#got it sharp but it has so many nicks in it

[vvelegrin]

ooough feeling industrious or whatever. went to get a mango to eat, but then ended up sharpening and oiling the knife i was going to use. :) uuuhhh still need to eat that mango. got a different knife lmao.

[fic-over-cannon]

Jason Todd's got hands purpose built for violence. Calloused and scarred from the tools of his trade, he’s used to people shying away from them. Fearing his touch and the wreckage it wreaks. They don’t feel like weapons when you pepper them with kisses or slip your fingers between his. Jason’s hands don’t feel capable of the rage he knows they can impart when he’s dragging rough finger pads over paper thin skin to spark giggles and soft moans. His hands feel like more like his own when they’re wrapped around you.

Jason Todd’s got eyes honed for hunting. They can track a target through a crowd, through darkness, through confusion. He’s got the steady gaze of a sniper, eager for a mark. He’s seen many terrible things (many of his own creation). If eyes are the window to the soul, he’d give almost anything to see himself through your eyes. You see Jason in ways he never has. The prettiest thing he’s ever seen is your smiling face. He sees you and is reminded of all the good still left in the world.

Jason Todd’s got a mouthful of teeth that ache to bite. He’s used to locking his jaws around something until it bleeds, a glimpse of his bared fangs enough to send enemies scrambling. The weight of them heavy in his jaw and nicking his gums. They don’t feel so heavy pressed into the hollow of your throat. His teeth feel less sharp when his mouth meets yours. Jason’s maw becomes less like a gaping wound when you twist it into a grin.

Jason Todd’s got a nose like a bloodhound. Underneath the stink of the city and the rot of its streets, he can pick up a scent with unerring accuracy. Can track a gun shipment gone lost or a wounded foe by the wisps of iron left in their wake. Jason can smell fear in all its forms roiling in his path. You’ve never smelt of fear. With his nose buried in your hair, your shoulder, your sweater, Jason’s world boils down to you. Lungfuls of skin warmed perfume pull him back from the hood and into his own skin.

Jason Todd’s been a body longer than he’s been a man. It’s not a body that’s always been his, either. Sometimes it gets hard to remember where he begins and his ability to be used ends. It’s easier, the remembering, when he’s got something to come home to. A life. A love. The darkness of the grave doesn’t suffocate so tightly when gentle hands call him home. When every look, touch, taste, scent, and sound pulls him back to the skin he lives in. He becomes less of a thing and more of a person.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Jason deserves to be someone's no. 1 superhero.

(Art by Victioria Palomino)

Red Hood was many things for many people. A criminal, a nuisance, and a threat. Most treated him with disdain, and few tolerated him. But no one claimed to be a fan of him. Not in a sense Superman or Wonder Woman have fans.

You kept your opinion on the man strictly neutral, hoping you'll never find yourself in the same room as him, not out of hatred, but simply a sense of self-preservation.

Until one day, you find yourself unwillingly in the crossfire of Gotham's latest criminal and it's the day you meet your unlikely savior. He's no less imposing or terrifying even as he sets you on the pavement in one of the alleyways.

"I'm not going to bite off your head if that makes you so jumpy."

"Ah! I...uh...sorry. It's just that you're..."

"'S fine, I'm used to that."

At that moment you felt really scummy. There he was risking his life for you and you were acting like has rabies. As you watched him run towards the explosions you promised yourself that you'll thank him properly next time you see him.

That opportunity comes fairly soon. Every day in Gotham is a new threat, this time in the form of sentient crawling vines with razor-sharp thorns. One of them nicks your cheek and others would probably do much worse, but a few well-aimed bullets make them fall limply on the pavement. It's your red-hooded savior and he's sporting several deep gashes as well as a cracked mask.

He barks at you to run so you do, but you linger in the safe distance, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him. When all is said and done, you see a flash of his red hood ducking behind a garbage container. You carefully sidestep the fallen debris and find him sitting on the ground leaning against the wall, clutching his shoulder.

You realize it's not the best time to talk to him, that gets affirmed by the glare he shoots you from underneath the torn hood. The fear makes your heart thump and your tongue gets stuck to the roof of your mouth. Still, you step closer, slowly, ready to back away at any second, as if you're approaching a wild animal backed into a corner, and you might as well.

"Go away." He growls, teeth flashing from the crack in his mask and you visibly shiver. Despite your fear, you crouch right next to him and pull out a couple of bandaids you always have in your mind. With trembling hands, you start to bandage up the feared vigilante. You keep his face for last, just to ignore the intense unflinching stare that's burning into you the whole time.

"The hell are you doing?" He asks, without any bite this time.

You swallow the knot in your throat.

"I...I never got a chance to...thank you." You say, voice getting smaller and smaller with each word.

"Thank me?" He says incredulously.

You meet his gaze for the first time.

"Yes, for saving me."

He lets you finish your work without another word. When you mention the shoulder. He gets up and slams it against the wall, popping the bone back in the socket as you watch in horror. He doesn't even whimper. He thanks you for the bandages and in a moment he's gone again.

Later that night, Jason Todd is lying in bed in his safe base. Staring at the colorful bandaids covering his arm.

Meanwhile, you start to unconsciously pay more attention to this masked vigilante. Whenever you see him in a newspaper, you clip out the part, when you hear his name on TV you pull the volume up. You search his name on the internet, getting what's undoubtedly some really cool shots of him on his motorcycle. Yeah, he's really a badass, the killings and questionable morals notwithstanding.

You're getting more intrigued by the day. Who is he? What made him pick up the guns and the red half-face mask? What's his relation to Batman if he's wearing a version of his symbol on his chest? Does he admire him, or hate him? Is he aware of his reputation? Is he deluded into thinking everything he's doing is ultimately good, or is he brutally self-aware and just doesn't care? His morals are what intrigued you the most. You often wonder if violence is maybe sometimes the answer, considering how many times you and your close ones got hurt or traumatized by Gotham's villains.

You start to wear a black T-shirt with a red bat-like symbol on it. You don't flaunt it, but there is undeniable giddiness when you hold it in your hands, fresh out of transfer press. You had to make it yourself because there's no official Red Hood merch, shame really. Soon a mug and a bracelet follow.

Next time you meet Red Hood, you're the one who saves him. His bike is damaged, and he's running away from cops when you grab him by the hand and pull him to the place you work at. Thankfully, no one of your coworkers is there that day so you don't have to explain to them why there's a masked man armed to teeth in the breakroom. You offer him some tea and biscuits before the coast is clear and he can leave again.

Before he leaves, Red Hood compliments your t-shirt. You look down and realize it's the one you made. You have to duck behind the front desk to hide an explosion of blush on your face, listening to his quiet chuckles. For the rest of the day Red Hood is smiling.

You heard that he is in the neighborhood. You ponder it for a long time before you book it out of the door. When you find him, you stutteringly ask for an autograph. Red Hood stares at you as if you'd gone crazy. He takes the white sharpie and scribbles his name on your back. You take the pen from his limp hand and thank him with a beaming smile. It's then Jason realizes he has a real-life fan.

The next time he sees you, he asks only half-joking if you want to take a photo with him. Your eyes widen at that.

"Y-you're sure?? I don't want to bother..."

"Just look here."

He says as he bends down to put his face next to his. You're too flustered by his proximity to react fast enough as his phone flashes in your eyes. By means unknown to you, the photo is in your phone several hours later. You look like a moron. Wide-eyed, red-faced, and gaping into the camera, but you keep it. It's a selfie with your favorite Gotham knight, after all.

When he saves you this time, he escorts you all the way to the rooftop of your apartment building. Red Hood asks how are you gonna repay him this time. Teasingly backing you up against the wall with one hand pressed to the wall behind you. You're once again reminded how big he is, but this time it does not make you fearful, it makes you flustered. You duck under his arm and tell him to wait. You hand him a plastic container, and he raises a brow at you. You explain to him it's your homemade enchiladas. What you didn't know at the time is that you'll have a hungry vigilante waiting on the rooftop for his next lunch like a stray cat.

With time, the scary vigilante became what you dared to call a friend of yours. You eat together, you talk, sometimes you patch him up and in return, he gives extra care to make your neighborhood safe. You learn a lot about him in several months and yet, you've never seen his face.

It's the end of the year, and you haven't heard from Red Hood for some time. He must be busy. It's not like he owes you anything. He probably has a life outside of vigilante work. Still, you do miss him. You don't hear from him until that fateful fight with Barman. You barely hear the news reporter over the blood rushing in your ears as you watch Red Hood get slammed into through the window of a run-down factory. Without thinking it through, you rush to the location the news reporter mentioned.

You never saw Red Hood so...defeated. He was always so big in your eyes, bigger than life. And now he is slowly bleeding from the neck while shards of glass are littered around him, with Gotham's so-called hero standing over him. You shout you're not exactly sure what, but it makes the Dark Knight freeze. You don't even spare him a glance as you kneel over your hero. His mask is even more cracked than the first time you met him. You can see the black eye and the split lip, but it's the resignation in the healthy eye that makes you unreasonably angry.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!!"

You shock yourself with the force of that angry roar. Batman takes a step back, arms held up in defeat. Eyes confused, searching but mostly...sad, that surprises you the most. You don't have time to dwell on it as you feel Red behind you trying to get up. Deciding you'll ignore the Bat indefinitely, you support the Hood with your weight. The rest is a blur, police escort you out of the scene, giving you a lecture about civilian safety you barely listen to.

He let him escape. Batman let Red Hood escape the scene. You heard him giving an explanation to the police, lying from under his black mask. You were more perplexed than ever by their relationship.

For the next few days, you barely sleep. Worried sick about Red Hood. He might as well be dead and you wouldn't even know. That thought brings tears to your eyes.

One snowy afternoon, you walk up the stairs from your apartment to the rooftop. You haven't been there for a long time, avoiding that place. Just so you don't have to wait for him, only for him to never come again. When you open the door, you almost pass out. He's there, on your rooftop, flesh and blood. His huge back is facing you, red hood back on.

"Red?" the inaudible croak of his name is carried away by the harsh wind, and yet, he turns around. Only this time he's not wearing a mask. There's a white streak in his hair, a jagged scar runs from his lip all the way to his hairline, and his eyes, unflinching, are fixed on you.

You have never seen such vibrant green.

[lanabuckybarnes]

BABYGIRL, Challenge for you:

Slutty little Drabble, kinky and the first character you think about.🤭🤭

| CottageCore | 18+ MINORS DNI

Everyone Knows to steer clear of the small cottage in the woods. Everyone except the Princess. Now she must deal with the consequences of her own actions — not that she’s complaining.

[More from Beast!Ari]

✧ Pairing ✧ Beast!Ari Levinson x Princess!Reader

✧ Warnings ✧ Size Kink, Dom!Ari, Rough PinV sex, Unprotected Sex, Dacryphilia, Breeding, Dirty talk, Squirting, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Belly bulge, Cum swelling, Knotting, A little Aftercare but definitely not enough for what you’ve been through - Any more lemme know!!

✧ Author Note ✧ Ohhh bbg thank you for the request, I’ve got a lil something for ya ~ ALSO my first time writing for someone that isn’t a Sebby character but @buckys-wintersoldier will tell you I have been OBSESSED with this man, I’ve written so many little drabbles about him and annoyed her with them 🤭🤭

✧ Word Count ✧ 799

Skirting about the palace halls unseen is virtually impossible when you’re 7ft tall. Yet Ari does it effortlessly. Each night since you invaded his cottage some time ago, professing your name and title he’s come for a piece of you. And every time he’s left you writhing underneath him.

You slipped on the silk sleep gown, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of it draping down over your bare ass before slipping under your heavy sheets. Your eyes tugged downwards with sleep when the soft nocking has them snapping open again.

You should’ve been more embarrassed at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tiny gusset of your thin panties. Behind the door, in all his glory was The Beast. Or as you’d come to find he preferred, Ari.

You’d heard stories of Ari from when you were a wee one “Don’t go into the cottage in the woods” this and “there is a hideous creature who calls that place home, people who have gone seeking it have not returned” that. You didn’t think the man eyeing you like prized venison was ugly at all, he was huge; his thin shirt ripped and ragged, barely covering his corded muscles each time he moved a little, the coarse hair over his chest and arms making your mouth dry.

Then there was that thing between his legs. You didn’t think you could ever go back to another man after Ari had plunged himself into you the first time, almost splitting your hungry snatch in two. That definitely wasn’t ugly.

✧ ✧

“Ari! Ari Ari” you moaned like a madman, hips pushing back to meet every one of the beast’s delightfully hard thrusts, tears flowing down your cheeks. His huge hand clapped over your mouth, thumb running up and down the bridge of your nose soothingly.

“Gotta be quiet little queen, don’t want the king to hear you” he snarled, sharp canines nicking the stretched skin of your neck as he pulled your face back.

For someone so concerned about your father hearing you both he certainly didn’t care about the loud squeaking of your thick mahogany bed, the headboard thumping dents into the wall it rested on. No, it was his beastly nature to have full control over you, that meant subduing your noises when he saw it fit.

Every time his thick, heavy cock pulled out a stream of your juices squirted onto the steadily soaking sheets, your walls singing at the small reprieve before squealing again when he speared it back in. Your cervix was most definitely bruised, the pain was almost too much for you to bear each time his plush tip kissed it.

“Aughh little queen, nothing but a village whore for your beast’s cock. What would your kingdom say when I pumped that belly full of cum, giving you my cubs…mmm shit squeezing me, you want your belly swollen because of me?” He groaned animalistically, his free hand pressing down into your tummy. His pace slowed for a second, a whimpering sound falling from his lips before he pulled you up into his chest, his paw for a hand grabbing your clenched one and pressing it to where he just had.

When you felt it you came undone, his head poking against your belly each time he sunk in; it was too much, far too much to hold back.

“Mmm flower you’re milking me, you like the feeling of me in there? So deep in that little body…fuck…oh little Queen beg for my come, beg for it inside that little womb” Ari’s voice wavered, his thrusts increasing to an almost impossibly fast pace and leaving you almost completely dumb with overstimulation.

“Want you cum Ari…fuckfuckfuck! Please Ari need you to swell me up please please ahhhh” you screamed, uncaring of volume as you came again with Ari, your vision going white as he held your body still, strumming your little clit as he filled you.

His hand moved with yours, running it over your now swollen tummy. His knot sitting thick and heavy at your entrance stopping any of his thick cream from slipping out.

He lay you on your side, his heavy body plastered on your back, his lips kissing up your neck before licking at your ear.

“Good little queen, all swollen with beast’s essence, make adorable babies…keep you to myself and make sure my queen is happy for the rest of her life” Ari mumbled, his settling finally and his arms holding you tighter.

You weren’t sure how much of it Ari meant, was it just talk from his high or was he planning on giving you everything he proclaimed? You weren’t sure and you were too dumb to think right now, but the thought of living in his small cottage away from the limelight, having his babies. It made you safe.

✧ ✧

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs & Likes are always appreciated. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more

Thank you for reading~

[dreamwatch]

Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #20 - Prompt: Under The Covers | Word Count: 979 | Rating: M | CW: period typical homophobia (alluded to) | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, sharp suits, Steve Harrington is stupid for Eddie Munson, Fluff but make it lustful

Steve’s at the Grammys. Holy Shit.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s brought Steve. He walked the red carpet alone last time, the rest of the band ahead of him with their wives and girlfriends, Eddie playing up the bachelor angle. Steve watched from their home. 

Tonight they’re ’best friends if anyone asks’, which Eddie thinks is unlikely because there are some big names here and like, who the fuck are they in the scheme of things?

They’re not nominated for anything; Eddie said they’d been asked to play a cover of Ramblin’ Gamblin Man and both Wayne and Steve’s dad are big Bob Seger fans so the band said yes. See, its little things like that that make him want to climb inside Eddie and never come out. Any other act is thinking about the prestige, Eddie’s thinking about whether his family would like it.

He loves this man so fucking much.

The band are sitting about ten rows back; he’s got a clear view of Sheryl Crow from his seat, and he’s pretty sure that’s the back of Whitney Houston’s head over to his left.

His new phone is buzzing in his pocket. Robin is obsessed with sending him messages. Tonight so far:

‘Is Stevie Nicks there?’

‘If she is please tell me she’s hot.’

‘Shit I think I just saw you!’

‘Is that Sheryl Crow in front of you?’

He deletes them to make space for new messages, hopefully something about how their friends are at the goddamn Grammys and not whether Shania Twain has a nice ass. (She does, he looked.)

Eddie taps his arm. “Okay, we have to go get changed.”

“Huh? Why?”

They’re wearing their ‘Corroded Coffin smart attire’, essentially their usual clothes minus the rips. They’re not exactly scruffy, per se, but… Steve’s in a suit here, you know? (The suit is borrowed, but it’s all about the effort.)

Eddie grins at him. “You didn’t think I was performing at the Grammys in this, did you?” He pulls at the long sleeve tee he’s wearing under his new leather jacket. 

“I mean, yeah, I kind of did.”

Eddie tsks. “For shame, Steve.” He leans in, achingly close, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Wish me luck.”

Just for a second Steve thinks about kissing him. Fuck everyone else, fuck the fans, the industry, he just wants to kiss his man publicly. But he doesn’t. Instead he shifts so his lips are practically touching the shell of Eddie’s ear.

“Good luck,” he whispers. 

Eddie shivers. Steve laughs.

The boys all leave, and now it’s Steve and The Wives.

Thirty minutes later the sound of a trashy high-hat fills the auditorium, lights flashing in time to the thu-thu thump bass drum pattern. Despite Jeff being their lead vocalist it’s Eddie, with his raspier, bluesier voice, that’s taking the lead tonight, and doesn’t that just make Steve’s heart fucking cry out with pride? And you know, Eddie, his Eddie, singing at a nationally televised event should be the thing he’s concentrating on, and it is! It is. But when the lights go up the first thing he actually notices is—

“Holy shit, they’re wearing suits!” 

Bonnie says it before anyone else gets a chance. He imagines the four of them are a picture right now, side by side, eyes on stalks because their men are all on stage at the Grammy’s wearing blacks suits, crisp white shirts and… fucking sunglasses. 

Look, he’s seen Eddie in a suit. It was a nice suit, but he looked about as comfortable as a priest in a lingerie store. This is not that.

These are sharp tailored suits, fitted to perfection. Eddie has too many buttons undone on the shirt, some of his chest exposed, that old Fender guitar pick necklace replaced with a solid silver copy (the original with Wayne). The stage lights hit his mirrored Ray Bans, the chain, the rings. But Steve can’t take his eyes off that fucking suit.

He’s going to devour him.

Eddie’s not a frontman, says he loves being able to just do his thing and let Jeff take care of the crowd. But he has a feeling things might change after tonight. 

The audience are on their feet, and Steve grabs the girls so they can head down to the backstage area. They have passes but even then he has to pull the ‘pregnant ladies coming through’ card to get them back to the green room. And when they get in there--

They’re still dressed in those fucking suits.

Eddie spins toward him. “Hey! What did you—“

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence, he has his hands on Eddie’s face and he’s dragging him in for a long, deep kiss, Eddie’s eyes wide and cross eyed.

When he finally comes up for air he realises Jeff, Gareth and Matt are all getting much the same treatment from their wives.

“You’re never taking this off, understand?” Steve says breathlessly. “Never.”

“What… the suit?”

“Duh, the suit, yes the suit. You’re never taking it off. I don’t care what you’re doing, mowing the lawn, taking the trash out, washing the car, don’t care. This,” he says gently pulling at a very expensive lapel, “is never leaving your body.” He goes in for another kiss. “God the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“In the suit?”

“Fuck yes, in the suit! Told you, you’re never taking this off.”

Eddie’s grin is slow and mischievous. “This is really doing it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

It’s doing it for everyone. There are three respectable married ladies here, mothers no less, acting like groupies at an Aerosmith gig. 

Steve squeezes his hips. “Let’s go.”

“Sunglasses: on or off?”

Steve wants to sink his teeth into him right here.

“On. Definitely on.”

The song:

The inspiration:

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Hello, hope you're doing alright. I have a pretty twisted one shot request concerning our amazing Shadowsinger. I was looking at the super natural dark dialogue prompts list and I feel like the #24 and #36 would fit perfectly for my request.

So basically: I was thinking about Azriel capturing the reader. She's a spy from the Spring Court and she was on a mission wandering at the border of the Night Court. When the reader wakes up, she's tied up in Azriel torture room. She also realizes how Azriel seems to be drawn to her. As she tries to find a way to make him untie her, she remembers something about Illyrians obssesion with bargains and deals. She offers to make a deal with him that the first one to make the other cum earn a favor. If she wins he spares her life, and if not he can kill her. And like as they conclude the pack, a tattoo appears on both of them and bla bla bla... and she ends up winning this challenge maybe?

Can't wait to see if you'll be willing to write this! I think it would have a lot of potential if written by you. Anyways, keep up your good work. I love your writing.

Okay, I know I said my next release would be the POM bonus bits, and then I’d be working on my other pieces, but I got this request and had immediate inspiration for it, so here it is!

Thank you to whoever sent this in! I hope I did it justice. It was very fun to write! I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

The prompts you requested to be included in this will be written in bold.

Note: I haven’t tagged anyone in this because I desperately need to sort out my tag lists and haven’t had the chance. I’ll add them later if I get the time. Sorry!

Warnings: Smut! 18+, minors dni. NSFW. Some details of aggressive behaviour. Azriel being a sore ass LOSER.

Lust is a Losing Game — Azriel x Reader.

You can feel the caress of Night before your eyes open.

Every single court you have trespassed and traversed has its own distinct feel. The Autumn Court feels perpetually — and unsurprisingly — like a stroll through a forest, touched by brisk air and hues of oranges, yellows, reds. Your home court — Spring — has a feeling of renewed hope; like the first rays of sun after a long, harsh winter.

The Night Court is blood-drenched, rippling darkness, and the allure of scandal, of want, of lust.

Night time is for secrets and exploration. It’s for burning the bridge between who you are in the daylight and becoming something…else. It’s exciting, and it’s coaxing, and—

Cold, sharp metal prods beneath your chin. Its point is lethal. Any wrong move, and you’re bleeding.

Perhaps even more lethal is the quiet voice that commands, “Eyes open.”

Slowly, you comply — because you are both intrigued and wise. Intrigued by where you went wrong and where you ended up. Wise, because you know that cold, granite voice.

It doesn’t surprise you in the least to open your eyes and find Azriel the shadowsinger stood in front of you, his blade at your throat.

You know of him, of course — spymaster of the Night Court, a rare species of fae, far more powerful than many realise. You’ve sat across from him during terse meetings between courts and been the target of those guarded, icy stares. You’ve never heard him utter more than a few words at a time; he is spoken for by reputation, by violence and threat and battle.

But you’d know that voice anywhere.

You peer up at him through eyes blurred by some sort of power. And when your lips tilt up into a smile, a subtle tick of his jaw tells you it incenses him.

“Hello, Azriel.” You rasp.

The blade presses into your skin as he asks, “What were you doing at the border of our court?”

“Picking wildflowers. Foraging berries. Making a daisy chain. All the things a lady loves to do.”

A quiet noise sounds in his throat. “Is that what you are? A lady?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, shadowsinger.”

His answering smile is cruel. A harsher press, and his blade nicks your throat. A drop of warm blood blooms on your skin.

Your eyes, rapidly clearing, take quick stock of your surroundings. The room is dark and damp and cold, empty save for the chair on which you sit — to which you are constrained. You can scent the blood of a thousand previous victims of the shadowsinger, and you imagine the vacancy of the space must have been more intimidating to them, somehow, than if the room were filled to the brim with torture instruments. The lack thereof tells anyone who finds themselves here that the Night Court’s spymaster does not need such things to do his work.

You try to shift in the chair, and find yourself well and truly stuck in place. Your gaze drops to your feet, where shadows act as manacles, as firm and strong and steel. Though your hands are restrained around the back of the chair, the cool touch tells you that a shadow binds them, too.

Azriel follows your gaze. A smug smile graces his mouth as he watches you try and fail to move.

“An impressive little trick.” You offer, nodding to the shadows around your ankles. ���Now be a gentleman and untie me.”

“Tell me what you were doing at our border, and maybe I will.”

“Tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine.”

“You’re not really in the position to barter, right now, are you?”

“And yet, here I am.” You smile. “Bartering.”

He stares down at you, shrouded in shadows, in night. His aloofness has been perfected over centuries, but you somehow know where to look in order to tell — you’re getting on his nerves.

A slight angling of his head. Shifting on his feet. He drags the tip of that blade up, not pressing quite hard enough to draw more blood, but to make a twisted heat enter your veins. The blade stops at your cheek.

“I don’t know how you do things in the Spring Court.” His breath caresses your face. “But I can’t imagine it’s part of your job description to be a smartass who can’t keep her mouth shut.”

Your eyes flick down to that blade. Back up to his gaze. “I can’t imagine it’s part of yours to lust over me so tirelessly.”

The shadowsinger actually falters.

Something tells you he would never do that in front of somebody else.

His teeth grit. He bites out, “Tell me why the fuck you were at the border—”

“I’ve seen you, you know.” A satisfied smirk curls your lips. You will not give away that your arms and legs are beginning to ache. “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me for years.”

A clatter bounces off the walls as he tosses his dagger to the floor. Can’t be one that means much to him, then. You almost laugh, but a scarred hand is gripping your chin to the point of pain. He tilts — yanks — your chin up. “Pray, tell, how do I look at you?”

“With hunger.”

“Hatred.”

“Lust.”

“Loathing.”

“Like you want to touch me.”

“I am going,” he snarls, “to wrap my hands around your throat and—”

“Fuck me?”

“Kill you.”

A mocking pout puckers your lips. “Less sexy.”

"You must be a fool," his fingers bite into your skin, "to laugh in the face of such danger."

"What danger would that be? You've handed me your threats. What are you waiting for, Azriel? Kill me."

He could easily retrieve his blade and gut you then and there. You know it. He knows it.

And yet he doesn't do it.

He clenches his jaw so hard that you hear his teeth clash. He squeezes your chin, calluses and scars grazing you. It feels...good.

But then a growl is ripping from deep within his chest, and he's tearing his hand away and pivoting on the spot. He's confident enough in the shadow bindings to turn his back to you, clearly.

You just smile. He can't do it. Can't kill you.

"I'll do you the courtesy of asking one last time." His voice is strained. "Why were you snooping around our border."

"Perhaps I was hoping you'd find me and tie me to a chair. I'm into that kind of stuff, you know. We could make this fun."

"You think this room is intended for fun?"

"I think you and I could have fun anywhere, shadowsinger."

He says nothing. You watch as he sucks in a deep breath, steels himself. By his command, a shadow dances out and retrieves his blade from the floor. His fist flexes at his side.

Perhaps you can irritate him enough that he'll either kill you or let you leave out of pure exasperation. Or turn on the tears and plead innocence, that you're just a foolish, foolish girl doing her High Lord's bidding.

Or perhaps you can have fun.

You scan your brain for what you know about this court. How you can use it to your advantage — use Azriel to your advantage. An idea knits itself in the twisted avenues of your mind.

"This court has a thing for bargains, does it not?" You watch Azriel's shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. "How about making a bargain with me?"

He chokes on a scoff. "Why would I want to make a bargain with you?"

"Because you want me."

Slowly, he turns. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pinched. He looks two seconds away from using that blade to wipe your head clean from your neck.

But then he smiles, cruelly and coldly. "How very sure of yourself you sound."

You mimic that smile. "I am." Damn right you are. "So here is my deal: you toy with that lust however you like. We tease each other. Coax reactions from each other."

"Where is the bargain in that?" No outright refusal.

"If I make you cum first, shadowsinger," your eyes fall to his breeches. You could swear you glimpse the outline of a bulge. "If I make you cum first, I get to walk out of here with my head still attached to my body. But if you make me cum first...well. You get to know why I was snooping around the Night Court border, and you can send my head back to my High Lord in a pretty little box."

He stares at you for what feels like so, so long. Head to toe, his eyes rake over you. His shadows whisper in his ears, things you don't need nor care to hear.

Because you might not have his shadows, but you are a spy, just as he is. And you know his mind is already made up.

Shadowsinger, spymaster, feared member of the infamous Night Court — but still, a male weakened by lust. Lust for you that has driven him mad for a long, long time.

Still, he tries to keep up a front. He sneers at you, "You'd so willingly barter away your life?"

You smile. Simply, prettily. "It turns me on."

Oh, he's lost to his need. There's a newer scent that has joined the present ones of cedar and night-chilled mist and bloodstains. This one is deeper, smokier. Spicier.

He points his blade at you, the tip glimmering. And the shadow binds fall away as he demands, "Undress."

Your hands fall back to your sides. "Are you saying you agree to my terms?"

"Yes. Now take. Your fucking. Clothes off."

"What way is that to talk to a lady?"

"You are no lady—" His words fall short as, with a snap of your fingers, your clothes disappear. Leave you in nothing but your undergarments. His eyes drink in the brassiere, the silky little fabric that hangs from your hips. He swallows. "And I am no gentleman."

A spy you may be — someone who throws themself into danger and risk and dirt and blood, time and time again. But you never see a reason not to wear pretty underwear while doing so. And gods, in this moment, you're very glad of that choice.

It's the same colour as the siphons that adorn the male before you. The coldness in Azriel's eyes is replaced by intense, raw heat. He takes a step towards you, but you kick out a leg.

"Your turn." You say.

He pauses. Chucks his dagger aside again.

And then his clothes are gone.

He doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed by the fact that he stands utterly naked before you. So much golden, sculpted skin on show. All over, white scars tell the stories of previous injuries. His body is a novel written over time.

That silky underwear of yours is already soaked as you take your fill of him. For a moment, you think you might stumble in your bravado. He's huge and hard and standing to attention. Utterly perfect.

But you sit up straight in the chair and plant your hands on the arms. Your legs part, and Azriel hungrily tracks the movement.

"There is only one rule." You tell him. "We don't want to make this too easy, after all."

His jaw flexes. Eyes don't stray from the growing damp patch between your thighs. "What's the rule."

"You can touch me. You can lick me. You can put your cock in my mouth and my hand and rub it against my skin. But you can't fuck me."

He starts, pupils blowing wide. "But—"

"Not today." Your lips curl up. "But if I win, and I walk out of here? Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me."

"You are wicked."

"Do you accept my rule?"

"Yes."

You are wicked, indeed. You widen that gap between your legs until you're hooking them over the arms of the chair. Baring your silk-covered cunt to him. His eyes damn near roll into the back of his head at the sight.

"Do you think you can stand to touch me without fucking me?" You hum, your fingers dancing down to that, sweet, sweet spot. You run them over the dampness, biting your lip. "I don't think you can."

"You underestimate me." Azriel growls. "And you're going to cum first."

There is no opportunity for you to volley a response. Not as Azriel surges forward and yanks you out of the chair, his arms securing you. His firm, velvety cock presses against your stomach. His lips slide over yours in a harsh, bruising kiss.

A male of natural elegance and grace, he doesn't even falter in the kiss or his steps as he marches you back, back, until you're pressed up against a cold wall. You nip his bottom lip and reach between your bodies, wanting to feel the pulsing weight of his cock in your palm, but his hands are grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head.

"No hands." He snarls onto your lips. "Just my cock and your cunt. Whoever cums first is the loser."

You almost want to laugh. So, so easy this will be.

But then he's letting go of your hands and pinning you with a knee. And out of fucking nowhere, a slim bottle appears between his fingers. You watch, leaning against the cold surface of the wall, as he pulls the stopper out of the bottle and tilts it towards you.

Oil drips onto your chest. Rolls down your breasts, your stomach. Azriel watches with predatory focus as it floods to where he wants it — soaking your underwear.

The blue silk darkens, sticks to your skin. Showcases everything that Azriel so desperately wants, but everything he will not get — today.

And then so quickly, he's hoisting your leg at his hip. So quickly, his cock is pressing into your soaking undergarments.

He positions his length between your thighs and guides it through your clothed folds. Both of you let out an immediate gasp at the taunting sensation — that a mere bit of fabric separates you from what you both want.

"Is this how you're going to play it?" Your head falls back, teeth digging into your lower lip. "You think thrusting through my clothes is going to stop you from cumming?"

"No." He makes a small noise, slowly rolling his hips. Watches his glistening cock rubbing against the silk. "But I think I'm going to make you cum fast from it."

"And then you get to kill me."

"And then," the head of his cock nudges your clit, "I get to kill you."

The sensation is divine, you can’t deny it. A coiled, aching pleasure that sits tightly in your lower belly. Azriel hears your intake of breath, and he smiles like this will be easy for him. You’re having none of that.

You’re thankful for your refined stealth and balance as you clamp your leg tighter around him, pull him harder against you. His hands press flat against the wall either side of your head, and you both gasp as his cock rubs so torturously against you, up and down and up and down.

“Gods,” He grunts, dipping down to brush his lips against yours. “This is torture.”

You smile. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to remove my underwear? You still can’t fuck me, though.”

A suffering groan chokes out of him, and he throws his head back. Because yes, he fucking wants you to remove your underwear. Yes, he wants to feel his bare skin rubbing against your bare skin.

But gods, the temptation to slide his cock into you is going to be unbearable.

But even though he knows that, and you know that, he smiles like this is nothing. He bites out, pleasure wavering his voice, “Why not? It’ll only make you lose.”

“I think you’re giving yourself a little too much credit.” You say, and then your underwear is gone, leaving you naked and dripping with nothing to shield you.

Not expecting it so fast, Azriel’s cock slides easily through your folds — and the head nudges your entrance. Very nearly slips in. He growls and halts the roll of his hips.

“Oops.” You smirk. “Careful, shadowsinger.”

“You’re fucking insufferable.” He bites back, and then he’s kissing you.

The kiss robs you of breath and of words. All you can do is twine your arms around his neck and welcome the sensation of him fucking through your folds, your wetness his pleasure. You’re lost to the feeling of him bumping against your clit, rubbing against it. Your legs are beginning to tremble.

“I want to fuck you.” Azriel moans, dropping his head to take in the sight of his cock against your pussy, never entering, never going deeper.

“I know.” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “And you have wanted to for a very long time.”

“Yes.” He can’t even deny it. “Yes.”

“You think about me.”

“Yes.”

“You wonder what it’s like to be inside me.”

“Yes.”

“But not today.” Your hands stroke down his muscled arms, and you moan as he grinds his cock against your clit. “Not today.”

“Nor any other day.” His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head up. “Because I will have your head. Cum for me, lady.”

He kisses you again, and gods, you want to cum. Every single inch of you begs and trembles for it. You’re clenching around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you, fucking into you, spilling into you—

But through your pleasured haze, you remember: you will be victorious. Azriel cannot win.

And so when he’s kissing you and kissing you, moans catching in his throat and landing in your mouth, hips faltering with every thrust, you pull your lips from his and sink your teeth into his neck with a harsh bite. You’ve always imagined he’d like that.

And simultaneously, you lock him between your thighs and roll your hips torturously slow, dragging every last sensation from him.

Azriel’s cock, nestled snugly between the folds of your cunt, spasms and twitches. He slams his hands against the wall and goes still. Tries to pull back the control.

But it’s too late for that.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and then ropes of cum are spurting out of him and landing on your stomach, your breasts, your arms. Beads of it roll down his cock. He trembles hard, panting, groaning, growling.

And you suck harshly at his neck. Suck until it leaves a mark. And then pull away with a smile.

Breathing so, so heavily, Azriel’s gaze drops down to his cock like the damn thing has betrayed him. He’s wide-eyed and outraged. He’s not sure what’s just happened.

A horrid longing still aches between your legs and makes you want to continue until you’re exploding, too. But the triumph of a win is pleasure in itself.

“Well, well, well.” You glance down at the cum now coating your skin. “I do believe I was right.”

“What—” Azriel breathes, shaking out of his lust. “What kind of witchcraft was that?” He touches his neck, where you bit him. As though the answer lies there.”

You shrug. “No witchcraft, though I’m flattered you think so. You simply lost the game.”

“I. Don’t. Lose.”

“You just did.” You pat his shoulder. “There, there.”

He rips away, so fast that you almost fall. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Gladly.” With a snap of your fingers, you’re squeaky clean and clothed once more. Azriel’s clothes return, too. “And I’ll do so with my pretty head still on my shoulders—

“Get out.”

“Because I won the game—”

“Get. Out.”

“A bargain’s a bargain, after all—”

“I will not tell you again.” His hand grabs the back of your neck, hard enough to bruise, and he marches you to the door, yanking it open. “Out.”

You’re thrown into a dim-lit hallway, your body colliding with a cold brick wall. You throw Azriel a smile over your shoulder, despite your teeth singing at the impact.

“Try not to wank over me too much!” You call, as he slams the door shut behind him. “See you around!”

It’s only once you’ve winnowed back to your own court, and you’re bathing the day from your skin, that you notice the small black band inked into your upper arm. You scrub at it until it’s red raw. It doesn’t budge.

The mark of a bargain. But you had always believed that the tattoos of bargains disappeared once the terms were fulfilled…

But if I win, and I walk out of here? Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me…

It had all been bravado. And yet…it had unwittingly been woven into the bargain.

Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me.

That’s the only way you’re getting that mark off your skin.

[muwapsturniolo]

You should definitely do one when Matt gets caught by his girlfriend using a vibrator and they do all that and she used it on him and all that 👍

✯It’s a vibe✯

Summary: Matt gets caught and his girlfriend helps him out.

Warning: NSFW CONTENT. vibrators, masturbation, cum, thats about it.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Matt had a secret.

About a month ago he was cat-sitting for his girlfriend Y/n. The girl was out of town to visit family, and she asked him to stay at her place and watch her cat.

Her cat loved to tear up her furniture.

He happily obliged, he would do anything for the girl.

It was an easy task, take care of Jay-meow (Y/n loved Jersey shore) and make sure no one broke into her house.

Knowing the girl wouldn’t care, he found himself sleeping in her room for the week. Sometime throughout the week, his charger broke, causing him to rummage through her room in attempts to find one.

He scoured the whole room before he finally got to her bedside table. He opened the heavy drawer and immediately fell back.

Dildos, vibrators, nipple clamps, lube.

Almost anything you could imagine.

His hand hovers over the drawer, debating on grabbing one of the many sex toys.

A certain item catches his attention and he grabs it.

It’s a big wand with what looks like a mallet head on the end. The brand reads Hitachi.

A vibrator.

His imagination runs wild. Images of the girl lying down naked, her hand wrapped around the device as she presses it against her folds, her moans bouncing off the walls as the vibrations send shocks through her body.

He feels himself growing harder and harder each second. His thumb lightly presses down on the button, his hand instantly shaking from the vibrations.

He hesitantly presses the bulb of the wand against his growing bulge.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping it.

Long story short, he ended up cumming in his pants.

That was a month ago.

Today, his own vibrator came in the mail. Luckily, Chris and Nick were gone. He has the whole house to himself, he could be as loud as he wants.

He already worked himself up, watching a few videos, palming himself through his sweatpants, imaging different scenarios of you and him.

He was ready.

He lay in his bed, the only thing adorning his body was his black boxers and his signature Horse necklace.

He takes the charged device and turns it on the lowest setting, letting it run over his body before getting to his waist.

He runs it over his bulge and lets a deep groan emerge from his throat.

He does this for a few moments, building up the tension. He uses his left hand to pull down his boxers, his dick springing free.

His tip was an angry shade of red, much like his swollen lips. His tip is leaking, beads of precum rolling off the side.

With his mind going back to a video he watched, he presses the vibrator against his base. His body immediately lurches forward, a loud and shakey moan falling from his lips. He throws his head back, eyes falling closed as the pleasure reaps his body.

“F-fuck!” He curses, a whine following close after.

His hips jerk upward, begging for more. He moves the wand a bit higher, louder moans bouncing off the walls.

He’s so busy pleasuring himself, he doesn’t hear the front door opening.

He keeps going, his moans getting even louder.

He’s close.

His door opens and his eyes fly open, landing on his girlfriend.

Y-y/-“ his eyes clamp shut, his body lurching upward as he reaches his high, sounds of pleasure filling the girls ears.

The vibrator falls out of his hand, landing on the bed.

He pants, out of breath from the strong orgasm.

He almost forgot the girl was here until he feels the bed dip down. He opens his eyes and sees her staring at him, a look in her eye that he just can’t read.

“I-I’m sorry…” he mumbles, his cheeks tinted red. She hums and eyes the vibrator on the bed that’s buzzing softly.

She recognizes the brand, she owns it.

She looks back a Matt, a nonchalant look on her face. “You know, I have one of these, this brand specifically.”

Matt hears his heart in his ears as she picks up the wand. He stay wuiet, not knowing what to say or do. “You want to know something even crazier?”

“H-hm?” His voice cracks as his nervousness becomes even more evident.

It’s as if she’s hypnotizing him, her eyes keeping him entranced. So entranced that he doesn’t see her hand moving towards his dick, still holding the vibrator.

“When I came back to LA, my vibrator was out of battery. When I left it was fully charged…know anything about that?”

“N-shit!” He grunts feeling her press the vibrator against him. He clenches the bed sheets, his head lulling back. She grabs his jaw, forcing him to look at her.

“Answer the question Matt.”

“N-ohhh no!” He lies. The girl turns the speed up higher, her head tilting to the side. “Mmm I think you’re lying. I think you do know. Tell me Matt, were you getting off with my vibrator?”

He groans, his head falling forward on to her shoulder as he breathes deeply.

“F-fuck, please.” He whimpers out.

“Tell me or I stop.” She threatens. He quickly grabs her wrist, his head shooting up.

“N-no! P-please don’t st-fuck- don’t stop!” He urges. Hes so close to summing and if she stops he might hold it against her all the way into the after life.

“Then tell me the truth Matt. Were you being a dirty boy and using my vibrator to touch yourself?”

Pathetic whines and whimpers leave his mouth as he bucks his hips, begging for more.

“Y-yes! I-I was a dirt-fuck me-dirty boy! I-I did it! I’m s-“She cuts him off by going up another speed. He grabs her shirt, yanking her forward until their lips are pressed together.

Their lips move together as their teeth clash. Matt groans into the kiss, pulling away and pressing his forehead against hers, “M’close, so close! God don’t stop!” She listens and keeps going.

She lets her thumb swipe over his tip, and almost immediately he's shooting his load all over her hand. He groans as she keeps the toy in place, even having the nerve to turn it up another notch. Matt hisses and tries to pull away, but she keeps him close.

"y/n I-I can't"

"Yes, you can. My vibrator lasts five hours when fully charged, and when I came back it was dead-" His eyes become glossy at the overstimulation occurring.

"-so tell me Matthew, how many times did you cum in my bed."

He can't think, he's too busy focusing on his breathing and his rising orgasm. She puts the vibrator on his tip and he lets out a yelp that sounds like a kicked puppy.

"Answer me."

"f-five!"

She hums and moves the vibrators back to his base, edging him. "And what were you thinking about? Be honest." He shakes his head, not wanting to admit the dirty thoughts that once ran across his mind. "God," he pants into her neck.

"You're not cumming until you tell me," she states firmly. Turning the vibrations down, Matt whines feeling his orgasm decline. "Turn it u-up, please!" he begs.

"Tell me what you thought."

He curses to himself, wishing he would have just charged the toy before leaving her home.

"I-I thought about you." he swallows harshly. His mouth feels dry, almost like he's dehydrated.

"Mhm," she begins to move the vibrator up and down his length. "H-how you got off with the vi-" he choked as she went up a speed.

"Keep going," she encourages, her ego rising as she indulges in the thoughts her boyfriend had about her.

"You using the vibrator, a-and how I want to watch." He confesses. She chuckles and goes up another speed. "You want to watch me pleasure myself? Hmm?"

"Oh god, yes!" his pleading gets louder as she places the vibrator on his tip once again.

"Is that it?" He quickly shakes his head, his breathing becomes short pants. "I-I thought about you using the vi-vibrator on me and making me c-cum!"

"Aww you wanna cum? You want to be a dirty boy and cum all over your toy?"

He nods quickly, rocking his hips into the toy as if he was fucking someone. "Be a good boy and cum for me."

He slams his lips against hers, groaning as their tongues dance with each other. She feels his hot seed cover her hand, a little bit even landing on her thigh. Knowing it would be too much for him to keep going, she pulls it away, getting ready to turn it off.

"Don't," he mutters as he pulls away from her lips. He pushes her back and climbs over her, snatching the vibrating toy from her hands and pushing it against her clothed center.

Her eyes close as she lets out a soft whimper.

He leans down and whispers huskily into her ear.

"It's your turn."

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

idk why my brain works the way it does but I love whiny matt.

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3

[turbulentscrawl]

Some Body Type HCs

Hey ho!! I'm back (kinda maybe). Life has been really hectic, and frankly I just haven't had time to write much. BUT some of the friends I've made through IDV got me back to drawing, so now I have some headcanons WITH VISUALS for you. I'm putting this under the cut for partial nudity on the drawings.

(You'll have to forgive me for making it small and watermarking the hell out of it. I'm paranoid.)

Aesop

-Pale, and not a lot of body hair. Unlike some of the others, this is normal for him. He has trouble growing facial hair, which is a blessing for him because he hates having it almost as much as he hates having to shave.

-Aesop is averse to several textures, and this causes some issues for him at mealtimes. He's more of a grazer, as far as his eating habits go. He's underweight and a bit malnourished as a result of these, and so he has a slight hour-glass shape.

-He's very hyenic. He hates the feeling of lotion on his skin, but he uses good-quality soaps when he bathes, so his skin is fairly soft.

Emil

-Very hairy. (Full disclosure-this hc of mine was born partially as a spiteful counter to those in the fandom who tend to infantize him) Ada shaves his face and neck for him about once a week, but they don't bother with the rest of his body hair.

-Has quite a but of scarring under all that hair, too. His back, wrists, and legs have the worst of it, from old dog attacks and pulling against restraints.

-Not overly muscular, but he is a little stronger than average in the arms and core from his parkour-like hook maneuvering.

Luchino

-The growth of scales across his body have made his body hair sparse and inconsistent. He will still grow some on his chest and legs, but he shaves it off because he doesn't like the patchiness.

-He's health-conscious and, despite his busy schedule, still finds time to work out. He's muscular and lean due partially to this fact, as well as his ongoing mutations keeping his body fat percentages really low.

-For the same reason, aside from the areas with scale growth, Luchino's skin is well-kept. He uses many lotions and balms to ease the itching of said scales, so his entire body is well-moisturized and has a golden, dewy glow.

Norton

-The tallest survivor.

-Lean and lankey. He's strong, but still bulking up after years of near-starvation, so his muscle mass and body fat seem low.

-Has an average amount of body hair. His chest, legs, and arms all have a fair amount. (his head hair and pubes are much thicker) The burn scars left from the accident have prevented hair growth in certain areas of his body. He grows facial hair reasonably fast and has to shave at least every other week.

Andrew

-One of the tallest survivors.

-Vaguely dorito-shaped with broad shoulders. He's quite strong in general, as a result of years of hard labor like digging and throwing about coffins (and corpses). He has some body hair--but less than average--but it is thin and fine, so difficult to see without being up-close. The hair on his head is a bit thin too, he doesn't have much volume there.

-Very pale (obviously.) It's painfully obvious when he blushes--it goes all the way from his ears, down to his belly.

-He has some faint, scattered scarring just from accidents over the years. Nicking himself on sharp wooden edges, his own shovel, etc.

Luca

-Very thin. Luca hyperfocuses on work and forgets to eat a lot, and was malnourished during his time in prison. He's very physically weak.

-He grows very little body hair, and the hair on his head tends to be thin. Not many people know this, but he has a small bald patch from where he worries and pulls at his hair during moments of frustration.

-Has faint electrical scarring across his shoulders, chest, and back. Always has circles under his eyes due to his poor sleep schedule.

Naib

-Bulky and column-shaped. He's very lean and muscular from years in his various services. One of the shortest survivors (as well as one of the widest lol.)

-Covered in various scars. Life's been rough for him.

-He grows a fair amount of body hair, but he shaves it all off. This is something he does as a "leave-no-trace" sort of precaution for work, rather than as an actual preference. He's considered shaving his head, too, but he is a bit fond of his hair for personal reasons. The hair on his head is thick, but a bit dry. He doesn't always have the chance to use good products.

Victor

(My love for Victor has grown exponentially since I took my unintentional break. You heard it here, folks, I have new favorites. ask me about it lol)

-Has a fairly average, fit body type. He doesn't work out, specifically, but does a LOT of walking, running, and hiking so he's in good-standing with his cardio. He has a very slight softness around his tummy and arms, since his legs do the most of the work.

-Has a t-shirt tan from all his time outside. He's very rosey, too. Isn't that blush adorable?

-Has a very small amount of chest hair, and some on his legs. Similar to Andrew, his body hair is fine and difficult to see. He has trouble growing a beard--much to his holiday displeasure.

[indieyuugure]

Your comic series is the first Rottmnt comic Iv ever read! It was an amazing first impression to the Rottmnt fandom! Could you teach me how to draw the turtle boys ( rise turtles)?

Also love the new update!

Aw! I’m so glad my comic made on good impression on you! ^v^

Of course! I’d love to help you!

So first thing’s first, here’s the boys the best I can draw them. The most important thing when learning to draw new characters is identifying what makes them look like them. We’ll start with the faces since that’s, in most cases, the point of focus.

Leo’s face is a pretty tall and vaguely pentagonal. His face is also very angular, the corners of his cheeks and top of his head are very sharp. Leo has the traditional style mask with tails that drop down to about his waist.

Donnie has that smart boi forehead and majestic eyebrows. His forehead often has a soft curve to it while, similarly to Leo, his cheeks and jaw use sharp angles. Remember too that the top of his head is flat, there’s no curve. His mask is that newer pirate style that wraps over the top of his head, with the tails looking like curvy squares.

Mikey’s face is a combination of a rounded square and a circle. The top of his head, while much rounder than Donnie’s, is somewhat square. The bottom of his face is a curve. Sometimes I draw the curve in line segments, but it’s not a requirement and won’t impact the way he looks. In general though, Mikey has a very circular face. His mask is the traditional TMNT style with the rounded bouncing tails on the back.

Raph is arguably the hardest to get right for some odd reason. Really though Raph’s face is just a shorter version of Leo’s face with slightly more exaggerated angles. His face is like a fat pentagon. Also tip: Raph’s eyes are always just a little smaller then you think they’re going to be. Trace some scenes from the ROTTMNT movie, you’ll see what I mean. Raph’s mask is the same style as Donnie’s where it covers the whole top of his head. There’s a small nick on the edge above his right cheek and the tails are tattered.

Okay, next are their markings! They play a lot in how easily identifiable they are.

I figured these diagrams should help as a little map as to what spots go where.

Alright, now we’ll look at their shells. There are many amazing diagrams and explanations for drawing their shells on Pinterest I’ve found, but I’ll sum it up here as best I can.

Leo’s shell is very sleek in design making his is profile look the thinnest of his brothers. Many people describe his general body shape as being an inverted triangle.

Donnie’s shell is very straight with hardly any curves. I didn’t include his battle shell in this since that qualifies as “gear” in my opinion, so you get to see what Donnie’s shell looks like! You’ll notice that the sides of his shell are very wide, which I’m guessing is because the curve of his carapace is so shallow.

Mikey’s shell is very similar to Leo’s but is a lot thicker and boxier(haha get it? Cause he’s like, a Box Turtle? :D I’m so lame…). He’s also much rounder and the distance between his plastron and carapace is pretty big.

Raph’s shell is probably the most complex of the boys because of all the spikes. Good things to keep in mind are that the spikes on the top of his plastron angle out, and spikes on his carapace flow up. In general think of Raph as a pentagon, he’s got big broad shoulders and arms and almost comically short legs. (And yes, I’m aware that I didn’t include the side of his shell here, it was too big to fit on the diagram. But just to give you an idea of where it should be, around the “w” in “flow” is where it should connect to his carapace.

Okay! So now that we’ve covered what the boys look like, let’s apply it to their bodies!

Here’s a quick sketch of Leo. “Oh, but Indie” I hear people say, “I can only draw basic shapes and stick figures!” Well to that I say good because that’s what I’m doing too!

For drawing action, it’s crucial to capture the energy of the character. And in a style like Rise’s energy is an iconic trait. So I’ve re-invented this “shape method” to actually be useful. The number one thing is that these shapes are loose guides as to the positioning of the body. Don’t think of these shapes as “well chests are like cubes and arms are like rectangles.” These shapes are place holders. I could replace those circles with stars and it wouldn’t change anything. I just use circles because they’re faster to scribble and stand out against the hard angles of everything else.

Here’s a picture of the shapes overlayed on the image, as you see, these shapes are guides to help comprehend a complex angle in 3D space. Sadly I don’t have much I can assist with on proportions, since I learned purely by studying total uncreepily real life people and myself (I swear I’m posing in the mirror for purely educational reasons! Okay!?).

But anyway, for this kind of thing, practice is the only remedy. Just draw action pose after action pose. Trace scenes from ROTTMNT and the movie to teach your eye to see what things should look like and to train your brain to recognize patterns of shapes and angles.

I hope you found this at all helpful. I’m not really sure how great of a teacher I am but people keep asking questions like these so I guess I’m okay. Glad you liked ROTP so much and I’m glad it made such a good impression on you! ^v^

Good question! :]

And of course if you have more questions, feel free to ask. Here are some previous asks about drawing I’ve gotten that you might also find interesting:

Tricks for Drawing Extra Expressive Faces

More Tricks for Drawing Expressions

Tips and Tricks to Drawing Non-Graphic Wounds

Basic Guide and Tips for Drawing the 2012 and Rise Turtles

How to Draw 2012 Raph’s Fire Ninpo

Nailing The 2012 TMNT Style in 2D

Important Concepts in Drawing Female Characters

[gilverrwrites]

NSFW Alphabet [Lucifer]

Lucifer / GN Human Reader

TW: Somewhat unhealthy relationship/sexual habits

Notes: Pretty sure all angels are like, assigned gender neutral at creation (at least that’s my HC) but I do refer to Lucifer by he/him. All HCs transfer to any vessel excluding physical descriptions.

Self indulgent dom Lucifer undertones, some fluff.

If you enjoy, and would like to see more, please let me know!

Rating: M/18+

I hope you have a great rest of your day.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

If he legitimately has let his walls down and is viewing this as some form of relationship, then he’s surprisingly soft and cuddly. Don’t talk about it, or he’ll get defensive. Just enjoy the moment for what it is.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

Of his vessel? His tongue. It’s sharp and dirty. He loves using it to tempt you, and loves using it even more on your core, making you wither and moan for him.  

Of yours; your face, specifically your expressions. He just loves watching the way your face crumples or eases, the way your cheeks will blush or drain dependent on what you’re feeling, on what he’s doing to you.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

He loves making a mess of you, will pull out and cum on any part of you he can reach. He especially likes cumming on your face, then slowly scooping it into your mouth.  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

Lucifer is VERY open about his sex life, to literally anyone. He’s an open book with every explicit details, they don’t even have to ask.

He’ll tell them all about the positions he had you in last night, how many times you cried his name, or took his load.

He’s much less vocal about the more tender nights. When you spend hours wrapped up close, rocking together, unguarded. Those moments are just for him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Given his distaste for humans, and having spent such a long time in the cage; not particularly experienced. But what he lacks in practice, he makes up for in confidence, energy, and enthusiasm.  

F = Favorite positions (this goes without saying) 

Anything deep penetration: legs on shoulders, the flatiron, and especially the lap dance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Lucifer cannot go more than 10 minutes without letting his impulsive thoughts win, and more often than not, those thoughts are humorous to some extent. He may have a big ego, and when it comes to serious matters he will snap necks over nothing, but he’s lived to long to take himself to seriously in moments like these. Additionally, he loves to make you laugh.  

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

I subscribe to the idea that vessels hair stops growing hair and whatnot when they’re being possessed (it’s definitely not just TV convenience). That being said, Nick was too consumed with grief to stay on top of that area before Lucifer came along. And Lucifer does not care enough to trim it up either.  

It’s clean, but it’s kind of a jungle down there.  If you ask him real nicely though, he might tidy it up.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Flirting comes easy to Lucifer, but romance is a foreign language. He can be vulnerable with you if he allows himself to be, if he feels comfortable enough. But if you want romance, you’re gonna have to be vocal and concise, and even then I wouldn’t expect it often or tactfully.  

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

Alone in the cage, he tried it from time to time, and not just jerking. He really got to know himself, his likes, and dislikes. You’ll do a lot of stuff if you’re bored enough.

He even did it when Michael was locked up with him. It was a cheap shot, and sexually he didn’t enjoy it, but he did it just to laugh at the Michaels disgust.

Out of the cages, less so.

Once he got his clutches on you, never.  

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

100% has a praise/worship kink, tell him you’re ruined for anyone else, tell him nobody could ever make you fell this good and he’ll be riding that euphoria all day. ‘If It makes you comfy:’ Earnestly call him your God, and he’ll cum on the spot.  

Simultaneously he has a degradation kink for you.  He’ll have you on your knees, hands taught in your hair, growling “Beg for it you filthy whore. Beg me to let you worship my cock." 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

No real preference, but he does like the way your eyes get wide, and your heartbeat hammers when he fucks you somewhere risky. Somewhere you might get caught. “What would you do? If they caught us? What would they think of you, underwear around your ankles, spread open for me like the good little pet you are?”  The correct answer is incoherent moaning.  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

It doesn’t take a lot really. He could just sit back and watch you go about your day, enjoying the sway of your hips, the sound of your laugh. It’s a slow build, but you’re tempting when you’re oblivious to what you’re doing to him.  

If you want him there and then though, give him a reason to put you in your place. He likes the power dynamic when you’re challenging him.  

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Exhibitionism is a yes for him, that’s for sure, but there’s an invisible line that surrounds it. The look but don’t touch line. You’re his, and only his to play with.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

As previously mentioned, he loves putting his mouth to good use. As much as he loves watching you choke and slurp on him, he would happily spend hours forcing wave after wave of pleasure through you, with just his mouth.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

He can be slow and sensual, especially during foreplay and oral. Just loves watching you squirm as he slowly inches in to you until he bottoms out. Loves watching you pant and beg as he holds you down, forcing you to cockwarm him for hour after hour. But when it comes to game time, when you’re ready to topple, he will hammer into you like there’s no tomorrow.  

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

Quickies tie in really well with his fondness for risky sex. Oh, your hunter friend is on their way here to borrow that book? I think now would be a great time to pin you to the couch and make you scream. They’re nearly here? They might hear us? You better get me off quick then, hadn’t you?   

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Absolutely. The real danger with trying something new with Lucifer is just how far he’ll take it, you know? He is not the kind who is gonna spend hours meticulously researching the best and safest ways to explore new kinks. So come prepared, to pray nothing goes wrong.  

He is however, prepared to try and fix things/make amends after the fact. Provided you don’t put all the blame on him (regardless of how much it actually is or isn’t.)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

The real question is how many rounds can you go? How long can you last? That’s one of the perks to being an archangel. He can keep going until you’re a crumpled drooling mess, and he will. He particularly enjoys the way your legs tremor at just the feel of his fingers brushing near your sweet spots once he’s made you orgasm enough times. He is a fiend for overstimulation. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

If you want too, he will, but really, who needs them? Right? He can, and will go all night, and he can make you feel whatever you want with the click of his fingers. I guess the only exception to that rule would be things like role play/costumes.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

Lucifer is the king of teasing. He’ll flirt, touch, and rut himself against you, winding you up all day and then pretend to recede his offer when you get him alone. He wants you to beg him for it.

And just when you think you’ve won him over, when he ploughing into you, he’ll tell you you’re not allowed to cum. Not until he says so.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Not particularly loud, he will make some guttural sounds when he finishes, but otherwise the only times he’ll moan is when he’s mocking your own sounds.

But he will talk, he will in fact rarely shut the fuck up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

He’ll never admit it, but for all his bark and equally his bite, his favourite part often is the aftermath. You’ll spook him if you talk about it, but he enjoys laying beside you, watching you come down from your high. Pressing his cold hard body against you, all soft and warm and oh so fragile.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Nicks a little above average in the night department so I’d overlap what in the penis area. Circumcised, just over 6 inches, a little on the thin side.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

When he’s in the mood, you’ll know he’s in the mood, and he’s easy to turn on if you know how to push his buttons.

However, he has been around a long time. Sure he is demanding in the moment, but in between he can be patient.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

He doesn’t sleep, and he’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up. But he will stay until you fall asleep, just to enjoy the serenity, the calm after the storm.

[neo404]

HockeyPlayer!Nick x FigureIceSkater!reader

• The two of you met by accident. He had a match in the ring next to yours, when he entered, he didn’t notice the whole place was empty until he heard a sharp blade hit against the ice, and when he looked up from his phone, in the ice were you jumping and spinning around. He was dumbfounded, never has he seen a guy look this graceful on ice, it was always pushes and shoves when he was on the ice.

• When you finish your program you pose on the middle of the ring, when you hear a ‘Wow…’. Nick who was still standing there admiring you got a bit shy of his natural reaction. Then, to make the situation more awkward he added. “So… this is not the jockey ring, right?” you laughed, and pointed the direction to him, and when he was about to leave, he complimented your performance and shyly asked if you trained there usually.

• From there, your relationship bloomed, you told him about your competition next weekend expecting nothing of it, but he actually went, and cheered and clapped harder than anyone. No shame at all.

• Your flirting consisted in mocking each other for their sports. What do you mean you can score a point but not do a double axel? Or, what do you mean you can spin on ice but can’t hit the puck?

• Lots of dates around skating. Him teaching you how to play hockey and you teaching him to do simple movements to do in pairs.

• You always go to his matches and wear his spare jersey (he loves that, he goes crazy when he sees his name on your back) to cheer him up. You become good friends with the rest of the team (specially his brothers).

• He always goes to your tournaments (no matter if they are on different states) and always arrives with a bouquet of flowers or a box of your favorite sweets (sometimes both).

• He loves to tie the laces of your skies.

• He loves to put his helmet on you because it fits a bit big and he thinks its cute.

• He will make you watch the matches of his favorite team and you eventually learn a few names and recognize a few faces.

• You make him watch the performances of your favorite figure skaters (mine if Yuzuru Hanyu btw, just wanted to say that lol) and he eventually learns the name of a few movements. He still doesn’t get how they (and you) spin so many times in the air.

• He loves to help you choose your outfits for the tournaments; he is very good at it.

• If he loses a match, he is very upset and needs lots of cuddles and kisses. Every time his coach is rude to him, he will bury his face in your neck and mumble about how they don’t appreciate him.

• He loves when you cheer for him and take photos of him. He won’t say it, but he melts when you show him off.

• When he gets injures, he is very stubborn but listens to you when you tell him he needs to rest. On the other hand, you still want to skate even when injured. So, he literally has to restrain you in bed so you can recover, he will lay on top of you (being careful to not squeeze the injured part of your body) so you can’t get up.

• Is very sassy and annoyed when the judges are biased or didn’t score to his liking (he think you should win every single competition you enter). Surprisingly is good friends with your coach (Nick bough them cookies and now they are besties).

• Once he bought two new pair of skates (one for him and one for you) and exchanged the laces from one of them, now you have a skate with white laces and he has one with black ones. He says that is to carry each other every time you step on the ice (which is when the both of you train and give your best). “It’s my lucky charm… and my mantra, when I see it, it reminds me that I can’t punch the other players in the face because you don’t like violence.”

Taglist: @freshloveforthefit @shywolfapricotfan @sturnphilia @matty-bear @thenickgirl @stvrniolvsp @paige05 @soursturniolo @miloisdone1 @teenagetrash00 @lovely-calypso @h3arts4harry @malirosee

[aayakashii]

Hihi! For your kissing/yandere prompts, can I request ❤️34 and 🔪46 smutty for Taiga? It would be so perfect 🙇🏻‍♀️👀

❤️34 A kiss after a bite

🔪46 “So…do you want your underwear back?”

Warning: spicy but not very explicit! Taiga is a pervert lol

Taiga could never kiss you normally.

It was always an entanglement of limbs and tongue and a little bit of blood he drew from your lips when his teeth nicked you. It was always overwhelming and breathtaking, as if he was making sure you couldn’t think of anything else besides his tongue in your mouth, his lips against yours and his body pressing you to the wall of his room.

And when he got jealous, he would take this up a few (many) notches.

It all started because some random man had the nerve to walk up to you and flirt. With you. Of all people!

It was laughable, truly. He probably didn’t know you were Taiga’s little precious possession, or maybe he just had a death wish. Either way, all that was needed was the barrel of Taiga’s golden gun pressed tightly against his temple and the glint of those sickly yellow irises to send the coward running out of the door of the casino.

A pity, Taiga thinks as he clicks his tongue and scratches his head with the barrel, a habit you seem to hate. He would have loved to see that man’s brain splattering all over the tables, but at least Romi wouldn’t throw a fit over him dirtying the place and scaring the customers. Little victories or whatever.

Now, onto the other pressing matter: you.

Yes, yes. He already has an idea of what you will say. That it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t want anything to do with that guy, you didn’t even know him, yadda yadda.

The thing is? He knows that. He knows it’s not your fault. And he knows you’re not a dumbass, despite it being his old nickname for you. He knows you’d never cheat on him.

But now he's angry and jealous and he just needs to give you a little reminder of who you belong to.

Just for good measure, he reassures you, licking his lips predatorily.

And there he goes, back to the tables, ready to bet his money away and win, because he has his most perfect and infallible lucky charm right there in his pants’ pocket.

Your cute underwear.

He doesn't care about the stares he gets every time he takes out your panties and gives them a long sniff, just like a pervert. What if people think he’s a pervert?, you ask. He doesn’t fucking care. He is a pervert anyway.

And if he did care, all he had to do was show them his dear, loyal gun. That usually shuts them up quite quickly.

Every bet was a success that night. Obviously. With his infinite luck, he could drain the pockets of every fool that dared to go against him. But at that specific moment, he managed to convince himself that it was all because of your panties right there in his pocket. The thought of poor little you, all exposed under your dainty clothes right next to him, gave him the rush he needed to just keep on winning and winning.

He loved being able to reach out to you and squeeze your ass or the inside of your thighs, getting a little yelp from you that went straight to his crotch.

How could he not win time and time again when he had the prettiest arm candy right beside him?

Once he had his fill of draining the pockets of frustrated customers, he dragged you back to his room, where he had planned to end his little punishment.

Taiga drowns you in his kiss, grinding shamelessly against your thighs while he swallows all of your moans and whines. His mouth travels to your neck, where he pierces your skin with his sharp teeth - a harsh bite that will most definitely leave a scar to prove to everyone who you belong to.

His hand goes to his pocket, fishing your panties out, and he twirls it on his index finger, taunting you.

“So…do you want your underwear back?” he murmurs into your ear, voice dripping sex, and leans back to observe your face, fingers casually tracing the area between your legs.

You look to the side, face flushed, and rub your thighs together. You can feel your core tingling, a pleasant warmth that makes your walls flutter at the idea of those dangerous fingers inside you. Begging for him to just stop teasing so much.

“N-no...” you mumble, clumsily grabbing his hand and pressing it a bit closer to the place that needed relief.

Taiga smiles, sharp teeth glinting against the low light, as he slowly begins to remove your clothes.

“Good pet.” he mutters, as if you ever had any other choice.

Full masterlist

[cipher-the-sidhe]

Hi! I just went through your entire WtTK AU and I have a (potentially sad) question :D

Has baby Eclipse ever accidentally hurt Y/N? Cause I noticed he's got some pretty big claws, and kids (especially young ones!) don't tend to have very good control of their strength and coordination when they're little

*grabbing you and shaking you*

Thank you for liking my au and for engaging! I love these fish a normal amount!!!!! As for your question~

———————🐠🐟🐠🐋🐳🦭🦈🪼🦐🐙

The first time it happens, Eclipse is too young to realize what he’s done. Tiny baby teeth are still sharp enough to pierce and tear, and when he mindlessly mouths at you a little too hard Moon is the first to notice the blood at your shoulder where your baby nestles his face. Sun is a mess of anxiety over the realization that your little guppy has teeth and claws sharp enough to hurt his mama now, and no will yet to prevent it. The bites don’t leave a visible scar, but the boys never forget.

It happens again, of course. Many times. Little nicks of careless baby claws and eager baby teeth. Nothing serious, and your mers are diligent in teaching Eclipse to be careful with his mama and her delicate body. Sun maybe goes to far with it really, and for a while your little boy handles you like you’re made of glass. Eventually you ease the anxiety he develops over hurting you into a more reasonable level of caution, but he’s always very careful.

But even the most careful, cautious people slip sometimes, and Eclipse is just a boy after all…

He hadn’t meant to. He swore up and down around hiccuping sobs over and over again how he hadn’t meant to and how he’s so so sorry. You coo and shush him, one hand pressed down firmly to stem the bleeding from your calf, and the other holding onto his hand (so much bigger than yours already, and covered in your blood) even as he tries to pull away.

“Clip, sweetie, look at me. I’m ok. It’s going to be ok. It was an accident. I’m not mad. It’s ok.” You talk to him as gently as you can, holding him as close as he‘ll let you. For a moment you resent how big he’s gotten so fast. Eleven years old and he’s already taller than you.

Moon doesn’t take it well, of course. Sun takes it worse. They get your injuries cleaned and stitched up, and they end up healing into four pale pink scars just a few inches above the first scratches Moon gave you on your ankle years and years ago. Eclipse doesn’t speak almost at all for weeks. He stays with Moon most of the time, and his nocturnal father uses the time to share whatever wisdom he earned from his own time as a sharp and dangerous creature on how to be gentle. Your son keeps his hands entirely to himself for that time, accepting hugs but not returning them. Your heart hurts far worse than your leg. Sun stays by your side while the other two are away, and his son won’t meet his eyes for days either.

Things get better. They heal, they scar, the marks fade and leave behind lessons for all four of you. Eclipse grows into a frighteningly deliberate predator, and those claws and teeth never do any harm that they don’t fully mean to do by the time he’s mature. Certainly after that, though he causes his fair share of carnage, he never hurts you.

[burning-omen]

Kinktober day 5: Gun Play + Steven Grant

Steven Grant x SHIELD agent!Male!reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 6 | Ao3

Summary: After taking a day off, you finally get to go home to your boyfriend, Steven.

(a/n: I MISSED YESTERDAY AND IT SHATTERED MY SOUL INTO A MILLION PIECES IM SORRY I WAS TIRED AND I FORGOT)

Warning: Guns, mention of reader killing and being shot at, reader is close with Nick Fury kinda, oral, hand job, surprisingly gentle sex, obedient Steven Grant, soft top reader, Steven talks to Marc but that's not really a warning I just wanted yall to know that my bbygrl was mention in this fic

Words: 2k

SHIELD has been sending you all over the world as of recently, you didn't complain, you knew your work was important, and the amount of trust you’d gained from Nick Fury came with a lot of off-the-books missions, mostly investigating SHIELD itself. You'd asked from a break, at least a day or so, to get your gear together after you gun, which has been through many, many mission, jammed on you mid encounter. It was embarrassing, luckily the only other people who saw it happen were either dead or in maximum security prison serving life.

Your boyfriend, Steven, wasn't home when you got there, mostly likely at work, or maybe Marc was out on his a mission. Either way, you waited for him.

In the meantime, you decided to finally take care of your gear, you'd brought all of the supplies from SHEILD headquarters before coming home, setting up at Steven’s desk, and moving the book he had lying on the table and a couple of papers into a neat stack. You started with your boots, scrubbing them, changing the insoles, making sure the outsole wasn't damaged beyond a bit of wear from years of use, then setting them aside.

Moving on to your vest, you picked out the metal fragment from the various bullets that had shattered on impact, replacing the aramid padding that- even though it has yet to show signs of any extreme damage- was starting to wear. The bruise on your stomach was proof of that, the vest stopped the bullet from piercing skin, but didn't lessen the impact as it hit you. You sighed, knowing that Steven was going to fuss over it the second he saw the festering bruise.

You moved on to you knives, still pretty sharp, but not as sharp as they should have been. Using the lanksy puck that you definitely were not supposed to take to sharpen a them. Carefully putting them back in their sheaths and reattatching them to your utility belt, which sat in a duffle bag with both your uniform and you newly repaired vest.

Finally, you moved onto the main event, you gun, which was still jammed, turning the safety on before completely disassembling it, staring at the pieces of your revolver on the table. You didn't worry to much about the the bullets, they'd be gone by your next mission anyway.

You took your time with this one, getting into every nook and cranky, blood, dust, and built up metal from the bullets, just a bunch of little things. Reassembly was purely muscle memory, your gun looked and felt brand new. You took the ammo out and dry-fired the gun, it sounded a hell of a lot better- and the hammer dropped without interruption, jam officially gone, you reloaded the gun and sat it on the desk.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, letting the tension slip from your shoulders with a sigh, practically melting into the seat, finnaly able to relax.

And as if he somehow knew that you were officially off duty, you heard Steven fumble with the lock, seemingly dropping the key, a small swear leaving him, before he unlocked the door. He walked around silently for a while, setting down his bag and heading to the kitchen, muttering to himself, or more likely Marc, as he was asking questions about the morning, what they ate for breakfast and where Marc had left the book Steven had been reading before bed.

It took him maybe five minutes to walk back there. He walked straight past you, not paying any attention and b-lining to the bed, to be fair, it was late and Steven wasn't exactly the most observant. You loved him though, so you let him lay there for a moment before calling his name.

He practuscally jumped out of his skin, getting caught in the mess of blankets for moment. Steven was on you faster that you thought was possible. Damn near tackling you, the chair surprisingly holding both of your weight and Steven situated himself in your lap, his legs drapped across yours.

“You're back! When did you fly in?” he asked, a wide smile on his face.

“About three hours ago, where’ve you been?”

He groaned, flopping down against you, his head on your shoulder.

“Job hunting, again.”

“What happened to the uh, what was it, the library, right? I thought you were having fun over there?”

“I was, but they cut the budget and I was new so they dropped me.”

“Aww,” you cooed, running your fingers through his hair, “poor thing.”

He sighed, enjoying the contact after nearly a month apart.

“What about you, I thought you weren't supposed to be back for another two weeks?”

“I wasn't, but..” you grabbed you pistol off the table, you finger on the trigger even though the safety was on and you had no immediate target, “My gun jammed and I asked my boss to give me a day off in order to fix it,”

Stevens's eyes were glued to the gun as you spoke, appreciating every little detail and crevice it held.

You knew about Steven’s affinity for guns, well, you and guns, guns alone did nothing for Steven, but when you held them...

He got quiet, glancing at you only to see you staring back at him with a knowing look on your face.

“Im flying back out tomorrow..”you pointed the gun downward, nudging his legs open with the tip, he complyed without any hesitation. “…i was thinking you and I could-”

“Yes!”

You stared at the man for a moment, almost bewildered before remembering that you've been gone for nearly two months and he's probably been thinking about this since the day you left.

You hummed before saying, “Get on the bed, lay on your back, I want to see you.”

He grinned again, practically running to the bed, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the floor, laying down in the bed, hardly able to keep himself still.

You sat at the desk for a short moment, completely removing the ammo from the gun, double checking it to avoid any incidence, then walked over to Steve, who was practically vibrating in excitement.

Kneeling between his legs, you commemorated the image of him, so happy to be fully and utterly yours, to memory.

You pointed the gun on his chest, digging the tip into his shirt, watching his reaction intently, he ceased all movement, staring down at it, taking in the weight on his chest.

“Breathe, Steven.” you said when you noticed he wasn't.

He let out a long, shuttered breath.

“You know I would never hurt you? Right Steven.”

“Oh course..”

“Good, “ you slid the gun down, feeling where his ribs ended and sturdy muscle began. Stopping just below his belly button.

“Strip, slowly, I want to see you.”

He complied easily. Hands shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, just like you demanded.

“That's it, good boy..”

Shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, then moving down to his pants. Fumbling with the belt, getting it just before you could offer your help, he kicked his jeans down until they pooled on the floor below.

You stared at him, taking in his smooth skin and every sculpted muscle that you had no one but Marc to thank for.

Running the tip of your pistol lower and lower, running it over the growing tent in his underwear, he shuttered, a light gasp passing his slightly parted lips.

Dragging it across his waist, then down his thigh, Steven watched the gun just as intensely as you watched him. You let your finger hover the trigger, he swallowed hard.

You moved suddenly, lifting the gun to his head, right between his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, he never hid how he felt, not with you, he felt like he didn't have to, or more accurately, he couldn't. You were an agent of SHEILD, you were trained to see through lies.

Moving your hand down ever so slightly, pressing the gun against his lips.

“Open.”

For the forth time tonight, he obeyed. Taking the tip in his mouth, then more, sucking and licking like the gun could feel it.

The effects it had on you were innumerable.

You hummed softly, adjusting your grip. You watched him, he seemingly never got bored, the imagined danger and thrill perpetuating him, eager to please cold steel.

You tugged slightly, and he let it go, lips wet with saliva.

The way he looked at you, his eyes low, cheeks flushed, breathing like he'd just run a hundred miles.

“You're being so good, Steven, so obedient. You must have really missed me..”

He nodded rapidly, “I missed you, I missed you so much-”

You shushed him, “I know, I know. I shouldn't have to leave you here, all on your own, I should be here to protect you at all times..”

He nodded along- you both knew that he didn't need the protection, but fuck it kept you here he’d be your damsel in distress forever.

Rubbing the wet tip down his chest, then right above his cock, tapping the trigger, watching him flinch at every move. He watched so intently, his breath shaky and loud, you were unpredictable, yet he couldn't wait to see what you did next.

Nudging the tip of the gun past the elastic waistband of his underwear, pulling them down.

Steven couldn't stay still, his brain and body running a million miles an hour. Slowly, you sunk down between his legs, your gun pressed right up against the center of his chest. You knew the position would get uncomfortable soon, so you decided to make this as quick as you could.

“Don’t move.” he didn't nod, or talk, just immediately playing along.

Taking your free hand, you guided Steven's hard cock, shiny with pre-cum to your mouth.

He was always sensitive, but your tongue had hardly even pressed the tip of his cock before he was a whimpering, whining mess. Hs adrenaline was spiked, of course he was more susceptible that ever right now. Taking him as deep as you could, feeling him press against the back of your throat. His hands balled into the bedsheets bellow, nearly tearing them in his hands.

Running your tongue on the underside of his cock, then swirling it around the tip, never taking your eyes off of him. His little whines growinh louder and more desperate.

You pulled away when you felt him start bucking into your mouth. Taking a short moment to wipe your mouth of both spit and pre cum.

You lifted slightly, wrapping your hand around his now perfectly lubed cock. Stroking him nice and slow, soft moans falling from his lips.

He whined your name over and over, obedience and his composure, the latter of which was had been already hanging on by a thread before you ever put your mouth or hands on him, waining. He loved nights like these when you were gentle but still so very obviously in control.

“Y/n- y/n, I'm so close, please, Love, please-”

You tightened your grip on the gun, pressing it harder into his chest, he moaned at the feeling.

You never sped up, watching him build up the his orgasm nice and slow, and when his mouth fell open in a long moan and his eyes squeezed so tightly shut you're sure he was seeing stars behind them.

Then- you squeezed the trigger. Nothing came out but Steven gasped hard like he’d been hit. His hips twitched up into your hand, cum pouring out all over your fingers. Even when that stopped, his orgasm still seemed to flow through him, his body drawn tight as he came down.

“Y/n..” he panted, “you're good, so good-”

Dragging the gun down, right into the pool of cum at the base of his stomach, then bringing it up to your mouth, licking it off.

“Come on, Steven, we're not done..”

[mykneeshurt]

Knock knock

I knocked this bad boy out in an afternoon 😭 wee Simon has me by the throat. I loved writing this one, came together nicely. Again feedback and comments welcome 🥰

Warnings - 18+, sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sub Simon, switch Simon, gored, expected cod violence minors DNI

The Sarah joke got told to me years ago and it still makes me piss. This gif has me in a chokehold, it was really hard to try and describe but I tried! Enjoy

This was going to be a long mission, blistering heat, few too many safe houses and Simon ‘Ghost’ fucking Riley. You and Ghost were paired together often, you’d actually become quite close over the last year. But one thing about him? He was a fucking wind up merchant.

You took it as a compliment though, he didn’t show his sense of humour to just anyone. But Jesus Christ he could be irritating when he wanted to be. You both worked together well, he’d often be on the ground with close range weapons. He was deadly with a combat knife. And you, the silent killer from the skies with your sniper rifle, looking out for him and protecting him when needed.

Which is how you found yourself here, a top a disused warehouse in bum fuck no where. ‘You’re good to go Riley’ you signalled.

‘Affirmative’ came his dead pan response. You gave him half an hour before he started with the shit jokes, he just couldn’t help himself.

You kept a sharp eye on the rooftops and windows as he worked his way through the favela. Ghost being ghost you knew he’d try and opt for the silent method, knives first, guns later. Every now and again you’d check in, make sure he was ok.

‘Why did Sarah fall off the swing?’

Fuck sake, right on cue, letting out an audible sigh into the radio you replied ‘I don’t know.’

‘Because she had no arms.’

‘Jesus Christ …’

‘Knock knock’ he interrupted.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Not Sarah.’

‘I fuckin’ cant with you, I swear to god if they don’t kill you, I will.’ You snickered, trying to hold back a chuckle. ‘I’ll hold you to that’ he retorted. Rolling your eyes you continued to scan the buildings, bingo. ‘Riley, tango one of the roof of the apartment building to the west, tango two on top of the school. Want me to take em out?’

‘If you’d be so kind’ he cracked through the radio.

Squeezing the trigger twice you took them down with ease, your nick name in Task Force 141 was the ‘Angel of Death’. Due to your ability to effectively and silently take down enemies when needed. ‘Tangos down.’

Shifting in your snipers nest, you quickly stretched out your legs behind you before resuming your position. It was sweltering, sweat dripped down your face, your cap failing at capturing the little droplets that threatened to enter your eyes.

‘Knock knock.’

Smirking to yourself you answered ‘who’s there?’

‘Interrupting sheep.’

‘Interrupting sheep wh … ‘

‘Bahhhh.’

‘That was fucking awful Riley, great sheep impression though’ you said as you rolled your eyes. ‘I can hear you roll your eyes from here love, pack it in’ he chided. ‘Oooh gonna have to make me Riley. Now shut the fuck up, two tangos spotted.’ You quickly dealt with them with no issues.

No issues that was until you heard a grenade go off close by to your nest. Fuck, you thought to yourself. Had you given yourself away? Had they spotted you? You quickly scanned the area with your scope, nothing glaringly obvious. But it went quiet, too quiet. ‘Riley, I might have an issue. Potential compromise’ you murmured into the radio. ‘Copy. Come to the church, I’ll meet you there.’ Grabbing your items together you slipped into your tactical gear and threw your rifle over your shoulder. ‘Be there now in a minute’ you replied. ‘English’ he barked. Laughing to yourself you radioed back ‘On my way, see you in 10.’

As much as Ghost would wind you up with stupid jokes, you’d do the same back to him. You were from Wales and had a few sayings which really wound him up. The English vs Welsh banter got got old between the two of you. You’d try to teach him Welsh but he was awful at it, he loved learning the swear words though. Obviously.

You slid down the ladder at the side of the warehouse and began to creep your way through the cramped but deserted streets. The streets almost felt claustrophobic as you weaved your way around corners. That came to a blinding halt as you heard men approaching. You dived into an abandoned flat and ducked behind the window, listening intently. They were murmuring to each other, too faint for you to hear properly.

You stayed out of sight until you were sure they were gone. ‘I’d fuckin’ love a tea’ his voice made you jump as it rang through the ear piece. Pinching the bridge of your nose you replied ‘really? Now? I’m risking life and limb and you’re thinking about tea? Dickhead.’ You knew he was sat in that church just thinking up different ways to piss you off, smirking to himself. Wanker.

Once you were sure the men had gone, you peeked out the door to the abandoned flat and took in your surroundings. You needed to get up on the rooftops to see where the church steeple was. Running up the stairs in the flat you soon found a ladder to the roof top. Once above ground again you were able to see you were a few streets away from your objective. ‘I can see the church, trying to make my way on rooftop now’ you informed him.

Scaling rooftop to rooftop you tried to keep a listen out for any hostile that could appear at any time. That was until you lost your footing, as you jumped onto some corrugated iron you misjudged it and fell a story onto your back. The fall took the wind out of you, gasping for breath you scrambled into a local shop. ‘Fuck was that?’ He chimed through on the radio. Readjusting yourself you took in a deep breath ‘just fell of a roof, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just gimme 5.’

Except you didn’t have 5, a man snuck around the corner before pouncing on you, wielding a knife. Using your forearm to stop the knife from being plunged into your eye, you used your free hand you gouge at his eye. You dug your nail in just enough for the man to shriek and lose balance. As he did you used your weight to push him off you before managing to climb on top of him. Lucky bastard got a sly right hook into your face, with your lip now split open you spat blood back into his face. Giving you enough time to reach for you knife which was strapped to your thigh. As you gripped the knife the man tried again to get a hit in, unsuccessfully. Knife now in hand you drove it into the man’s throat, severing his carotid artery. You drove the knife into the left side of his chest, just for good measure. Gurgling sounds left the man’s throat as you got to your feet, wiping the blood on a rag near by.

If there was one in the building that surely meant there was more near by. You needed to get a move on. You could see the steeple from the ground now, just a little further. Rounding the corner a convoy of enemies stood between you and the church. Backing off you radioed to Ghost. ‘I’m right outside, approximately 6 men in a humvee though.’

Ghost let out a long sigh on the radio. ‘Disturb you did I? Give me a hand!’ You demanded. ‘I’ll take the 3 on my left. Ready in three … two … one … go.’

With that he expertly took out the three men with his silenced pistol from the church doorway. As you unloaded three rounds from your own gun into the remaining men. Quickly checking it was clear you scurried over to the church barging past Ghost in the process. ‘Took your time’ he greeted. Whipping round you pushed him in his firm chest ‘suck my dick Riley.’

You walked over to a mirror on the wall to examine the damage to your face. ‘Ergh, I think my nose is broken.’ You sighed. Ghost approached you from behind ‘let me see.’

Turning to face him you showed him your busted nose, dried blood caked around it. ‘Yeah looks that way love. Needs resetting.’ Staring up at him you grimaced ‘oh and you’re gonna be the one to do it I imagine?’

‘Affirmative.’

Sighing you nodded your head and placed your glove between your teeth. He took off his gloves to feel for the cartilage and bone in your nose. He stared intensely at you, the black paint around his eyes illuminated his blue eyes. He wore a skull over the top of his balaclava which made him look even more menacing. Giving a moan of permission from your mouth he nodded back at you. Without warning he shifted your nose back into place, eliciting a guttural moan from you in the process. ‘Ah fuck!’ You cried, ‘Jesus, a warning would have been nice!’ Shrugging he said ‘nah, you would have flinched. Looks better though.’

‘Ghost you copy?’ Soaps voice rang through the radios. ‘Go ahead’ he replied.

‘A convoy of tangos about to enter the favela. Not safe to come to the evac zone. Hold up there till mornin’. Get some shut eye and we’ll get you out tomorrow.’

‘A broken nose, and now I’m stuck with him for the night? Any good news for me Soap?’ You chuckled.

‘Naw, sorry hen.’

‘Don’t you hen me, you shit.’ Soaps laugh filled the ear piece before signing out.

It was getting late and your head was beyond pounding from your broken nose. ‘There’s a bedroom upstairs, can sleep there.’ Ghost said as he started walking to the staircase. Following him closely you took your hair down out of the bun it was in to try and release some tension. Luckily the sink still worked in the bathroom, not hot water but it would do to freshen up and remove the dried blood.

As you entered the bedroom he was sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning his gun. He’s removed his skull mask so only the balaclava remained. The floorboard creaked as you entered the room, he lifted his gaze slowly. He scanned your body, his eyes finally resting on your face. His head jerked a minute amount as he registered your face, while you two were good friends he’d never seen you with your hair down. His gaze almost seemed to intensify as you looked back at him with a soft smile. He quickly looked away and back down to his gun again.

‘Thanks for setting my nose. I’ll buy you a drink when we’re back’ you smiled. You walked over to the corner of the room and took off your tactical gear, placing it on an old chair. Glancing round the room you noticed there was only one bed. ‘Bunk mates tonight is it?’ You asked nodding towards the bed. He tensed his shoulders slightly before answering ‘looks like it. Don’t mind sleeping in the chair though.’

‘It gets cold as fuck here at night, it will be fine. Anyway you’re like a radiator and I’m always cold, you’d be doin me a favour.’

He nodded in silence.

A few hours passed, both of you engaging in the odd conversation. He seemed more tense than usual, and while he’s a pretty intense guy this felt new. Darkness crept into the bedroom, the faint light of the street lamps illuminating the bedroom in an orange glow. The bedroom door had been barricaded just incase and you’d sussed an escape route out one of the windows if needed.

You removed your boots and t-shirt, leaving you in your cargo pants and your vest. You could feel a pair of eyes burning into your back as you folded up your clothes. ‘Problem Lieutenant?’ You asked, without even turning round. ‘Negative.’ He said plainly. Smirking to yourself you walked over to the bed and slid in under the duvet that was left. Never ideal to sleep in used duvets but in these situations you had little choice. ‘Come on Riley, get in’ you beckoned.

He removed his shirt revealing a sleeve tattoo on his left arm. He stayed in his base layer, jeans and left his boots on. He sat in the chair opposite the bed, ‘you sleep, I’m not tired.’ Rolling your eyes you led down and pulled the duvet over you. ‘If you wanted to be a creep and watch me sleep all you had to do was say’ you laughed. He glared back at you, he was good at that.

You must have slept for an hour or two before you woke up hearing a noise outside. Sitting bolt upright you saw he was already at the window checking to see what it was. ‘Stray dog’ he said before turning around and sitting back on the chair. Sighing you swung your legs out of the bed and ran your hand through your hair. ‘Alright?’ His deep tone cut through the silence. ‘Yeah’ you sighed looking up at him ‘can I try something?’ He narrowed his eyes at you, curious.

You stood up off the bed and walked over towards him, he was sat in the chair, leg spread. Leaning on his thighs with his forearms. As you approached him he looked up at you, silent. You pressed your hands into his muscular shoulders and pushed him back into the chair. His breath visually hitched in his chest, his forearms becoming tense, the muscle rippling under his taught skin. You straddled his lap, hand still encasing his shoulders as you stared deep into his eyes. He let out a sigh of approval.

‘I’ve seen how you look at me Simon. Believe it or not, you cant hide everything you feel.’ You dragged your nails down bis base layer, feeling every dip and crevice of his toned body beneath. You placed his large hands on your hips, as you knelt up over him. ‘I know you want me’ you drawled. He remained silent, but not objecting. ‘Touch me’ you whispered into his masked ear. With that he slowly worked his hands underneath your vest. You hissed at his touch, thick calloused fingers gliding over your bare skin.

You hands worked your way to his neck, slowly pulling up his balaclava. You only pulled it up to nose, respecting the only boundary he put before you. You bit your lip slowly, your hair framing your face. With a smirk you bent down and placed your lips lightly on his. He slowly but firmly returned your kiss, gentle at first but soon became heated. ‘Yes’ you moaned into his mouth. He gently jerked his hips up, his hard cock grazing your pussy through your cargo pants. You placed your hands at the sides of his neck cupping him further into you.

‘Fuckin’ hell’ he moaned beneath you. You smiled into his mouth, slowly inserting your tongue. Your tongues danced together slowly but full of passion and need. You brought his hand to your breast before snaking your hand into his as the base of neck. He let out a small hiss. ‘You like that?’ You moaned at him. He grunted in approval. You brought your hand from the back of his head to his neck and applied pressure. You weren’t strong enough to hurt him, but it was enough to show him who was in charge here.

‘You’re gonna fuck me Simon. Aren’t you?’ He nodded slowly. ‘Mmm good boy’ you purred. You climbed off him and stood up, undoing his belt before your own. You pulled down your trousers and stepped out them revealing your tight boxer shorts. You beckoned him over to the bed where he undid his trousers and pulled down his own underwear. You led on your back on the bed, legs spread and beckoned him towards you. A filthy grin on your face.

You spat on your hand and rubbed it along your slit, mixing it with your arousal. He stayed silent, drinking you in, his cock rock hard as he approached you. He stood in-between your legs, looking down on you as you rubbed your own juices on the tip of his cock with your fingers. He hissed through his teeth before slowly sinking into you. You both let out a gasp as he stretched you open, filling you with his cock. Letting out a breath filled giggle you threw your head back exposing your neck. He slowly withdrew his cock before slamming it back in again. ‘You feel so good Simon’ you praised.

His eyes met yours, seemingly full of adoration at your praise. He descended into a brutal pace, heaving breathing emanating from beneath his mask. He gripped at your thighs, leaving marks beneath his fingers. His pupils were so dilated with pleasure all you could see was black in the space where his irises would be. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop’ you begged. You brought your hand down and started to circle your clit as you watched him thrust in and out of you.

‘I wanna ride you, lie on the bed’ you moaned. Doing as he was told you slowly pulled out of you before lying beneath you, you climbed on straddling his thick muscular thighs. You slowly sank down onto his cock, the stretch filling you with pleasure. You began grinding your pussy, building up a rhythm, small moans escaping you. You grabbed his neck, a whimper fell from his lips. His moans becoming more frequent and breathless. You pulled his hand to your lips, biting and sucking his thumb as you chased your orgasm.

Just as you were about to cum his eyes rolled back in his head has he moaned ‘fuck this.’ He used all of his force and rolled you underneath him, you shrieked with excitement. ‘There you are. I wondered how long it would take you’ you smiled. He planted a kiss on your lips before entering you again. He slammed into you, you’re cum dripping out of you onto the bed below. You started rubbing your clit again, chasing your high. Your walls began tightening ‘F … fuck, I’m gonna cum’ you groaned. You arched your back as you rode out your orgasm, gripped onto his forearms. You dug in your nails, leaving small crescent shaped marks.

His pace became sloppy. He was close too. ‘Such a filthy Fuckin’ bitch’ he moaned. Just as he was about to cum he pulled out, ‘open your fuckin mouth.’ Doing as you were told you opened your mouth as he pumped his cock, miking every last drop of cum onto your tongue. He leant down as he grabbed your jaw, before spitting in your mouth ‘now fuckin swallow.’ Eyes lighting up you closed your mouth and swallowed. Licking your lips as you did so.

He helped you to your feet, checking you over. ‘You’re summin else girl’ he said a smirk present under his mask. ‘So I’ve been told, we’ve still got a few hours to waste’ you said with a wink. ‘Fuck me, you’re gonna be the death of me’ he growled leaning his head back with a sigh.

[finn-writes-stuff]

Jack of All Trades (pt 2)

A follow-up to -this- post, with the rest of the party. The Original Request: Hello. If you're willing and have the time, I jumbly request a TLOVM headcannon for the team having an s/o who steals their weapons and tries to figure out to use them. What would their reactions be and would they/how would they teach them to use the weapons?

Percy, Vax, Scanlan & Grog x Reader

Fandom: The Legend of Vox Machina/ Critical Role

Format: Headcanons

Gender Neutral Reader

Masterlist

Some credit to my lovely partner for giving me accurate info about their specific weapons. As well as a discussion on whether or not you can say Percy or Orthax invented Guns. -Finn

Percy

With anyone else in the party, there's a good chance you may have used a weapon like theirs before. But not Percy and his guns. These are his own inventions, new to Tal'Dorei completely.

They are also powered by exploding gunpowder. He is a little bit worried about letting you handle them.

Hearing a gunshot when he isn't causing it is a deep cause of concern for him, please don't steal his guns, just ask.

Percy will absolutely teach you! It's a chance to have his arms around you as he steadies your aim and stance.

He's a very...specific teacher. You have to make sure he doesn't get too wrapped up in the fine details. Keep him on track with how to shoot and he won't get way into the actual mechanics of the hammer of the gun.

Let him watch you shoot after you get the hang of it. He'll start to understand why you like watching him so much.

Vax

This man owns so many knives. He has a full-out collection of daggers. Hugging him is a dangerous prospect because you never know where one is hiding.

And with all the different daggers, it can't be that hard to steal one or two of them. How could he even notice?

Stealing them proves to be surprisingly hard. He doesn't store many of them, they always seem to be on his person.

But once you manage it, it's quite a lot of fun to handle a truly well-made dagger. In a fantasy world like this, every adventurer has held a dagger, but Vax turns it into an art and his tools reflect that.

They are also insanely sharp. Don't get too cocky with them.

He swipes them out of your hands when he finds you with them, and it's obvious just how experienced he is with handling knives. He can twist and spin them without a glance or a nick.

"Well, well, someone's got sticky fingers, hey love?"

He'll teach you how to throw them accurately and how to spin them without hitting your fingers. He will also tease you while you practice before you get the hang of it.

Scanlan

Scanlan doesn't particularly use a weapon! He's fairly strictly a spellcaster.

That being said, his instruments are likely the next best thing, particularly his lute. And that is his baby, best of luck stealing it.

If you ask him, he'll let you play it and he'll teach you during downtime. He will also serenade you for demonstrations.

He'll be annoyed if you take it without asking though. His music is a source of safety for him as much as a source of joy.

Let him teach you songs around the fire at night and serenade him in return. He won't stop smiling for ages.

Grog

Grog has had some...questionable weapons. Perhaps don't borrow Craven's Edge.

But borrowing his axe or his gauntlets is a world of fun. Even if they might not be well weighted for anyone who isn't as strong as he is.

You will quickly realize how much work goes into swinging his axe and it puts his effortless attacks into a very different light for you.

Grog laughs out loud when he sees you using his weapons, but it's full of fondness and affection.

Even if he isn't exactly academically clever, this is his skill set, he knows how to fight and he does it well. So he's a really good teacher as he corrects your stance and grip.

His teaching method also includes encouraging you to just swing at him, so you'll need a bit of courage and faith that you won't hurt him.