#<- sorta. pre-relationship

[windupnamazu]

i can't sit idly (no, i can't move at all)

ffxivwrite2023 #15: portentous of or like a portent: a sign or warning that something, especially something momentous or calamitous, is likely to happen.  

Lunya/G'raha. Pastoral AU. 582wc. ⮞ Some people hear a scream in the middle of the night and close their curtains. G'raha runs toward it.

The moon hung full over Corvos that night, drenching the summer meadows and their sprawling patches of daffodils in silver light and casting long, deep shadows where it could not reach.

G'raha fiddled with the latch of his hut, uncertain why he was so on edge. It wasn't his first summer in the pastures and it would not be his last for many more years to come, and with experience came a quiet sort of calm that eluded him this time when it had never before. Out in the field his flock was quiet as they slept under the watchful eye of his loyal sheepdog, Lyna, and the only sound was the gentle whistle of the wind through the ash trees.

Before he could fasten the lock and retire to bed to shove the strange anxiety hanging at the back of his mind away, a scream broke the peace of the night.

Immediately he was back out the door, crook in hand and barking a command for Lyna to keep watch. He tore through the thicket, lantern swinging as he tumbled down the slope towards Elftrudis's pastures with a healing spell already on his tongue.

He found her on the ground, panicked but otherwise unharmed as her own guardian dog circled her flock, hackles raised. In the pale moonlight that drifted between the trees into her section of the meadows there laid a giant direwolf, its hulking body split in twain, and standing above it…

A woman—one he'd met once before in these very same meadows. Lalafellin, possessed of moon-white hair in silken plaits and eyes of twilight flecked with crystal, skin brown as sugar and dotted with white freckles like the myriad stars overhead, impossibly beautiful in a way that made her seem not of this world. She stood over the corpse of the wolf five times her size as it bled out into the soil, cradling a lamb in one arm and in the other the arm of a scythe as tall as she was, formed of aetherial light rather than steel and dripping ichor. Two hounds flanked her on either side; the first a mutt that was nearly invisible in the dark with its pitch black fur and the second an Ala Mhigan hound with golden fur and piercing blue eyes.

When last he saw her, the very first time, she was a traveler who misheard his kulning cry as one in need of help and came wandering from the treeline like one of his flock at sundown. She warned him the pastures were dangerous at night and he laughed it off, having spent more than half his lifetime slogging through the wetlands in the pitch dark. Back then, she seemed eccentric but no more than he was and he found himself charmed by her open-bite smile and the wit with which she bantered with him until he had to return to his hut. At worst, she was a little misinformed but clearly well-intentioned. But before there weren't wolves of this size. Before, she hadn't had the scythe.

"What are you, Lunya?" he wondered, mouth dry.

"Me?" the girl asked with a voice like bells, luminous and intensely strange beneath the moonlight. She smiled toothily at him; her canines were sharp, fanglike. A bracing wind tore through the meadow and rattled the daffodils at their feet, sending her braids rippling in waves that revealed a pair of wolf tooth earrings hanging from her softly pointed ears. "I'm an omen."

[grimicarus]

18+ MDNI

This is pure smut, mostly Violet x reader but we got a Xaden cameo in there too.

Tomorrow was presentation day. And your pretty bird hadn’t been able to get up the Gauntlet fully even once during training. It would bug you if you didn’t know better, after all- what bird couldn’t fly?

So no, you weren’t worried about her. Violet would soar up the Gauntlet, through the chimney and over the ramp, and she would most certainly impress the dragons. After all, she’d caught your eye hadn’t she? And gods above, you couldn’t wait to watch her fly.

But she was getting in her head, foolishly, so- loyal dog that you are- it’s your task to bring her back down to earth. To center and ground her, to make sure she’s relaxed and ready for the challenge at hand.

Which is why you had stuffed her pretty mouth full of your thick fingers, to make sure she wouldn’t catch unwanted attention with her wailing as you devoured her pretty cunt in the light of the moon.

“Pl-pl’s-” She can barely speak around your fingers, pressing down mercilessly on her tongue and forcing her saliva to spill out onto her chin. Naturally, this drives you to abandon her delicious cunt on the precipice of her orgasm so you can lave your tongue over her face, scooping up the drool she was wasting. Fuck, she tasted so good.

“None of that, luv.” You croon, leaving her face wetter than it was before as she sobs and shudders at the tantalizing release you had left just out of reach. Fuck, she looked so pretty like this, needy and wanting, aching for you. For your mouth, your fingers, your everything.

Even now her hips were jerking desperately up against the space between your clothed abdomen and her slick cunt. “If you want somethin’ you just got to ask for it.”

Your smirk is mean, and your accent slips for her as you grin like a wild beast, snarling and slobbering over your pretty bird like she was something delectable to devour. Which is true. And she glares up at you with tears clumping her eyelashes together, your saliva drying on her cheek, and her chest heaving with pure need.

“Le’ me c’m.” She demands around your fingers, glowering up at you, and you smile widely— as though you hadn’t just spent the last hour edging her over and over and over in the empty rotunda where the cadet’s had all gathered that first day. You can’t help yourself when another frustrated tear slips out, swiping your tongue over her cheek to make sure that salty goodness didn’t go to waste. It wouldn’t do for her hound to be thirsty; now would it?

“What’s ’at?” You ask innocently, tilting your head a bit in faux confusion. “Couldn’ quite hear you.”

A spark of pain goes through your hand, and you moan noisily, hips jerking towards her thighs in one rough thrust when she fucking bites your fingers. Hesitantly at first, then harder at your reaction, until you can see the blood peeking past her teeth.

“Fuckin’ hell, such a perfect bird.” You moan, and the gods of this world must look upon you with favour to let you have this pretty bird yanking on your leash. You press your fingers a little deeper in her mouth, forcing them past her teeth, watching her gag around them as your other hand releases her thigh to push into her clenching cunt. “So good, all for me. Beautiful, powerful, delicious.”

The words are almost slurred with deliberate desire and hunger, and you abandon the game you’d been playing in order to reward her ferociousness by pummelling her sweet spot with two crooked fingers. Your thumb presses down on her clit, and you’re panting above her, eyes bright as you admire her moaning and writhing, bucking to get even more of you inside her.

A third finger joins the party between her thighs, and your other hand pushes down on her tongue until her jaw is open enough for you to lean over, gathering saliva in your mouth. She jolts when you spit down her throat, and her eyes roll as her cunt clenched down around your fingers. Her thighs shake violently, and her back arches until her nipples brush against your shirt while she cum’s hard.

You can feel something cold trickling over your scalp, and you force your eyes away from your Pretty Bird to scan your surroundings. It was your responsibility to keep her safe, especially now when she was so deliciously vulnerable. For you. Because of you. You had done so well as her loyal hound, helping her cum nice and hard before her challenge.

Shaking the thought from your head, your gaze eventually lands on a particularly shadowed spot, on the far side of the courtyard. One-two-three shapes. Three. Three intruders who had witnessed your Pretty Bird falling to pieces under your hands. She’s still riding it out, so you’re diligent in keeping your fingers moving. You did this. You brought her to her first peak, and you’d give her a second, and maybe a third if she was good. Who were you kidding, she was perfect.

You were going to treat her right, give the watchers the blessing of laying sight on her before you tore those filthy eyes from their skulls. You would gouge them out and serve them on a platter for your pretty Violet, rip their tongues from their mouths so they could never dream of sharing this perfect moment with any other. Maybe you’d even let them live. Maybe.

One figure tilts its head, and the other two draw back, and you track their path scurrying across the courtyard, darting through thick shadows until they vanished inside. No matter. You’d find them.

Your Pretty Bird catches your attention once more, whining and whimpering as you bring her overstimulated cunt to another peak.

“Wha’s at, luv?” You ask it like she could even answer, cooing down at her. “You’ve gotta speak up if y’ wanna be heard, Pretty Bird.”

Bending down to catch a nipple between your teeth rewards you with another shuddering moan, and you look up again to lock eyes with the figure. “Y’ve go’ an audience, luv.”

Your accent thickens, and Violet’s body tenses. You pull your fingers from her mouth as she tries to jerk up to see, putting them in your mouth to savour the taste of her spit. Your fingers grind against the sweet spot inside her, and her eyes roll as soon as she spots the shadow, cumming hard for the second time.

By the time she’s done, the figure is gone. But you’ve got an inkling feeling you know exactly who it was, after all. Xaden Riorson tended to have a problem with getting himself in other people’s business. You’d fix it, right after you cleaned your Pretty Bird up with your tongue, after all- didn’t you deserve another reward for your efforts?

[deoidesign]

Wait wait wait, I saw in your tags that's Time and Time Again is ending soon? But I've only just found it! (through the animation you did, it and your comic are so well done)

Ah, yeah.

So by "soon" I really mean "sooner than I think I would like" and it feels much sooner to me as the writer than I think it will to you all as the readers.

But, Time and Time Again is pretty much exactly 2/3 of the way through right now. Webtoon gave me the end date before I even finished my first season, and I've been trying to fit in all the things I wanted to get into the story before it ends...

It's why my hiatus has been taking so long, I'm trying to write to get as many moments and as much development as I possibly can, with really limited time! And... also admittedly to prolong how much longer it's sort of "around" in my life.

Because I know once it is over, I'll move on to the next comic! and 3 years just doesn't feel long enough to have Adam and Steve in my life haha

But, yeah. it's getting "close" in a way that it's starting to make me sad. like this time next year it'll probably be over.

It's okay of course, it's the nature of stories that they will end. I'm working really hard to make it satisfying despite Everything, and I'm really proud of everything I've done so far.

And my next comic will be even better for what I've learned here!

So, sorry to everyone, but I promise I'm gonna make it worth it.

[asherashedwings]

No Moons were harmed in the making of this video

[splish--splash--minecraft]

like it belongs

Grian is exhausted. This isn’t exactly anything new, but it’s never really mattered this much before. Normally he can get by on a few hours of sleep when all he really does is build and pull pranks on his friends. But only getting a few hours of sleep in the middle of a death game? Frankly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t lost any lives yet. He glances over at Scar, sleeping peacefully in the one bed they’d been able to make. He’s definitely due for swapping the night shift with him, but something keeps him perched in the window. He’s tired, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep anyway, so he may as well just let Scar keep sleeping.

Just a little thing I wrote mostly yesterday and today instead of studying

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #14: An Apple a Day (Does Not Keep the Paladin Away)

Prompt: clear || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through patch 6.4: The Dark Throne.

--

The sky is so blue.

Zero’s memories of the Memoriate War, before the Thirteenth and all its people drowned in ever-darkness, are still patchwork and hazy, but watching the heavens from the Radz-at-Han airship docks, she’s reminded that once, the Thirteenth had skies the same color.

Today, she sits along one of the city’s outer walls, watching the flow of traffic heading to and from Palaka’s Stand and the port at Yedlihmad, drinking in the sounds and the colors of a living city, a living nation. She nibbles on an apple absently, and she relearning how to enjoy the pleasure of eating. That first one she had eaten on the Source, she was still trying to remember the physical act of eating, tearing with incisors and canines, grinding with molars, little thought given to texture and taste. Now, she remembers how to pick out the choicest apples from the bowl, avoid the ones with bruises or soft spots, remembers how to take a boot knife and peel the skin off in a single take, remembers that in some villages, mothers would take such fruit skins and fry them and dip them in honey as treats for their children.

Zero remembers she likes her apples a little sweeter, but the tartness of this one is refreshing, regardless. The last bite bursts as brightly across her tongue as did the first one, the flesh yielding with a satisfying crunch beneath her teeth.

“Mind if I join you?”

She turns at the familiar voice, and has to look up at the familiar smiling face of Dancing Heron. The roegadyn is out of her armor, dressed down in a yellow linen shirt that fairly glows against her copper skin and black trousers; her usual wear, at leisure in Radz-at-Han. But the swordswoman carries herself with the same tall surety she had that day in Garlemald, when she stood between Zero and hungry voidsent.

Zero shakes her head, and Heron easily swings herself up to sit next to her on the wall. Almost immediately, and without seeming to notice, Heron begins to tap the heels of her boots against the stone in some rhythm only she knows. Well, she and her sisters; put all four Warriors of Light up on a wall or cliff, legs dangling over the edge, and one will begin that hypnotic rhythm that all three pick up in chorus.

Heron doesn’t say anything as she takes out a bag of samosas from the pack slung around her shoulders, merely digs into her lunch, apparently perfectly content to sit in silence with Zero. For her part, Zero appreciates it; she is becoming more comfortable with those parts of herself that aren’t voidsent, but even before the Thirteenth died in the void, she had been a woman of few words, and too much chatters makes her uncomfortable. Heron’s silence is the most comfortable to bask in; Alakhai carries too much tension, ever ready to draw her knives against a threat even when she isn’t aware of doing it, and Estinien often ends up restless, leaping off to join the Radiant Host in their training.

Zero leans back on her hands, eyes drawn skyward once more. On the distant horizon, grey clouds boil, a heavy storm to bring cool rain to Radz-at-Han and wash away the inevitable dust roused by so many travelers and traders and bustling residents. But the perfect, painful blue keeps her attention, and even without clouds to chase, it is so easy to get lost in that infinity.

A sound causes her to start, and Zero cants her head to the side to see Heron rummaging in her pack, much deeper than possible, and Zero blinks at the strange sight of the roegadyn up to her shoulders in a pack not much larger than a melon before she remembers Synnove’s ability to enchant items so that they were bigger on the inside. Heron herself is muttering, too low for Zero to make out the words, before a triumphant noise leaves her lips and she pulls back, two apples in hand. Heron grins, and turns to hold one out to Zero.

“Want one?” she says. “The market here carries a lot apples from the La Noscean orchards, but this one is from Gridania, s’called a honey queen.”

“Thank you,” Zero says, reaching out to pluck the apple from Heron’s grasp; she knows better now than to refuse a freely-offered gift, especially from Heron. Zero will not win against the other woman’s inherent, cheerful stubbornness.

She examines the apple curiously; it’s only a little smaller than the ones that grace the Satrap’s tables, and its skin is a mix of yellow and pink, rather than glistening red. But the flesh is firm even with her gloves in the way to dull her tactile senses, and the smell is the same. She lifts the fruit to her lips, and takes a bite.

Sweet floods her mouth in a heady rush, and Zero’s eyes go wide. Her toes curl in her boots, and the noise she emits is less a moan and more a squeak. She chews quickly in order to swallow, then takes a larger bite, but this one she savors. A well-named cultivar indeed: the sweetness rolls as thick and heady as honey across her palate and she rolls this bite from one side of her mouth to the other, a content hum escaping her as she slowly chews it into juice.

Next to her, Dancing Heron is laughing, and Zero looks at her again. Heron’s eyes are crinkled, her pleasure at Zero’s own as obvious as the black of her hair.

“Glad I picked a good one!” Heron says. “I have a few more if you’re still hungry after that one.”

Something uncurls in Zero’s chest, pulsing soft and warm, and she can’t help but notice that Heron’s eyes are a perfect, painful, shining blue.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[laugtherhyena]

I AM HERE with a short fic or whatever.

-

"Look, I don't think you're ruined."

Kizuna ran her fingers over the faded scar on her stomach. It had been so many years since her best friend told her that, but it kept her going.

Her beauty had stopped meaning so much to her after that. She stopped wearing so much makeup. She stopped with the intense skin care routines and let her skin wrinkle and blemish. The moment she got her first gray hair, she accepted it.

Hell, she didn't even care about the stretch marks that appeared on her thighs and belly. It was natural, and she loved it.

If Kanata had taught her anything, it was that it was okay to not be perfect. She didn't have to struggle up the mountain to reach her mother's expectations, and that... that's what mattered most to her.

"Kizuna!," Ayame called from down the hall, "are you just about ready? It's Akira's wedding today, we gotta get there early!"

The pinkette tore her gaze from the mirror, a sorrowful sigh escaping her lips. "I'm coming, dear! Just tying up my hair!"

Ayame grunted playfully at that, but no more was said.

"Kanata," Kizuna whispered to the mirror after a bit, "i hope you're proud of me. I've changed, I've become better... your sacrifice wasn't for nothing. Thank you for believing in me."

And then she headed on her way, to celebrate something-- someone-- that she was most proud of.

Her daughter.

-

Thats all i got okay byebye

SCREAMING AND CRYING AND GOING INSANE MAN I LOVE THIS SO MUCH‼️‼️

Like wow i don't even know what to say, the way you wrote Kizuna accepting the effects of aging without trying to hide them or look younger all because of how much Kanata helped her get through this kind of mindset, and how she's still very dear to her even tho she's been dead for a long time now,, that's just so sweet

Akira being someone she's so proud of is awesome too because i love picturing Kizuna wanting to be the best mother she can to her even if she screws up at times. Knowing first hand how it is to grow up with shitty parents, she wants to give her something she didn't had growing up :]

[zerolostwalks]

I don't know for sure which all ships you do but 14 (stop looking at me like that, people might think you're soft) screams either Flarrie or Boggie to me (if you don't write those, ship of your choice is 👌😁)

Librarian wasn’t exactly the career Flynn had envisioned for herself. Especially when she was younger with big dreams of Milan and Paris fashion shows the biggest stars wearing her designs down red carpets. But then again she hadn’t expected to be bestowed with magical powers and being thrust into the middle of some parallel worlds seemingly unending war.  Ended up spending way more of her teenage years in libraries doing research and accidentally being a better librarian than half the actual staff who rotated through on a regular basis. 

Thankfully, she managed to find a library that was willing to accept all her years of ‘volunteer’ experience and letters of recommendation, even though she didn’t have a full master’s degree like she’d seen as a requirement for other librarian positions. One that also didn’t seem to mind her still researching during work hours if things were quiet enough.

Today was one of those quiet days, no major events planned, school had just started so no plethora of kids, and Taylor was working today, and they needed constant movement and had most of the rounds covered. Flynn was taking full advantage, manning the checkout with a few copies of some of her more reliable magical resource books. Nose deep in research between library patrons.

Her current bout of reading was interrupted by the loud thunk of someone haphazardly dropping a pile of books on the counter in front of her. Sure, she may have gotten a little too focused, but she wasn’t going to openly admit that at the moment. Besides, it did not call for the mistreatment of books. 

“Can I help you?” Flynn asked, fully aware her tone had gone perhaps a touch too snarky, opening herself up for another potential complaint and write up from the new manager. At least she managed to keep herself from glaring when she saw who it was, the unmistakable honey blonde waves cascading over the pink plaid,  jacket and skirt combo that looked like it was pulled straight out of Clueless or maybe Legally Blonde.

Annoying as she may be, Carrie certainly had a signature to her style and stuck to it. Flynn had to respect that if nothing else. Even if that signature bled into her magical hero alter ego and would certainly get her caught someday. 

Carrie scoffed, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her pink tinted lips and eyes.  “Sure, I’d like a Caramel macchiato with soy milk, no whip, and an extra espresso shot.”

Flynn figured she’d be forgiven for not holding back this glare. Why did every interaction with Carrie always go like this? Almost like she enjoyed pushing every one of Flynn’s buttons. No one needed to know Flynn found as much enjoyment out of pushing Carrie’s button’s back. 

“Obviously, I’d like these books.” Carrie said with an eye roll and shake of her head. 

“Right, is this another batch of period romance novels?”

“There is nothing wrong with those and you know it.” Carrie nearly growled back before her tone softened minutely. Just enough for Flynn to catch but make her wonder if anyone else would. “And no, I decided to branch out.”

Flynn’s questioning comeback died in her throat as she began to sort through the books and recognized the covers. All various resource books she had previously used or studied.

“You’re always reading these, and you, you handled that hellhound better than I did.” Carried said, avoiding looking directly at Flynn, choosing to pout at the nearby display of banned books instead. 

Which was a good thing because Flynn’s fairly certain her jaw was on the floor. She’s not even sure she’s ever heard Carrie admit to anyone she wasn’t trying to butter up. Yet, here she was admitting she was following Flynn’s example because she had done something better than her. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” Carrie snapped and brought Flynn back from the spacing she had unknowingly fallen into. Flynn blinked owlishly as Carrie’s pouty glare morphed back into a teasing, almost flirty smile. “People might think you’re soft.”

It was a good thing no one was around who could tell how Flynn’s heart stuttered with that or how her face had grown warm, suddenly overcome with the thought that maybe she wouldn’t be all that opposed to getting Carrie that coffee. She shook her head, trying to clear it of that particular though as she finished checking Carrie out in silence. 

It didn’t work, no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, even her own books, her mind kept replaying that smile.

[casper-perry]

If you’d have me…

author: Leaf_Sheep

summary:

Riddle has a crush on Ruggie.

He asks him out.

Leona has to deal with this shit.

~~

Cute fluff of Riddle shooting his shot I love it here.

[devotion-between-the-wheat]

with death and the life si, part of me wants to go with the angle of both of them having multiple forms, as can common with personifications. but in some ways, that feels like a coward's path.

instead, the other angle I want to go in, especially with death, is that both of them have had only had one form, that he's always been a wolf, perhaps predating the said animals in question.

[rainy-day-gracie]

jealous

jackson!joel miller x reader

cw: explicit smut (minors dni), jealous!joel miller, pwp, pre-established relationship (fwb), alcohol consumption, swearing, dirty talk, angry sex, exhibitionism sorta (they're in public but no one sees), light choking, use of a gag (panties oops), fingering, teasing, begging, a HINT of assplay, joel is ferallll but so is reader hahaha

wc: 1.5k

a/n: hello all in order to distract us from the trauma of season 2 here is a jealous joel miller fic. things get nasty but that's how we like it.

masterlist

-

Joel’s knuckles were white as he kept a grip on his whiskey, sipping it slowly, deliberately, imagining his white knuckles knocking out the guy’s teeth. 

The guy with his hands around your waist, on your ass. 

He knew you were doing it on purpose. 

Dancing, flirting, glowing in the lights of the dance hall.

Joel savored the burn of the whiskey, trying to distract himself from your smile, your laughs, your touch, none for him. He supposed he deserved the punishment, but the way you were dancing… pure cruelty, if he were being honest. 

It was past midnight, Jackson’s young kids sound asleep, and the music and dancing took on a new spirit. Instead of the family-friendly twirling and turning, intimacy cast a shadow over the dance floor, lights dimmed and everything slightly hazy with the lighting of cigars.

Cigars thanks to you, getting lucky on a patrol in an abandoned rich neighborhood. Joel wondered how much people were willing to trade with you, giving away whatever they could just for the burn of tobacco on their tongue. 

Joel wanted the burn of something else, something other than whiskey, or a cigar. 

–

You’d been watching him the whole night, glooming in the corner of the hall, a dark shadow coiling with rage. 

You’d known what your dancing would do to him, pressed close to men younger than him, smaller than him. 

His last words, spoken in the soft light of sunrise pouring through his bedroom curtains, echoed in your head as you fixed your eyes on him.

We both know I'm no good for you, too old, too mean. Better for both of us that this never happens again. 

You hoped he burned at the sight of your hands on another man, another man you both knew you didn’t want. 

A grin spread across your face as Joel sipped his whiskey, a slight shake in his hand. A loaded gun, cocked, and ready to fire. 

He tilted his head, his dark eyes on you lighting your body with desire. 

As the clock struck one in the morning, you unraveled yourself from the man you’d been dancing with, giving him a polite smile, and wished him goodnight. Although he was a good dancer, there was only one man you wanted coming home with you. 

If you played your cards right, he would be. 

Keeping your eyes forward, passing Joel entirely, you left the hall with a smile. 

The night was cold, late fall casting a chill over Jackson. Frost covered the ground, and your breaths were white with warmth. Only a handful of people wandered the streets, sleepy quiet overtaking the town. 

Boots that weren’t yours crunched the grass behind you, and you knew who followed without having to turn around.

You grinned to yourself, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. Keeping him chasing. 

Climbing the steps of your house, the boots behind you went quiet, as if he were hesitating. 

You put a hand on the front door, but didn’t turn the knob. 

There was silence for a moment as you waited, until the boots moved again. Loud thumps against the wood of your porch, slow, deliberate. A shadow rose behind you, not touching, but his voice sending goosebumps down your arm as he spoke for the first time. 

“You gonna open that door, or I’m gonna fuck you right here on the porch?”

Desire shuddered through your body, and you gripped the door handle to keep from jumping on him. “I thought you said this was never happening again.”

Joel growled. “That was before you grinded up on guys you don’t belong to. Now, open that door, or the neighbors will be gettin’ one hell of a show.”

Letting go of the handle, you turned to face him, anger panging through you. “‘You don’t belong to?’” 

Joel clenched his jaw, stepping forward until your back pressed against the wood door. His dark eyes peered into yours, and as he spoke, his whiskey scented breath mingled with yours. 

“Don’t lie and say you were doin’ all that dancing just for fun,” Joel growled. “Don’t pretend that you wanted any of those boys.”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah? And what do I want, Joel? You tell me.”

Joel straightened, stiffened. “I don’t know.”

“Now who’s the fucking liar?” You hissed, pushing him back with both hands on his chest.

Joel grunted at the impact, his eyes darkening. In an instant, his hand wrapped around your throat, not hard, just enough to keep you pinned against the door. Arousal flooded your core, and you gave him a wicked grin. 

“What do I want, Joel? Do I want a nice little man and a picket fence? Do I want to be left the fuck alone?" You smirked, breathing to let him smell the booze on your tongue. "Or do I want to be fucked so hard I don’t remember my own name?”

“Careful, girl,” he hummed, your pulse thundering under his fingertips.

“You’re the one that followed me like a dog on a leash,” You breathed, pushing his hand off of your throat with a shove. “Too old, too mean, remember?”

Joel was silent, though his nose brushed against yours like he was barely keeping from sinking his teeth in. 

When you spoke, your voice was low, and raw. “Didn’t you ever think that maybe I like my men old and mean?”

Joel grabbed the neck of your shirt, pulling you away from the door in a single tug. Pushing you forward, he bent you over the rail of your porch, your hips biting into the wood as you caught yourself. 

Behind you, Joel grinded his hips into your ass, denim on denim, his cock hard pressing through his jeans. He leaned over your bent torso, whispering in your ear. 

“You stay bent over like this until I’m done with you, and maybe I’ll give you what you want so badly.”

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, what’s that, old man?”

“To come on my cock so many times that you lose count,” he growled, reaching around to unzip your jeans.

You tensed, eyes scanning the street where party stragglers stumbled to bed. “Joel, there’s people out here–”

“Better stay quiet then, huh?” He said, pulling down your waistband roughly, making you moan at the force. “Oh, baby, your sweet little cunt is droolin’.”

He pulled at the elastic of your soaked panties, making you yelp out into the dark street as the cloth snapped against your core. 

“You know better than that, baby.”

In an instant, Joel tugged your panties up, up, up, pulling the cloth roughly into your cunt before the fabric ripped against your skin. You whimpered, unable to stifle your desire as he quite literally tore the panties from your pussy. 

Cunt exposed, Joel drove a finger into your slick like he couldn’t help himself, and as you moaned in response, he stuffed your soaked panties into your open mouth. 

“Much better, baby, much better,” Joel groaned quietly, like he didn’t even care if you heard him or not. You keened at the praise, his calloused finger tracing patterns up and down your soaked core. “I know all of this is for me, even though you’ll pretend it’s not. Your little stunt at the dance did the trick you wanted it to, right?”

The digit slipped inside of you, in and out before you even had a chance to react. You squirmed under his touch, and he pressed his free hand against your spine to hold you against the wood. 

“I never was a jealous man,” he rambled, playing with you. “Not until I met you. Not until I saw the way every man in this damn town drooled over you. Not until you let me into your bed, and I was stupid enough to leave it.” 

You arched against the wood, desperate, your moans stifled by the panties between your teeth. 

“Poor thing, been missin’ me, huh?” 

Your eyes fluttered as he pushed two fingers into your weeping cunt, curving them to press against your g-spot with the same precision he uses to pull the trigger of a rifle. 

“I’ll let you come on my fingers if you admit that you’ve missed me, baby,” Joel growled, playing with your core like his favorite toy. Your whine of pleasure was muffled by the gag in your mouth, but he chuckled at the sound. “Having trouble?”

He thrusted his fingers in and out, in and out, winding you up tighter and tighter. A tidal wave rose in your belly, and he knew it. 

“C’mon, speak up,” he teased, curling his fingers expertly. 

You mouthed around the panties, desperate for him to give you what you want. Humming with delight, he dug his free hand into your mouth, pulling out the panties as you gasped for breath. 

“I missed you so much, Joel,” you cried, forgetting where and who you were as he pushed a third finger into your core. 

“Then why were you dancin’ with another man, grindin’ on him like a little slut?”

“I-I wanted to make you jealous, I wanted you to want me–”

“Oh, baby, you ain’t gotta do nothin’ for me to want you,” he drawled, and mercifully pressed a fingertip against your neglected clit, and you moaned into the night. “Now, come for me, baby. Prove just how much you missed me.”

You obeyed with a cry, your cunt pulsed in response, his fingers relentless on your skin. Your core clenched around him, nails biting into the wooden railing as you came on his hand. Your knees buckled slightly, and he drove a hand into your hair, pulling your head up.

“No, no, no, baby, we’re not done yet.”

Joel pulled his fingers from you slowly, chuckling at the whimpers that left your lips. Lightly, he traced his soaked fingertips up the curve of your ass, circling that tight ring of muscle above your wet cunt. 

“Get inside. Or I’ll take this ass right here."

-

read part two, mine, here!

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ … ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW AND TWO CLUELESS MORONS | kinich x gn!reader

— in which ajaw tends to interrupt kisses. and ruin moments.

— this took way too long to get out, winner of this poll w 458 votes .. includes pre + post getting together, kinich does bite , i love ajaw

recently, the little pixelated... thing that called itself "almighty dragonlord k'uhul ajaw" had proved to be quite troublesome.

and it wasn't just in your love affairs with malipo kinich; ajaw took it upon himself to make not a single second of your day silent.

"i'm nOT forigiving you for this you... you... you- aGH, NEVERMIND! you're literally HOGGING kinich's attention so like.. screw off already!!"

needless to say, it seemed that ajaw was a jealous individual. you'd heard a thing or two about him from kinich, though rather.. unsavory things: irrelevant tidbits, a nonchalant little comment of "i forgot to mention, he'll take over my body when i die, so he constantly wishes for my misfortune."

oh yeah, like that was totally normal.

then, perhaps ajaw's jealousy wasn't unfounded — you "owned" kinich more than he ever would, lol. funnily enough, the way the two of you had met was purely due to ajaw, so if anything, he didn't have the right to complain.

from what kinich told you later on, he had been on some bounty mission for a troupe of ragtag saurian poachers, and had swung by to check grappling indents on the cliffside when ajaw spotted an adventurer scaling the rock. doing what he does best — causing a celestial fuck of a racket — he hovered over, preaching about how "real adventurers don't use equipment" and to "drop everything to show your bravery" ... after a proper talking to, kinich met with you to convey a formal apology.

at the time, you didn't know such a professional relationship would develop into something more.

"he's bothering you again? i'll scold him..."

kinich's voice was quiet, his head settled in your lap, one hand gently circling your wrist. you slowly ran a hand through his hair, released from its typical headband-style. soft, it was fluffy to the touch, and you heard kinich hum in content, bringing his hands up to caress your face — a silent request for a kiss.

and how could you resist? there was something in that gaze that seemed so pleading, so intimate-

"you ICKY ICKY LovEBIRDS !! FOR THE LOVE OF- GET A ROOM!!"

kinich withdrew his hands with a scowl, lips pressing into a thin line. "... read the room, ajaw."

"this almighty dragonlord is not going to witness a k-kis- grOSS, i can't even SAY it...!!"

"..."

kinich seemed to consider something, very briefly.

then, he grabbed the sputtering pixel-dragon forcefully, smothering ajaw's face with a gloved hand. watching in awe and feeling thoroughly entertained, you heard indignant shouts grow muffled.. and just like that, ajaw shut up for the first time in over a decade. historical.

your lover leaned forward, angling his head to the side to press a chaste little kiss into your neck. like he had flipped a switch, he grazed his teeth lightly against your skin, nipping at it first, though not hard enough to draw blood, then biting at it.

"ouch, are you trying to leave a mark? what's with you?"

"shush." he spoke with his face flush to your neck, kissing a small trail up your neck and onto your jaw as if in apology. "i'm merely claiming what's mine."

and there ajaw floated, suffocated and forgotten. "..hell, are those two SERIOUSLY making out ?? when im literally rIGHT HERE!?"

(a/n) ajaw is so detestable i love him if possible i think id want to pinch his pixel cheeks. anyway "so call me maybe" is up next w "so cradle these wings" after, they were supposed to be sorta related but i don't the release order matters so :p

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

[peanutalergy]

Mr. Winston - SR x reader

The BAU doesn't really need your help with the case. Spencer does. tags: post prison! spencer, fem! child psychologist! reader. cm type violence (blood, murder, etc), traumatized child. pre-relationship yearning MAYBE ? maybe fluff also sorry i still don't know how to classify these things. the synopsis doesn't really make any sense because this is kinda spencer's pov but idk guys sorry im really tired. w/c: 1.5k (this was originally 5.4k words but then i reread it and found that i actually hated every single one of them so...) a/n: okay so wow... i had so much fun writing this (let's ignore most of my posts from the past two weeks) THE THING IS i sorta already had a pt2 to this but then i thought well we can't have that without the beginning so i did kinda write this in a rush im really sorry that it's so short and shitty. . . ALSO i really love this reader & i'd love to write more of her but if you don't like it then i don't like it either and i'll never write again if you tell me not to. i do not think this is good by any means. i do hate it but if i stared at the google docs page for any longer i'd go insane.

Spencer doesn’t treat her like she’s made of porcelain because she’d be easily broken (though, she would, but neither of you say that since you can tell how hard she tried to look strong before coming to the precinct). He treats her like she’s fragile because he can’t remember the last time he didn’t break something like this — wide-eyed and shaking, holding onto something soft like it’s the only real thing around.

He was the one who convinced the team to ask for your help when the kid got involved — he always is. They insisted it wasn’t needed, you can deal with her yourself, you’ve always been good with children, or whatever, but your office got a call from him anyway.

No one knows why he sticks around. Maybe it’s the way you hold her; the gentle hand that runs through her hair, much warmer than the tiny fingers with chewed off nails and blood stains. Maybe he’s trying to memorize the tone of your voice — soft and sweeter than the apple juice she didn’t open, rambling about the silliest things you can think of — to imitate it next time he finds himself having to question kids. Maybe it’s the teacup in your other hand (the one he made you) and the way you so casually sip from it. As if this delicacy came to you as easily as taking a breath, while he struggled even with breathing.

Either way, despite his hesitance, he’s always sure to be around if you’re working on a case with them. Watching from the corner in a way that might have seemed creepy if only you didn’t smile so often back at him.

Amelia Murphy, 6 years old.

She sits at the end of the couch, legs tucked up to her chest like she’s trying to make herself as small as a crumb on the untouched sandwich going stale by her side. Spencer stands at the edge of the room, a smile threatening to peek through as he listens to your stories about the stuffed animals on your bed.

“You can’t tell any of his buddies, okay?” she nods, small but enough for you, “Mr. Winston is my favorite teddy out of all the ones I have.”

“Why?” You and the agent have to hide a surprised expression at the sound of her quiet voice, ragged and hoarse, coming out for the first time tonight. 

“Because he’s been with me since I was very, very young.” You chuckle lightly, “I must’ve been around your age when my grandma gifted him to me.”

“How do you know my age?”

You look at Spencer. He takes that as an ask for help (it really wasn't) and moves before you can speak again, still as careful as possible as he sits on the armchair next to the couch and joins in on the conversation like you suggested to him so often. “We don’t, actually.” She doesn’t flinch like he feared she would, so he continues with a soft smile, “I’m sure my friend was just trying to say she was young, like you are.”

Amelia tilts her head, small brows furrowed as softly as she mutters, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, “We don’t really know how old you are.”

“I’m… six.” Her fingers, miniature sized when compared to Spencer’s, struggle for a second before arranging into a six, “This much.”

You smile and pretend to write it down on your clipboard, “That’s a lot.”

He laughs in half disbelief, half joy when she asks, “Well, how old are you?”

“Do you want to guess?”

“Uhm…” Tiny hand scratching her chin, she examines him like she knows what she’s doing. He looks to you in pure confusion during the seconds she stays quiet. “A hundred?”

He holds back a snort, “Not quite, no. Do you wanna try again?”

During most of the time he talks to her, you stay quiet. He often looks to you, hesitating, asking for some sort of reassurance that he’s doing this right — you always give it to him with a barely there nod and a big smile.

Always, except for the moment he started talking about his job in almost too much detail when she prompted what are you?. Though, that time, he didn’t need your confirmation or denial to figure it out. All it took was a different knit to her eyebrows for him to go back into smaller than regular talking tone, from the bordering robotical lecturing mode.

“I wanna be a model when I grow up.”

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle breathily. Thankfully, she doesn’t take it as an offense like both of you thought she would. She just nods back at you with a proud smile. 

“And do you know what models do at their job?” Spencer inquires.

“They sit pretty in their pretty clothes for the people to watch,” the girl shrugs, speaking in the same way one would say the sky is blue. “Like her.”

He laughs when she points at you. “Being pretty isn’t all she does, though, Amelia. She’s not really a model.”

“She should be,” she whispers and you pretend you don’t hear it.

“Yeah, she should.”

He’s still careful even in the way he looks at her. Like she’d feel his cold hands if he said something too loud, too much. Every time she shows any sort of reluctance, he goes even softer — like he’d learned from uncountable hours of watching you do this over the years.

The very first time you met — interrogating an unsub’s daughter, before all of it happened. Before Mexico and Maeve and Gideon and Dilaudid and Emily. Before his jaw was screwed permanently clenched and his brain painted foggy. When he didn’t think of himself as a ticking time bomb and wasn’t scared of what he saw in the mirror.

Even when he didn’t feel this way about children as well as every other aspect of his life, he admired your work and yourself. So, it only makes sense (to him) that, when he sees himself as some sort of monster, you look like you’ve hung the moon and the stars even though the only thing you’ve ever been is yourself.

“And, uh, Amelia…” he mutters, pointing to the stuffed bunny in her hands, all love stains and frayed stitches, “Your friend over there. Does he have a name?”

She shakes her head, then spins it around to show the bow hidden on the back of its head, “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m so sorry,” he laughs awkwardly.

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“Is there a reason for that, sweetie?” you ask as soon as there’s a pause from both of them.

He just watches with a grin while you work with her to find names for her teddy.

The markers were Spencer’s idea. He didn’t mean for it to be anything more than a way for her to express herself — you’d both been drawing animals and trees and numbers. Though, when her page became full of red scribbles and what seemed to be portraits of her parents, you realized she might have more to say.

“Who are those people, Amelia?”, he places a hand on her shoulder. She’s so focused on her tiny fingers wrapped around the marker, that she barely shows any reaction to him. When her bottom lip goes wobbly and her hands impossibly shakier, he takes away the paper with a “Okay, that’s enough.”

She fell asleep on his shoulder after half an hour of sobbing while telling what she remembered of the story.

He can’t help the warm feeling that floods his chest when you tell him, “You did a good job.” after getting as much as one can out of a kid who just witnessed her parents’ murder. His expression and words go against it, though. With a small shrug, he mumbles, “Oh, it was nothin–”

“No, don’t do that,” you cut him off, “You did really well.”

“You would’ve gotten her to say a lot more in a lot less time. It takes you an average of five minutes and for–”

“Shut up,” a giggle.

“Would you please stop cutting me off?”

“Not until you admit that you are actually still amazing with kids.”

He sighs. “How’s Mr. Winston?”

“No, no!” you slap his arm playfully, “You don’t get to change the subject by mocking me for my friends.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Spencer raises his arms in defense, a smile brightening his face. “I’m trying to get to know you and your friends better. I can’t do that anymore?”

“Not if you’re mean about it,” arms crossed over your chest and a half fake pout on your lips, you mutter.

“When was I mean?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I can tell from your tone of voice. It gets higher and weirder when you lie. You’re not the only one who knows about psychology here, buddy.”

He just shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m being serious. How are they doing?”

“Well, if you must know, they’re doing amazing.”

“I’m glad.”

It takes 43 (he counted) chimes of the clock on the wall for anyone to say something again. It’s him, in a whisper, “Do you really think she liked me?”

00:09 doctor reid genius guy

Amelia’s aunt just picked her up. She said her bunny was now named Mrs. Winston.

[tiramissyoucake]

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Continued from this (Mark begs reader in the rain), felt appropriate♡ tried to keep it gender neutral, no proof reading, Mark wants that cookie so fucking bad, penetrative, barely any prep, pronebone, headlock, good boy usage but like only once, no one cums this is a cliffhanger ending. I hate this but I hope u like it I'm gonna go pass out

You had no idea what possessed you, what forced your hand to open your doors to him, how he managed to even land his lips on yours again and more importantly; why it made your heart flutter and your stomach erupt with butterflies.

Mark Grayson had the ability to appeal to your libido for his own gain, you learned that the hard way during your previous relationship, and from the feel of his hand slipping into your shorts as he suffocated your mouth, he retained that ability somehow— you were convinced he was some incubus in disguise of a half human half viltrumite loser.

"Don't you miss me?" He mumbled as he ushered your back to the armrest on the couch, his knee keeping your legs parted as he climbed over you. "I missed you, fuck- I missed you so much..." his hand moved back and forth in your shorts— he shouldn't be touching you like this, you should stop him.

You should shove him off, open your eyes and stop leaning your head back as he toyed with you however he pleased, flesh rubbing against flesh almost purring under the sound of rustling and squelching fabric; your shorts and his wet sleeve from the rain.

"We can't." You gasped, your hand weakly wrapped around his wrist. "Mark- we shouldn't-"

"Why not?" He almost whined, lips grazing yours. "You want me." His hand almost jolted against you, like he was too happy to touch you again. "As much as I want you."

You didn't answer. Deep down, you knew he was right, as pathetic as he seemed, you were just as pathetic for letting him in. Your eyelids finally let you look at him as his hand withdrew, Mark tugged the wet sweater off him— peeling it off his skin as the water glistened off of him, now he really looked like some fantasy hottie only a demon could conjure.

The shirt landed on the ground, his hands immediately invading your body, feeling you as he hissed. "Take it off," he muttered. "All of it." Your hands complied.

For a moment, Mark's hands finally retracted from you to watch you strip— a hazy look in his eye that you couldn't discern. The moment your shirt was off, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripped your wrists, guiding them around his body as a silent way to ask for you to reciprocate, he couldn't exactly ask you to while stuffing his tongue into your mouth.

You shut your eyes to kiss him and when you opened them at the feeling of air whip around you for a moment, he let you down on your bed. "... how'd you..?"

"We've been together for a while," he smiled for the first time tonight. "I know your place like the back of my hand." And he was on you again, you could feel his hands harshly wrestle off your clothes as if silently asking you to help— you got to removing the remainder of your clothes and he moaned into your mouth as his own focused on tearing off his pants.

You heard a 'fwip', cloth thrown aside too quickly and Mark sat up on his knees to push you back onto your mattress. "Jeez, Mark—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I just miss you so fucking much." He didn't sound apologetic, his hand coming down to spread the beading pre-cum over his tip. "You have no idea how bad these past few months have been..."

The sight was unfair; he looked at you from above with hearts in his eyes, like you were both his spouse and his favourite pornstar. his hand furiously fisting his cock as his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed pretty pink that matched the tip of his dick, his lips were glossy with a mix of your and his spit. They parted so he could ask you;

"C-can I try something...?" It was adorable how he was still hesitant when it came to sex. "I sorta... learned it for you.."

You raised one eyebrow, intrigued. "Okay.. what?"

"Can you lay on your stomach for me?"

You had an idea of where this was going, following his instructions you heard him suck in a gust of air.

"Yes, just like that... lift your hips a little.." he continued, moving over you and aiming his tip to your inviting hole, you could feel him nudge.

"This is what you had in mind..?" His arms caged around you as he lowered himself. "Yeah... figured you'd be into it.."

You wanted to let out a patronising laugh just to poke fun to that pathetic pup, it quickly turned into a shocked cross between a yelp and an exclamation as his cock slipped its head through. "F-Fuck..! Sorry- just.. gimme a sec.."

You thought he'd pull out, not inch the rest in, Mark grit his teeth, groaning as he felt that familiar warmth- the one he dreamed of enveloping him again instead of the palm of his hand. Your hands clung to the sheets beneath you as he moved until his hips were against yours, skin to skin.

"Y-you're... the worst..." You managed to pant, the length of his dick managing to sap away your intelligence. He laughed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I am, I know..." he whimpered, his hips jerking impulsively.

Mark let out a moan at the first proper thrust, then another at the second, the third, until his hips started plapping against yours softly with his breath mixing with groans. "I'm the worst, god- I'm fucking horrible.."

"Mark, oh..! Fuck- Mark!" Your mouth only knew cusses and his name, the impact of his hips causing you to rock back and forth, his arm hooking around your neck to stabilise you. "I'm the worst for ever letting you go... I love you, god, I love you so much."

You said nothing, what could you say? Your throat was constricted by his arm as he held you in a stable but not painful headlock, his cock hammering into you, the skin slapping steadily getting louder with his moans. "I love you baby," he announced, proneboning you until your body was jelly. "You love me too, right?"

Your moans and grunts were your only response. He hummed and kissed your cheek, disgustingly sweet. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything, your body's responding just. Fine!" His hips bucked hard against you as he annunciated his words. Your tightening was driving him insane.

Legs shaking, you hold onto his arm with one hand as the other clutches the sheets. "Mark..! Mark!!" The tip of his cock hit all the right places, you couldn't think, noise filled your head; the sheets rustling, skin slapping, Mark moaning and announcing his love in your ear, arms shuffling against your ears and the storm booming outside.

"I'm never leaving you," he declared with a gasp, tugging you close as his nose buried against your skin. "Shit— can you let me stay the night..? Please— aren't I being a good boy? Aren't you feeling so good right now?" His hips snapped against you once more, eliciting a yelp from you. "Say yes. Please. Mmf, I know you want to. Just say yes- please say yes. Say yes."

You were in for a long night.

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

can we get butchfemme sevika/reader hcs please :3

GAWD yes. Lord, I've been waiting for this day lessgo

ButchFemme Sevika/Reader Headcanons

⚢ In typical butch fashion, her love language is acts of service

⚢ Loves to be fawned over ! Like “Omfg babe you’re sooo strong helping me put together furniture” and trust she is melting even though her face is expressionless and immoveable

⚢ She likes when you graze your long nails over her skin for back scratches and its all nice and light and tingly

⚢ She’s not much of a prettyboy (prettybutch…?) so she doesn’t really have a skincare routine but you have an extensive regimen so she memorizes all ur million little bougie products and gets you an extra to keep at ur place so you don’t have to eff up your skincare routine in favor of spontaneous sleepovers

⚢ Yeah she’s not too particular about her grooming in general. She lets you cut her hair even if you’re not super experienced with clippers. She still hypes you up even if you nick her ear when doing up her side shave/undercut.

“Oops! Sorry babe I think I got your ear…”

“Didn’t even feel it. You’re doing great baby keep going.”

⚢ On that note, pet names: For Sevika, its baby alll dayyyyyy ! She calls you baby, my girl, my pretty girl, my woman, etc. And as for what you call her, she always loves a “omg babe” moment. And “settle down there, cowboy” but in like a jesting sorta way. Also: “my butch.”

⚢ Stone top/pillow princess anybody?

⚢ Also: she’s ur cash cow. She loves buying you expensive shit and showing you off and showing off the expensive shit. You breathed in the direction of a particularly nice perfume? Surprise! It’s in your bathroom the following day. Like. It’s a theme. Especially in ur pre-relationship courting era. “Baby anything you want I get for you. Say the word I’ll buy for you the moon, the stars, et cetera, no one can provide for you like I can” blah blah blah

⚢ But you can’t be interrupting her card games tho. She’s like a teenage boy on the xbox with those things. Probs something to be worried about tbh.

⚢ And I’ve written this into a fanfic already, but that bitch wears boyshorts. I was thinking boxers for a while but I think that would be too much bulk over them skinny little plants she wears. I am a Sevika boyshorts TRUTHER

⚢ And she works out. Matter of fact, forget the prettybutch comment because Sevika WORKS OUTTT and I think she has resistance bands. Like she goes to an actual gym but around the house you’ll find her repping with those damn resistance bands to relieve stress or just cause she sees them and remembers.

⚢ And she works out to like. Classical music. Cause she’s a classy mothafuckaaa just absolutely getting ripped and her face is in a scary ass sneer but there's like ode to joy in the background

⚢ You pack her lunch. She gets flamed at work cause her paper bag is covered in lil hearts and stickers and kissy lipstick marks and its filled with sugary baked goods like pink sparkly cupcakes and fruity pastries cause u can’t cook. But by gawd u can bake.

⚢ That being said, she’s the cook in the relationship. Especially when it comes to meat. It’s problematic. Sevika’s version of “girl dinner” is straight up protein. Her typical meal is like. A rotisserie chicken + hard boiled eggs. It made you gasp the first time you saw her pull out one of her meal prep tins and it was just that.

⚢ Oh yeah and she meal preps

⚢ Claims she “doesn’t get sick” because her “immune system is just built different.”

⚢ When she does get sick, she refuses to chill out and let herself be sick and she tries to speedrun her way to health by taking too much vitamin C and then working out and cranking the heat to “sweat it out quicker.”

⚢ She knits to relieve stress

⚢ Sleeps topless and in undies. And a wife pleaser tank if its chilly.

[grenadehearts]

Ok sooo I have a FEW that I would love to see!!

Just pick one or all 😋

a smau offf the chubby reader being insecure??

the reader being shocked/greatful for the men doing the bare minimum because they're only use to toxic or Transaction relationships?? Idk if I phrased that right..🙂‍↕️

the reader leaving them after a one night stand and the men get offended??? Pre relationship

the reader being naturally dry???

A secret relationship of The men being tired of having to sneak around all the time and wants to just come out or the other way around??

MHA BOYS react to you leaving them after a one night stand..

warnings: suggestive content, sorta a crack smau?? characters included: e.kirishima k.bakugo s.todoroki i.midoryia

authors note: thank u for requesting anon, i will get to the rest of your lovely ideas this week <3

more of my work ⤹ m.list

do not copy, repost or claim my work as your own thank you.