#and the one that says BITER has a thumbs down on it

[blep-pup]

smol life update:

hey everyone, Milou mom here, I know I don't really post super often but felt the need to inform whoever follows this blog that Milou was suddenly really sick this morning and I took him to the emergency (protip, if your dog's gums are pale or any color other than the pink it's supposed to be, take them to the vet ASAP. Milou's gums were white)

he's just having an allergic reaction to something, he's going to be fine. They are keeping him there overnight to make sure he bounces back okay but yeah... I just felt the need to let you all know and spread the word that if you're ever in doubt of when you should take your pup to the vet vs waiting it out: Milou was panting vigorously, clearly uncomfortable, would sulk in a corner and lay down on his side and refuse to do anything else and of course his gums were white (also he threw up and drooling a lot), the vet on the phone told me to bring him there immediately these are all signs that something is wrong

I am a groomer, not a vet so plz don't come ask me a bunch of pet health related questions (NOW IF YOU HAVE GROOMING QUESTIONS that's a different story). If there is ever any doubt, always call the vet emergency front desk and they can help you evaluate at least whether or not you're having an emergency. they cannot give you a diagnosis without seeing your baby, but it helps immensely to have someone on the phone with you and help you check important signs that could determine whether or not your pet needs an emergency vet visit

I promise I'll share a pic of him tomorrow once he comes home

[puppywilliams]

fuck halloween

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first ever posted smut so im lowkey rlly nervous to publish this but i wanna test the waters..heres some halloween smut.

warnings: semi drunk reader, dealer ellie, fingering r/receiving, oral r/receiving, car sex, halloween party, vampire ellie, pirate reader, use of the word “daddy”

you were tipsy. colors colliding together from the lighting of shitty LEDs some dickhead placed in the corridor to make the party seem less boring than what everyone knows it is. you weren’t there for the party, or even the worst booze in town shockingly (considering the fact you’re always down to drink). no-no. you were here for Ellie. your girlfriend who’s trying to make some quick cash from selling.

you still dressed up, and so did ellie. even though you secretly knew she did it just to make you happy.

you looked down at your attire, wrapped in a cheap spirit halloween pirate costume. ellie was somewhere in this place that seemed Far too big to be a house dressed as a vampire.

you wandered until the knee high boots you thrifted made the soles of your feet ache.

after a few minutes of searching you finally spotted her auburn hair and the weed in her hand she was exchanging for a wad of cash.

you let yourself wander some more until she finished. it was a Rule. Don’t intervene in a deal, she didn’t want you to be linked to whatever she was selling, it was too dangerous, she doesn’t Just sell weed.

when she was finished however, you trotted over. not missing the way her eyes lingered over you. she placed a hand to the side of your waist, thumb rubbing over you gently.

“hey..” she uttered in That voice. the voice that made you know without a doubt you were gonna be fucked silly tonight.

you decided it would be best to play the ‘ditsy drunk roll’ even though you Both knew you weren’t that drunk. ellie knows you, and she knows exactly what you drink When you drink. never lets you take a sip out of anything unless She clears it. its another rule, one you follow like the rest. they’re all in place to keep You safe.

you stall for a second before answering. “hiiii..” you drag out in a voice that screams ‘please for the love of god fuck me silly tonight’.

she gives you a toothy grin as a response and leans down to nip at your neck. when her glued in fangs don’t let her get much access, she goes for the safe route.

“you wanna get out of here, babygirl?” she says staring at your body, already drunk on the way your figure looks in the costume. you give her a simple pleading nod and thats all it takes for her to drag you away from everything and out to her truck.

you fully expect for her to take you home, lay you down, and make you beg for the strap, but she doesn’t. instead opening the car door of the back seat, the hinges to her old truck squealing. she signals for you to hop in and gives your ass a little pat as you crawl up into the seats you’re Too familiar with.

she follows after and shuts the door, immediately ripping the fangs out of her mouth and licking at her teeth. getting used to the feeling of her mouth now being completely empty, and more so preparing to fill it with nothing but You instead.

she kissed at your neck softly, you whimper a bit before shes biting down fully and causing you to let out a sharp gasp. its an accident truly, ellie was a kisser. maybe even one to suck on your neck a bit and give you a hickey. but Never a biter.

shockingly however it doesn’t seem to last long, as youre both already so worked up theres no point.

while she kisses down your chest, her hands are running down your thighs, lighting a fire that runs all the way to your core.

its like shes picking you apart piece by piece each time to make you fall apart, normally its by the slowness of it that ellie has a tendency to lean towards, but not tonight, because tonight she isn’t wasting a single minute.

you prove yourself right as she rushes to rip the center of your fishnets open, making a sound of each twiddle of woven fabric being torn apart. shes looking down and groaning as she rubs your cunt through your panties, shes making sure she uses her two fingers at a slow pace, up and down. you gasp when she reaches your clit each time. all she does is look at you with a shit eating grin. it makes you wanna kick her teeth in a little. a wet spot now nice and visible down the center of the lace she picked just for You.

you can see the way her eyes roll back a bit when she spots it. “fuck baby..so wet huh?” she asks softly, but all you can seem to do is nod quickly. shockingly, thats all she needs tonight. normally she would make you tell her Exactly what you wanted, slap you around a bit to get you going, but tonight she simply pushed your panties aside, sticking in two digits into your heat and groaning at the wetness.

ellie had recently gotten finger tattoos, you had found a new love in watching them disappear as she placed them inside of you. you pulled up your dress and groaned as you examined the scene before you. “fuck…” you said to yourself breathlessly. ellie shush’d you.

“i know baby..shh i know..”

she wasted no time curling her fingers and hitting that spot deep inside of you that made your belly churn. “yeah baby..take it..its okay take daddys fingers.” she breathed out and you moaned like a pornstar with the way her thumb rubbed at your enlarged clit and her fingers pushed in and out of your pussy with ease from your slick.

“all this? over what? two fingers? god id think youre a slut but youre too damn tight for that...shit..so fucking perfect just for me and my cock, shh baby i know…” she adds on as she hears your babbling whines.

she removes her fingers from your swollen cunt, instead deciding to lean her face down and start kitten licking at your clit while she holds your panties to the side. using her free hand she held onto you leg, keeping you nice and spread for her while her tongue grazed over the swollen button. licking a bit farther down to your entrance before sinking it into you and curling it upward.

she rotated between a pattern of tongue fucking and sucking on your clit and sinking in two fingers while swirling her tongue around it. no matter what she did you were Out Of It. moaning so damn loud people inside could probably hear and predict your orgasm, maybe not as good as ellie, but theyd have a clue. it didn’t take you long before you were all dumb on her fingers and wrapping your fingers in her hair whimpering “‘mgonnacumpleasefuckpleaseellieplease” when you fulfilled your promise ellie was quick to lick what was left over, pulling her fingers out and moving upwards to put them in your mouth. feeling you suck on them she grinned at you. “thats my good girl”

[innerfare]

Smutty Mihawk Headcanons

Summary: a collection of NSFW Mihawk headcanons

Genre: pure smut (afab!reader)

CW: a little bit of knife play (cutting clothes not skin), dirty talk, low-key masochist Mihawk, exhibitionism on the down low

———

Bisexual icon.

King of sexual tension.

Marine hunter? More like marine fucker. 

Is eternally bored, but has a keen interest in lingerie, and he rather likes cutting it off you. He never thought he would enjoy drawing a knife or sword during sex, but he finds the trust you put in him invigorating. 

A very passionate lover. His insistence on being the best carries over into the bedroom. As such, he’s no fan of quickies. He wants you tied up in his four poster bed, the curtains pulled back to allow moonlight to filter in from the balcony, your naked body sprawled across his silk sheets until the sun rises. 

Talks dirty but getting a moan out of this man is like pulling teeth. Also won’t tell you if you’ve pleased him. Your only indication is that he comes back for more. 

Of course, if you do want to get a moan out of him, the best way is to hurt him. Likes if you rake your nails up and down his back, yank his hair, bite him (especially the spot between his thumb and index finger after sucking his fingers), squeeze his face in your hands, maybe even slap him.

And then there's his bondage kink. If you tie him up, it better be to whip him. He'll start out goading you in that bored tone of his, accusing you of half-assing it, telling you to hit him harder. You know you've gotten to him when the comments cease and he bites his lip, his brow furrowing.

Doesn’t just fuck. He spars. 

Saying it again, cannot emphasize this enough, he loves a biter.  

Wants a partner who wants to be chased, as most people either throw themselves at his feet or run away with no hope of being caught. Will chase you down the halls of his castle and ravage you wherever he catches you. Poor Perona has a list of sofas she no longer sits on, counters she refuses to put food on, and entire staircases she avoids. There are even certain mirrors she doesn’t want to look in, even if the marks have been wiped away. Zoro doesn’t fully believe her when she gives him the rundown, thinking nobody can be that feral, particularly not his stoic teacher, who in his mind is the picture of restraint and civility, until he’s training by himself one day in the courtyard and happens to see you appear in one of the towers, only for Mihawk to appear after you and rather lewd sounds to follow. Also sees Mihawk fucking you hard in a window one time, and over a balcony another time. Zoro quickly learns not to enter the wine cellar between the hours of six and ten PM. 

Lives for dangerous sexual situations. Has fucked you in the woods at night despite the menagerie of dangerous beasts running around, has fucked you from behind in an open window several stories high, your front half hanging out, has even fucked you in his small boat on stormy, raging seas. Every duel he has ever enjoyed has been charged with sexual tension.

In addition to these trysts, he wants you in his bed every night after dinner. You either shower or bathe together, and then he works you into a sweat so you need another one.  

Worries deeply if you ever reject his advances, thinks it must be his fault. “Have I displeased you in some way? Tell me, my love, and I will make it right.” It’s times like this that any veneer of disinterest falls away and you see just how much he cares for you. 

Has certain pet names reserved for the bedroom. “My mewling kitten,” is his current favorite. 

Always does that thing where he strokes your temple with his thumb when he fucks you in missionary. It’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture when you’re struggling to take all of him, but it riles you up more than it calms you down. Uses his other hand to pull one of your legs up as far as it will go, so he’s pinning you down but comforting you about it. 

Loves to feel you up in the bath.

If he has more than one glass of wine, he will be going down on you. The more wine he has, the bigger his appetite for you. It gets worse with stronger liquor. When the Red Hair pirates come to stay and Shanks insists on breaking into the whiskey Mihawk keeps for that very occasion, you know you won’t be sleeping until they leave (and that Shanks will be going down on you, too). 

His favorite is to go down on you on his dining table. It makes you feel very exposed considering he strips you down but remains clothed (as is common with Mihawk when he's domming) and the dining room is very large with many doors that anyone could walk through. But that's what Mihawk enjoys about it.

If you go down on him, his hands will most certainly be in your hair. He loves smoothing your hair, and if it’s long, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail to get the best possible view of your pretty face. 

Once moaned Shanks’ name in bed. Neither of you ever addressed it, but you do always flirt with Shanks when he and his crew come around because it seems to peak your lover’s interest. You haven’t proposed a threesome because you don’t want to share him with the Red-Haired drunk. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[sunkissedpages]

match his freak

pairing: art donaldson x f reader

a/n: (reader is basically tashi but i wanted people to be able to insert themselves so it can be read either way)

summary: your husband's attempt at getting you to stay in bed with him

warnings: alcohol mentions, patrick mentions, martial issues lol, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: he's a biter, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 2.2k

“Your alarm has been going off for seven minutes.”

“Why haven’t you turned it off?”

“Because it’s supposed to get you up, not me. Come on, we have to get going.”

Art groans and rolls away from you. “Can’t we cancel this morning?”

You sigh. “You say that every morning.”

“I mean it this time,” he whines, catching you by the wrist before you can get out of bed. “The sun isn’t even up yet. Let’s sleep in. I’m tired.”

“You have to train. You’re not going to get any better if you don’t.”

“Who says I have to get better? I’m already ranked number one.”

“You won’t be for long if you keep playing like you have been,” you point out, “now get up.”

You expect your husband to release his grip, to acquiesce like he always does but he doesn’t, instead using his strength to overpower you and pull you on top of him. You scoff. He still doesn’t let go, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold your body to his. 

He kisses your jaw, your neck, nudges the strap of your tank top with his nose until it’s dangling off your shoulder and then he kisses you there too before sinking his teeth into the same spot his lips had just touched. 

You barely react, your own exhaustion threatening to break your resolve. 

“Stay in bed with me, baby,” Art urges, hands sliding down to your ass. His thumb rubs familiar circles over your panties. There’s no real intention behind the motion, not yet. He just loves your ass.

“Art...”

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you?” he asks. 

“We don’t have time.”

“We can make time. They work for us.”

You press your forehead to his and sigh. A surrender. Art inhales you, craning his neck to kiss your forehead. 

“Can’t you feel how much I want you?” he whispers as he pushes his hips into yours. 

“You just woke up. Of course you’re going to be hard.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

“What happened to sleeping in?”

“I changed my mind.”

Art shifts to get a knee between your legs, parting them with it so that he can press his thigh up against you. You know he can feel the heat of you through your panties. It’s no use pretending like he can’t. 

“It’s been so long, baby,” he groans as he goes back to kissing his way down your neck. 

“You fucked me last week,” you point out, even though you’ve started grinding on his thigh. You always have to have the last word. 

“That doesn’t count,” he pants, “it was just a quickie in the bathroom of a hotel lobby. You didn’t even take your dress off.”

Your husband is right. You don’t have sex as often as you want to, as often as either of you want to. Even last week was a fluke. That night was the first time you’d fucked in almost a month, and neither of you had been expecting it to happen in the first place. It was simply a byproduct of too much wine and simmering tension that culminated in a guilt-laden exchange of pleasure- rushed and desperate, devoid of romance. It was like you were strangers to each other, not spouses. 

You feel your husband’s wedding band, cool against your skin, secure around his ring finger as his hands continue to roam your body. He rarely ever takes it off if he has a choice, insistent on wearing it in the shower and to bed most nights. You think it might be due to the fact that he doesn’t get to wear it during matches or practices since it’s against the rules (for safety reasons) so he feels like he has to make up for the time he spends without it. 

“Is that a yes?” Art asks, pulling your attention back to himself. “You’ll stay in bed with me?”

“Just this once. And we’re getting up as soon as we’re done here.”

He grins victoriously and uses the leverage he has to flip you over so that you’re underneath him. 

“I love you.”

Your smile is a little more forced but you return the sentiment as you cup his face with your palm. “Love you too.”

Your husband kisses you again, this time trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently, not applying enough pressure to bruise, but enough to leave indents. He seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth as soon as it presents itself and grinds down into you when you moan his name breathily in response. 

He knows your body better than anyone, knows how to get you to do exactly what he wants, which is why he snakes a hand down between your legs and starts to play with you over your panties to make you want him even more. 

“Soaked through these already,” he murmurs, “guess I’m not the only needy one.”

“Stop wasting time,” you mutter impatiently, swatting his hand away so that you can take your underwear off yourself. “We have places to be.”

Art clicks his tongue at you but keeps his thoughts to himself. He shuffles down the mattress until his face is level with your pussy. He swallows thickly and raises his gaze to meet your eyes, silently asking permission. 

You grant it to him with a curt nod and prop yourself up on your elbows so that you’re able to watch him bury his face in you. 

He does, but not before gently kissing the crux of your hip as a thank you. Your hands are in his hair before his tongue is on your cunt. He uses his hands to hold your hips down as you try to grind them into his face, easily overpowering you despite your effort. 

Your husband has always been obsessed with the taste of you. You still remember him making some offhand comment when you first started dating about how he couldn’t believe Patrick never told him how good you tasted. He seemed to realize what he said as soon as he said it, eyes growing wide as he sputtered out an explanation that you brushed off with a scoff and a hand on the back of his neck to push him back down between your legs. 

You never told him, but it turned you on to know that they talked about you like that behind your back, especially since it confirmed just how into you your husband had always been. 

And even after all of these years, Art will still spend hours eating you out if you let him. He used to get on his knees in the locker room and beg you to hike a leg over his shoulder to let him make you cum on his face before every single one of his matches, claiming that it helped calm his nerves or that it was for good luck or something like that. You would still be able to taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you for the cameras after winning whatever title he was playing for. 

You don’t know when that stopped but you do know he doesn’t play as well as he used to back then. Whether or not the two things were correlated, there’s no way to tell. 

“So sweet,” Art groans in between licks to your clit, “been too fucking long.”

You can only moan in agreement as your husband grinds against the mattress. You know he wants to take his time with you but you’re impatient. You’re already getting a late start to the day and watching Art lose himself in the taste of you is only making you want him more. 

“Art, baby?’ you ask, loosening the grip you have on his hair to thread your fingers through it gently.

He raises his head with a reluctant whine. “Hm?” 

“Can you fuck me now?”

“But you haven’t-”

“I know. I just really, really want your dick right now.”

He pouts at you, almost tugging himself out of your grasp just so he can go back to eating you out but you stop him with a hand under his chin. 

“Baby,” he whimpers, “let me finish you off.”

“You can, with your dick.” 

“Fine,” he sighs, shimmying out of his boxers.

You scoff. “Acting like it’s such a chore to have sex with your wife when you’re the one who was begging me to fuck you.”

“I do want to fuck you, baby, you know I do. You just taste so good when you cum in my mouth.”

“If you make this quick, I’ll sit on your face and you can eat your cum out of me.”

A shudder rolls through your husband. You feel his cock twitch against your thigh. 

“I love you,” he moans. 

“You said that already.”

It's Art's turn to scoff. “Oh, have I met my quota or something?” He hoists your thighs around his waist as he lines himself up, grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed to put under your back. “C’mere.”

You arch your back to let him push it underneath you, taking a deep breath as he slides home. You stretch around him easily but still wince when he meets the end of you, his hips pressed flush to yours. 

“God, yes,” you moan, locking your ankles behind his back almost immediately. 

He takes a moment to let you adjust and gather himself before starting to move. When he does, it’s at an agonizingly slow pace. He can’t pull out very far with your legs wrapped around him like that anyway but even so, you can tell he's doing his best to hold back.

You smack his ass to try and spur him on but it only makes him bite down on your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Always so impatient,” he scolds. 

“We’re on a schedule,” you remind him. “Unless you don’t want me to sit on your face after this-”

Art groans but gives in, fucking you harder and faster until you can’t even form coherent thoughts to offer any more opinions. Your husband had always been good at taking direction but he was even better at fucking you stupid. It’s part of why your marriage has lasted this long. 

“Feel good?” he asks, fully aware of the fact that you’re too gone to answer. “This what you wanted, huh?”

All you can do is whimper in response. He kisses you, swallowing the noise. Your hands fly to his back, manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades as you anchor yourself to him. 

“Harder,” he grunts. 

You oblige, pressing your nails further into him until he gasps in pleasure. You’re careful not to puncture his skin as you scratch up his back, knowing the marks you’re leaving now will raise enough eyebrows from his trainers as it is. 

It isn’t long before he’s practically trembling on top of you, jaw clenched in concentration and restraint as he focuses on getting you to the edge first. 

Being a professional athlete has afforded your husband plenty of advantages in bed: strong hips, great breath control, insane stamina... but none of that matters when it’s you he’s in bed with. You’re his weakness in every sense of the word. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he shakily admits. “Please tell me you’re close too.”

You are, thank god. He’s hitting that spot, the one that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, over and over and over and you just need a little more to fully come apart all over him. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he begs, “need you to go first, come on.”

Ultimately, the begging is what does it. Something about the desperation in his voice always gets you off. 

You cum with a sob of his name, squeezing him so tight that he can hardly pull out to fuck you through it. Feeling you clench around him is what does it for him too, though, and he barely chokes out a warning before he’s cumming inside of you, muscles going taut then relaxing as it washes over him. 

After the aftershocks pass, he rolls off of you with a sigh, sounding both relieved and exhausted. You turn onto your side and snuggle up to him, surprising both him and yourself.  He gives you a questioning look but doesn’t say anything as he accepts you into his arms and tucks you by his side. You lay there together for a moment and listen to each other breathe, enjoying a slower morning for the first time in a long time. 

The sun is fully up now and you can even hear the world bustling around at street level below your apartment. You and Art were supposed to be well into your day by now but you’re still in bed, albeit very awake. 

You tell yourself that you’ll get up, that you’ll make Art get up in just a few more minutes but he beats you to the punch, getting your attention by clearing his throat and putting on a very serious expression. 

“So is sitting on my face still on the table?”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[tales-from-elysivm]

Can you do some headcanons or stories on arcane? Specifically Vi or Sevika if your comfortable. I was just wondering but if you don't want to then you don't have to, you have free will.

Know that you're loved!

★。／ !bark like you want it! ＼。★

pairing: vi x f!reader, sevika x f!reader (separate)

fandom: arcane

word count: 1,470

tw: canon typical swearing/slang, some light spoiler warnings, and MDNI content, mainly because we know these are some dominant ass women ;) 

THIS IS NSFW CONTENT! BE WARNED!

song title: bark like you want it by sir mix-a-lot

notes: i love my girl vi so this request was a given, thank you anon! Hope you enjoy! :D I normally didn't like Sevika as much, but I will admit, writing her head canons for this post definitely made me reconsider

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

↳˗ˏviˎ˗ ↴

Vi is (without a doubt) very rough around the edges

She’s street-smart but she doesn’t really know what to do when it comes to actual romantic relationships, sex is easy, feelings are hard 

Her time in Stillwater makes her distrustful of people, along with her generally traumatic and difficult childhood, so it will probably take a while for her to begin to see you in a less-than-threat way

After that things are pretty smooth

You don’t really know where the split between ‘friendship’ and ‘relationship’ is, because they both include her joking, flirtatious personality ranging from skirting touches on your thighs and up your back, or teasing pet names like ‘sweetheart’, ‘cupcake’ and ‘love’

Other than that she’s very protective of you, especially if you live in Zaun

If you go out on errands she’ll always make sure she’s conveniently there at the times you like to go, able to loop an arm around your waist and guide you through the crowds

If someone is stupid enough to try and pull something on either one of you, Vi is not above beating the shit out of someone to keep them from laying a hand on you

I have a feeling that she’d confess to you accidentally in the middle of a fight

Perhaps she had been disappearing for long periods of time, and coming back bloodied and injured, refusing to tell you anything of her adventures (mainly because she doesn’t want to worry you). And eventually you pester her for a bit too long and begin a full verbal fight, where she suddenly blurts that she loves you

Now as a lover?

The teasing banter still remains, her little playful nicknames too, if anything they get worse. But she gets more confident with her touches, more deliberate. A hand in your backpocket while you’re walking, an arm around your shoulder, pinching your ass when you’re waiting outside a store, this girl has no shame

! mdni content below !

Now, i have a feeling that Vi isn’t really uneducated when it comes to sex

If anything i feel like she’s a fast learner-

The first time you actually lie together, Vi is sure to take it at your own pace, eager to please beneath a taunting smile, even if you don’t know what you like at first, she’s likely to find it quickly 

I personally don’t see Vi as owning too many sex toys - if any at all - but i think she would 100% favour using her fingers to anything else

Just the way you clench down on them, how she can use the rough calluses on the pad of her thumb on your clit to her advantage, and how deep she can pry, anything to make you scream for her

To be honest? I also 10000% expect her to try and flip you over and put you in a chokehold with her forearm tight against your throat, just adding enough delicious pressure to hitch your breath, but never enough to hurt too much

9/10

Her oral game would be fucking good too, i can tell. But she’d probably prefer to finger you or use a strap-on so she can continue to tease you with all these sinful little things she can come up with while she fucks into you

I’d say more of a biter, but she can still eat you out like a starving woman

Oral game 7/10

Aftercare is important to her, always making sure that she wasn’t too rough with you, cleaning you up, running you a bath or just lying with you to cuddle. Wants to make sure you know that you’re more important to her than some casual fling, and that she wants to ensure your happiness above anything

(Also gives you some balm for the definite bruises on your thighs and throat :D)

↳˗ˏsevikaˎ˗ ↴

Sevika is… intense

In all honesty, probably started as enemies

She probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you unless you already worked with Silco, so we could say you started in the shimmer warehouses, helping to distribute it throughout Zaun

You get your work done effectively, so Sevika overall sees you as a valuable position in the business, and keeps you around without much complaint

At some point Silco requested you deliver a hefty batch of shimmer to a more dangerous part of the Undercity, and sent Sevika with you to ensure no messes were left behind

Safe to say, you were ambushed

Despite Sevika being there to ‘protect’ you, you’re still able to hold your own, displaying proficient skill with your weapons against bandits who thought they could steal some of the shimmer vials. In the carnage, Sevika decides begrudgingly that she has respect for you

From there, it’s less of a ‘friendship’ and more of a drinking buddy situation

She doesn’t often tolerate the presence of others in her private time, so you label it as a friendship initially

She’s slightly more soft-spoken when she’s alone with you, and shares her cigars with you while she’s gambling, which often earns a strange look from her opponents as you hover over her mechanical shoulder with her cigar hanging from between your lips to see her hand, a bit too close

But Sevika lets you be without anything more than a bit of a grumble

I don’t think she’d even particularly say outright that she loves you

What happens is - instead - that you both have a drinking binge at the pub one night, after a successful night of gambling, and you both get absolutely shit-faced

While drunk she drags you back to her house and the night is filled with hazy sex, enthusiastic makeouts and early-morning cigarette smoke

You try to sneak out the next morning, expecting it to only be a one-night thing

She catches you (i headcanon that she’s a pretty light sleeper, but i suppose that could be said for most Zaunites). I don’t think she’d even say it then, just drag your ass back to bed for a (consensual) round two

After that you go to the bar together as normal, go about your business, now with the added bonus of Sevika protectively snarling at a drunk guy hitting on you by saying ‘that’s my spouse, fuck off’

(And of course, with plenty of sneaky sex between your deliveries and hurried makeouts :D)

! mdni content below !

BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS MFS, THIS SHIT IS KINKY

I would like to clarify, you will never top in this situation, Sevika would rather die than bottom to anyone, no matter how much she loves you

Spanking, spanking, spanking, spanking–

Hickeys, bruises, bite marks, the red tracks of her nails over your back, just anything that would leave even the most fleeting mark on your skin

That being said, would also 100% leave hickeys on places she knows you can’t hide easily

Definitely into sex toys (ball gags, bondage, strap ons and vibrators with little remotes she can keep in her pocket just in case, she especially likes to plant down one of those dildos with the suction cups and get you to ride it, all the while begging for her to just touch you, but she refuses, smoking as she watches you cry out for her)

She also likes crying-

I think she’d prefer to have you from behind, your back against her chest, ramming into you with one of her favourite straps, one hand pinching at your nipples, tweaking them between her fingers, and the other rolling tight circles on your clit, sometimes switching one out to wrap around the column of your throat

Definitely into edging on most days, and will resort to overstim if she’s happy with the work you’ve done in the day

Risky sex is definitely her thing, in her office in Silco’s base, in the warehouse on the crates of shimmer, under her desk, you on your knees to service her

She’s especially rough, and absolutely loves some degradation, and the way it makes you clench around her strap or her fingers, your eyes rolling back into your head while you scream for her

Aftercare is rarely over-the-top

She’ll cuddle you if you ask her explicitly but she prefers to share a cigar with you, or blowing smoke into your open mouth while you breathe against her bare chest

If she’s been unable to fuck you for some time, she’ll clean you up after about four or five rounds, mainly by eating you out until you end up giving her another two, but she’ll make sure you’re clean before you pass out anyway

Despite everything, Sevika will always make sure she doesn’t go to far

If anyone asks though, she will absolutely deny how she always makes sure you remember your safeword before you have sex after a makeout

thanks for the request anon!

if you have any more requests don't hesitate to ask :)

[star-wrote]

Georgia Peach

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Farm Era

A/N: this is for @ghostboneswrites2 summer challenge!! my first time ever participating in a challenge, and i had so much fun! i obviously chose the peachy prompt hehe. daryl writers! you should join this here! deadline is august 31st :)

Warnings: slightly suggestive, reader has a southern accent, suggestively eating a peach?, mentions of walkers, mentions of death by walkers.

Word Count: 760

(peach divider from @strangergraphics )

The Georgia sun was known to create a wet heat that sticks to your skin if you go outside for more than a second. Your mama always said that the sun is fond of the softest skin. The amount of times you’ve gotten sunburnt growing up proved your mother’s words to be true.

A lot has changed since last summer. The part you miss the most was your mama rubbing aloe on your sunburnt cheeks. She wasn’t around anymore. None of your family was. You blame the biters for that.

You had to run from your farmhouse when it got taken over by the freaks. Luckily, your friend Maggie and her father, Hershel took you in on their farm. You had to work to earn your keep, but it was the amount of chores you were used to at your old home.

Another thing that has changed since last summer is the amount of people you live with. A new group had come looking for refuge on the farm a couple of days ago, and the front yard was scattered with tents of strangers.

Strangers were conflicting to you. Your daddy had the idea that you could never be too cautious around strangers, but your mother always treated strangers with kindness and warmth. Well, you always have been your mother’s daughter.

The first morning with the group, you had woken up at sunrise to go pick fresh peaches for everyone. You knew that they had spent some time on the road and had probably gone without the taste of a fresh Georgia peach for some time. Seeing the smiles on their faces after they bit into the ripe fruit made a sense of pride swell up in your chest. You made it a habit to bring them peaches every morning.

There was one man who had yet to take one of your peaches. Daryl, you heard someone call him. He seemed to be on the same schedule as you; running off into the woods every morning while you were out picking peaches. He always comes back home around dusk and goes straight to his tent, (which was further from the rest) skipping on socializing with the group.

You asked a woman named Carol about him. She told you that no matter what the group says about him, she knows that he’s a good man since he spends every day looking for her daughter. When you asked what the group says about him, she just shook her head and said “all kinds of nasty things.”

You took that as a hint to be weary around the mysterious man… but that didn’t mean he didn’t need one of your peaches.

This morning, you had decided to wake up before Daryl in order to catch him before his search. Hearing the song that the birds were singing, you started humming as you filled your basket with the juicy fruit. You saw Daryl in the distance, coming out of his tent with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, so you made your way over to him.

He eyed you as you approached him and stopped about five feet away from him.

“You’ve been missin’ out on my peaches.” You say to him with a smile.

He didn’t say anything as he took in the lacy dress and hair bows that you were wearing.

“Well?” You held the basket up. “Do ya want one?”

He stayed put as he gestured to your appearance. “Ya always go out here in that? Ain’t exactly practical.”

You bring the basket back down to your side and smirk while looking at his exposed arms that were starting to sweat in the morning heat. “Don’t exactly need practical when I’ve got big, strong men around here.”

He looks at the ground and brings his thumb up to his teeth to chew on the skin there.

“Look,” you start, “I’m just doin’ my part around here and making sure y’all have somethin’ sweet.”

He meets your eyes again and drops his thumb from his mouth. Daryl walks up to you, only stopping when you’re face to face. “Well ain’t you just a peach.”

He grabs a peach from your basket and bites into it in front of you. Some of the orange colored juices start to drip down his chin, but he wipes them with his fingers and sucks them clean.

As he walks away, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. Daryl Dixon was going to become a problem that you just can’t resist.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing If you want to be added, let me know!

[writing-for-the-gays]

Run rabbit, run.

HABIT x TRANSMASC! PLUS SIZED! HAIRY! READER

half monster HABIT hc + fic

Tw: HABIT being HABIT | violence| marijuana usage | HABIT is obsessed with t-guy pussy god whispered this in my ear at 3 am | HABIT is obsessed with FAT T-guy pussy | LIGHTLY TOUCHED ON FEEDING | implied MC running on caffeine and weed and not very much sleep| monster habit (I GOT CARRIED AWAY IM SORRY NO IM NOT)

For 🐛 anon

For Evan fuckers: Oh, deer!

-We all know this man is a sadist and masochist, we can't pretend we don't.

-hes a biter!!! He will bite you! Like hard enough to need stitches. You've had a few embarrassing ER visits. (Habit can dress wounds and stitch you up but he just likes how embarrassed you get about it)

- he and Evan are very different in bed, but one thing they have in common is giving head like a god. Dude low-key is obsessed with your cunt.

-but he's good at a 'sloppy drooling messy' kind of head that Ev cannot provide.

- fuck he's in love with your body. Like, he grabs your belly and just plays with it, literally salivating at the idea of leaving hickeys.

- he fucks you in a mirror so you can watch the way your body moves as he fucks you.

-oh and he loves your boobs , hairy man tits? Who fucking wouldn't.

- he stares at them constantly. You couldn't get him to tell you the color of your eyes but he has every hair on your chest memorized 🫡.

- he's into prey and predator dynamics, he gets so incredibly hard when he's chasing you through the woods he can't help himself.

- Vinny has been caught in this game of yours by accident a few times , and if he finds you, covered in bite marks half naked with twigs in your hair and he just gives you one of these looks:

- HABITs into knife play, you have lots of scars from it and he doesn't feel bad Abt it 😔✊.

- HE WANTS TO BE PEGGED but with one of the ones with a silicone grinding thing inside so it grinds right against your t-dick.

-hes a dom bottom mind you.

- but you peg him and he becomes a stupid feral mess.

(so obsessed with the idea I wrote the fanfic Abt it so it's going here instead of at the end)

He could feel your hairy belly press against his back as the silicone abused his prostate; drool pooling on the corner of his lip, looking back and admiring you he let out a purr. You look away, you can't look at the smug very fucked drunk grin you're sure he's giving you.

Your hips stutter against him and he tenses as you hit his prostate dead on, his eyes roll back and his mouth hangs open as you wring another orgasm from him.

You begin to slow your hips, grinding the silicone tip slowly inside of him, exhaustion and want find respite in your bones.

You need to stop and cum, this grinding wasn't enough, you needed more, his tongue, his cock, his fingers his anything.

He presses against you, back arching with the curve of your stomach, resting against it as he comes into a position that shouldn't be comfortable.

You avoid his eye contact and his thumb, middle finger and index finger grab at your face, turning your head harshly to look at him.

His eyes bore into yours and it makes you want to squeeze your own shut, but you just can't, like he has some kind of hold on your mind you cant avoid his gaze.

His face is flushed, and he's drooling. But his eyes, while dilated and wet with tears, were strong and threatening.

"I didn't say you could slow down rabbit." He rolls his hips against yours and it sends pleasure shooting across your body.

"Good little rabbits do what they're told. They run when they're told to run, right?" He captures your lips in his and his tongue forces it's way into your mouth before you can respond.

It's a rough kiss, teeth clacking together and tongues rubbing against each other. You can't help but find yourself getting wetter and wetter, dick getting harder and harder, pressing right up against the grinding pad.

He pulls away and bites your lip hard enough to make you bleed, before letting out a growl.

"So, keep fuckin' me, now. Do what you're told. Run rabbit, run."

-makes you breakfast in bed and he's so hard because he can't stop thinking Abt what your mouth can do and how those teeth can rip and tear apart flesh

-please blow him after eating ✨.

- trust me it's purely to indulge him, don't be surprised if there's something you're allergic to in anything he makes.

- loves getting you really really high to overstimulate you, oh you're really high? Well hes sucking your t-dick rn and finger fucking your hole so have a fun time trying to concentrate on rolling a joint for him.

-it's so badly rolled you literally have to suffocate him with your thighs so he'll back off and you can redo it. It looks like a fucking hard candy.

- Goes fucking feral over your hair, he's into hairy guys and fuck do you fit the bill.

- you keep it at least slightly maintained more for convenience but you don't shave.

- he loves

MONSTER FUCKING AHEAD

-he goes into heat gets bored and can't control himself and goes either fully monster (basically a demon anthro hare with grey and washed out purple fur, sharp teeth and claws) or partially monster (EARS AND TAIL AND TEETH AND CLAWS AND NOTHING ELSE)

- knotted tentacle dick bc peace and love on planet earth.

- he gets real possessive during this kind of thing, leaving enough marks for Vinny to notice. And they're not human sized either

- large, deep, scabbed over marks on most of your visible skin, most will probably scar.

- and vinny doesn't really care (look you're a consenting adult and you seem to contest enthusiastically if what he's heard through the walls indicate.)

-but he DOES give you this look

- and asks a few slightly personal questions, bc what the fuck how do you fuck THAT hard.

- mainly to embarrass you.

- habit thinks your discomfort is funny so even if you try to get him to stop he won't.

- speaking of discomfort- when he's in foreplay is non existent, he'll literally pull your pants and boxers down and fuck you whenever. His dick produces enough lube for it not to hurt too bad. But it's not comfortable.

- he's broken the bed too many times to count, you've tried metal bedframes, you've tried springs, you've tried a water bed (that's not a story you like to talk about), you've done it all, and every time he fucks you hard enough to destroy it beyond repair.

- if you fuck him expect a noise complaint. His vocal chords are different which means he clicks and purrs and shit but also, loud as shit growls that vibrate the house.

- play with his ears and tail and he'll cum immediately (especially with a well angled strap-on.)

- sloppy head just got sloppier with his ultra long tongue and extra drool. Squirt on his face and he'll keep eating you out! (Call now only for the low low price of your soul and all sense of sanity!)

- after care is him licking cum off your chest and then letting Evan take over because fuck that lovey dovey shit. (he'd marry you if he could)

~^°^~^°^~^°^~^°^~•⁠.̫•~^°^~^°^~^°^~

I tried my best but got carried away and it's not proof read. Uuh hope you enjoyed? Don't kill me.

[veespee]

Alex Koval HCs

bc i love him with all my heart

-He will often, especially when he tries to sleep, massage or pet himself. Like petting his hair, or massaging the back of his shoulders, and he will close his eyes, imagining it's his mother's hands instead of his. He also has a habit of acting like his parents were still alive to cope. (i'm pretty sure that's canon, since when Jeff asked him if he wanted to go somewhere with him, Alex said: “let me go ask mom real quick”, which,,, got me sobbing)

-He was an EARLY Alex G fan. Race was released in January 1st 2010, so that's the first album Alex got to know. Probably from friends or something, but that would be his inspiration to create his own music. I just feel like he'd love indie and midwest emo. (also HC that his favorite Alex G song is Kicker and/or Animals)

-He doesn't like throwing away objects he has from his childhood. Plushies, pillows, notebooks, anything that has memories attached to it, he'll never throw away. I feel like he'd have lots of plushies of dogs especially, and one that looked like sparky. That's the plushie he’s most attached to, and he keeps it next to his pillow. He's too attached, and even feels sympathy for the objects. (also i feel like he'd be the type of person to bump into a table or something and apologize)

-He's a nail biter. Jeff tells him to stop, although Jeff is also guilty of biting his nails sometimes. I think that Alex's hands would be super warm, even in the cold, as he's too awkward and doesn't know where to put his hands, so they're always in his pockets. He'd also probably bite the flesh around his nails, maybe making it bleed sometimes.

-I have this specific scenario in mind for him, like a memory he has stuck in his mind from his childhood (i just wanted to have my writer moment tbh so here you go): When he was young, maybe around 7-8, he was out in his backyard. It had snowed, and he was just walking around and stomping on the powdery snow that covered the grass. That's when he stumbles upon a small brown bird, a laying in the snow, unmoving. He picks it up, holding it gently in his palms. The bird was unfortunately dead, but young Alex didn't understand. He pet it's head, but it was still frozen. Alex frowned, and decided to take it back to the house to show his mother. He steps inside, his mother was cooking some soup in the kitchen, and it smelled great. Alex walks into the kitchen, the frozen little bird in his palms. He tugs at his mother's shirt to get her attention, and asks her why the bird isn't flying. His mother looks down at him and smiles, kneeling down a bit to get to his level. “Oh sweetie,” she starts, “The birdie is asleep. But it's going to be asleep for a long time.” she softly says, not wanting to upset the boy. She pets his hair gently, seeing that he looks quite sad. “Don't worry Al, we can leave the birdie in the backyard. His family members will find him, and they'll have a happy reunion.” she says, and she can see Alex smile. She smiles back and gently caresses Alex's cheek with her thumb. “See? Now go put the birdie back where you found it.” she ends as she turns back to pot of soup she was making. Alex nods happily and puts the bird back in the corner of the backyard.

When Alex comes back the next day, he goes back to his backyard. He remembers the little bird and smiles, going to check if it's family had found it. Sadly, when he walked towards the corner of the fence of his backyard, he saw a red liquid mixed with the powdery snow. He panicked and searched for the bird, which was unfortunately found by a fox, and looked mauled. Alex pets the bird's head, but it was clear it wasn't responding. He sobbed quietly, not wanting to be too loud and worry his parents and Jeff. So he wiped his tears, and went back inside. He looked devastated that an innocent, small animal could have such an end.

(this mightt be a metaphor for Alex's death… but it's up to the interpretation of the reader :)

thank you for reading! 🖤

[charcadett]

Kissing Headcanons (Gender Neutral)

Characters: Katy, Brassius, Larry, Tulip, Grusha, Rika, Hassel, Geeta, Jacq, Saguaro, Clavell, and two endgame spoiler characters at the end. If you know, you know.

Okay, tried to do something shorter than the last one so I can do more characters without getting carried away or overwhelmed. It’s surprisingly hard not to go off on a tangent every character, hoo boy. Especially because I love them all so much. I want to try and solidify my interpretations as much as possible. Anyway! Throws this at you.

Katy

- Katy’s favorite kiss is a quick peck on the lips.

-Short, but sweet. Literally. You can taste powdered sugar on her lips from the last pastry she ate. She’ll laugh through a blush if you mention it.

- Katy won’t indulge too much PDA, especially if she’s working, though if you catch her in a particularly affectionate mood, she’ll kiss you between batches for Patisserie Soapberry. Her lips are soft and she leaves flour hand prints on your shirt.

Brassius

- Brassius is a biter. From small nips on your bottom lip to hickies along the column of your neck, he really enjoys leaving a mark of some sort. He says it's his final touch to a masterpiece.

- His favorite way to kiss you is passionate, tangling his fingers in your hair to guide you along his pace. He got clay in your hair one time and it took an hour for you both to wash it out.

- Kisses you in public whenever the mood strikes him. Sometimes, when the sun hits you just right and makes your skin glow, he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he absolutely has to kiss you. He finds your startled expression particularly attractive.

Larry

- Larry is a lazy kisser. Slow and sensual, he likes to savor you.

- He’s very touch-starved. Unconsciously, he’ll trail his hands all over your body, though not with sexual intent. It’s more to make sure you’re really there. When you brush against his skin, Larry’ll shiver almost imperceptibly.

- If you pull away, he will follow your lips with his eyes closed. Even the smallest kiss will seem intimate with him. He isn’t one for quick pecks, Larry can kiss you for hours.

Tulip

- Kissing Tulip is guaranteed to make your head spin. You can smell her perfume and taste her lip gloss. The skin of her cheek is like ivory against your palm. She doesn’t give you even a second to find your footing.

- She’s dizzying. Her acrylics massage your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. So gentle, until she nips at your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

- Tulip isn’t one for PDA, though she likes to leave a lipstick mark somewhere visible, like on your cheek or on your collarbone.

Grusha

- You’d think his lips would be cold, but they’re rather warm hidden behind his scarf. A bit chapped, though.

- He might feel like he has something to prove. Grusha’s kisses are a tad aggressive, pressing his body as close to yours as possible. If you make even the slightest noise, he’ll grin against you.

- If you kiss him over his scarf, he’ll pout. Although, he will insist that he doesn’t. Not only is it easy to prove him wrong, but very funny as well. Grusha will be much more dominant than he usually is when he eventually gets an actual kiss out of you.

Rika

- Instead of kissing you, Rika tends to swipe her thumb across her bottom lip. If there’s one thing she likes, it’s to tease you. You’ll have to beg if you want a real kiss.

- She’s gentle and kisses you slowly. While she usually takes the lead, she won’t deny that it’s a pleasant surprise when you take initiative.

- Rika is very laid back when it comes to PDA. If you’re comfortable with it, that’s great. If you’re uncomfortable with it, no problem. She’s more than happy to kiss you behind closed doors.

Hassel

- Kissing Hassel is always a bit awkward in the most endearing way. He never knows where to put his hands, his nose knocks into yours, and he uses a little too much tongue. It’s sloppy but always passionate.

- He puts everything he is into it. All his emotion, all his desire for you; Hassel tries to channel it all in a single kiss. Likes to press his forehead against yours and breathe the same air. It’s intimate, and he enjoys any chance to be as close to you as possible.

- In public, he will kiss your temple greeting/farewell. Otherwise, he will brush his knuckles against your cheek with a fond smile. He’s a sucker for classic romance.

Geeta

- Geeta doesn’t kiss you often, though it’s not from a lack of desire. Like battling, Geeta simply can’t hold back when it comes to you. She will never be able to get enough.

- Give her a small peck on the lips, and her gaze turns longing. As you pull away with a smile, her hand will trail from your cheek to your shoulder and down your arm until you’re out of reach.

- Once at home, she will ask you if you would like to continue where you left off. If there’s ever a way or a time to tease Geeta, it’s then.

Jacq

- Jacq is ticklish. It doesn’t matter where you put your hands; he’ll always end up giggling against your lips. Even if you let your arms hang awkwardly by your side, Jacq will be so giddy that he still can't stop laughing.

- If you kiss his neck, he’ll blush so hard his glasses fog up. Always returns the favor. For every kiss you give him, he’ll give you two more. This always ends in a competition that leaves you both holding in snickers and gasping for air.

- One time, when he forgot his lunch and you had to drop it off in the middle of his homeroom class.The kids started chanting for you to kiss. It was a quick peck, but you both consider it one of the funniest and most embarrassing moments of your relationship. The kids still tease you when they see you in the halls.

Saguaro

- If there’s one word to describe Saguaro, it’s domestic. He cares deeply about how students perceive him and will kindly ask you to keep PDA to a minimum while at the academy.

- He likes forehead kisses. Saguaro is a big man, and it’s more than likely that he’s taller than you. If you want to return the favor, he’ll bend down with a fond smile.

- If he’s feeling playful, he will offer you a spoonful of food he cooked and kiss you instead of giving you a bite. Your reaction always makes him chuckle.

Clavell

- Clavell is particularly fond of pressing a gentlemanly kiss to the back of your hand. He’s old fashioned, and you’d be hard pressed to get any other form of PDA from him besides occasionally linking arms.

- Prefers more chaste methods of showing affection. Rather than a peck on the lips, he will press a kiss against the edge of your mouth. Almost on the cheek but a bit more intimate than that.

- Somehow, he would get more flustered than Jacq if any students teased him about your relationship. If a group began chanting ‘kiss! kiss! kiss!’ at you both, he would simply disintegrate.

AI Turo

- Turo is not particularly affectionate, nor is he very emotional. He treats kissing as a scientific endeavor, more for you than himself. Though he won’t deny the lightness in his chest that comes with making you smile. Meticulously categorizes all your reactions. His favorite kiss is whatever you prefer.

- His tongue is electric. Literally. Once, he shocked you by accident, and it startled you both. After that, he’s much more hesitant to indulge in that specific method, but if you insist, he wouldn’t have the strength to deny you for long.

AI Sada

- Like Brassius, Sada bites. Those fangs aren’t just for show. She will leave your lips pleasantly sore and bruised with the most self-satisfied smirk on her face. Sada knows what she wants and knows exactly how to move her lips to get you pliant.

- While Turo is a bit more reserved, Sada has no such qualms. She will kiss you every chance she gets for as long as you’ll allow. All that time spent in The Great Crater, and her missed opportunity to go to the past, has made her desperate to indulge every chance she gets.

[inkformyblood]

Divinity in the mundane (Ghost/Soap)

(Established early relationship, Canon verse)

“Soap. How copy?”

Soap shifts from one foot to the other, trying to crack the joints seemingly welded into place in his boot. There’s a bead of sweat pooling in the divots of his spine, pausing for long enough that he thinks it’ll finally just stay fucking put and he can focus on something else before it slides down to the next notch. He is already dreading what will happen if it gets close enough to the scratches decorating the planes of his hips. He’s not being shot at so that’s something at least. It’s only a small something given the unbearable fucking day of sunny weather that the universe has saw fit to bestow him when there’s an inspection and he can’t enjoy it.

“Just peachy, LT. Haven’t seen you around yet today.” Johnny had thrown on the throat mic only mostly out of habit, and if he had been hoping to hear Ghost in his ear then that is entirely his business and no-one else’s. He had heard Ghost plenty the night before, but Soap is a man of simple tastes and, right now, that is entirely Ghost.

Ghost hums and Soap tries to picture his expression like he’s trying to line up a jigsaw in his head, constructing half a thousand stolen glances at the exact shape of pale eyes and the idea of his mouth beneath dark fabric.

“Thought you were meant to be good at this, Johnny,” Ghost says and something in Soap’s stomach tightens. He feels like a dog at a starting line, Ghost’s hand looped through his collar (through the dark fabric keeping the mic attached to him, a leash he’s put on willingly each and every morning), waiting for the word to run.

He’d throw himself off a building if Ghost asked him to.

He has done it before.

“See if you can spot me, Johnny.”

“Yeah?” Soap scans his immediate surroundings, the empty stretch of the training grounds and the low huddle of the buildings just beyond it. Behind him is the crawl of an abandoned observation tower, tentatively blocked off by hazard tape and about six months worth of pigeon shit. He can only guess that he’s been stationed all the way out here to reduce the chance of the higher-ups from stumbling across him and his very sensible and necessary questions about their explosion budget. “Do I get something if I win, LT?”

There’s the low rumble of exhalation that hisses into static before Ghost answers, “What are you thinking, Johnny?”

Soap can picture him clearly like he’s already spilled his heart onto the pages of his sketchbook, the background inconsequential compared to the hazy fog of smoke filtering from Ghost’s mask, his gaze dark from beneath pale lowered lashes. He shifts where he’s standing, standing up straight and pressing his thumb into his palm to try and alleviate the craving to touch, to hold, to tear. It only mostly works. “I could think of something.”

“I’m sure you could.”

There’s a likely building at the edge of the field, one side freshly painted in such a blinding shade of white that Soap thinks it could be used in place of a floodlight if someone put a candle too close to it. There’s a set of admin offices inside he thinks, helpfully packed to the brim of anxious nail-biters and Ghost, his Ghost, tall and broad and nearly always dressed in black, would stick out like a sore thumb. Not impossible then, but looking less like an option.

“Do I get any clues, LT?” Soap rasps, prodding at his lower lip with his tongue. He knew he should have taken the chance to bring one of the little shitty plastic cups of coffee out with him, knew the moment he had walked out of the door grumbling about this dogshit location that he would. He bets Ghost has got a cup of tea with him, probably managed to terrify one of the new recruits into bringing him one.

A pigeon lands heavily on the ground next to him, some huge unit of a bird with pale blotched feathers over its chest. It coos, eyeing Soap up with mindless uncomprehension before it patters off back into the relative shade of the structure behind him.

“Three clues, Johnny. Think you can manage it with that?”

“Yessir.”

Directly across the field is one of the training rooms. The windows are set high up on the walls and three of them are open, all clustered in one corner. He thinks it might be one of the speciality courses inside, one of the collections of discarded children’s playground equipment being passed off as a high-tech and intentionally designed training course. Soap swears one of the ropes is actually a skipping rope with the handles cut off. Ghost could be in there, the location suits him given that it is high up so he is unlikely to be stumbled upon by any higher-ups in their carefully pressed dress uniforms. Soap can picture him sprawled out over one of the higher platforms, bisected by a careful circle of sunlight that had drawn a pale arc over the wood beneath him, his mask pulled up over his nose just so he can grin his sharp-toothed smile down at Soap’s misery.

He might as well make sure.

“Can I have a clue, LT?”

“I’m outside, Johnny.”

Soap’s carefully constructed picture crumples into dust. He might try to draw it later, get some of the itch in his fingers out with the scratch of pencil, hold his thumb up to the curve of Ghost’s waist to commit the angle of it to memory when he knows how it feels beneath his hands.

Outside. Wind in his hair, sun on his skin.

He’d had to do a science experiment in school once, packed off home with two plants in shitty plastic pots and bundled into a shopping bag he’d had to bring in with him. His Ma had grumbled a little about that, asking if she was meant to fortify him with a hammer and nails whenever the school needed repairs done too but she had pulled one from the depths of the kitchen drawer readily enough. One of the plants had been set on the kitchen windowsill and its height tracked carefully in Johnny’s exercise book, while the other had been relegated to the cupboard under the stairs. He’d wept over the plant, he remembers, stricken with grief over the stretched-thin yellow thing that had emerged, grown too high to support itself, searching for a light that it would never find.

Ghost reminds him a little of that plant, grown too fast, drained of colour, devoid of even the scant kindness that sunlight could offer him.

Wouldn’t be for long if Johnny got his way.

“Do you know what the vicar said at the farmer’s wedding, LT?”

“No,” Ghost says, a note of starved amusement in his voice. It’s the same as a handler’s whistle, a signal for Johnny to sit up and pay fucking attention to what’s being offered to him, a glimpse behind a mask made of more than just dark fabric and some paint. Johnny thinks about kissing him, about learning the shape of his mouth in every way he can.

“Speak now or forever hold your peas.”

Ghost laughs in a short sharp exhalation and Johnny burns with something he doesn’t dare name. Not yet. Not here in the uncaring light of day, the thought feels better suited for the slightly larger-than-average bed in Ghost’s room that holds his warmth and his shape like the world had curled itself around him, just like Johnny had. “Not bad. Not good either.”

“I can take that.”

There’s a large field between Johnny and the main section of the compound. In the distance, he could just make out the huddled sacrifices of those unfortunate few dragged in front of the higher-ups to be interrogated, have their hands shaken, poor bastards. Could his initial thought be wrong and Ghost is amongst them? He would have to be speaking quietly in order to still speak to Johnny (and something burning and possessive coils in his throat, neatly laced around the strap of his mic) and Johnny grins to himself about it all. “Another clue, LT?”

“I’m far away from nearly everyone.”

For fuck’s sake.

Could Ghost read his thoughts? Johnny widens his stance slightly, swaying back into the meagre hollow of shade the decaying building offers him, and presses his fist into his palm. It’s not a full shoulders back, head bowed, on your fucking knees, hands together in prayer, but it’s as close as Johnny gets nowadays when he’s not kneeling on the faded carpet of Ghost’s room with a reverent hand in his hair and he can see divinity in the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds that catch the jagged edges of Ghost’s shoulders.

Hang on a fucking second.

A pigeon coos somewhere behind him, low and sonorous, and Soap looks up.

It’s just a building at first, decorated with heavy pools of shadow and a liberal coat of bird shit along every possible edge, imposing in a cheap horror movie kind of way and Soap cups a hand around his eyes to try and blot out the sun. Then, Ghost moves, swings one leg out and back again in his heavy duty boots with the laces knotted so many times they’re an archeological exploration to undo (but Soap would pledge himself to it) and he’s transformed into flesh and blood and bone.

Ghost waves. “How copy, Johnny?”

“Ghost.” Johnny grins up at him. “Good to see you. You been keeping me company?”

“Better you than anyone else,” Ghost says. “Ready to head inside?”

Soap glances away, tracking the dark shift of the higher-ups as they head towards the exit of the site, and back again, hungry for even this distant study of Ghost. “Yeah, LT. Got to claim my prize after all.”

[grahamcarmen]

RedCrackle week: Day 3: Future

1100- ish words on a quiet little moment in the RED building

“And here I thought we’d both been the only ones in our graduating class to avoid the animal nicknames,” Carmen laughed at Gray, sitting on the couch in what seemed to be a new panda hoodie. At least that’s what it must have been; black sleeves, white torso, and what looked like 2 little black ears on the hood that didn’t quite make it onto his head, which was resting on the back of the sofa.

Gray looked away from the ceiling to give her a wary look. “Ha ha. ‘Rora chose this for me. Wanted to match and-”

“You couldn’t say no.”Carmen sat down, leaning back into the open shoulder of his arm stretched out on the sofa, letting a small grocery bag slide to the floor. “and now?”

“Somewhere in this house are two little red pandas hiding with the rest of team red.”

“You’re definitely not a RED panda.” She gave the ears on the hood a little flick with her fingers.

“Well she changed her mind about matching, wanted something red,” his lips almost twitched into a smile before he grimaced instead. “So she suggested I be a koala.”

“What? Why?” Carmen said in a half baffled breath.

Gray gave her a flat look. Ah.

“She thought I should live up to my nickname in some way. She got so excited about it. Barely convinced her I was fine with the original plan even if she was a red panda instead.” He raised a brow at her. Carmen had never been able to shake the nickname she gave him. It suited him too well and after everything she’d taken each and every opportunity to say it, safe in the knowledge he thought so too now.

Even in the good-natured tiredness that he’d almost been made a different type of mascot for Aurora.

“Don’t think you’ve escaped either, they made sure to get you one too.” Carmen chuckled.

“So, you mentioned them being with the rest of team red?” 

Gray gestured to an open box next to the couch, propped up with a makeshift slingshot. A plate of rice krispies with sprinkles in the center of the trap. 

“Zack set that up when I told him I was actually having trouble finding those little ankle biters. However, he and Ivy have seemingly been recruited.”

"What makes you think that."

"Zack screaming 'sorry Gray we've been recruited' with one of the treats in his mouth before running off might be the reason." He sighed.

Carmen clicked her tongue “After making those rice krispies with you too?” She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the messy kitchen.

Gray preferred eating out or convenient foods. However, meeting with Antonio more often however had opened him up to a couple recipes as long as they were quick and straightforward.

“Mole promised me it was only like 3 or 4 ingredients, kiddos said they wanted to MAKE rice krispies for some reason and the redheads promised to help as long as we got other snacks.”

Gray looked at the box trap resentfully. "So yeah. Still knowing those two that still might work. Maybe."

Carmen nodded at the mountains of bags surrounding, in front of, and on the counters. “But what do you need pie crusts for?”

“I don’t know, I think Ivy said she was gonna help them make a pie.”

“And the water balloons?” she said with a sneaking suspicion already forming in her mind.

“It's summer.” Gray shrugged.

“It's winter.”

“I don’t think that makes a difference here.” He said matter of factly and rightly so, the weather here was always warm. Still...

Carmen glanced at the bag of pop-its fireworks she’d left on the floor after having been sent an emergency text asking for some by Ladrien. She thought she was starting to get the picture.

“And you’re making yourself comfortable here because?” She pushed the bag under the couch with her foot before propping herself up on Gray's arm.

“They said I could wait for backup.” He turned his head towards her and gave her a lazy soft grin. “As long as I gave you this.”

He handed her a small vanilla colored business card. The kids had insisted on getting professional looking stationary on which to write schemes and “calling cards” like any self-respecting thieves they’ve seen on their cartoons. They’d hastily assured her that they were talking about good thieves like her.

[Hey Carm, Ivy and I are hiding too :D You should find us fast kids are getting restless and this’ll probably turn into prank war 2.0 and we really should get started on our marathon soon. It's like 8 movies. Good luck!]

Carmen narrowed at the slight warning in the middle of the happy sentences. “Gray did you…read this by any chance.”

“Told me I couldn’t if I wanted backup.” He hated to be left in the dark but the extra help, her presence, had been more important. “And I thought as long as I knew what OUR plan was going to be…”

“Well, you’re really gonna need it so…”Carmen rested her forehead on his temple. “I guess I could help you out.”

“You guess?” He turned his head to look at her with joking irritation.

Carmen leaned in and kissed him softly, grinning when she felt him smiling into the kiss. She could forgive his current incurious mood when she knew he actually had them working together in mind.

“Guess I made the right choice then.”

She nodded to the red hat bobbing gingerly behind the couch. “Look I even found our first team red member,” She said, lifting the hat to reveal a sheepish Ivy in what seemed to be a green- blue t-rex onesie complete with a tail.

“Ivy.” Gray said flatly, craning his neck to the side to meet her eyes.

“Graham Cracker.” Ivy said, still crouching.

“Ivy, we were just about to go find you guys.”

“Yeah well ‘rora insisted on sending a messenger. They wanted to make sure to give you fair warning, so they asked me to deliver this.”

Carmen eyed the hat in her hands and then the onesie.

“Ladrien insisted. He’s got good taste huh.” Ivy said with a broad smile, handing over another professional vanilla colored business card with red chicken scratches on it.

Carmen squinted at it and read aloud.

[Dearest adults! SHADOWSAN HAS JOINED OUR TEAM AND YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE FIRST-]

smack

Carmen’s eyes widened, feeling some drops of water hit the side of her face.She turned to see Gray and Ivy, stunned and soaked, bits of balloons clinging to their hair.

Both of their stunned looks quickly shifted into determined frowns.

“Prank happens?” Carmen offered the next words on the card awkwardly.

“You little anklebiters!” They said in unison as they darted after the peals of laughter from the hall.

Carmen took her commlink from her pocket.

“Player, hope you’re not busy. Gonna need some help evening some odds. Seems some members of team red have declared war.”

“Prank war 2.0?”

Carmen grinned, secured the red hat still in her hand onto her head and followed.

[tired-biscuit]

Naruto Headcanons

warnings: none, this is nothing but fluff, fluff, fluff. modern AU, contains various characters.

---

- Naruto was the highlighter kid.

- Kiba has been a biter ever since he was little, and still remains one to this day.

- Shikamaru often wears his t-shirts backwards, because he just can't bother to check if they're on the right way. It drives Ino mad.

- Shino texts pictures of random bugs he stumbles upon to Hinata and Kiba, along with screenshots of their respectful Wikipedia descriptions. Both have a separate photo album saved in their phone gallery for that exact reason.

- Ino taught Sakura how to properly apply her make-up, but always made it evidently clear that she didn't need it.

- Team 8 has sleepovers. The boys are super polite towards Hinata, and always let her take the bed.

- Sasuke tried wearing eyeliner once, but his eyes kept stinging at the product. Everyone thought he was high when he went red-eyed to school the next morning. He pretended to be zooted the entire day, instead of admitting that he put on eyeliner.

- Hinata is the mom friend. Ino, Sakura and TenTen always get shitfaced, so she has to make sure they get home safely.

- Naruto visibly cringes at the sight of vegetables.

- Surprisingly, Chōji was the first one who got his driver's license out of the group. Visiting fast food drive-ins and hanging out in the parking lot with his friends late at night was his main motivation for it.

- Kiba and Naruto both try to hog the aux, despite having the same music taste. They scream the lyrics like crackheads, too.

- Lee listens to classical music on train rides. TenTen found out by yanking one headphone from his ear once, and now gives him shit for it. Calls him Mozart, too, even though he was listening to Beethoven at the time.

- Kiba always saves a seat for Hinata on the bus, and fights with anyone who tries to take it before the driver can reach the stop she gets on.

- Naruto insists on keeping Sakura on the inner-side of the sidewalk whenever they go somewhere on foot together.

- Kakashi watches toy unboxing videos on Youtube if he wakes up from a nightmare in the middle of the night.

- Iruka has a secret talent of calming down any child's tantrum just by the way how soft-spoken he is.

- Guy loves Spider-man. He forced Kakashi to take dozens of photos of him in his costume on Halloween. The mask was cheap as fuck and low-key disturbing. Kakashi documented everything on his Instagram story - especially the part where Guy attempted to climb a street lamp and completely, utterly failed.

- No matter where or when, if Naruto runs at full-speed into Kiba, the brunet will drop anything he's holding in his hands just to catch him, despite not wanting to. He's cracked about four mugs and two plates by now.

- Naruto never paid for said mugs and plates.

- Sasuke makes Spotify playlists for his friends and fills them with songs he considers would fit their personalities, but never tells them that he does.

- Itachi loves the smell of rain.

- Suigetsu is actually very fond of Karin. He only quarrels with her because he cares.

- Obito thinks that drawing dicks on people's faces when they're asleep is the funniest shit ever.

- Everyone hates Asuma's smoker's cough. He goes at it even harder just to spite them.

- Konohamaru takes Naruto's phone under the pretense of playing games, but secretly just takes 200+ pictures of his face.

- When it comes to Ino, a peace sign is a must on selfies.

- Sai knows everyone's birthdays because he kept checking their social media profiles until he memorized them all.

- Shikamaru loves summer because he can spend the entire night lying in the tall grass and never gets cold.

- Sakura snorts when she laughs really hard. Naruto thinks it's the cutest thing ever, even though she hates it.

- Gaara always counts his money at least three times whilst waiting in line to pay at the grocery store.

- Kankuro has double-jointed fingers. Stretching his thumb backwards until it looks gross is his favourite party trick.

- Obito is the friend that makes fun of people if they drink past their limit and turn sloppy, but still remains by their side the entire night to watch over them.

- Kiba always ruins his sneakers really quickly because he keeps jamming his feet inside them by force. He's simply too lazy to put them on properly with the help of his hands.

- Shikamaru hates vaping, but secretly thinks he looks really cool whilst doing it.

- Naruto is the most perverted of the group, but Kiba has the highest sex drive.

- Temari fought with anyone who bullied Gaara when they were kids.

- Sai practices his smiles in the mirror.

- Kiba's knee shakes under the desk during every exam.

- Neji and Hinata exchange reviews on hair products.

- Ino loves wearing socks with quirky designs on them.

- Sai painted Ino's white Air Force 1 shoes with her favourite flowers.

- Kurenai and Asuma can communicate just by one look alone.

- Kiba's voice always gets really soft and high-pitched whenever he coos at Akamaru. Naruto and Lee love making fun of him for it and mock him constantly.

- Naruto, Lee and Kiba share custody of a single brain cell.

- Shino has blackmail-worthy material on everyone, just because nobody notices he's around for most of the gossip.

- TenTen hates having her nails done. The only exception was prom, and even then she nearly lost her mind trying to properly function with them.

- Sai sleeps on his back, and looks dead while doing it.

- Naruto always bites off the head of a gummy bear first, before eating the rest.

- Neither Kiba nor Naruto knew how to shave properly because neither had dads around to show them. Shikamaru was the one that taught them how.

- Obito always shares the cookies his grandmother makes with Kakashi and Rin.

- Whenever Ino feels sad, both Shikamaru and Chōji let her braid their hair.

- Sasuke doesn't use an app if it doesn't have an option for dark mode.

- If Naruto lets out a scream, Kiba can be heard mirroring it across the room.

- Neji writes poetry, but the only person he allows to see it is TenTen.

- Lee does happy little dances when he's super excited.

- Sai's hands are always cold.

- Sakura is really good at math, but bad at teaching it to idiots like Naruto.

- Hinata loves to crochet.

- Ino runs a really big Instagram account for Andrew Garfield. Guy follows it, and likes all the posts.

- Kakashi often times doesn't know what to do with his hands when talking to people, so he prefers stuffing them into the pockets of his pants.

- Sakura pretends to be Ino's fake girlfriend at parties in order to chase away the men trying to hook up with her.

- Gaara enjoys playing Stardew Valley.

[hjsraccoon]

"Little things" i think Ateez would do during sex <3 - Part I.

hyung line | maknae line

!!warning!!: contains talk about sexual intercourse, some curse words, suggestive, smut, referenced size and marking kink

dom!ateez hyung line x gn! reader

!!a/n!!: again, my grammar is propably s H i t, i struggle a little with english, i hope you understand and enjoy<3

writing under the cut!!

I. Kim Hongjoong - love bites

biter line 1/2

lowkey does it to hold back himself from being too loud and vocal

but

i feel like he would just love to bite you literally anywhere he can either way

not hickies, i mean full on bites

sometimes softly, sometimes until it leaves purple and swollen marks, depends on the situation

his favorite spots would propably be your neck obvoiously and the back of your shoulders if he's working his magic on you from behind

but don't think that any other spots are safe

as he goes down on you softly, kissing down your whole body, he makes sure to leave some harsh marks on your chest, stomache and thights too

i also (lowkey very specific) think he would bite and leave angry purple marks on your wrists and forearms whenever he has your hands tied up above your head and he's fucking you in missionary

would definiatly enjoy the outcome and tease you about it, laughing at your desperate attempts to cover everything up

bite him back i dare you

___________________________________________

II. Park Seonghwa - playing with your hair

soft and sweet sometimes

i think he would love to play with your hair all the time, especially during sex

likes to just brush it away from your face to see your expressions clearly

OKAY BUT </////3

whenever he's doing you from behind i feel like he would love to make little braids in your hair while you're just leaning your head back

if you have longer hair, he would just make a bigger braid out of the whole

if you have shorter he would just do multiple small braids into it

also loves to gather all your hair into a ponytail and hold it for you while you're giving him head

but sometimes

he just has to grab it and grip

pulling your head back by your hair, or push it down a little

he would love to see your slightly pained, but pleasureful expressions because of it

i--🥺

___________________________________________

III. Jeong Yunho - hand holding

his hands>>

whether it's a romantic or a rather harsh situation

he would love to hold your hands

he loves that you're smaller than him, and he especially enjoy seeing your small hands in his huge ones

it also helps him to make sure you're okay

he asks you to grip his hand hard when something is wrong or doesn't feel right and you can't talk in the moment

pls it would be so romantic

he likes to caress the back of your hand with his thumb when you're struggling to take him

and now to the rougher part bc i know some of you are only here for that

not a fan of handcuffs or tieing you up so he just

pins your hands down above your head with his, interlocking fingers

he loves to feel the grip your hands soften and get tighter while he's thrusting into you

he propably does this in every positions

from behind, he's holding your hands and planting small kisses your your shoulders

<//3

___________________________________________

IV. Kang Yeosang - hugging

i don't really know how to say this tbh

he's not a usually touching person

however

he's the complete opposite during sex

he feels up all your body and admires all your parts

sobbing rn

and once he enters you, his hands will never leave your back, waist or hips

he just has to hold you tight to himself🥺

he loves to feel every little breath, twich and shake that he causes you

also just the feeling of the heat of your body pressed close to his just does something to him

his favorite is propably when you're riding him

he can hold you close to him any way he pleases

i love him

[waka-chan-out]

Okay so I heard you were looking for requests for short stuff so do you have any headcanons for getting just. Absolutely railed by Haikyuu team captains, please and thank you. (I really love your stuff and I hope you take this!)

Rough Captain Headcanons

sub captains edition here.

you heard correctly!! (though this did not end up being very short lmaoo) i am a whore for the haikyuu captains so you’ve come to the right place. and thank you so much! i’ll take any opportunity to talk about my boys.

i included literally every single captain i could think of, including the karasuno captains after daichi and our timeskip kings. have fun.

post-timeskip, obviously.

content warnings: mostly gn! reader (but occasional fem!), lots of pet names, lots of teasing and degradation, hair pulling, spanking, three (3) creampies god i hate that word, hickies, handcuffs, etc. all of these are established relationship.

so i don’t know how to describe what exactly these headcanons are? i don’t think all of the captains are the “railing” type. however, these are basically just headcanons for when they go their hardest and either accidentally or purposefully get carried away.

Sawamura Daichi

likes to cage you under him and just lose it. will loop an arm around your waist and lift you up into him, so your back arches and he can hit the perfect angle.

will. not. let you look away. grabs your chin. pulls your hair. will move you however he needs to so he can look you in the eyes while he’s pounding into you.

“Shy now, princess?” Daichi said, tipping your chin to look at him. “Don’t hide. You look so pretty like this.” A sharp breath left your lips as he pressed his hips farther forward, grinding into you and sending a shock of pleasure through your body. “That’s it, sweetheart. Taking it so well. Let me give you what you deserve.”

Ennoshita Chikara

he’s a hair puller. like he doesn’t think much about it but he really likes pulling you by your hair back against his chest so he can whisper dirty shit in your ear. sometimes he gets a little too aggressive with it, so if you’re into that kind of thing, he’s your man.

possessive as all hell. you’re going out for drinks with coworkers? he’s leaving a hickie right at the collar of your top so everyone can see that you’re taken. coming out to dinner with his old teammates? he’s going to have an arm on you all night. loves to pull you in and remind you of things you did the night before to get you flustered.

very particular about how you’re positioned. will pin your arms above your head and readjust his grip several times. pushes your legs out of the way. grabs your jaw and moves your face where he wants you. somehow he doesn’t realize how hot that is until you tell him to his face. he’s still confused about it but has learned to love that you love it.

Chikara ran a hand up your side and let it rest in your hair for a moment before tugging hard. You gasped as he pulled it back and to the side, exposing your neck so he could leave marks as he pushed deeper inside you. You let out a whimper and tried to loop an arm around his neck but he grabbed your wrist and pinned it down.

“Patience, love. I want everyone to be able to tell I fucked you senseless.”

Yamaguchi Tadashi

he tries to dirty talk, but it always turns into praise and repeating how much he loves you.

aggressive and whiny, begging for more even though he’s the one giving it to you.

prefers when you ride him, but will do anything you ask of him. loves being told what to do. thinks you directing him to go faster or slower or a little to the left is the sexiest thing on the planet. he will fuck the life out of you if you just ask nicely.

“Harder, Tadashi,” you gasped. He grunted and snapped his hips as fast and as hard as it seems his body would let him.

“God, you’re gonna make me come. How do you feel so fucking good?” You smiled at the praise and pulled him in for a kiss. His breath hissed against your face as he continued pushing into you. You wrapped your legs tight around him and he let out a whine, pressing his face against yours. “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

Oikawa Tooru

he’s a biter

likes to be lazy and dirty talks while you ride him usually, but every so often he shifts and will fuck you until tears are running out of your eyes.

will lay on top of you while you’re on your stomach, an arm looped around your neck, and just fuck you into the bedsheets. he’s wrapped up in his own little world, choking on high pitched moans and gasping for breath. like i said, he’s a biter, so you end up with marks all over your neck and shoulders. he’s just a fucking baby. the sounds he makes are so whiny and breathy it sounds like he’s the one getting destroyed instead of you.

“Ngh, fuck,” Tooru gasped. His breath was hot in your ear as you panted into the mattress. “Feel so good around me. You’re just begging for my cum, aren’t you?” You wanted to laugh and tell him you weren’t the one begging, but you couldn’t. Your breath was being torn from your lungs with every thrust. Tooru sunk his teeth into your shoulder as he pounded into you harder, letting out a soft whimper against your skin. His voice raised in pitch until he was practically whining. “Hah—gonna come soon. You feel so good.” His voice trailed off as it reached a whimper and he buried his face back against your neck, body shaking in anticipation.

Kuroo Tetsuro

spanking spanking spanking

seriously, hits it from the back and is not nice about it.

kuroo likes pulling you closer by your hips or ankles, turning you over whenever he feels like it, whatever. he just likes being able to toss you around and position you so he hits you just right every time.

“What? Trying to get away? That’s not how you take it, is it?” Kuroo grabbed your hips and yanked you flush against him. You cried out and buried your face against the bed. “There we go.” He laid a slap on your ass and laughed at the small sound you let out. “I’m not done with you yet. You’re not going anywhere.”

Bokuto Koutarou

he fucks himself dumb. accidentally goes so hard he’s whining and can barely hear you if you ask him to speed up or slow down.

likes missionary because he likes being as close to you as humanly possible and it gives him the best leverage to just.....lose it. gasping against your face and babbling about how good you feel. going off of that, he has a very hard time pulling out. lord have mercy. use a condom or get on a reliable birth control because as much as he tries, he’s never going to have any self-control in the moment.

he forgets just how strong he is sometimes, which results in bruises and weak limbs and occasionally trouble walking. he always apologizes profusely and offers many kisses to make up for it even after you insist that you’re fine.

“Baby, please let me come inside you. Please. Oh my god,” Koutarou whined, tightening his grip on your thigh and snapping his hips harder.

“Yes, Kou. Please.” You brought him down into a kiss. You were both panting and Koutarou was moaning, practically vibrating against you as he got closer. He began moving erratically, pounding harder into you and making you cry out.

“M’sorry. Fuck. I’m gonna come.” His chest heaved as he thrust into you hard once, twice, and let out a long groan. You could feel him twitching inside you, hands clutching your skin so hard it was almost painful. He mumbled praise and curses and nonsense against your lips, slowing his movement until he collapsed on top of you. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead and tucked his face into your neck. “Thank you. I love you. Oh my god.”

Futakuchi Kenji

likes holding your legs and moving them around to see what gets the biggest reaction from you. doesn’t care what position you’re in but loves when your legs are closed and lifted so you’re extra tight around him.

his goal is to see you as desperate as possible. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your eyes rolling back, your hands clutching at anything they can grab, mindless pleading, all of it. he just wants to watch you fall apart because of him, and i gotta say, he’s good at getting his way.

“Oh, that’s it. Look at you,” Kenji cooed. He gently wiped a tear from your face as he readjusted your legs with his other hand, holding them tightly to his chest. “Coming apart already. I’m just getting started. Are you going to be good for me?”

Daishou Suguru

finger sucking finger sucking finger sucking. loves watching you gag so he’ll shove two fingers deep into your mouth and strokes them over your tongue. he also just does it to shut you up whenever he feels like it.

likes edging and teasing a little too much. will hold off from fucking you until you’re genuinely angry at him, so wet that he can push in with no resistance. then he makes it up to you by fucking you until you’re sobbing or your eyes are rolling back in your head. you’ve never had an orgasm with him that didn’t feel like you might not live to see the end of it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Suguru said, thumbing over your bottom lip as his cock slid between your legs, not pushing in like you desperately wanted him to. “Like when I use you like this? Should I just come like this? I don’t even have to fuck you to get myself off.” You let out a pathetic noise in protest and he laughed. “Maybe another time. Today I’ll be nice and give you my cock.” He dragged between your legs again and stopped at your entrance, slowly sinking in and pulling a relieved sigh from your throat. “There we go. That’s my fuckin’ girl.” He slid two long fingers between your lips, pressing on the back of your tongue and nearly making you gag. “Now stay quiet while I use you.”

Terushima Yuuji

i.......i gotta mention the tongue piercing. i’m sorry. i know he gives the most enthusiastic, sloppiest head and FOR SURE owns a vibrating tongue ring. what a whore. i love him.

i feel like he’s messy. like he’s into spitting and really sloppy kissing and cum play and everything. will come in your mouth and tell you to hold it there while he fucks you stupid. sometimes kisses it out of your mouth. he’s a freak and i like it.

“Yuuji, fuck.” You could practically hear your body vibrating, past orgasms still lingering under your skin.

“Yeah? Tell me where you want me to come,” he said. You groaned as he abused the perfect angle inside of you and smirked down at your strained expression. “Not gonna talk to me?” You stayed silent as your head tipped back against your pillow. He chuckled and grabbed your face. “Open.” You blinked up at him and did as you were told, sticking out your tongue. He leaned forward and spat into your mouth. “I’m gonna come inside of you. Yeah? That what you want?” You nodded and swallowed, eyes pinched shut and voice frozen in your throat. He laughed and snapped his hips harder. “That’s right. Anything for you, princess.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

so we’ve all agreed: horse cock ushijima, however, he usually uses those powers for good. very gentle, very eager to please, exactly what you’d want in a man.

he’s not a hard dom, but sometimes he gets so overwhelmed with how much he loves you that he forgets how strong he is. pounding into you with his whole heart and whispering in your ear how much he adores you between groans. very vocal. a little too rough. definitely feels very guilty when you’re sore the next day but if you kiss him and tell him you liked it....he may be willing to throw caution to the wind again sometime.

Wakatoshi didn’t speak much, but the room was far from silent. He made the prettiest sounds when he was lost in you, grunts turning to long moans, made even sweeter when they were hummed against your lips. The groan of the bed mixed with the strike of skin against skin, white noise behind your already muddled thoughts. Wakatoshi pushed your legs farther toward your chest and leaned down, laying his face right against your ear.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice seemed to rumble through your entire body. “You’re so good to me, darling. I love you.”

Kita Shinsuke

very soft. y’all are never gonna catch me writing hard dom kita shinsuke. HOWEVER. he is so eager that sometimes it’s a little too much for either of you. like he doesn’t realize how aggressive he’s been until you’re both literally unable to catch your breath and have to just lay in silence for a while. will ask you very nicely if you’re okay and get you water and anything else you need, but he will have this little grin on his face the whole time because he’s so happy to be able to put you both in that state.

Kita’s face scrunched up into a tight wince as he came, as his hips slowing into hard, deep thrusts that made your vision go white. Your grip in his hair was so tight you were sure it hurt, but you couldn’t help it when he was scrambling your brain with every touch. He stopped moving and you realized just how hard both of you were breathing. It felt like you couldn’t fill your lungs, body so spent that it couldn’t even do what it needed to do to survive. His braced arms on either side of your head were shaking, and his eyes were still shut tight.

“Shin,” you said, as steadily as you could through your gasping breaths. He didn’t answer. “Shin, baby, you okay?”

He exhaled hard and smiled, then let himself fall on top of you.

“Perfect. I’m—you’re perfect. I love you.” You laughed and combed your fingers through his hair, then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you too.”

Meian Shūgo

what to say about this man......

i feel like my opinions about what he likes and doesn’t like are kind of hot takes, because most of the stuff i see with him is hard dom. but. i raise you: overly excited switch meian shūgo.

captain meian shūgo likes to be teased and edged within an inch of his sanity. he likes when you talk shit and order him around and he’s DEFINITELY into handcuffs. however, he always pays you back for it. even if he’s still cuffed up and a little pink in the face from embarrassment, he will absolutely use you. very loud. loves when you leave scratch marks. loves leaving hickies everywhere.

You were almost shocked by the high moan that left Shūgo’s throat as he finally sunk into you. His face screwed up in pleasure and concentration as he withdrew his hips and drove them back against you.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this. You tease me all that time but you can’t wait for me to fuck you like this, can you?”

“That’s some tough talk for someone whose wrists are still bound,” you said through a smile. He let out a breathy laugh and braced his hands on your stomach, still connected by leather and a short chain.

“Doesn’t keep me away from you.” He raised an eyebrow and pushed deeper inside you. “I can still use your body when I’m all tied up.”

Hirugami Fukurō

pulling a headcanon from his brother’s list and saying he likes getting his hair pulled, which means he loooooves going down on you.

will leave your legs feeling like jelly because he makes you come at least three times, and each one is hard. like, you forget where you are and can’t breathe for a few minutes afterward.

will cock warm you until you’re begging him to please, please move. proceeds to fuck you slowly, but so hard and so deep you’re feeling him between your legs the entire next day.

“Done already? That’s no fun,” Fukuro teased. You were still shaking from the last time he had pushed you over and he wasn’t helping the situation, thumb still circling your clit after already abusing it with his tongue.

“Come on. You know how to take me.” He continued easing his cock into you, dragging out all of the breath remaining in your body.

“Please,” you whispered. He smiled and leaned closer.

“Please what, love? Do you want me to stop? Use your words.”

“No.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“Want you to—“ You gasped. “—fuck me. Please.” Fukuro grinned and positioned himself so he had more leverage over you.

“Good girl.”