#kyle is cooking...

[toysrguts]

Thanos (player 230) NSFW Alphabet

thank u guys for the love on my dae-ho post now i feel obligated to post my thanos ABCs cuz he literally consumes my brain like a parasite!!! also excuse poor grammar i threw this together in google docs in one night

18+ content below the cut!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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

aftercare is not his strong suit but it's still oddly comforting. he’ll usually light up a joint for you 2 to smoke while laying together watching tv. he usually dozes off first while running his fingers through your hair even though he promises to stay up for you

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

huge boobie lover no matter what size he just loves sucking on em and also has an infatuation with necks and grabbing them. he loves having his hand around your neck, he doesnt even have to be choking you he just loves how submissive and powerless you look under his grip (he does like choking tho ofc). as far as himself goes though idk he's kinda obsessed with himself so he doesn't usually think about just one body part but maybe his hands. or dick..

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

loves filling your throat with cum, when you're going down on him and hes about to finish he makes sure to hold your head down until you swallow every last drop and are left gasping for breath

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

secretly loves when you take control every now and then, sometimes being the boss is too much work. especially loves it when you take charge unexpectedly like straddling him or grabbing him by his necklace and pulling him in for a kiss

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

really cocky and for good reason, his body count is kind of insane and he definitely knows what hes doing. he hits all the right spots and when he hears you moan in pleasure he’ll only go harder and faster.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

kind of unexpected but LOVES when you're on top and making eye contact. he likes guiding your hips as you ride him and thrusting into you from underneath if he senses you getting tired. doggy style is a close second cuz he loves pulling your hair

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

its really hot how he can be primal but lighthearted at the same time. he's serious about the intimacy and making you feel good, but he's also really cocky and will smirk like an annoying slut while absolutely manhandling you cuz he knows what it does to you

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

i think he's gotten comments in the past so he started regularly shaving down there 💀 he's got just the right amount of hair

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

he seems like the kind of guy who just wants to get in your pants and ditch but in the moment hes actually surprisingly gentle with you. if your hair gets in the way he’ll tuck it behind your ear, he'll place his hand under your head while viciously pounding you, he’ll ask if everything feels right for you before continuing. also makes a lot of close eye contact and whispers in your ear about how good you feel (if he's high however..... thats a whole different story he turns into an ANIMAL)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

usually doesnt need to jerk off but if nobody is there to help him out he's forced to rub one out on his own, and he definitely watches porn to help get the job done. i just know he looks so hot doing it too he throws his head back and bites his lip n shit. and he groans when he cums fs

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

hair pulling and pain. craves the feeling of your nails clawing at his back and gripping his hair while going at it. inflicting pain turns him on as well but would never do anything out of your comfort zone. but he does like seeing you marked up after a good time. also HEAVILY into choking like if you're spending the night with him you should just expect to get choked out. he also might've accidentally caused you to pass out a few times but that's neither here nor there!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

lowkey an exhibitionist, he will fuck you any time he feels horny and he doesn't care who hears or sees. any location is his favorite but something about doing it in a public bathroom stall fuels him

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

it turns him on when you match his cocky and bold energy, like if he starts dirty talking and you say something even nastier he cant help but pop a stiffy. also likes when you get touchy with him all he can think about is getting alone with you so he can put his hands all over you

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

probably wouldnt like to be tied up, he prefers to be the one in control where that's concerned

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

so good with his tongue you'd think he has multiple. it drives him crazy when he can feel you grab his hair and writhe underneath him from all the pleasure. he will make you cum twice just from using his fingers before anything else even happens and it fuels his ego like crazy. also no surprise that he loves when you sit on his face and let him go to town

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

he starts nice and slow to get you going but as soon as he hears you enjoying yourself he picks up the pace. but if he pops a pill first he will just fuck you as fast and rough as possible and can go all night long

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

probably wouldn't survive without a good quickie, he can touch himself all he wants but it's usually not enough for him. if he's horny he doesn't care where you are he’ll fuck you right then and there and act all nonchalant about it afterwards

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

he's down to try anything at least once even if he knows he probably wouldn't enjoy it. especially if you're enthusiastic about trying something new he will follow your every command

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

when he's high he can go for as many rounds as your heart desires. he can also last a good while, like 10-15 minutes every round, its especially satisfying to him when you have orgasms together

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

he definitely has a small toy collection but theyre only really needed on special occasion if things get repetitive. he also has one for himself that he uses when he's extra desperate

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he can be such an asshole but he loves to see you beg for him to let you cum. when your breathing gets heavier and you grow louder that's when he slows down and teases you until you're begging and pleading to cum, and when you finally do he will praise the fuck out of you; “that's my good boy/girl.”

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

tries to stay quiet and collected but it usually ends up slipping out in a loud groan. other times he just doesnt gaf and will let out aggressive breathy growls in your ear

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

it's honestly a guilty pleasure for him when you use some teeth when sucking him off. something about the pain drives him crazy in a good way

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

hes not packing anything crazy or super intimidating, but it's definitely big enough to get the job done and done WELL. around 6.5 inches with a cute curve ^___^

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

REAALLYYY fucking horny like all the fucking time idk how he acts like such a gentlemen half the time. gets needy and sexually frustrated if he hasn't fucked in a while but when he finally does itll be the best you've ever had he’ll be so rough while also kissing you all over

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

acts like he's not affected or tired at all but he passes tf out so fast. he’ll talk you up and praise you for how good u were and run his hands through your hair and then conks out like 2 seconds later. usually doesn't end up cleaning up or showering immediately he just waits til he wakes up

[jamjoob]

Self indulgent Miss Kyle doodles

[bluegiragi]

test subject.

early access + nsfw on patreon monster!AU masterpost

[lay-z]

Oblivious plus size!omega reader who's being courted by the 141 alpha pack until the poor pups (grown ass men) are practically begging and drooling at her feet for a crumb of attention?

Hmmmmm

[srfiv]

and whenever they couldn't speak they looked at eachother

[bearforceone3]

i have an excuse to post this because kyle’s a white lantern again

[niccolites]

sentinel species - i. canary

victorian, zombie apocalypse au, kyle garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You have a half-rotted candle, but you leave it in your bedroom so that you are unseen as you creep across the landing towards the stairs.

It is a week before the world ends; you sit on your parent’s stairs and listen to them reject your betrothal. 

This is your third courting season, which has had more success than the first two so far. A few gentlemen have shown interest in you, and your mother has had her hands full managing expectations and courtships on your behalf.

One man shines far above the rest, a distant relative of the Duke, Mr Evans. Distant enough that you don’t think anyone else is aware of the relation, but your mother reminds you every tea time, as if to keep you aware of the benefits that lie down the road of this specific courtship.

This is not the man being discussed in the drawing room of your home, for once.

You recognise the voice in your living room, as he asks to formally court you, as he has every intention to be your husband.

Mr Kyle Garrick is the very picture of a gentleman. Kind and attentive, you remember when he had taken notice of you on your first courting season. Your mother had tried to catch the attention of some of the men, to get them to sign their name on your dance card, but there had been no biters. Left alone for a moment, the picture of pathetic, and Mr Garrick had been there. He led you in a waltz and complimented your dress, your hair, how sweetly you spoke. You had nervously pulled most of your hair out of its updo, but it felt rude to contradict his compliments.

He had been enlisted, you remember, and you hadn’t seen him since that first courting season. You did see his older sister sometimes. You remember asking about him a few times, feeling some kind of obligation towards the man who had been kind to you when he didn’t have to be.

And here he is, back in your living room, speaking with your parents about your nuptials.

You listen to him, outlining his intentions for you. He has saved up his money from his service, and he is prepared to buy a home for the two of you, and start a life together.

You cannot comprehend it, certain that he must have mistaken you for someone else. He must think that there is another girl up here. The hush of his voice, drifting up to meet you. You want to catch it in your palm, cradle it there like a newborn lamb.

He had been kind to you, but you didn’t know each other. Hadn’t seen each other in years at this point, not that you would know with how certain his voice sounds. Vowing to be a dutiful husband to you. Your name spilling out, thudding up the stairs to reach your ears. Any doubt has fled, but has left behind the certainty of insecurity in its wake.

You didn’t know when he had gotten back, some moonsick dream that he came straight here from the train. You shake it off, the thought just a little bit too fanciful.

You know that your mother is going to decline, moments before she starts to. You hear her excuse this given your attachment to the Duke’s cousin - your attachment being that he is taking you for a walk tomorrow - but you know this isn’t the real reason. Mr Garrick may be a decorated officer, a kind enough man. But he barely has any standing in society. His father was a boxer, and you know that his entire family fit into a small house despite the fact that they are not a small family.

Your mother has high sights set for you, and you do not think she has any intention of lowering them. Even if that requires not consulting you in the matter of your future and who you will be spending it with. Your father had passed a few years ago now, and you knew that your mother needed to match you with someone that could sustain the two of you. Your home wasn’t your own, legally owned by some cousin of your father’s, who hadn’t taken an interest, yet.

You shift on the stairs, bare feet on wood, as you listen to the beginning of a protest from Mr Garrick before he swallows it down and thanks your mother for her time.

It’s dark upstairs, you have only found your way to the steps with familiarity. You can see the door of the drawing room open further as Mr Garrick picks up his hat and makes to leave. At the front door, he turns his head, and you swear he can see you. He can’t, you know he can’t, it’s pitch black up here. Your candle is abandoned on your dresser, the white of your nightgown is drowned in the darkness of the landing.

He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting all around you as if to find you before he exhales and turns to leave.

A week later, you can see Mr Garrick on the opposite wall to you, and you think about the defeated slump of his shoulders that night. You think you may be flattering yourself, but you think it’s still there, hidden under the shoulder of his coat. It’s likely improper for him to initiate conversation with you, beyond the level of politeness if you were to bump into each other.

Your fingers twitch underneath your gloves, feel the stitching of the seam scratch against your skin. Mr Evans is somewhere around here, and you know that you will have to put a face on, spin around for a few dances with him. Ask him about his travels around Europe, even though you surely have heard all of the stories already.

For now, you are happy to lean against the far wall and flutter your fan as if to sweep everyone else away. Your mother is speaking with a few of the other mothers, so you only have a few moments to slouch before you are caught and reprimanded.

The band starts playing, and there is a spin of skirts as the first dance starts up. You’ll likely get in trouble for dodging Mr Evans, given he had you booked for the first dance. However, you could always plead that you had attempted to find him, and the two of you had always just missed each other.

You suppose there is nothing terrible about Mr Evans, he is a perfectly polite, even kind man. He is just not interesting, and your mother had to ask most of the questions once when he had come over for tea. Something that had gotten you into trouble later that night.

You can see the mop of blonde hair that could be Mr Evans and you stand up straight, starting an idle, if quick, stroll around the opposite side of the room. There’s a door to the patio off to the side, and you duck through the door and inhale a lungful of fresh air.

It’s quiet out here, the music following you out but it’s caught in the open space, drifting up into the sky, insignificant. It’s the late evening, and the sky burns red, the sun catching on the edge of the landscape, flaming the distant fields.

This is the Oakwood estate, and they usually host the best parties of the season. A large mansion, white and pristine, surrounded by flattened grass. Perfect for playing cricket on, if one wishes. And they often did.

You smooth your hand over the wood of the railing, white paint giving the effect of marble. On the underside, you chip away at it to expose the brown wood. Out of sight, a pathetic rebellion but you take what you can get.

You know that in a few minutes you will have to return to the dance, find Mr Evans and do your usual verbal dance. Apologise for missing him, let him take him for a dance. Perhaps ask him his day was, if he lets you get a word in. You know that this is your lot in life, the idea of truly rebelling and shaming your parents is enough to curtail you, just before you can get too many ideas.

Not that it doesn’t leave you bitter, but you’ve gotten used to chewing on your words. There is a sickly feeling at the back of your throat, and it has just gotten more poisonous over the years. You’re too young to be so bitter, so you resolve to give yourself another minute of fresh air before you return to reality.

At the forest line, you can see a man in a suit shifting, and you squint, trying to make out the shape of him. A dot, with arms and legs, sprinting from what must be a mile away. You stare, unsure of what you are seeing. Inappropriate, you think, to approach this party on foot rather than via carriage, but you couldn’t see who it was to surely throw any judgement.

A call of your name behind you has you spinning around. Mr Garrick stands in the doorway, slowly shutting the door behind him as he takes you in. “Hello,” he greets, bowing his head to you slightly.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, giving an aborted attempt at a curtsy. You falter, unsure as to whether to bring up the proposal that you saw the previous night. You decide not to, settling on something more polite. “How are you?”

Mr Garrick smiles at you, impossibly handsome. You are struck for a moment, about someone so beautiful, wondering for a moment if you have imagined the entire scene from the prior night had even happened at all. “I am well, thank you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back. He’s broad in the shoulders, a faint strain in the fabric of his coat that draws your eye for a moment. “Just wondering why you were out here instead of inside.”

You shuffle, unladylike, for a moment. You turn back to the railing, facing the open field again. Easier, you think, to speak directly to the sun if faced a little away from it. “I just needed a moment, it’s a little close in there.” You hadn’t spoken much, before he left, but at the burr of his voice, you slip into memory. Pulled forward before you stop yourself, remembering how easily he pulls conversation from you, a loose string that unravels.

He hums, steps to the railing himself. There is a gap of space between you, the amount that is appropriate, but you still glance behind you uneasily. He had left the door open behind him, the door slanted at an angle so the sounds inside are slightly muffled, but still present. It cuts through the space between you, the constant reminder of the rules of your lives behind you. “I understand the feeling, myself,” Mr Garrick confesses, forearms braced on the railing. His head is tilted towards you, eyes dark and pretty.

“Yes?” you ask, blinking at him in surprise. You hadn’t seen Mr Garrick at many dances like this, granted given he had been so recently away, but for a man whose back was so unbent, you didn’t imagine he was someone to be intimidated in a crowd.

Mr Garrick hums again, giving you a small smile. It’s affectionate, in a way that has you flushing. “Indeed. It’s strange, in France, my garrison had 3-score more men than there are in that ballroom, and yet it felt easier to move through.” He gives you a self-deprecating smile. “I must sound very silly.”

“Not at all,” you rush to say, rocking forward before reeling yourself back in. He watches you for a moment, an amused uptick on the corner of his mouth. Your fingers flex beneath the cotton of your gloves. Count the stitches that rub against your skin. “It’s nice to find companionship in an isolating feeling,” you add, shy at how forward your words sound.

He doesn’t move for a moment, eyes darting around your face. Your name comes out of his mouth, soft, like it’s still sitting on his tongue. You turn towards the field again, see the figure of that man in the distance. He’s closer now, more than a dot now, the faint image of a person.

“I should find my mother,” you say, wanting to hunch in yourself, but forcing yourself to turn back to the doors. Light filters out, caught in the dark of outside and disappearing, swallowed up.

Mr Garrick takes a step closer to you and you inhale, feel the catch of it on your ribcage. You forget how much taller he is than you, until he is this close. The light from inside catches on one side of his face, relieving it into clarity. There is the faintest scar in his eyebrow, a slight blemish in his otherwise perfect face. His hand, bare, slides across the railing, thumb where you think you have picked at the paint.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, eyes caught on his hand, before darting back to his face. 

“I believe I asked you to call me Kyle, once,” he says, giving you an amused smile.

You don’t frown but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that would be - appropriate,” you manage. The same response you had given him back then as well, you think.

He frowns instead, and you feel guilt curdle like lukewarm tea in your belly. You shuffle, taking note of how he leans back. You want him back in your space, want the heat of his attention.

“I’m sorry,” you add, desperate for him to not look sad again. You think about his face, searching in the dark of your stairway. It’s impossible to reconcile that he had proposed to spend his life with you. And you cannot even extend the kindness of his name towards him. “Kyle,” you add, before you can stop yourself.

His head turns back to your, full lips tilting in a soft smile. Your name exhales again, catches in the air around you and warms you. His hand flexes and he reaches up, a flicker of uncertainty on his face that lingers for a moment before it dissipates. His hand drops. You imagine how it would have felt against your skin. You’re certain that he boxes just like his father, you wonder if his hand would be calloused against your skin, or if it would be soft and deliberate.

Another voice calls out your name, and it ruptures through the slight breeze around you. Once again, you are reminded of the propriety of your situation, and you take a step back, even though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong. You recognise the voice, the uptilt at the end. Mr Evans, and you didn’t want to find out if he reported to your mother that he couldn’t find you.

“I should go,” you murmur, shuffling uncertainly for a moment before you turn around. Mr Garrick doesn’t try to stop you, which makes you feel rotten.

You turn your head just before you step back inside. A painting in candlelight that throws Mr Garrick’s face into real life, like he has stepped out of a painting. The furrow of his brow and the slightest downturn of his full mouth. The stranger out in the field, closer now, the swing of his arm as he runs. You bow your head and turn around.

-

Mr Evans is the dullest man that you have ever met. You try not to think too uncharitably about him, but as he spins you around again and reminisces about another business man who owes him some money, you wonder if it would be better if you were to fall and hit your head. Or maybe if he did. Nothing too serious, but enough blood to scare off any further attempt at conversation.

He isn’t terrible to look at, a strong jawline, his smooth blonde hair. Charming enough that your mother coos at everything he says. It didn’t have the same effect on you, unfortunately.

“Your mother is a very handsome lady,” Mr Evans informs you, something that has you blinking to focus. Your palm pressed against his as you step away and then step back into him. “She has graciously invited me over for afternoon tea with yourselves tomorrow.”

You give him a stiff smile. You had been there when it had been arranged. “Yes, our cook makes the best pastries, and my mother does enjoy letting people experience them.”

“I look forward to it,” Mr Evans tells you. You smile again and let him turn you.

The smooth slide of the violin soothes through the hall, catching on the floor and bouncing back up. You let it wash over you, until individual voices quieten, smoothing together into a mistakable blur that you cannot distinguish.

It is hot in here, a heat that catches in your throat, crawls like a bug over your skin. You imagine walking back out to the veranda, wondering if Mr Garrick is still out there. It’s cool out there, you are parched for the bite of wind in your lungs.

You decide to give yourself one more dance, and then you will go out there again. A reward, for doing your duty.

The bow of the violin screeches, a horrid twang that has you flinching, the entire room stuttering. There is a crash outside, something wooden snapping.

You turn, stumbling in your slippers as everyone looks towards the balcony. You cannot see at first, trying to peek over everyone’s shoulders. Pushing yourself onto your toes, very unladylike, before there is another smash and then someone is shrieking.

What once was a still crowd that you were a part of seems to turn on you, a tidal wave that breathes in before it suffocates you. Everyone scrambles, and you get shoved back, momentarily affronted before the screaming gets worse, more and more voices joining the chorus.

Your foot gets trampled on and you whimper, shoved back until your back hits a wall. Pulled along for a few moments, before the crowd starts to thin and you can see the moment of clarity by the large windows. 

There is a man on the floor, Mr Casings, you think. It is like your mind cannot make sense of the scene before you. There is another man, knelt over Mr Casings, and there is the red of his guts over the floor, red caught in the broken doorway. Thick and malleable looking, you watch as a stranger rifles through the torso of another man and guides his hands to his mouth.

There is a catch in your mind, the click of a door stuck in a jam. The moment before you saw this and now, your mind is syrupy slow, half still trying to remember your next dance move. You cannot make sense of what you are seeing, so you feel stuck in the run up to it, half parsing through recent memory to try and decipher it.

There is the rumble of a keening noise and it takes a tickle in your throat for you to realise that it is coming from you. You lift a hand to your mouth, try to suffocate it.

The creature kneeling over Mr Casings must hear you, its head yanks up in your direction. You think it may have once been a man, but anything human must be gone from it, leaving behind pallid skin, gore in its mouth as it makes a groaning, snapping noise at you.

Quicker than you think it should, it darts up and starts to charge at you, leaving you crying out as you start to sob, scrambling as you try to get away.

You think about lying on the ground like Mr Casings, the useless silk of your dress ripped open until the warmth kept within you went cold in the open air.

You hear the snap of teeth and you scream, an animal sound tearing out of your throat before there is a grunt and another thud.

You’ve hit the wall again, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Whatever was charging at you is pinned to the ground, and you sob as you watch Mr Garrick grab the creature by its head and smash it into the floor.

You flinch with each thud, unable to look away. Watch as it continues to buck and twitch until it finally stills, blood on the floor where its head used to be. Where before you had felt slow, five steps behind what was happening before you, now you feel stuck, finally caught up. Door no longer caught on a jam, now thrown open, hinges loose and rattling.

You can’t look away from the image of Mr Garrick, sitting on the back of this man-shaped creature that now had a blood splatter for a brain.

Your name comes out hushed, barely able to comprehend that Mr Garrick is crouched in front of you. “Can you hear me?” he asks, and you blink at him, uncomprehending. “We have to go, alrigh’?”

You don’t move, eyes still stuck over his shoulders, the gush of blood. You can see it seeping in through the gaps of the floorboards. Mr Garrick’s head lowers before he murmurs that he’s got you, and then you feel yourself getting lifted up.

Slung over his shoulder, you have enough presence of mind to cling to his back before he takes off. Sound filters through the front of the hall, screaming and yelling. Mr Garrick darts off to the left, towards the balcony with Mr Casings.

Mr Garrick neatly steps over the carnage, shoes grinding in the broken glass. You whimper as you catch sight of his empty eyes staring upwards. Mr Garrick shushes you, smooths a hand over the back of your thigh even as he doesn’t falter.

Outside now, the cool air hits your face. The sun is still setting, the sky red and you squeeze your eyes shut at the colour. The death that you’ve seen in the hall is closed off, and if you don’t breathe in too deeply, then you won’t taste the bitter tang of blood, and maybe it’s all gone.

Mr Garrick curses sharply and you get pulled forward until you're on your feet, and tugged into his chest. He yanks you into the wall and steps in front of you, shushing you again before you can make a sound. Not that you were going to, shaking and clinging to the lapels of his jacket. You peek over the broad of his shoulder, and see why you have both stopped.

Gravel is getting kicked up from under the feet of guests as they run out from the estate. Others are running towards them, across the field and you choke on your breath when they collide. It must be more of those creatures, some type of sickness. You didn’t understand, they had the silhouette of men, but you hear the yowling when they brought a woman down and tore into her.

“Christ,” Mr Garrick mutters, cradling you in his front. “Shit, we need to get a horse.”

The stables were around the front, even though you are several feet away, you imagine you could smell the blood being spilled from here. You whimper again, shaking. “My mother,” you manage, unable to find the words for what you really want to say. My mother must be with that group of people, and we can hear them all dying. There aren't words designed to sit in the mouth like that.

Mr Garrick considers you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “Alright, wait here, do not come out unless I come back, ok?” You nod, but when he steps away, you find your hands still fisted in the lapels of his coat, like you cannot let go. He steps back, smooths his hand over your wrist, just beneath your glove. You jolt at the feeling of his bare skin, some old propriety from a lifetime ago are enough to startle you into relinquishing your grip. “I’ll be right back, keep hidden,” he tells you, pushing you further into the slight alcove.

And then he’s gone. You stare out across the grass. They play cricket out here in the summer. You remember, suddenly, the man running out in the field, wondering if that was the man that killed Mr Casings. His blood stains the edge of your dress, guilty. You want to cry, feel like a sick animal out in this open air.

Your father had a hunting dog once, and you remember how it had looked when he put it down. Mad, he’d called it, saliva foaming in its jowls. Wild eyes that had looked around, uncomprehending and yet piercing. You inhale, shaking, wonder if you look the same.

You refuse to make a sound though, lean against the brick behind you. Shake as you listen to screaming and growling that travel through the open field to reach you. You fist your hands in the skirts of your dress, try to breathe steadily. You don’t know what you will do if Mr Garrick doesn’t come back. You hope he comes back with a carriage, your mother inside to pull you inside. What you wouldn’t give to be scolded for crying and ruining the delicate rouge that she had spent precious time delicately smoothing on your cheeks.

Time is elongated and unbearable until it returns to you with a crack at the sound of a horse. You peek out, and you make out Mr Garrick astride what must be a horse detached from a carriage. No saddle, but reins around its face.

It’s only Mr Garrick who thuds down in front of you, who gathers you up and ushers you towards the horse. “My mother, where is -” you start, pliant beneath the ushering of Mr Garricks hands.

“I couldn’t see her, there’s a chance she got away, like we have to, right now,” he tells you, his voice strained as he steadies the horse, looking over your shoulder.

“I don’t -” you say, but Mr Garrick has had enough talking, and lifts you onto the horse, side straddle, before smoothly pulling himself up behind you.

He kicks the horse into motion, and you set off, quick enough that you still don’t understand.

You feel half your mind is still back on the balcony, trying to decide if you were going to go back inside. You look over Mr Garrick’s shoulder, and imagine you can see her, staring out at you. Seeing you but not understanding.

The band between the two of you pulls until it snaps. You jolt, a wounded noise high in your throat, but hidden in Mr Garrick’s broad chest.

Your father had shot your sick dog, barrel of the gun against the back of its head. Mr Garrick’s hand on the back of your skull, fingers in your hair, holding you steady. Right there, the press of his last finger on the give at the start of your neck. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you swallow it down and choke on it.

[countrycritter]

Ok so hear me out everyone 🙂‍↕️

Reader (who I’m imagining as gen-z but that’s just my opinion) that is LOVED by most of the recruits and none of the 141 understand why.

Like all the recruits just seem to flock around Reader even though they’re just standing there????

But in reality it’s just because Reader indulges in their unhinged humor while also being a good Sergeant, if that makes sense.

The 141 will be somewhere like in the gym or the canteen and a bunch of recruits will be like “omg where’s reader?!” because they have a bunch of gossip they needed to spill to them.

(Meanwhile Reader couldn’t give less of a shit about gossip they just think it’s funny watching the recruits make jokes and illustrate their insane stories.)

And they get genuinely sad when one of the other members of the 141 are training them instead of Reader.

I hope the brainrot makes sense 🥲

[frankensteinposm0]

"You better not have drawn Stan and Kyle without hats with a pink color palette and with lyrics from a Weezer song"

me:

[toysrguts]

Dae-ho (player 388) NSFW Alphabet

first time posting something like this kinda nervy but i had to write for my pookie dae ho and my bro said it was good enough to post so here DAE HO TRUTHERS EAT UP if this does well there will be more to come trust

18+ content below the cut!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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

he's such a gentleman when it comes to aftercare. he’ll immediately help you clean up before you have the chance to move an inch, he’ll give you one of his shirts to wear (if you're not already wearing one) and he'll literally carry you to the bathroom to shower together. but if you're both too tired he'll just pull you close to him and play with your hair until you fall asleep in his arms

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

i think his own favorite body part would be his chest, hes got some nice pecs and he knows it. also cause he has a lot of upper body strength 🤤🤤 on you though its hard to choose one but he always finds himself grabbing onto your thighs and love handles so i think its safe to say those are his favorites

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

hes not a fan of making a mess, which isnt much of an issue anyway because spoiler alert he has a breeding kink!! he loves filling you up, especially when you both cum at the same time because it makes him feel connected to you. but if not inside he'll sometimes shoot a load on your face or chest cause it looks pretty when its all over you

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

he thoroughly enjoys being dominated. usually hes the one in control but he will bend over and take it like a good boy whenever the opportunity arises. being a big strong man is hard work, sometimes he needs to be taken care of too

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

he doesnt have a crazy body count or anything but he knows what hes doing for sure. especially when it comes to you, he knows your body and how to turn you on instantly and make you cum fast it fills him with so much pride

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he loves the intimacy of missionary. any position where he can look into your eyes and be pressed skin to skin with you are his favorite. cowgirl is a close contender because he can look up at you while motorboating you and gripping your thighs. he also likes the one where he lifts you up and fucks you against the wall cuz he gets to remind you how strong he is. trying out new positions is fun with him too, he'll have your legs bending in ways you never thought possible

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

he doesn't really like being too serious in the bedroom, hes almost too giggly sometimes. if he catches himself being all concentrated he'll slow down a little and smile at u n shiiiii but its also so hot when he's just really focused on making you feel good

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

has like no hair down there he shaves as soon as he feels stubble, he just prefers to be clean shaven

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

intimacy may as well be his middle name. he values the connection between you too so much and it's adorable. he's constantly checking in to make sure youre enjoying yourself while also praising you and planting soft kisses all over your body. sometimes you can tell he loses focus just from looking at you. he’ll tuck your hair behind your ear or gently caress your face, he treats you like royalty seriously

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesnt jerk off that much but when he does he's usually thinking of you and definitely whimpers your name when he finishes. he's not much of a porn watcher, all he needs is a pic of you and 5 minutes

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he's big on hair pulling for sure. like how can you see that mane and not immediately reach for it when hes 7 inches deep inside you. and it goes both ways you’ll catch him yanking on a fistful of your hair without even realizing it. oh yeah hes also into breeding!!!! blowing his load inside is his favorite activity!!!!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

basic bitch loves the bedroom. he just likes anywhere that feels the most intimate, sometimes thats your bed or sometimes it's in the shower and he can't keep his hands off you and suddenly you're bent over with your hands pressed against the foggy glass

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

dae ho might not have the highest sex drive but to him, you are his motivation. it drives him insane when you make the first move. he gets weak in the knees when you put your hands on him or whisper something scandalous in his ear when he least expects it, he’ll start matching your energy real quick

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

he’s open to almost anything but hes not really into bdsm or torture and shit like that. he doesnt mind receiving pain but inflicting it on you especially to that extent is a big no-no

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

he could bury his face in between your thighs for hours at a time call this man the headmaster the way he eats pussy like its his last meal, and hearing the sounds you make is only more motivating for him. also BIG on face sitting he cant get enough of it. if you're hesitant about it he'll literally hold your hips down to feel all of your weight on top of him. he prefers giving but he'll still go crazy over the feeling of your mouth wrapped around his dick, especially if you make eye contact while taking it omg he’ll finish in 3 seconds

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

he always caters to you. he starts off slow and sensual, but as you get worked up and start moaning louder he’ll pick up the pace until tears start to form and your legs are shaking. training in the marines paid off thats for sure!!!

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

he’s not really into quickies because he enjoys a more intimate experience and quickies leave him feeling needy. they're unnecessary to have often but when you do its usually just him pleasing you and hes perfectly fine with that; if you're ready to go then so is he

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

he will try almost anything as long as it's with you, but not without having a safeword in place of course. he has his boundaries and he would never forgive himself if he crossed yours

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

this man was a marine he can go for as long as your heart desires. if you're not satisfied then neither is he

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

i dont think he has any for his own personal use but he probably has a few toys for spicing things up when you're together. he’ll bust out his vibrating cock ring for funsies sometimes

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

hes not a huge tease but sometimes he’ll do it just to see you flustered. hes usually too clueless but he’ll whisper shit in your ear because he knows it makes you crumble. but not crazy on teasing cuz he just wants to please you, if anything HES the one getting teased

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

definitely a whimperer. hes usually not very vocal though so its a nice treat when he lets one slip. he's usually too busy talking you through it to make noise, but when hes bottoming though….. yeah not even a pillow is masking that shit

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

cant cum without a good makeout sesh. its his favorite type of foreplay cuz its so intimate and gets him in the mood instantly. sometimes you dont even get to fucking because hes just glued to your lips; he could probably finish from just making out alone

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

hes packing a good 6.5-7 inches with the perfect girth that stretches you out. also a pale shaft with a cute pink tip

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

hes not the super horny type but little things turn him on. like if youre super touchy with him he will fold instantly. if youre cuddling with him and you press your ass against him just to feel him get hard he’ll climb on top of you with almost no hesitation. hes so pathetic when hes needy too you can see it in his expression the way he craves you and only you UGHRHR

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

dae ho refuses to fall asleep before you, i think its impossible actually. your comfort is his biggest priority. he’ll usually snuggle up really close to you with his legs intertwined with yours and run his fingers through your hair, only dozing off when he notices your eyes finally close

[haoovn]

A few quick doodles and lazy coloring :')

Og panels under cut:

[timetravellingshinigami]

His hidden rage, sarcastic demeanor and judgemental eyes have captivated me.

Judge me sir. Tell me you're disappointed in me. He would make you cry. And you would go back for more. I would go deranged seeking his approval.

[gothghostiie]

because I'm obsessed and obviously can't keep my interests apart: COD RDR/wild west AU??

Price being the leader of a notorious gang of outlaws in the west, he's got his boys at an arms length at all times. he's charming and knows how to sweet talk like no one else, knows how to get out of any situation. he's a quick thinker, makes good plans - he used to be a gunslinger back in the day too, but his age is catching up to him; but he still has it in him. he fights on his own moral compass, makes decisions on what he thinks is right and fair (mostly anyway). he knows he's got his boys, he knows they'll follow him to death and beyond.

Then we have Gaz, he's the brain - sniffs out the best scores, knows every nook and cranny of the cities around, knows what paths are safe to take undetected when the law's after them. he knows the map by heart (truly, it's eerie how well he gets around sometimes), knows what homesteads are empty and safe to stay in, knows exactly how long the law will take to show up - of course he does, he was one of them. he's smart as a whip, knows how to talk almost es well as price. knowledgeable in a lot of things too, youd have no idea how many times the others wouldve been dead if it wasnt for him.

Soap is all muscles and explosives, of course he is. always has some dynamite or fire bottles on hand no matter when or where. he's got a past of being a criminal on his own before meeting price, he was to be hanged the day price happened to wander into the town that he had almost fully burned to the ground - soap has been loyal to him ever since. bringing in debts, kidnapping the right people, robbing banks within mere minutes and taking out whole gang hide outs on his own, whatever price tells him to, he does. he's also good with horses.

Then there's Ghost. He truly honors his name, he's been declared dead by the government, there's a grave with his name on it. it happened before he met Price, it was a silly shootout that ended with a corpse was far too obviously not him, but the bounty hunters took whatever they could for the money that was on his head. he's a gun slinger, big and intimidating, he's a quick shot too. he truly is like a ghost; quiet, frightening. he does prefer quiet kills, something about feeling a man struggle as he slits his throat gives him a twisted sense of satisfaction. soap has 100% told some kids scary stories about him, just for ghost to stare them down from a back alley and send them screaming.

[kobebibebi]

i want to post art SO BAD but i cant because i haven't finished smth new (school won't let me like omg there's always a load of homework every single day) so here's an old human kite redesign

(I've posted this here already but i just hid it in one of my posts lolol)

i still dont like this redesign even now and im probably gonna redesign it in the future (like at least 5 years from now,im confident my sp brainrot will last that long trust me)

(like many ppl, i also didn't like his actual canon design, you can tell by how different he looks lmao)

[bearforceone3]

stuff from last year i completely forgot to post

[niccolites]

gaz and price are both ruminating in my mind palace as lifestyle doms.....