kieranscaren

[kieranscaren]

THE PEOPLE REQUEST MORE STUD READER AND ABBY‼️‼️

a/n : my bad this is took me forever i'm on a job hunt, and this shit sucks :cry:. i never quite know if people want headcanons or a one shot, so one shot you get. i’m gonna be honest i had no clue what i was doing with this one… takes place in the same universe as the last fic!!

cw; reader is black!! and has braids . i am basing reader's outfits off of the studs i know. think big pants, intricate belts, ingraved jackets, rings and hats. this takes place in the same universe as my last stud reader fic. some angst

,,,

Since your last date, Abby's adjusted to seeing you dressed. Or rather, underdressed. You've come around to seeing her braid undone, golden waves cascading down her back and stray strands tickling the sensitive spot on her neck she presses your lips against at night.

Abby's very physical. She's started holding her hand out to be kissed before she leaves for a patrol, she lifts up her tank for you to nip at her belly, she nibbles the tips of your fingers as she reads. You've come to accept all of her sweet quirks, but you didn't expect this.

Soldiers are gearing up for a battle no one can be sure will happen. A heard will run through, but it's always been someone else's job to deal with the infected before they reach the main base. Red lights flicker through the stadium, the warning of war. You're on edge, teeth clattering in the cold of night since the heat has been allocated for those who need it the most.

It's your girlfriend who will suffer the most if worst is to come to worst. Issac's top killer, after all. She spends the night to soothe the nerves she doesn't communicate.

You feel her fingers tighten around your scalp as she pushes you further into her neck. Abby's leaned against your headboard, head lulled back, and her shirt and bra stripped to give you better access. It's early morning now, and you'll have to dress if you want to help anyone gear up for battle.

Abby sighs, loud and dramatic as her index fingers taps against your forehead. "I don't want to get up." She whines, sporting her sweetest pout to get you in closer. Abby loosely tugs at one braid, slightly worn at the edges after a week of running around base.

"You don't want to," You echo, wetting your lips to put them right back where they belong. "But you have to."

Abby groans at the bittersweet motivation. Five minutes later she’s fixing you an outfit with the pile assorted near your bed. She gets you to wear her pants, claiming girlfriend privileges as she snaps your belt into place.

“I don’t think I’ve worn a belt since I was twelve.” She teases, fanning her fingers across your exposed waist. Theres blue stripes in the belt, still keeping her with you even when the durags faded after too many nights spent in Abby’s laundry. You snicker, leaning back into her. If this is a good enough distraction for her, you’ll let her dress you as her twin whenever.

Warning signals fire from the tall, barely obscured windows and you both know that means danger and too much stress to bare. Abby puts on your rings too, five for her and the rest to you.

“Think these are sharp enough?” Dull, ruby red gemstones shine on her pale fingers in the morning light. They won’t, but you aren’t killing your girlfriend’s hope.

“Definitely.” You hum, leaning over to kiss her cheek before she gets too caught up in wrapping herself in every weapon she can find. Gun holster gartered around her taut thigh, she’s already prepared.

Abby stays long enough to haul a shirt over your head, and scratch her fingers at the back of your neck. She could carve her initial here, assuming she doesn’t get distracted in the process. She’s always been the type to fall asleep during haircuts.

When she leaves, breathing steadied and hand drawn into her pockets, you know she’ll be back before the quarantine. That, and you’d be stuck with Manny and Alice.

[kieranscaren]

terfs are not human.

[kieranscaren]

Abby x butch reader whose always put together but its her first time seeing them in lounge wear im talking a durag, wife beater and basketball shorts Guys im not being racist im black and just wanna see more stud reader☹️🙏🏾

a/n this is my first black reader request, THANK GOD!! I’ve never worn a durag, so my experience is coming from watching my brother tuck his very long afro into a durag to impress girls at school. (it didn’t work, he was a nerd). readers hair is never specified

cw: suggestive ending. abby has a basketball shorts kink i guess.

You had been dating Abby for a few weeks before the relationship had moved from faux casual meetings around base, to proper sleepovers. Well, it was more of a date. Abby's guarded and hides her real feelings behind a thick wall you've only just managed to break down, chip by chip. So you'd invited Abby over for the week, and she showed up at your door with foraged flowers and her best DVDS.

What she didn't expect, was seeing you dressed so casually. Not in trousers or the WLF standard jackets, your initials pinned on the letterman, but dressed for what this actually was.

Seattle was cold and unforgiving in the later months of the year, but as long as they could afford to keep the heater on and the showers cramped, you were content. There was an expectation that everyone in this stadium be prepared all the time. Gun strapped to your leg or hair tied up in case a hoard of clickers burst through those doors. Can't afford to get dragged, even if it's by the school children these days.

You had traded your para-military uniform for something suitable. If the date night goes as you expect it will, you don't want to be wearing something you'll have to shimmy around in. That and your hair needs a refresh.

A blue durag for your blue-eyed girlfriend, and basketball shorts that had been well-worn twenty years before you'd stepped into them. The hem of your wife beater stains with the chocolate your girlfriend had given you a few days prior. "Sweets for my sweetheart." She had declared in a voice that very quickly revealed her embarrassment. It was sweet. She was sweet.

Now, as Abby steps inside your clipped half-apartment, she's sucking in her bottom lip. Flushed and Embarrassed once again. She presses the flowers to your chest, curving your hug on accident.

“Abby?” You venture, raising a brow. She’s wearing a band shirt with strained, cropped sleeves and the coziest sweatpants she most likely stole from Manny. It’s cute, though. You still want your hug.

She says your name back, head tilted towards the overarching windows bleeding moonlight into the room. She missed watching the sunset with you, but if she can get her eyes away from your body, she’ll tell you all about the stars.

“Flowers for–uh.” Abby trails off, shifting her feet as her footing fails. You fear she might be having a stroke before she does a glance over. She isn’t dying, she’s just attracted to you. You bite back your smirk, slinking closer to your girlfriend.

“Thanks, Abby.” She doesn’t flinch. Before you had started dating, she was incredibly touchy. A hand on your shoulder, a thumb digging into your thigh as she drove, blowing air kisses when you left her immediate proximity. But now it’s romantic, and the touch, once so familiar, is foreign with an underbelly of tension. Her fingers twitch at your waist, feeling the skin beneath your tank.

“Let’s—let’s get this started, yeah?” The DVD’s clank in her heavy hands, and you take them to lighten the load. All 0.5 grams of them had poor Abby flailing her hands. She isn’t used to this.

You walk her over to the makeshift sofa and ancient television, and out from the apocalypse you are. Abby’s first pick was the first season of television show.

Your leg brushes against hers, bare there where hers is covered. This is nothing new for your girlfriend, not generally speaking. She had touched you many times, but the prolonged period has her stuffy. You make the first move, and fifteen minutes into the first episode, she’s curled against your side.

Five episodes in, and she’s all over you. She pokes inaccuracies in the script, nose against your neck, hand splayed under your wife beater to lay on your belly.

“Is your favorite color blue?” That question comes out of nowhere. She’s reached the babbling stage. She really loves you. You snort, cocking your head to see her pressed close enough you can count her lashes. She half-smiles back at you.

“Why do you ask?” Your favorite color would be whatever Abby decided it was, right about now. She points at your durag, smug.

“You’re wearing blue, doofus.” You’re wearing blue because the woman facing you has eyes as big as puppy’s, and she’s curious as one too. “Blue like the sky, blue like the ocean,” She pauses, then the real grin comes.

“Blue like my eyes.”

You laugh in her face, but the pout doesn’t come. Your hands come to steady her, and she takes to your lap before she can see the characters making the same mistakes they did mere episodes ago. You don’t dignify her with a response, but the proximity says enough.

“You’re such a dork, baby.” She kisses you, always focused on your top lip when she can nudge the bottom against your tongue. “I’m getting you out of those shorts, you know?”

[kieranscaren]

because i’m happy about taylor swift owning her masters i’ll accept almost any requests for the month

[kieranscaren]

TAYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

You belong with me. 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤

Letter on my site :)

[kieranscaren]

please write mama abby headcanons🥹

anon i love you so much i'm not even joking this is the best request i've ever gotten. i love writing mama abby so much. I wrote this in like an hour after receiving the ask i was very excited

cw: general mama abby headcanons, no kids are explicitly named. I like to think she'd name her babies very serious things but give them stupid ass nicknames though

<3 Very stern mother. She does not tolerate disrespect in her home and she makes that abundantly clear. Punishments are standard. Pull away for a talking to, stay in your room until x, y, or z, write a letter to her or the offended party explaining what you did and how you plan to avoid ever doing it again.

<3 Abby makes up songs on the spot to serenade her babies. It's actually ridiculous the things she comes up with, and it embarrasses her kids to no end. One of her kids doesn't use lotion after a shower and she's air guitar-scolding them to get back into the bathroom, or they get her a nice mother's day gift and she's singing about how she has the sweetest baby in the whole world. Very silly, and very rarely will she ever sing anything serious. Maybe in the car during a road trip she'll whip out the 99 bottles of pop on the wall song, and give up after 70. <3 On the topic of road trips, you bet your ass she is not pulling over unless she has to! She is not the biggest fan of driving long distance, and usually she'll end up using it as a learning opportunity. "You aren't too old to sit on mama's lap, are you?" And her eldest ends up steering the wheel and promptly getting pulled over for unsafe driving. "Won't happen again, officer." And there her kid is, two hours later in the same position.

<3 Very affectionate mama. She slept in her father's bed until she was fifteen and demanded scalp massages long after that, and would feel almost offended if her kids weren't the same. Kids are sleeping in her bed well into their teenage years and sprawling out across her lap at any time of the day. <3 Absolutely participates in mommy-daughter/mommy-son dances and dates. Her kids are getting flowers and chocolate for Valentine's day and enough kisses to have them feigning disgust, pulling her away and then promptly crawling back into her lap to share their treats. <3 So in love with her babies, truly. Kisses on the nose, the cheeks, the brow and the crown. If she's feeling particularly mushy she starts nibbling on their face or aims for the corner of the lips, pointing out features that aligns with hers. "You have my eyes," And her stubborn set of brows. <3 Abby loves to adorn her kid's gifts. Third grade macaroni necklaces and flower crowns and rings adorned when her babies are away for too long. She won't outright admit it, but everyone knows. Her Instagram feed is all photos of things her kids have crafted, and she remembers to post for their birthday every year with the most ridiculous photos she can find.

She does everything for her angels. All in 10/10 mama bear.

[kieranscaren]

big 2025 manifestations 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

people will shut the fuck up about ellabs and stop acting like it’s the most problematic, evil, ship that has some large fan base that attacks them horrendously. the ao3 tag is dead half the year and the most traction we get is from thirteen year old ellie stans bringing waves of hate to the tags after making a lame tiktok about it.

okay end of coke rant. have fun shipping 🥳❤️

[kieranscaren]

kyoko kirigiri headcannons >_<

a/n: so kyoko brained rn... she's so interesting. am very open to requests on my queen right here.

i. absolutely an umbrella equipped for any kind of weather girl. long before hopes peak, she had learned the world was unpredictable. natural disasters, sudden death, the general ups and down of life. she looks soo suspicious just lugging it around all day. a deep purple a few shades off from her hair and outfit. problems arise with it -- somehow more unexpected than the weather or a murder, but the human instinct to hide yourself away in embarrassment. asahina had called her pretty once, and she had tipped the umbrella so low it almost whacked the other girl square in the face.

ii. always sunscreen prepared. hopes peak had offered vacations and reluctantly, kyoko had agreed to one in her first year. bonding with her classmates isnt so bad, if not for the burning sun on her pale skin. attempting to keep everyone safe is harder said than done. byakuya has his own, asahina only takes it if her best friend's rubbing it along her back, and celestia retreats into the beach house, afraid of a tan. in her future foundation days, she hadn't gone out much. the headqaurters were secure, but why risk it? the toxic rays of the sun left lips cracked and fingers dry to the bone. makoto, who absolutely cannot stand being cooped inside, rightfully so, had been the one to break her out. she had ended up with sun burn.

iii. had a cat girl phase as a toddler. she flushes with embarrassment even remembering the pictures her grandfather had kept at the time. her chubby body stained with juice and food she had insisted on smashing all over herself, and bright pink fuzzy cat ears tipping off her crown. sure, there was some adorableness to it. the innocence of youth, the sureness in which her baby self had declared herself a cat, hissing and scratching at the poor furniture, but she will never tell anyone about it... or maybe just makoto.

v. a secret gossiper. she'll never acknowledge what she is when her curiosity takes her body and guides wherever it needs to go, but she knows better than to stop it. she's found herself at other student's lunch tables far too often. arms crossed but ears open, lips sealed shut as she absorbs every drop of knowlege about the happenings of some random couple. she relays it in the worst of times. "did you know so and so were dating?" sayaka had inquired in their free time, knowing kyoko's strange habit better than herself. "yes," she had responded faster than she wanted to. "they kissed on valentines day." a pause. "or so i've heard..."

[kieranscaren]

request: yes

aoi x yasuhiro (danganronpa)

warnings; a little bit of angst, set post-game, light sakura/aoi if you squint

a/n re read hagukres book for this and forgot how it just derails into the writers incest fantasy… pushing that aside! yasuhiro is really funny. mama hiro mention also i think their relationship is really sweet

Aoi wonders through the bustling offices like a woman gone mad. The world has, and yet everyone manages to regroup like the world beneath their safe walls isn’t crumbling. She thinks about the donut shop she used to frequent and the streets that used to boom with activity. Regaining her memories is the hardest part. Slowly, bits come back to her about her life at Hopes Peak.

When her eyes finally flutter shut, she sees blurry lapses of Sakura stood at the center of everything. Late night studying, wandering the town, the chill of the pool at night. Naegi sees it too; so he says. His visions are of full, clean classrooms and Kyoko keeping him awake during lections. Togami is nicer now, foreign as it seems.

Months after rescue, they visit Hopes peak academy again. In cristeline suits and gas masks, they touch at the cracking walls they had been stuck in.

“How bittersweet,” Aoi frowns, turning up her nose at the signs of decay. They had been rescued minutes after the doors had cracked open. Bodies scamper through, torn and decayed. Kyoko had traversed further, and Naegi had followed. Hagakure lingers.

“You think so?” The older man scratches at the back of his neck. He looks out of his place, stood as casually as he is. In the same business suit as the others, he’s popped the first few buttons of his blouse and fastened his tie around his waist. ‘I never learned.’ He had said to a curious intern the week before.

Aoi runs a hand through her hair, stifling her sigh when nobody else seems to. “I wish I could remember the good times.”

Hagakure raises a thick brow, stepping forward. “It wasn’t all bad in there, man. There was a calm before the storm, it just hasn’t fully come back to us yet.”

Calm? Aoi pulls at her own tie which suddenly feels so tight. She longs for water but only comes up with polished, filtered air.

“I thought the pool was nice.” From the memories her mind keeps her up at night with. Crystalized, heated water, with the jets that tickled at her back. Sakura had enjoyed it too, giggling as she splashed around. She shakes her head to dispel it, but Hagakure insists on pulling it out again.

“I didn’t. When I was locked in that costume all I could think about was finally making it out of that locker and then falling face first into the water.”

Crudely, Aoi giggles. Hagakure presses on, walking towards the ruble that surrounds the campus. A town is nearby, one Aoi had tried to memorize at fifteen.

“I totally would have drowned!” Another step, and more decay makes way. He’s peaceful in the destruction, as if the depth of near death has made everything else pale in comparison. That or he’s purposely ignoring it.

“I wouldn’t have let you.” Aoi laughs again, crossing her arms over her chest and letting her former classmate lead her. “They don’t— didn’t call me the ultimate swimmer for nothing.”

Hagakure puts a hand over his heart, guffawed. “And saved me from near-certain death? I would have never predicted that.”

For the ultimate physic, he predicts the strangest of things. Aoi’s experience in the mystic had been few and far between. Once, she thought she saw a ghost under her bed. She had tried to kill it with cleaning supplies and ended up with bleach in her eyes.

“What exactly do you predict these days?” The city comes closer. Large buildings fog through a misty haze and under the right circumstances, the ivy that swallows it whole could seem almost romantic. Just don’t fix your eyes on the blood.

Hagakure investigates the street with a skeptical glance, looking both ways like the helicopter they had arrived in would speed down like oncoming traffic. Only after confirming it’s safe to cross does he talk again.

“Not much, to be honest.” He scratches embarrassedly at his cheek. “Little things, you know? Makoto will trip on the way up the stairs, Toko will return from her mission with a whole new attitude.”

Aoi nods along, watching for birds that never fly these skies. “How do you know those things will happen, though? Makoto’s a bigger klutz than I am, and Toko isn’t exactly known for her consistency.”

“I just know,” Hagakure gestures his brain waves flowing through the wind. Aoi can almost see green, bent lines swimming out of his skull. If she were to crack open her own, she would see donuts. She can’t remember the last time she had a decent one.

“Is it magic?” Aoi dares to ask, only slightly joking, as she stops at a parked car. The engine has been ripped out and the tires have melded into the cement. Hagakure rolls a finger along the dust that settled along the window.

“Hell no.” He eventually coughs. “I’ve had my fair share of the occult. I am a science man, you know?” Aoi giggles again.

“Like with your aliens?” And burgers stolen from his mouth. Years ago, Aoi would have doubted it entirely. Nowadays, she wouldn’t blink if it happened again.

Hagakure, as if scared they’ll come back to take him, shivers. “Yeah, man. My mom used to always say, ‘Yasuhiro, stop eating your food under the table, nobody’s taking it from you.’ Yeah, right.”

Aoi’s mother, wherever she is, would have hit the man beside her for the disrepect. Her daughter elbows him.

“I guess we all have a past then.” One before the killing game, one before the mess Hopes Peak has made of their lives. Aoi wonders what Hagakure must have been like before it all, when he was just a boy clinging to his mother’s side, getting scolded over food. If the aliens want him, she’ll be there to stand guard. In the ruins of the city, specks of life turn up with a breath, with a joke. For another day, hope remains in the world.

[kieranscaren]

my masterlist n request rules !

arcane ;

sevika … 1

vi … 1

the last of us ;

abby … 1 2 3 4 5

ellabs … 1

danganronpa ;

aoi (x hagakure) 1

rules

i will write for these fandoms … arcane, the last of us, yellowjackets, bg3, tomb raider, the hunger games, danganronpa, and red dead redemption.

pretty much fair game requesting wise. i will not write incest or age gaps involving a minor and adult character. kinks, i don’t mind, just no scat, vomit, or general butt stuff . 💖

[kieranscaren]

You, me, and everything caught in the fire.

⍣ ೋ 1/4 series / sevika x highborn reader.

(aka, piano teacher sevika grieving her dead parents)

Ten years before everything goes to shit, Sevika flees. Scraping by in unfamiliar territory to make ends meet, being your piano instructor isn't so bad. // cross posted :)

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Love is a disease to the mind. At thirty, rot swallows the undercity and Sevika is stupid for searching for an underlying in the cracks of a burnt-out city. Snuffed like the cigarette beneath her boot, her parents are gone.

Senile, old fools. They lived and died in that same rickety, sad excuse for a house. The house where Sevika learned to play and shoot, where she grew from a useless child into a tall fool. When the flames had swallowed it, her parents reclined into their chairs and let it take them.

Fleeing isn’t a smart choice. Sevika’s aware of that in her second, and last, remaining change of clothes as the boat she’s in crashes the shore. Like her childhood cat, she’s curious about what the world around her looks like before the car speeds down.

Real, lush, green surrounds the island Sevika will have to acquaint herself with. Not too far, yet eons away from the place she can, in no good standing, still call home. She feels for nothing but the emptiness in her pockets and the loose change scattered around the ocean floor. Is she desperate enough to dive in? She’s thinking she might be as she walks to the closest bar.

A drink will do her right. A poker game should give her just enough to get a hot meal and a room for the night. She could become a whore, like her cousin. Nobody around them at the seaside, too-fancy bar looks interesting enough for her to spread her legs for.

It smells of sea salt and aged tobacco. The owner, an aging silver fox, serves the drinks himself.

“You look like you’ve seen a few things.” The bartender chuckles to himself as Sevika takes the seat. Amusement is a good thing, in light of her empty pockets now. Laugh it up, she thinks. He might declare it’s on the house if she finds him so funny.

“You’d be right.” Sevika shakes her head. It’s none of his business what she’s seen, the horrors she has endured while he’s stood there, pouring the shots. Country music filters through the expensive sounding speakers and the patrons are tipping their invisible hats. It’s an island for Janna’s sake, they should be swimming or dancing, not wallowing in whiskey and pretend misery.

“I’m going to assume you’re not from here.” The bartender adds after a few, sliding forward a glass of something strong. Sevika chooses not to tell the amused man that she can’t pay for it — let the idiot figure it out himself long after she’s left.

“Good thing most of the people here aren’t. It’s a retired man’s wet dream, this place.” Sevika gives an indignant scoff. She could consider herself retired — though most retirees are by choice, not by their incompetence.

“I wasn’t led here by my dreams.” It was the shift of the current and whispers she heard years ago in the alleyways near her home. Sevika sighs again, reaching for the cigar she does not have. “I’ll settle in fine, though.” The worst thing you can be is a newcomer.

The bartender chuckles and shakes his head. So amused. Sevika downs the drink.

“I can help you with that. Need a job?”

Sevika had spent thirty-three good years in control. As a child, she had an ant farm on her bedside table. Observing the little ants follow the biggest, seeing them all congregate to reach one common goal when needed. As a teenager, she was a womanizer. From one poor Zaunite girl to the next, the shape of her fingers burned into each one. It felt good as the control had burned into her twenties. Domineering, altruistic, a good fuck, all things the Sevika just two days ago could proudly call herself.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Come on, Sevika. A job’s a job.”

“Do I look like a fucking maid?” In her dirty poncho and rubbery shoes with a shaggy mop over her brows that desperately needs to be cut. The bartender is as helpful as her father was. “You have to experience everything at least once.” He always used to say while running his fingers over their piano. He experienced roasting to death in his living room. Sevika experiences torture.

“You look like a hard worker,” The bartender shakes his head, throwing a towel over his shoulders. The bar has all but cleared up in the middle hours of the morning. Sevika’s been sleeping on a bench in the corner.

“Don’t fucking—” The bartender interrupts her.

“And a smart woman. You need to do this, and you are well aware of that fact.” Sevika isn’t aware of anything but the rumbling of her stomach. The man opposed to her feeds her scraps and Sevika takes it like a dog. The bartender hears it and slides her a glass of water. She can’t live off this.

“Fine.” She relents, nearly banging her head against the cedar wood bar table. Give me the information, and I’ll see about it."

The job in question is in a swallowing mass of a house beside the beach. Sand digs into the soles of her curled boots as Sevika leaves them at the welcome mat, per the lady’s request. The air is cold and crisp indoors. In between the boring blues and whites of the Foyer, Sevika stands in the bartender's maroon coat and blouse.

Somebody takes her boots and coat to the rack, and Sevika finds the largest spot on the sky-blue sofa. The Lady takes the love seat as opposed to her.

“You’re the second one to come in today.” That is not a shocking revelation. Sevika leans further into herself. The Lady is draped in her grief, blackened for a funeral the house shows no signs of. A Victorian, obsidian dress surrounds her, pearls hanging off her tall neckline. In the Undercity, people only dressed like her in winter. Every garment would be tacked on to stay warm. Every coat and blouse, dress and shirt. The owner of this castle is decked out in fall.

“… You’re still looking, aren’t you?” Sevika wears her nicest tone. The Lady gives no thanks. Awkwardly, she coughs into her long sleeve and wearily nods her head. “My daughter is a kind girl. Her last teacher went so suddenly, per the short notice.” Sevika wasn’t aware she was being timed. The lady continues.

“You can play piano, can’t you?” Sevika coughs, itching for the cigarillo the bartender has finally provided. Not here, not now, she reminds herself when the Lady’s gray eyes meet hers again.

“Yes.” There is no finality in her answer. The Lady must notice that before the desperation takes hold of her. She sputters into her sleeve again, then nods.

“I can provide housing and food. There’s the renovated pool house out back, that my daughter’s old instructor used to reside in. The servants should help you settle in within the next day or so.”

Shelter and hot food. Sevika’s inner child goes puppy-eyed. She nods, and the lady accepts her.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

[kieranscaren]

every time i re-read this i swear it gets worse and more unedited, but it’s possibly the most passion i’ve ever put into something under two thousand words. happy like late one year anniversary to the fanfic i made at 3am

i do desire we may be better strangers

i wanted to write bsf abby but just where she's so codependent. like reader is her first everything and vice versa - she can't sleep with out kissing them, without grinding into them like a dog. n reader is just so obsessed w her, just blabbering on. ⤥ tags abby x reader dt; @faiththrupain homoerotic bff! abby, sub! abby, top reader, language of flowers, shakespeare refs, abs cant sleep without kissing her bff, needy abby but whos surprised, slight?? masc reader - just not fem idk, scissoring/tribbing, light dry humping sorta, spit kink (fork found in a kitchen), religious symbolism/references. got lowkey distracted writing this... was supposed to be a drabble. mostly fluff with smut at the end.

౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ

the stars were still kissing the clouds goodnight as you crept up to her room. autumn had been sweet kicking up leaves under your dusted combat boots once you’d left your apartment late; roommate raising a knowing brow before mumbling ‘don’t do anything stupid’. you’d tripped on your way down the stairs.

she hadn't seemed to tire of this routine. you’d been children when it had started - abby’s blonde short and twining through your little fingers, forming mermaid braids up her crown. “princess,” you’d coo into her ear before she’d succumbed to sleep. 

twenty and still sneaking out like a schoolgirl to ensure she’s rested. 

your knuckles clang a familiar beat against the wooden door to the nook abby had called her apartment. manny had tired of this faster than the blonde had - away, was he in the nights. quiet as a shadow he’d sneak into women around bases’ nighttime stories. 

she answers with her eyes just barely fluttering open. the door opens a crack with dark strands framing over her puffy face, lips pink as her cheeks now with incoming morning and water cold on her breath as she leaned to peck your lips. 

the kisses had started the same as her braid had. playground ceremonies and prepubescent poppies placed in her hair. the false reverend had declared you wife and wife - you’d pressed your lips to hers like you’d seen them do in fairytales.

"come here," beckoning you over as you slipped into the dark of her room. her lips hovering over yours once you'd fallen into the cold of her sheets, crisp air nipping at exposed skin. you'd still been in your sleep attire. stupid boxers with little green monsters on them - fading black on the waistband peeking through your fuzzy pajama pants, sweater half zipped without a shirt underneath.

abby isn't in much better attire. worn out boxers you'd gifted her like holiday candy in the dozens you'd found on patrol, her shirt is stripped off knowing she lives in your security come night, fading purple bra clinging to her small breasts, pink nipples pebbled up to the cold of her room.

you attempt to bury her into the sheets to consolidate for rousing her out of short-lived sleep to bear the cold. abby snickers and kisses you again, laying you back into her flat pillows on her side.

"hi." no reason for starting a conversation now but you do it anyway. fingers you'd forced warm by walking up here with hands stuffed into your pockets coming up to frame her face. sweet kisses returned against her lips.

"hello," she murmurs back, whispering your name against your lips before pulling away to curl around you properly. arms encircle your waist and incoming is her legs sliding into the space between yours. 

"what've you been doing all day?" ditzy in the scent of her as you leaned into her chest. she cuddles up behind you like you're more of a teddy bear, the ones once surrounding her bed gone as adulthood crashed over her.

"free day." voice muffled into your neck as her teeth come to nip at it, sorrying kisses while she attempts to pull apart before she leaves a mark. her thighs squeeze around you before she continues.

"been so fuckin' lazy. napped my ass off and now," stopping just to sigh against your throat. her pouty lips not indifferent against your smiling ones as she'd leaned up to catch them. "i got you."

canterberry grin replacing the last. she's so simple like this, curled up to her favorite person - malignant shame not swallowing her whole for once while she's pouring out vulnerability. 'wolves', the scars had called her - you'd named her a back lying cat.

"you'll always have me." platitude slipped from your lips but your friend seemed not to care for anything apart from your lips. her own take the color from the flame of her insistence in pressing her lips to yours, "fuchia," you'd cooed into the expected kiss.

'the first kiss is where all goes wrong,' abby's father had started to quote from somewhere once. you'd still been nothing more of a girl then, adolescents still kissing your cheeks. 'greed will get you once you've gotten a taste." he'd finished.

insatiate, was abby swiping her tongue into your closed lips. midnight approaches soon and maybe you still wish to save something for dawn as you pull away.

god, she'd never stopped being pouty. saturnine when you wouldn't comply. you'll blame it on the tiredness seeping into her pretty blonde head.

"abigail," full name she'd only been comfortable with you using now. it'd been owen for a bit - he'd been a blot in the distance between you then. kissless by you and utterly greedy had been sleepovers. manny had teased her as a 'cheater'. what you had was different, you swore then. 'til death do us part,' the childhood vow would stay true.

"yes?" she mumbles it out against you. annoyance clear in her tone like you'd forbade her from touching you; she'd die if you did. her breath hovers over your top lip, pulling you to face her properly.

you choose to lay her down instead. she's sitting up to get at you - hovering over your frame with only her waist twisted into the little bunk she'd called a bed. you press your hands against her chest and down she goes into the flurry of stolen pillows. she takes it as an invitation to have you on top of her.

you land half in her lap, half slipping off into the bed. her fingers creep under your sweater and live under it. hobitting herself into your skin with her palms squeezing your waist.

"go to sleep, abby." she'd sooner tire herself to sleep than with the taste of you. blood stained carnations must've been swimming up in that head of hers. you bring a finger up to her crown like you're expecting it to start leaking flowers.

"what if i don't want to?" bratty only to the whim of her fading annoyance. she sits you up right in her lap, ruining it just as quickly. her legs part under yours, sliding a thigh beneath hers - setting you up like barbies scissoring.

"then you're stupid." you snicker back into her. blonde sliding between your appendages, tugging her face closer to yours. you'd memorized her face years ago. could count the freckles on her pretty face with your eyes closed and yet you still take the time to look now. pulling in for a kiss against her lips before landing on the bump in her nose. "you don't have infinite off days."

"i just-" interrupting herself only to whine against your lips. pulling in for another kiss like the millions before this had meant nothing more. you'd defended the affection between you both to her father in the same vain you had to manny. he'd been more questioning about it then, small liberties were taken to separate you both. you'd planted maidenhair fern under her pillow every night you couldn't be together.

"want to be with my best friend, is that so bad?" muttered into your mouth now. dampening boxers pressing into your soft pants. down her fingers go to your pajama waistband - you let her strip them off.

"aw," kicking the fuzzy fabric off your feet, joining the puddle of clothes beneath the bed frame. abby only pouts at your coo - hips turning up to expose the damp spot indented in her briefs.

you catch her lips to shush her. thick walls and yet she'd never been particularly silent. you'd wondered how many more excuses you could use now - once, you'd both been teenagers curiously exploring each other. now it's just greed fueling her clit searching out your own through the fabric separating you both.

she'd stick her tongue out for your consumption - spit dribbling down her chin and catching against her chest. your fingers come easily in unclasping her bra, tracing your thumb across the pink of her nipple. she's too sensitive there, already drinking in the honey of your saliva, wet noises panted into your mouth.

"take it off." overzealous she'd been a minute ago and now a step from begging. her fingers claw at your briefs like she's nothing more than a cat at rope. how pretty she'd look strung up in the sept of your mind; weeds restraining her thick wrists and stretched out across the cross of your daydreams choosing.

the seraphites might've been religious fanatics but you figure they were on to something with the insistence of purity. white lilies, you'd planted in abby's hair on your last patrol. you'd choose chastity a million times over to feel her cunt against yours for the first time again.

abby is stripped down with less of a whisper. hair falling into her pretty face as she insisted on leaning her wetness up to your line of sight. 'for you,' her actions had spoken for her.

your sweater comes down. her fumbling fingers unclasping your bra, getting distracted as soon as she wandered too far down you torso. pleading look in her glistening eyes as you'd gotten off your briefs.

there's no point in dragging it out now. "cute." you'd murmured over her frame once she started grinding into you. reduced to her stupidest form as she'd fallen back into her pillows, hands squeezing your ass to press you further into her.

you fall into her frame. open mouth kisses across parts of her neck you could still reach - abby's free hand against your back. you'd started panting into her ear on purpose, she started rambling out praises towards you after.

"close?" you muse against her ear. cold sweat keeping her hair stuck to her neck, your fingers swiping down her throat as your lips had found her pulse point.

the gods had tested her enough, you'd thought. sweet disposition gone after your wedding night, a decade later and divinity takes it's consummation now.

ivory sticks you two together. abby had sworn to every god from saturn to jupiter while still grinding into you. cupid had struck you both with avarice-painted arrows.

she kissed you again nonetheless. your finger swiping up her cum, digit slick against your lips as you'd let your tongue clean it off. sentience seemed to be returning to her now, blinking up to meet your eyes.

"kiss?" giggled out like a schoolgirl in that pretty voice of hers.

"kiss." you’d accepted into her lips.

[kieranscaren]

I am so INTRIGUED by Misty I need to put her in a snow globe and shake it??

She told Shauna that Nat was hiding Coach Ben’s location. She told her. But the minute that Ben is actually in real danger once Mari returns, she defends him just like Nat. She technically betrayed Nat by telling Shauna she’s lying but she’s likely going to take her side.

Then there’s the minivan argument between Misty and Shauna. Shauna tells her she’s broken, that somebody must’ve done something to her when she was young to make her into such a fucking psychopath (made me giggle because shauna my shayla that is so rich coming from you) and recounts all the times she’s done bad things to her friends just to turn around and try to be a savior.

Because that’s the thing about Misty, that’s why she trashed the black box, that’s everything with her. You will find no more devoted a friend than Misty, but first and foremost she needs to feel needed. She destroyed the black box because she was finally needed by the other girls and she couldn’t let it slip away. She ratted Nat out to Shauna to feel needed by Shauna, Nat, and Ben, because once danger comes knocking to Ben’s life and Nat’s leadership I really think she’s going to be their biggest defender.

Similar to Shauna, she has a certain strategy that she uses to get her way: alienation. By telling on Nat, she’s setting into motion Nat’s alienation by the group. But this isn’t Misty trying to be cruel. This is Misty seeing Nat, an outcast like her, now in the position of leadership. She looks up to her. She feels a kinship with her. And she has to alienate her so they’re both outsiders again. So that Misty can come to the rescue and Nat might see Misty in the way Misty sees her.

Misty has to feel loved because she is not. So the only way to feel a semblance of that is to be needed. Not loved. Not really. But needed.

[kieranscaren]

age gap ellabs drabble… meow.

cw: smut…. ellie has a kid

it’s then ellie realizes how the years have changed her. her auburn hair fades something between black and brown, youth chased away from her like fireflies on a dark night, as her daughter so clumsily sought after as a kid. she shouldn’t need some twenty-something year old to make her feel young again, she reminds herself.

but then abby’s stripping her.

“lift your arms,” the blonde commands. (or “kindly requests” as abby had put it after ellie called her bossy) ellie does — trapped somewhere between a haze and a midlife crisis as abby works at her belt, another request on her lips. “move your hips, ellie.” shakier than the first.

the blonde is chewing at invisible gum before ellie dives in again for another kiss. a nervous habit maybe? left over cockiness, probably. ellie had totally let abby win that push-up competition earlier – she totally hadn’t falter as the taller had started grunting after fifty, had praised ellie for keeping up in a tone that made ellie’s hips ground against the hardwood.

abby’s apartment is small. for all daddy’s money abby keeps by methodical organization. in a smaller space, it works better, abby had said one night.

abby still pushes ellie onto her too small bed. cat sheets bunch under her – they’d been the replacement after abby left a cum spot in the last “don’t laugh!” she’d said after.

without being told to, ellie spreads her legs. black boxers downturned as abby takes the waistline into her mouth, dragging the stolen calvin klein with her teeth.

“how do you want me?” the younger questions with an arched brow.

“how do you think?” how have the three other nights gone? ellie tangles her fingers in abby’s hair, ringlets drying fresh off her shower and unbraided spreading about ellie’s thighs in the way she likes.

ellie likes abby’s tongue, the flat of it rolling up and down her cunt in a desperate attempt to please her. ellie only moans when she’s stuffed, when she’s rolling against the mattress and thrusting her hips against her fingers.

abby is annoyingly cocky when she cums. not-so-subtly flexing her bicep as she readjusts her shirt, winking as ellie fixes herself too.

“‘nother round?” she proposes, leaning in for a quickly rejected kiss, if only to wipe that grin off her face.

“fucking fine. just one more.”

[kieranscaren]

more bff abby PLEASE

i haven't written for this au in so freaking long. sick in bed so i whipped up this non-beta'd drabble/dreary oneshot with abby and her bff

warnings; teenage abby n reader fluff. abby's not knowledgeable about flowers but reallly likes finding excuses to kiss her favorite person... and frogs. kinda abrupt ending // @atyourmerci @faiththrupain

salty springs fill your nostrils above anything else. it's abby’s fault you're out this late, you think. her long body nearly half-dipped into the not-so-shallow creak, hands that are quickly becoming bigger than her own head sprawling across her flattened stomach. her childhood stutter isn't completely gone, you register as she tries to communicate with a few wandering frogs.

whimsical as she must be feeling, attempting to speak to animals and all, it's a wonder she doesn't throw herself forward and try to kiss one of them.

"are you hungry?" clutching your own empty stomach as your best friend gives up on her search for true love. she could always kiss you, she knows. maybe you're not as cute as the green blob hopping opposite from her is.

"only a little," abby turns to face you, pouting while at it. "dad's still nursing those kittens, i think. if we get desperate enough we could ween off powdered milk." and that gets the first laugh of the night out of you.

jerry, abby's father, prefers his evenings spent playing hero. it's cute at first - when you're five and he kisses a patch of red band aid sticky on your knee because abby accidentally pushed you during tag. it's annoying as a young adult when it seems there are just billions of injured knees to go around for him to kiss. in cat form today, it seems.

abby's got a daisy behind her ear by the time he's finally done. keeps it 'til it's all shriveled up and cracking under a thick finger. nestled with the other's by a small bedside table in her even smaller room, she tells you about it with a piece of jerky hanging like a cigarette from her lips.

"'s like the sun," positively confusing it with a sunflower as she black-holes the rest of the jerky bag. it's ridiculous how it had lasted twenty something years only to be gobbled up by a bored teenager in five minutes flat. "yellow in the middle, stretching out it's bright rays towards us."

you raise an eyebrow from your spot on the floor. practically nestled between her outstretched legs because there's hardly enough space to seat two of you on the bed. that and she likes to play with your hair from this position.

after a moment she speaks again, greasy fingers finding purchase on your cheeks even when your face wrinkles up because of it. "you're my sunflower." you have just enough nerve to giggle at her mistake. "daisy, you mean?" it's at her pout that you stop.

"you're mine too," you eventually give back with enough seriousness in your tone that her eyes soften again. down goes abby's short maine as she leans down to steal a kiss out you - blond guarding your faces from the peering eyes of abby's plushies.

when her soft lips pull from yours, she's smiling again. like you were one of those frogs from earlier, she spends the rest of the night acting as if you've turned her into a princess. kissing and twirling you about, tracing a line from your belly to your lips with her unusually cold fingers to have you kiss each one on her hand, pretending it's her petals, and stopping only when you accidentally gag on one.

[kieranscaren]

Decisions • Abby Anderson

Main Masterlist • Abby Anderson Masterlist

☢️ Canon typical violence • angry sex • Abby is mean • angst • hurt no comfort ☢️

“Shh, you gotta keep quiet.” Abby whispered into your ear and you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting not to make a sound.

She moved her hand up over your mouth, pressing closer against you. You were breathing heavy but you couldn’t help it. At this point you were pressed together tightly. Your back was against her chest and she had one hand wrapped around your waist and one hand over your mouth.

You shuddered in her grip and she pressed you against the wall, flattening herself against you. You couldn’t stop the whine and Abby hushed you again quietly.

That was when you heard it. The ominous clicking that signaled almost certain death. You could feel your tears running down your face and along the seam where Abby’s hands covered your skin. You weren’t supposed to be here.

“It’s okay.” Abby whispered, barely breathing the words against your ear. “Relax your breathing.”

You tried your best, releasing slow, measured breaths so that you were no longer sniffling. You couldn’t relax all the way but it was better than you had been.

You barely had time to flinch when Abby released you, her knife puncturing the skull of the infected with a sickening squelch. She was back in your space in seconds, crowding you gently, her hands cupping your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s dead. You’re okay.”

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline still pumping through you or how closely she had held you while she protected you. You surged up on you toes to kiss her, arms around her neck. She made a muffled sound of surprise at first before moaning, her hands falling to lift you up her body.

You didn’t need instruction to wrap your legs around her and she pressed you tight against the wall of the small storage cupboard she had hidden you both in.

“You okay, baby?” She asked when you pulled away to press kisses to the edge of her jaw, ducking awkwardly to reach. “What’s going on in that pretty little head ofyours?”

“You always fucking-” you didn’t want to pause in your kisses but she freed one of her hands to grab your jaw, fingers digging in to force you to make eye contact. “You’re so fucking capable, Abs. So fucking brave and strong and you protect me so well.”

Abby knew that desperate whine that was clawing out of your throat. The babble of praise you offered up to her without shame. Usually you were riding her strap or she had her face buried between your thighs. Never like this, never while she had blood splatter on her clothes and you were scared out of your mind. “Is this some new kink?”

“I don’t know but if you don’t fuck me right now I might cry.” You whispered against her neck and she grunted when you tugged at her hair. “Please Abby, I need you. Please.”

“We don’t have time. We can’t, it’s not safe and there’s not enough time.” She whispered and sighed when you whined pathetically. While she had her usual cargos on, you had a pair of soft sweatpants because you weren’t supposed to be here. Abby was supposed to be mad at you.

“Please. I’m sorry, I know and I’m sorry. Please Abby, I can’t bare it. I need you.” You were begging through gasped breaths, dangerously close to sobbing. She wanted to soothe you, she wanted to bend you over and fuck you. She wanted to wrap you up and never let you go. Mostly she wanted to strangle you and Owen both for this stupid plan.

She pulled you closer and your head tipped back in a moan, her belt buckle pushing against you just right. It hurt, just a little. A bite of pain that only fueled your arousal. “Hurts, Abby.”

“Does it?” She asked, grinding into you more deliberately, moving her own hips so that you felt everything. Your face looked like you had found nirvana and planned to stay there. Your fingers clutched Abby’s shoulders while you hiccuped a sob this time. “You know what hurts? Coming back to an empty room.”

Abby pushed against you and you whined, choking off into a moan. She leaned forward and rested her face in the space where your neck and shoulder met. “I’m so sorry. Won’t do it again. Won’t.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.” Abby was moving with purpose now, grinding into with her belt, listening to your hitched moans. Your pained whimpers turning into groans of pleasure. She hadn’t ever wanted to hurt you, not really. But this, torturing your poor pussy while driving you to orgasm? This was something that let her exert that helplessness she had come to when Owen had told her how they’d lost you.

Scars had scattered the group, running for cover and Owen had lost sight of you. He had come straight to Abby and explained how he had stupidly brought you out and now you were lost. Abby was prepared to murder everyone that got in her way. For the good luck of everyone, none of them had tried.

You had your head back at this point, humping against her like a bitch in heat. She laughed meanly, fisting the front of your sweat pants and pulling them tight against you. “Oh fuck! Please, hurts so good. I’m sorry baby. Make me feel it. Make it hurt tomorrow.”

This wasn’t normal for you both. Sure there had been desperate moments where you both had to have each other but nothing like this. Abby was always delicate with you. Always worshipped your body like the gift it was. But there was something about you begging for the bite of pain, for the feeling of her even tomorrow. She wanted you to limp. To wince every single time you stood up or sat down. She wanted you thinking about this moments for days.

She pushed against you faster drawing small uh, uh, uh’s from you as you just took what she gave you. You were so beautiful and so precious to her. She needed to keep you safe, she needed you to know how scared she had been.

Like you could hear her thoughts you apologized again, a mess this time. Tears spilled down your face and you were sweating with the exertion of your movement. “‘m so sorry. Never again. I deserve this Abby. Give it to me hard.”

Abby circled her hips and you shuddered against her, gasping. She did it once, twice more and then you whined, high and loud and she pressed until you pushed against her shoulders. She didn’t move. “Hurts, hurts, hurts.”

“Does it?” She moved her hips slowly and you moaned, shaking your head. “Too much?”

You nodded and she circled her hips again, listening to the choked noise of pleasure you let out. There was a safe word in place. You could stop her with that. Even a firm no would do it. But you didn’t use either, hitching sobs as she continued circling her hips in exquisite torture. “You wanted to feel it tomorrow. Feel it now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Love you.” Abby had never felt this urge before. She had never wanted to hurt you, to unleash her anger on you. Maybe it was wrong of her, to make sure that after this it wouldn’t be a pleasurable pain. You would remember that she had done this. This was the pain she had caused because of how you had made her feel.

Abby hadn’t felt helpless in a long time and she took this feeling and gave it to you, grinding harshly until you clamped your hand over your mouth and muffled a scream as your second orgasm was pulled from you. Because it wasn’t gentle, it hurt and you felt raw but the pleasure, the pleasure. Well it made it all the better.

“From now on you listen.” Abby had her hand clasped around the back of your neck, squeezing to get your attention. “When you come out you do it armed, you wear your gear. You don’t ever fucking swan off with Owen for a stupid fucking record player.”

“It was for you. For your birthday.” You mumbled, hazy in the aftermath. Your eyes were unfocused and you whimpered when Abby shifted and accidentally rubbed against you again. Abby’s breath catches in her throat and something in her just snaps. “I wanted it for you.”

“That makes it worse. So much worse. Do you know what it would’ve done to me that you died getting a fucking birthday present?” Abby gasps, the realization washing over her. She would’ve known. Owen would’ve told her.

She lets you down slowly, taking a large step back when you reach for her. You pause in place and she shakes her head. “I did this once before. I lost my important person. I can’t do it again. I can’t watch someone I love put their life at risk over stupid decisions.”

“Abby, come on.” You step closer but she only shakes her head, backing away. You swallow roughly. You knew she’d be mad. Of course you had known but it was supposed to be easy. In and out. Owen said so. “Abby, don’t do this.”

“It’s better if we stop this. Cut it off now. I can’t do it again.” Abby doesn’t wait for you to understand and turns away. You follow her and wince, the pain between your legs becoming decidedly less sexy. “When we get back to the compound I’ll move back into my room with Manny.”

“Abby. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” You begged, reaching for her but it was like she knew, pulling her arm away without looking. “Abby.”

“I won’t survive losing you like this. If this is what it takes for you to understand what you’ve done then so be it.”

[kieranscaren]

Can you please do a cuddling session with Vi(Arcane)??? Something very fluffy because she’s a cutie and deserves a lot of love and kisses

aaah this is such a cute request. i love writing fluff sm. you didn't specify so i wrote a lil drabble

also sorry i took my sweet ass time with this oh em gee. my requests are still open my ass is just slow 😭💗 i’m probably gonna re write this… maybe

౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ

the morning is soft and stretching. the sweet ache of limbs longing to be properly expanded, saccharine whine leaving vi's puffy lips when a shrug eases her back into the world of the living, the moving.

she still grabs onto you nonetheless. pink ruffled up hair tickling at your chest, her body tuckering closer. your free hand running down the rough of her back, scars clouding under your fingers as you circle them to the beat of her steady heart. she’s still alive, you confirm with a pressed palm.

the first kiss of the day is met by giggles. breathing out complaints for her morning breath — only pressing her lips back against yours as quiet repayment.

“it’s early,” you chide while dodging her string of chaste kisses only to reach for the rumpled up blanket once more.

vi pouts in rebuttal. chapped lips pressing in the center below your collarbones — stretching fingers circling an invisible dot over your chest, soon just kneading like a house cat.

“so?” half hearted snark sneaking up on her to your giggled indiscretion. her fingers leave your chest only to her shifting attention — up your flushed cheeks and and warm skin, lips following the beat each pad of her fingers leaves against you.

it’s petty. you can almost hear her raspy, smug voice sinking in between your ears. echoes of her words swimming by and the only discernible one comes out against you.

“soft,” sweeter words than the expression you expect on her face. double vision quick coming each time she pulls the slightest bit away — fast coming back to kiss you properly this time. no more complaints slipping your lips now.