couch, “come lay down.” He obliges, laying flat on his stomach along the cushions as you coat your hands, but you can't help raising a brow at him when he turns to look at you, causing him to do a double take. "What?" "Take your shirt off," you tell him. If you were any closer, surely you would see his cheeks flushing. "Why?" You keep your eyebrow raised, lifting also your now-glistening hands. "I'm not about to ruin that nice shirt with this stuff."

♡ Shy as he seemed, Jihoon melts under your touch, relaxing the moment your palms meet his skin, brushing lightly over it with the cooling oil you’d chosen. Pride washes over you as you knead out several knots he surely gave himself from sitting in the wrong posture, but today isn’t the day to nag him over it, it’s all about relaxation.

♡ Jihoon insists on repaying your favors even if you wanted to give him the luxury day, and would you really deny a massage from him? Instead of the cooling oil, though, you choose your favorite fragrance and insist on sitting close to him, your back almost to his chest as he holds you gently between his folded legs. Some tension leaves your body, too, and you can tell by the smile you see on Jihoon’s face that venture peeking at that the day has been a success, let alone the time together that is yet to come.

DK

♡ The spa day shopping is this 🤏🏻 close to being his favorite part- surely you were already expecting a full basket? He actually picks out really cute stuff- you'll discover he has great taste in candles, choosing the perfect soft scents to relax to.

♡ Draws you a bath, also puts a rubber duck in it. Squeezing it is very relaxing, thank you! It’s enough to fill your heart just seeing Seokmin smiling in anticipation as he pours in a bunch of the bubble bath you picked out, stirring up the water until it’s covered with a fluffy film.

♡ Puts said fluffy film on his head to make you laugh. “What do you think, does this style suit me?” He asks, grinning and patting his new ‘hairstyle’ as you just sit in front of him bursting into giggles.

♡ Seokmin takes such good care of you in the tub, making sure if you sit in the half with the faucet that you never hit it even if he has to tug you away from it and devotedly taking the time to wash your hair with all the products you need and one special scented oil you found just for the occasion.

♡ He gently towel dries your hair off too and once you are both dried and be-robed it’s time for bed! Well, getting into bed anyway. Lighting all the little blue candles with their luxurious natural scents you guys had purchased for the occasion, Seokmin slides into the covers with you, pulling you into his arms as he puts on your favorite movie. There was no other option, sorry. Until, that is, you go back and forth about it and it devolves into a tickle fight, Seokmin conceding to watching his favorite next time when you win.

Mingyu

♡ Taking a bunch of silly photos of you two with pink mud masks on wasn't what you were initially expecting from the day, but in the end you feel gratitude for Mingyu's innocent spirit as you look back on the adorable shoot.

♡ He also insists on feeding you your choice of snack for the day because your mask is set and you can't do it yourself, no siree. You have to accept it by hand, no take backs.

♡ Wipes off said mud mask so gently you barely feel it…but when the washcloth is discarded, you do feel the way Mingyu’s thumb affectionately, feather-lightly caresses your cheek as he stares into those lovely eyes of yours he loves so much.

♡ And there you end up, cheeks sticking together just a little from the residue as your lips meet again and again, hands joined first in at your laps, then sliding up to wrap around each other.

♡ As you finally rise to your feet, Mingyu’s hands returning to yours to help lift you up, he suggests drawing you guys a bath with an intensity in his eyes you can’t deny, and you are glad to oblige when you see the way he’s decked the room all out with candles, a huge, proud, eager smile on his face.

The8

♡ Spa day with him almost turns into a full-blown resort day, not because Minghao insists on being extra but because you get a little salon experience when he decides to paint your nails- but only if you paint his, too.

♡ The first thing you do is just get yourselves relaxed, you two wearing comfortable clothes, lighting some incense, and sharing cups of Minghao’s favorite relaxing tea blend that he knows just how many times to steep.

♡ Next up is getting ready for the salon experience! You two take turns filing each other’s nails to get ready. Minghao’s grip on your hand is so soft even as he runs the gritty file along your nails, and if you aren’t fond of the feeling he keeps you distracted looking at him and listening to what he tells you, probably some new Chinese phrases if you haven’t heard them already.

♡ The hand masks feel like wet gloves, leaving the two of you laughing at the odd feeling. Venturing a high-five is a must, and the wet slap sound has you giggling more and crinkling your nose as you peel the masks off.

♡ When your moisturizer is all rubbed in, you two pick each other’s nail polish color and make it a surprise, once again keeping your eyes on each other as you sit hand in hand. For Minghao, you chose a dark, almost maroon, shade of purple, and for you he chose forest green. Your accent nail was some gold glitter on your ring fingers, which Minghao jokes is what bling you’ll get on your left side…for now 👀

Seungkwan

♡ So serious about it all!!! It starts with an elaborate skincare routine that Seungkwan probably would have made you do anyway and evolves into him showing you every restorative stretch he knows how to do so you're loosened up for your massage.

♡ “Stay still!” He whines as you roll your shoulders beneath his hands, but the only punishment you receive from Seungkwan is his hands lightly tapping against your shoulder as he shakes his head, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “What are we going to do with you?”

♡ You quickly begin taking advantage of that, moving a little bit more so he’s forced to hold you tighter, practically nuzzling into you as he weakly chastises you, a small smile on his face when he sees you leaning in expectantly. “All right, you’re allowed to move if that’s what you want,” he gives in, grinning.

♡ Still remains stock still when you return the favor, practically entering a liquid state beneath your touch, his only movement waves that follow the flow of your hands. The only sounds he makes are sighs of contentment and the occasional request of a shift in pressure.

♡ Sings you your favorite lullabies and love songs alike as if he were your little radio when you guys sink into the tub at the end of the night. Well, almost the end that is. You still have the nighttime skincare routine and mandatory cuddles awaiting you!

Vernon

♡ Your spa day is sort of impromptu, opening up your new skin care purchase turning into a whole day off spent in self care. "Does that thing really work?" Vernon had asked you, pointing to the shining gua sha in your hand with raised eyebrows. "Only one way to find out!" You shrugged with a grin, holding it up higher, and well, curiosity got the better of him.

♡ He wanted to try the steamer you got for your face too. "This opens up your pores, right?" You nodded as you plugged it in, head turned back to look upon him brightly. "Look at you being all smart! All right, here we go!" You turn it on, steam curling out towards your heads where they lightly pressed together. Vernon squeezed his eyes shut immediately and you couldn't help but laugh, even into the steam, at the face he made.

♡ You practically pull Vernon by the hand into the kitchen to make ‘fancy snacks’, which just ends up being wee little finger sandwiches. There are normal ones like microcosm peanut butter and jellies or cucumber sandwiches, then there are a few weird ones because hey, what else was to be done with that leftover sausage?

♡ Eating outside in the sun is much more relaxing, so you take your finger sandwiches in yours and Vernon’s version of al fresco, out in the yard where you trail off to pick flowers and he thinks you’re so beautiful he can’t resist a few snapshots of you. Even if you’re embarrassed about not having any makeup on, Vernon is completely caught up in the ethereal vision of you with your robe falling off your shoulders caught in a sunbeam, a few flowers in hand. Oops, might become his wallpaper, sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

♡ Back inside, you press a few flowers in the pages of a book, pulling another off the shelf to read from as you soak all the dirt and wear off your feet in a pair of tiny spas, your eyes darting across the page and his following along, brightening as yours widen.

Dino

♡ “Can we do the thing with the hot rocks?” “Why would you pick the most dangerous spa activity you could?” “I dunno,” Chan chuckles in response, “it just seems cool!”

♡ Cue a quick google search on if doing that is even possible at home. Apparently the rocks are only heated to the equivalent of about 38-55 degrees Celsius (100-130 degrees Fahrenheit), AKA oven temperature, so that’s how you found yourself and Chan peeking into an oven full of volcanic stones that were probably intended to go in a garden.

♡ It’s worth it, though, to watch the focus on Chan’s face as he carefully presses the stones between his hands, checking the temperature and tempering the heat ever so slightly before resting them on your bare back. The warmth is startling at first, sending a shudder down your newly-decorated spine, but soon you’re melting beneath its sensation, eyes fluttering shut at the combined feeling of the stones and Chan’s hands over you.

♡ You do the same for him, pressing the stone and giving a satisfied little nod at the adequate temperance. “You look like a professional,” Chan comments, head propped up on his fist from where he lays, chest bare. You can’t help but flush at the sight, bidding him lay down so you can work all the knots and kinks out.

♡ Once massaged, you two stretch, having a little competition to see who can do the funniest pose. You win by a longshot, stealing and modifying that one weird stretch of Seungkwan’s and sending Chan into stitches. When you’re done laughing, he moves over to the speaker you had set up for relaxing music and turns it to something more romantic, pulling you into his chest and swaying lightly back and forth as he thanks you for a day that was both relaxing and fun.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Via some form of magic Danny gets split into six different emotions and can only communicate through some form of a vessel while visiting Gotham. Anxiety!Danny who is pure white finds a stuffed blue cat and phases into it and immediately approaches the nearest Bats for help tracking down the rest of his emotions that ran off after the spell hit. Red Robin is wondering if he's hallucinating and Robin is thinking this is some sort of trap but he's also willing to help a person (read: Talking stuffed animal) in need. The remaining emotions and possible vessels are

Sadness- A purple dog plush

Pride- A golden lion plush

Love- A pink bunny plush with a red heart on it's stomach

Joy- An orange teddy bear

Anger- A green alligator plush

.

[lowkeyerror]

The Lion's Den

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes: Professor!Wanda, Student!reader, fingering, oral-sex, both giving and receiving

Summary: Y/n isn't afraid to show interest in the most strict professor on campus, though it only leads to trouble for her.

Masterlist

Ms. Maximoff was one of the professors that students feared. She held an air of professionalism inside and outside of the classroom. Her students knew that she was strict. Most of the students didn't try to push back against her methods.

There was only one student that gave Ms. Maximoff a hard time; Y/n L/n.

In Y/n's defense, she couldn't help herself. Ms. Maximoff was quite literally the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Hidden behind that sharp tone and stern eyes, was the woman of her dreams. Y/n wanted the teacher's attention and had no trouble acting out to get it.

She openly flirted with the professor. Ms. Maximoff shot her down each and every time. Sometimes she'd find herself kicked out of class or sentenced to detention with another professor.

Y/n never minded much. She loved it when Ms. Maximoff got really mad at her. When she'd yell at Y/n sometimes her accent slipped out, and it drove Y/n wild.

" Looks like I'm the first one here, professor. How about we lock the door, and you could give me a private lesson?"

Ms. Maximoff slammed the papers she was looking at on her desk," Ms. L/n, do I have to kick you out of my class before it even starts."

Y/n sat back in her seat," Of course not, Ms. Maximoff, I can be a good girl for you."

The professor glared at the girl through the rims of her glasses, " You are this close to having a week's worth of detention after class."

Y/n didn't care about detention. She would've pressed on, but students started to pile into the lecture hall. So she sat quietly and waited for the class to begin.

When Ms. Maximoff spoke Y/n's disruptions were minimal. The student was too preoccupied studying the professor before her.

Her plush pink lips, the curves on her hips, the piercing green eyes, the way her top wasn't buttoned all the way up showing a small amount of cleavage.

" Ms. L/n would you like to share your poem with the class?"

" It's not done yet," Y/n subconsciously licked her bottom lip.

" Well come up to the front of the class and read what you have," she didn't leave any room for discussion.

Y/n strutted up to the front of the classroom confidently. The paper in her hand was blank, but no one could see that except her. So she just spoke about what she was feeling.

"Trapped in the lion's den I'm the only one unafraid I seek the lion I want it to bear it's teeth at me I want it to tear me apart It wants to kill me, I'm aware Maybe, when our paths cross We will embrace"

The class is in stunned silence. They never expected Y/n to actually have her work done, let alone that it was good. Ms. Maximoff was also shocked, moreso because she had moved to get a view of the girl's blank paper.

The thought that was, off the top of her head, impressed Ms. Maximoff.

Y/n cleared her throat amongst the silence," That's um all I have."

The class clapped for the young woman. Ms. Maximoff told her to take a seat. Y/n spent the rest of the class silently watching the lion from her poem. She knew Ms. Maximoff could piece it together, she was an English teacher after all.

The rest of the class period carried on normally. When Ms. Maximoff dismissed class, Y/n packed up her things like the other students.

" Ms. L/n, I need to speak with you for a moment, so sit tight."

Y/n was no stranger to getting reprimanded, so she was ready for whatever was going to happen. She stayed in her seat and watched as her classmates left the classroom. When the last student leaves the room, Ms. Maximoff closes the door. Unbeknownst to Y/n, the professor locked the door.

" Trapped in the lion's den," Wanda repeated the first line of Y/n's poem," It was a beautiful piece like a lot of your work Ms. L/n."

" Thank you."

The professor stalked over to Y/n's desk," Now only if your behavior in class mirrored your grades."

Y/n smirked," It's funny that you say that, Ms. Maximoff because my work ethic is the same for most areas in my life."

" And what would that be?"

Y/n's eyes lock on her professor's," I set a goal and stop at nothing until I reach that goal."

" So your goal for my class is to be a disruption?" Ms. Maximoff crosses her arms when she says it.

" We both know that's not my goal." The young woman stands up from her seat to look Wanda in her eyes. " My goal is to get those sultry green eyes on me, to rile you up enough to hear that pretty little accent, to let every paper on my desk slide onto the floor just to see down your shirt when you bend over to grab them for me."

It's a small movement, but Y/n sees it. Wanda's legs briefly press together. Y/n can only assume that she's the reason for such a shift of the professor's legs.

" You need to learn how to respect your elders."

Y/n's rebuttal is quick," Teach me, then."

The student moves closer to the professor. The only thing between them is the desk. If Y/n were to lean forward just a bit more, her lips would be touching Ms. Maximoff's.

" You're insufferable, you're insolent, and arrogant. You walk in here everyday just to say something crude to me. You probably flirt with all your teachers because you're a slut. You are the worst student I've ever had."

As she says all of this, Y/n can see the woman's chest rapidly rising and falling. The professor's words contradicted her actions as she leaned forward. Her breath tickled Y/n’s lips when she finished her rant.

" If that's how you feel, then I can take my shit and leave," Y/n called her bluff, backing away from the older woman. She collected her things from the floor and tried to storm out of the classroom.

She didn't get very far before a harsh tug forced her into Wanda's face. The professor huffed as she stared at Y/n," You didn't let me finish. You are the worst student I've ever had because all I want to do is fuck that attitude out of you."

Y/n can't take it anymore. Her hands shoot out and grab the sides of Wanda's face, pulling her into a kiss.

Their lips collide, and it's like 2 semi-trucks hitting each other. Their lips work to devour each other. Teeth clash as Wanda's hands roam Y/n's body.

It's less than 20 seconds later that Wanda is shoving the student away from her.

" What the fuck are you doing, Wanda? Y/n- Ms.L/n you need to leave, we can't do this," she speaks first to herself and then Y/n.

The college student isn't having it. There's adrenaline running through her veins. She refuses to believe that the kiss has to be the end of their encounter.

Y/n pulls her shirt over her head and throws it across the classroom. She watches as Wanda's eyes darken. The professor tries to find words, but as Y/n closes the gap between them, the words escape her.

" I don't know how many other ways I have to say it, but I will be as direct as you need me to be. I want you, I'm aching for you, please."

Y/n takes the professor's hand and guides it down her bare torso. The soft skin of her abdomen feels hot as she drags Wanda's hand down. She doesn't stop when the hand reaches the top of her pants.

Instead, she slips Wanda's hand beneath her panties. The professor moans as her fingers are introduced to Y/n's wetness.

" I'm so wet for you. Please don't leave me all messy like this, Ms. Maximoff."

“ I could lose my job for this,” Wanda says, yet her fingers curl into Y/n, “ but I can’t leave you like this, can I detka?”

Y/n shakes her head," No, Ms. Maximoff.”

“ And you promise to be a good girl for me, right? Not a little brat like you are during my lectures.”

“ I’ll be good, I promise.”

Wanda smiles,“ On your knees.”

Y/n is quick to follow the woman’s instructions. Wanda takes a seat at Y/n’s desk. Her fingers that were in the student find their way into her mouth. She hums as the taste of Y/n coats her tongue. Y/n watches eagerly from her position kneeling in front of the desk.

Wanda spreads her legs as she works with the button and zipper on her pants. Soon the bottoms are discarded, leaving a thin pair of lace panties covering her.

The teacher pats her pussy a few times,“ Come here.”

Y/n is quick to crawl under the desk. She’s careful not to touch the woman, though her hands are itching to feel the woman’s skin.

Wanda’s hands grab the back of Y/n’s head, forcing her nose into the older woman’s pussy, “ Stick out your tongue.”

Y/n does as she’s instructed. The fabric of the panties is rough against her tongue. It’s not thick enough to keep Y/n’s tongue from coming in contact with the most sensitive parts of Wanda. She whimpers at the taste of the professor.

“ See how drenched my panties are. That’s all for you detka, no one else. I feel your eyes on me every class period. Then I look up and meet that desperate little look on your face. That look like you’re begging me to take you right there in front of everyone. My god, your mouth was made for this.”

Wanda’s voice dies off as Y/n suck her pussy. Wanda lifts her hips, which signals Y/n to pull her panties off. Y/n takes a deep inhale of Wanda’s unobscured scent.

“ Can I please use my fingers, Ms. Maximoff?”

Wanda grabs Y/n’s wrist, she tenderly sucks on the girl’s fingers. Her tongue swirls around the digits before she frees them from her mouth. Then she takes Y/n’s fingers and rubs them against herself.

“ Go ahead and fuck me, baby.”

Y/n nods, her body acting on its own. There’s an ecstasy taking over her. This whole experience makes her feel numb in the best way. The surrealness of it all, makes Y/n feel like she is floating.

The student doesn’t need any other directions from Wanda. She inserts two fingers into the professor as her tongue world around the auburn haired woman's clit. The student has Wanda unraveling by the moment.

“ My good girl. Taking care of me so fucking well. Make me cum, detka. Make me cum right fucking now. Oh shit,” Wanda’s breathing is ragged, but she doesn’t stop talking.

Y/n does her best to obey the woman. Licking, sucking, swirling, she added a third finger as she relentlessly fucked her teacher. It’s when Wanda’s thighs begin to squeeze her head that she know she’s done what the woman asked of her.

Her breath was being stolen from her, but she did not care. All that mattered were Wanda’s juices falling into her mouth and running down her chin.

“ Get up for me and take your pants off,” Wanda made it clear she wasn’t done with Y/n.

Wanda's eyes were glued on the girl who was undressing. Her breathing returned to normal, and she got up from the desk. Her hands tugged at Y/n’s sides, pulling the girl into her. Wanda’s lips skillfully maneuvered against Y/n’s. The kiss was demanding yet soft, something that Y/n didn’t expect from the woman. Nonetheless, it drove the girl crazy, it made her eager for more.

Wanda can tell, she takes Y/n’s hand and places them on her skin.

“ Ms. Maximoff, I need you. I need to feel you, please.”

Wanda wasn’t going to make the girl wait any longer. She thrust two fingers inside of the girl, causing Y/n to lean further into her for support.

“ When we’re naked like this; your tongue coated in my sweetness, my fingers buried in your cunt, you can call me Wanda, ok sweetheart? In fact, I want to hear you scream so loud that it echoes across the classroom walls.”

“ Fuck Wanda,” Y/n whispered into the woman’s shoulder. She repeated it as the woman’s fingers plugged in an out of her. Her teeth grazed Wanda’s shoulder as the pleasure intensified.

As Y/n’s legs began to shake, Wanda pushed her up against the desk. The older woman got on her knees and forced Y/n’s legs apart. The picture of the student’s glistening pussy was enough to make her feral.

Wanda’s lips latched on to the girl’s clit. Her tongue swirled around the nub as the low vibration of her moans worked to add to the stimulation. Y/n was fighting the urge to close her legs around the woman’s head.

Wanda’s fingers exited Y/n’s cunt leaving the girl feeling empty, but it was only momentarily as Wanda’s tongue darted in and out of the whole. Her fingers them went to harshly rub Y/n’s clit. The girl was shaking beneath her, it was only a matter of time before her legs gave out completely.

Y/n’s hand ended up viciously tugging on Wanda’s hair as her climax approached, all she could string together was a few incoherent curse words and Wanda’s name.

“ Fuck, I- fuck, mhmm, Wanda, I- please, oh fuck,” Y/n had tears in her eyes as Wand looked up at the girl while she ate her out.

That was enough to send the girl over the edge, she came with a violent jerk. Her body was covered in sweat and her legs were weak. If it wasn't for Wanda’s quick reflexes, the girl would’ve been on the floor. The strong arms that wrapped around her helped the girl stay standing.

“ I’ve got you, detka,” Wanda said as she held on to the girl.

Y/n mumbled into Wanda’s shoulder, “ I will do whatever it takes to keep doing this.”

Wanda’s nails lightly scratched the girl’s back, “ You don’t have to worry. I’m not letting you go, you’re my good girl now, aren’t you.”

The student nodded.

“ And you’ll stop disrupting my classes from now on?”

Y/n kisses Wanda’s shoulder,” Whatever you want.”

Wanda strokes the girl’s head, “ Aww, you just wanted me to fuck you. Don’t worry, as long as you’re good. I’ll take good care of you.”

Y/n sighed in content. She was right in her poem. When she crossed paths with lion, they embraced.

[thalialunacy]

[for @calaisreno 's May Shenanigans. i am apparently writing like an actual serial story here? don't ask me, i have no idea]

(1) (2) 3: familiar (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13)

You may have to come rescue us from the zoo.

Sherlock sees him texting and makes an angry noise, re-crossing his arms like it's going to underscore his point. 'Absolutely not, I am not accepting Mycroft's assistance.'

'Well,' John says, stuffing his free hand in his pocket and rocking back on his heels. 'That's handy, because I texted Greg.'

Who must be bored at the Yard, because he answers straight away. Hang on, are you at the zoo or

Only until the bobbies get here, John replies with a tilt of his lips.

He should probably be more put off by current events, but no one's bleeding and Rosie is still enthralled by every thing she sees, so he's doing all right.

Omw

Cheers

---

Rosie is two thousand percent done by the time they make it home, just absolutely toasted in every sense, including a bit of a sunburn. Good English stock, she clearly came from, John thinks as he smoothes some aloe on her little pink scrunched up face. Considering it's bloody March and the sun was barely even out.

'I know, bub, I know, just one-- There we are, that wasn't so bad, was it?' They're sat on the couch, Rosie on his lap and tucked into his arm. She shows her appreciation by pressing her sticky, snotty face into his shirt and rubbing her nose sleepily back and forth.

As her breathing evens out, John tries to resist the pull to succumb to sleep as well, but his body feels so heavy and the couch so familiar. And he doesn't have anywhere else to be, for once.

He'd been hoping, of course, that during Rosie's nap he could actually corner Sherlock and have an only mildly subtextual conversation about some things. A few things. Well, one thing.

John feels his neck get hot, thinking of Sherlock's face on their stairs last week. Trust Sherlock Holmes to be the only person to regress John to godawful teenage-style embarrassment. And then allow them to conveniently use that embarrassment to avoid any mention of the subject. John is sick of himself, and stretched under his skin with this new kind of wanting, and he had planned to take care of it tonight, on their rare genuine day off, with Rosie content and asleep.

But Sherlock is still at the station, surely arguing with Lestrade about something or other. John had fucked off as soon as he could: Greg has a soft spot for Rosie -- everyone who meets her does, obviously, and John's not biased at all, thanks -- but Lestrade is also a father, so he'd booted them out right quickly.

John makes a mental note, just before falling asleep, to buy him a pint soon.

---

When he wakes up, it's because a small plush lion has been placed on his shoulder. 'What the--' he starts, but he gets shushed-- of course he does-- by Sherlock.

'No, don't move, you'll wake her.'

John grunts in protest, but obeys; it so happens that he doesn't really want to move, anyway. 'I presume this is a gift for her, not me.'

'Yes.' Sherlock has his hands clasped behind his back, a habit John hasn't seen in a while. 'Is it-- Sufficient? I know I should apologise for what happened today.'

John assesses his face, then sighs, grabbing the plush toy and re-settling it against Rosie's warmth. 'You can't always redeem yourself with a nice gesture.'

'Nonsense, I can't redeem myself with any gesture whatsoever. I'm giving this to her because I--' He stops. 'Have great affection for her.'

He ducks his chin, and John feels a surge of warmth in his chest. He rides it like courage. 'For her, eh?'

Sherlock's eyes snap to his. 'I don't--' His mouth closes without finishing. John waits, heart thumping. 'She is my god-daughter, afterall.'

John exhales, then gathers up his child and stands. 'She needs some attention--' (their code for nappy changing) '--Then we'll come down for some supper. Will you be joining us?'

Sherlock's eyes rove around his face, searching. 'I don't think--'

But before he can say what it is he doesn't think, there's a crash from downstairs.

TBC

[spysbabygirl]

First Date

-This is my first fanfic in years I may make these later-

Scout 

Scout takes you to a chicken place-

He knows the best place for a bucket of fried chicken and the best deals.-

After eating, he sticks some straws in his nose and makes walrus noises to make you laugh.-

And to finish the date off he takes you out to get ice cream.-

Demoman 

Demoman would take you to a beer garden-

Everything is fun with beer being passed around and music blasting-

Till Demo and you get so drunk you, both get into fights and get banned from the beer garden.-

You both leave stumbling and singing your way back to the base.-

Heavy

Heavy takes you to a ballet show of Swanlake.-

He even got the box seats but it was later revealed only because those were the only seats he could fit in.-

Heavy wanted to show you that there's a softer side to him.-

When he watches you can see how invested and his appreciation for the art is. -

As you watch on you can feel a chill and then the warmth of a suit jacket being placed on you by heavy himself.-

Spy

Spy would take you to the fanciest place he can take you even if it means flying you both out of town.-

He would set up everything to be perfect even the red dress he picked out for you.-

After eating a steak dinner paired with red wine you both have a sweet slice of chocolate cake.-

Once the dinner is done and paid for you watch the night stars cuddled up together.

Engi

Engi would take you to the best BBQ in town as live music plays.-

You both had the best-pulled pork sandvich that's soaked in grease and BBQ sauce.-

As live music plays and bellies are full of food you go do some line dancing together.-

After some line dancing you start to have some cold beers.-

And to end the date he plays his guitar and serenades you back at the base.-

Soldier

Soldier takes you to the zoo.-

As you both are walking to see the animals he's quoting Sun Tzu but it didn't sound quite right.-

Once you get to the lions he starts telling one of his war stories.-

He finished one of his war stories and to prove it was all true he jumps over the railing and fights the lions.-

You take him back to the base so the medic can tend to his wounds as you tell him how strong and proud you are of him.-

Sniper

Sniper would pack a picnic.-

He packed what is assumed was Sandvitch's and what was once cold beers.-

You and Sniper sat down and decided against eating and just drank the lukewarm beers.-

It was the perfect spot the woods were glowing as the sun set came down.-

With a beer in hand, you cuddle up to Sniper and take a deep breath and you both relax for the first time.-

Pyro

Pyro takes you to the carnival.-

You both binge on sugary sweets and watch a ton of the small shows they hold.

Pyro wanted to go to the bumper cars they just don't know how aggressive they are being.-

You decide to take them to the horse carousel Pyro takes a horse with pink hair and colorful flowers as you take a f/c themed horse right next to them.-

Pyro wanted to win you a prize but he was sad when all he could win you was a mini plush balloonicorn key chain but once he saw how happy it made you his cheerful self was back.-

Medic

Medic takes you to an 1800s  medical museum.-

You both watch the first amputee surgery video ever recorded.-

He admired the old medical tools that were used saying things like "I could use somesinglike zis in my collecthion. "-

While slightly more educated and traumatized from the date he does buy you an atomically correct heart necklace from the gift shop.-

-Sorry for my bad writing for a German accent.-

[sukisook]

Slice of Life Drabble : Izuku Midoriya

“Hey, do you think–”

“No.”

“What?” Izuku’s head snaps upwards. “I didn’t even finish the question.”

With two fingers pressed to his forehead you push him back down onto your lap. He goes down easily, jade-green curls tickling your bare thighs and the sliver of skin above the band of your underwear.

“You don’t need to finish the question. My answer is no.”

He pouts prettily and you can’t help but trace a nail over the plush pink of his lips.

“Don’t–Oh my god–don’t look at me like that Zu, you’ve asked like fifty stupid questions in the past three minutes.”

“They’re not stupid!” “They are.”

“Are not!”

The whine earns him a solid flick to his forehead.

“Why do you care how many chickens it takes to kill a lion? How is that relevant to anything?”

He turns his head and you feel a puff of warm air against your inner thigh followed by a fluttering kiss.

Your shudder does not go unnoticed.

“Ow! What was that for?” Izuku soothes the sting in his scalp with a huff, eyeing your fluttering fingers with suspicion as they retreat from his mess of curls. “You looked too smug.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

Your grin is sharp. “I think you like it.”

You barely have time to blink before he’s up and looming over you, pressing you back onto the bed with a firm, heavily scarred hand to your sternum. He hovers there, one hand on you, the other pressed beside your head.

His figure consumes your vision. He’s all you can see. All you want to see.

Izuku drags his tongue over his bottom lip, green eyes twinkling as he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah I think you’re right.”