roadkill-75

[roadkill-75]

lifes a fuckin bitch until ya die

[roadkill-75]

1995 Rust Cohle NSFW Alphabet

Alright, fellow fanfiction SLUTS. *cracks knuckles in preparation for typing all this shit out* Let’s do this. P.S. I hope you all like this because our Sad Boi is very hard to write for. 

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

There are shades of aftercare with Rust, and it all depends on where you’re at in your relationship. If you’ve just started seeing each other and having sex, I think aftercare won’t come naturally to him. It’s not necessarily that he means to be cold or anything; he’ll still offer to help clean you up and ask if you’re okay, but he won’t immediately go to pull you to him. He’ll be hesitant to initiate it, though if you curl yourself up to him, he’ll cautiously put his arm around you. He’s a bit stiff, and not sure what to say; honestly, he’s a little shellshocked at having you turn up in his life, and it surprises him the way he starts to feel something again.  Affection never came easy to him, and he hasn’t been this close to anyone, physically or emotionally, in years, yet he still secretly craves your nearness. As your relationship progresses and grows past the shoot out with Reggie and Dewall Ledoux, Rust starts to hold you tighter, to pull you closer after. The event kind of wakes him up; makes him aware of just how much you mean to him. He also begins to stroke your hair gently as he holds you, which is a surprisingly tender act from him. 

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

Rust *needs* to feel your ass, hips, and waist. He’s a hard man whose life hasn’t been filled with much of anything soft, and he always marvels at the suppleness of your ass, the curve of your hips under his hands, no matter how many times he touches you. He grips your waist so hard sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s never meant to hurt you. He just finds gripping these parts of you grounding when you have sex; his synesthesia can be pretty overwhelming then. He sees/feels a deep, pulsating rose color when he hears you moaning or when he cums, so something so tangible helps him refocus. He also loves your hair. It might seem like an innocuous thing to some, but to him it’s just another layer of softness to you; you offer him the comfort of your body so freely, and he can’t help but take it. Yes, pulling your hair during sex satisfies some animalistic need deep inside him, but he also loves the color and texture of it. When he starts to stroke it after sex, he realizes it’s not just a way to comfort you, but also himself.

As for his body, Rust would say he doesn’t care about anything so trivial, but that’s because he’s a fucking liar when it comes to his feelings sometimes. We all know that he cares about his hair. I submit for your consideration: his different hairstyles during the three different eras. 1995 Cohle does not just wake up with his dirty blonde hair effortlessly wavy; no, he spends at least 10 minutes putting product in it and then scrunching it, you can’t change my mind. In 2002, we see all that gel put in his hair in an effort to make it kinda spikey. That takes time. That takes effort. Let us also note that Rust, eschewer of all things material, is also spending his money on these products. Finally, 2012 Rust grew out his hair for a reason. Think about it: why did he take the time to wash it and put it in a little ponytail? He could’ve just shaved it all off or not bothered with putting it back, but he didn’t.

You love his hair because he lets you touch it and run your fingers through it, which he finds comforting (although he pretends like he doesn’t need any comfort initially, but you can tell he loves it, so you keep doing it, even if he teases you about it). Over time he eases up about this, and even lets you hold his head in your lap. You also love his pensive blue eyes and long, elegant fingers especially when they’re pumping in and out of you. He gruffly says something like, “They’re just fingers, Y/N. Nothin’ special about them.” But again, he’s full of shit because he will purposefully do something fiddly with them just to get you riled up. 

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

Even though Rust totally unloaded one unprotected into Maggie, and he would absolutely do the same with you the first time, I think he would be a bit horrified and panicked after the fact. In the heat of the moment, it felt amazing to cum inside you, but after that, when he realizes the sex is gonna be regular, he always makes sure to have a condom, or to pull out if not and you’re also on the pill. He is deeply afraid of getting you pregnant and has no desire to be a father again.

As mentioned in “B”, cumming for him can be pretty overwhelming; he sees and feels that deep, thrumming rose color, and sometimes when he cums really hard he sees a marine blue flooding it and mixing with it to make a sort of purple, maroon color. To be honest, he feels very vulnerable when he cums, so if at the start of your relationship you don’t have condom for some reason, he’ll flip you over and cum all over your ass. This way, he can grip you and ground himself (and he also thinks your ass looks lovely covered in his cum, but this is all going to be internal dialogue at this point). Once he’s gotten more secure in himself and actually opens up a bit more with you, he feels like it’s okay to face you eye-to-eye while he cums. Those sky-blue eyes boring into yours while he finds his release is a bit unnerving, but in a deliciously intimate way. In this position, if he doesn’t have a condom, he’ll pull out and cum on your pussy or breasts. He’ll start to tell you how beautiful he finds you like this. Since it’s a compliment coming from him, it makes you feel electric and powerful.

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

Okay, so hear me out: Rust wants to fuck you senseless in his biker jacket, either with him fully clothed as Crash wearing the jacket, or with you in nothing but the jacket. Either way, it’s a win for him. It’s not that it’s the filthiest fantasy a person could have, but he obviously struggles with verbalizing even his most basic emotional and physical needs. When he first met you, he couldn’t help but fantasize about it. He told himself it was just because it had been a long time and you were so pretty; it’s a basic human need to fuck, so he told himself that it wasn’t anything more than that. But if the frequency of how many times he dreamt this scenario is anything to go by, he was down bad for you. 

If he were to be dressed as Crash (let’s face it, it’s a persona for him), he would use either his belt or tie to bind your hands above you to the headboard and do whatever he wanted with you. He would not be gentle, and there would be bruises, but chasing his need, just using you like that, seems unbelievably satisfying to him. His mind would turn off for however long it took to get the urge out, and that sounds like a glorious thing to a mind that is continuously turning over. In the scenario where you would be wearing nothing but the jacket, he’d have you ride him like he was a bronco at a rodeo. He’d love to run his hands all over you as you just take your pleasure from him, and again, the peace of having his mind turn off and his body just be on sounds heavenly, if he believed in such a thing as heaven. 

(Spoiler alert: both these scenarios go down, and even though the world is shit and life is meaningless and men and women aren’t supposed to work and all that jazz, Rustin Cohle has a very, very good time.)

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

More than people like Marty or the other cops would think, but still not a ton. Rust really strikes me as demisexual, so he’s not getting into bed at the drop of a hat. He did have to take pills to help him stay erect when he was undercover as Crash, since that whole scene was violent machismo and sexual conquest was a big part of that, and he hated every second of it, tried to get those encounters over as quickly as possible.

With the experiences he did want, however, Rust was always a very observant partner, and it won’t be any different with you. Even though he might be afraid of intimacy, he doesn’t strike me as the type to not pay attention to the sounds you make, to the way your fingers tighten on his shoulders and how your back arches when he hits a certain spot. He’ll take his time to learn all of you and make sure to do those things that elicit the strongest reaction from you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

There are a few, and like everything else with Rust, it’s very dependent on what point in the relationship you’re at. Initially, because of how vulnerable he feels and how much that both excites and makes him nervous, doggy style and both of you lying down on your sides with your back to him are his go to moves. He’ll still try to connect with you, though, because he really does need intimacy even if he can’t ask for it. He’ll reach around and play with your clit, suck on your neck, or whisper “Good girl” when you cum.

Later on, he really wants to look in your eyes and watch your face as you fall apart, so he’ll prefer missionary or you both lying down on your sides, face-to-face. This feels much more intimate for the both of you, and he tends to hike your legs up over his waist to get deeper in these positions. He’ll also cradle your head and thread his fingers through your hair.

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

Lol, it’s Rust Cohle, so NO. He’s very focused on what’s going on during sex and all the sensations he’s feeling, and trying to be funny during the moment will pull him out of that state. Plus, he’s not one to crack many jokes in nonsexual moments, though he does have a unique sense of humor that comes out sometimes. We see that when he has the conversation with Marty at the banh mi place and Marty tells him that he can’t admit to having doubts. Rust replies, “I doubt that,” with a cocky little attitude. And then when they reunite and interview the Childress’ former maid, he makes the quip about hoping that she was wrong about death not being the end. 😸

Anyway, back to the matter at hand: he does get to a point where he can make a few cocky remarks and smirks during sex, but you wouldn’t exactly call them jokes or him being goofy. Everything he does is with an intense seriousness.

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

Rust doesn’t have much hair down there to trim anyway, but it is a bit darker than the rest of his hair. He really doesn’t spend any time grooming it.

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

We’ve established that while Rust can’t verbalize his desires and emotions easily, especially when your relationship is new, he does deeply crave intimacy. That’s because he doesn’t actually want to completely disappear from humanity, no matter how much he says he does. We see it in the show in little ways, like when he decides to stay for dinner with Marty’s family, when he tries to go on the double date, when he asks Marty how he’s been after they finally start speaking again. He’s someone who wants something meaningful, not superficial, because he’s hurting so much from all of the loss he’s suffered. So when he starts a relationship with you, he does make an effort, however unsure of how to do this he may be.

Intimacy with Rust isn’t rose petals on the bed, or date nights at fancy restaurants, or even sweet words. He’s a doer, not a talker. It’s him pulling you tighter to him when he lets his guard down. It’s him cradling your head softly while he’s buried deep inside you and gazing into your eyes. It’s him coming up behind you while you finish putting away the dishes together and turning you to him, kissing you deeply, and leading you by the hand to your shared bedroom where he makes you shake with passion around him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s never been one for masturbation, mostly because he’s very disconnected from his body; he spends so much of his time turning things over in his mind, sorting out his personal philosophy. BUT, when he first meets you and starts to have the fantasies involving Crash’s jacket, he does jerk off a few times to relieve the tension he feels around you. He thinks nothing physical will ever happen with you, and he hopes that by relieving the ache he feels when his pants tighten at the thought of you he might just get it out of his system and move on. He finds these feelings more frustrating than pleasurable at first, so he tries to get it over with as quickly as possible. (Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.) Instead, he finds himself craving you more and more. Once you finally hook up, he doesn’t feel the need to do it as much since he can just be with you if he feels the need. He’s very pro you masturbating, though, and thinks it’s sexy that you touch yourself to thoughts of him. He asks to watch you do it, which you gladly oblige. You get folded like a lawn chair after. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

*rubs hands together gleefully* Ooh, goody! Rust has a few kinks, one of them being the desire to tie you up and just take you (consensually, of course). The need to be in control and let go of all of the stress and tension he feels is very present, especially before the shoot out. He only wants to use his belt, his tie, or some other piece of fabric and not handcuffs, however, because that feels too much like his job and that doesn’t really turn him on. 

EDGING: he loves bringing you right up to the brink, and then pulling back. He does this during your longer sessions, as it makes more sense to do it then. Hearing you whimper at the loss of force or a slowed down pace when you were so close makes him even harder; and the sweet, desperate way you beg makes working you up all over again worth it. 

SHOTGUNNING: This is more of a pre- or post-sex kink, if that can be a thing. He just likes sharing the smoke with you and hearing you inhale it. He thinks it’s sexy. If you’re sitting on his lap facing him while you do it, it’s safe to assume he’ll get so turned on that you’ll get fucked hard. If it’s post-sex, then he’ll lazily watch you exhale the smoke, and it looks like a weird kind of halo around you.

STOCKINGS AND GARTERS: Rust doesn’t need you to have fancy lingerie, he’s a simple man. However, he finds stockings and garters very classy and very sensual, and if you wear a skirt that shows just a little bit of the garters when you move or bend over, he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you. He is secretly always hoping you will wear them because he just wants to run his hands up and down your thighs and over your hips and ass. If the stockings are crotchless, even better because he will definitely ask you to wear them during sex. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Rust doesn’t care very much about where you two have sex, so long as it’s safe and private. For instance, he would never have sex at the police station because one of his coworkers might walk in or overhear, and he would literally die if that happened. You’ve had sex in the backseat of his truck when the two of you went for a drive in the country at night; you were the only car on the road for over an hour, so it seemed private enough. The place he feels the most comfortable, though, is your place because everything there smells like you, and your bed is soft and warm. You have a lot of blankets and pillows, which he definitely does not have at his apartment, and he secretly likes being all cozied up to you after sex.

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

We’ve mentioned the shotgunning and the garters and stockings, but there are other things that get him going. You showing any depth of knowledge about anything, whatever area you have a lot of skill or knowledge in, that really turns this brainy fucker on. He values knowledge, thoughtfulness, intelligence, intellect. He craves it in the shithole that is Louisiana*, and you’re like a breath of fresh air to him. It really excites him to be with someone who is as smart and caring as you. Speaking of which, showing any level of care towards him gets his blood pumping. Did you make a homecooked meal just for him? Fuck. Did you wash and iron his work shirt because you noticed he hadn’t had time to? Girl. Did you put a book back that had fallen off his bookshelf and he hadn’t bothered to pick up? OH BABY. He just appreciates the little things, because they show him how much you care about him, and that turns him on immensely. 

*As someone from Louisiana, I can confirm that Louisiana is a 100%, Grade A, USDA-certified intellectual shithole. It’s not a stereotype, it’s true. 

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

The thought of any sort of necrophilia, or anything where you’d pretend you were a corpse or something like somnophilia turns his stomach. Even though he might like to tie you up and have your movement limited, part of what’s so enjoyable about that is your response to his ministrations. You are very much alive, and he needs that feedback. Also, spending all day looking at DBs pretty much guarantees he wouldn’t want to see that when he gets off, even if it’s just pretend. 

Also: absolutely no daddy and mommy kink, for obvious reasons. I don’t think he’d want to be called “Daddy” in any context, and definitely not a sexual one. 

The thought of actually hurting you also makes him physically ill: light spanking and hair pulling is one thing, but choking you or slapping you across the face reminds him too much of his time undercover with the Iron Crusaders, and he has no desire to revisit that. 

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

He has no preference, and likes giving as much as he likes receiving. Very good at giving because he is so detail-oriented and pays attention to exactly how you respond with each flick of his tongue or drag of his teeth. He enjoys the way you taste, and will take his time eating you out, really working you up until you need him to finish you. 

For receiving, seeing you in nothing but his leather jacket, knelt down in front of him really does something to him. He could honestly spend all afternoon watching you trying to take all of his length in. He loses it when you kitten-lick the tip and then suddenly deep-throat him. Bonus points will be given if you swallow every last drop, because fuck, he thinks that shit is so hot. “Are you trying to kill me, Y/N?” “No, but what a fun way to go.” ;)

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

It’s either hard and fast, or slow and sensual. There is no in-between. At the beginning, it will mostly be hard and fast because he’s getting it all out of his system; it’s been so long for him, and he needs some time to get in touch with the side of himself that can be sensual. When it is hard and fast, it’s overwhelming because you have to basically brace yourself for the ride (not that you mind; you understand Rust probably better than he understands himself when it comes to his emotional and physical needs). 

Once he’s opened up enough to consistently use a slow and sensual pace, he goes deep. This is when you’ll be face-to-face, looking into each other’s eyes, with your legs wrapped tight around his waist or raised over his shoulders. This pace is overwhelming in a different type of way. Someone like Rust being so connected with you is special and not to be taken lightly because you know he wouldn’t do this with just anybody. It means he trusts you and thinks highly enough of you to be vulnerable and take his time with you. 

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

Quickies are very rare for you two because he greatly prefers taking his time. Since it’s already difficult for him to be physically and emotionally open, he doesn’t really have the ability to quickly get it up, get with you, and then go on with his day. Plus, he doesn’t really like to have sex in a location where you two can be interrupted or discovered, and those locations are usually where quickies happen. That said, the few times you have had them, like the locked bathroom at a bar or dance hall (he won’t go to the clubs unless it’s for an investigation, sorry), have been very lustful and intense. 

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

Absolutely. Freakin’. Not. No way. While he grows more open to trying new positions, toys, etc., with you as the relationship grows, Rust will never, at any point in your relationship, do anything that would physically hurt you (He’s also extremely afraid that he’s going to fuck this up and hurt you emotionally, and that honestly scares him more than he cares to admit). Again, being a little rough is not what this means: it means he’s not going to put you in any danger. He’s not taking you undercover as Crash; he’s not carelessly bringing you to places where you might be in any danger. He’s also very afraid before the shootout that whoever is behind the murders and disappearances will find you and hurt you because of his investigation. He’s very protective of you in this way. 

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

He has a surprising amount of stamina. He can switch it up; either one long session, so long as you are able to, or several faster sessions. It depends on where he’s at mentally. If he’s in his head more, it will probably two faster, shorter sessions, though he always makes sure you’re satisfied before he finishes. If he’s more relaxed, he’ll take his time with you, and this is usually when he sets a slower, more sensual pace.

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

None, unless you count the belt and tie. He counts those as accessories, not toys. He’s not opposed to you having them, however, and definitely enjoys watching you use your vibrator  or clit sucker on yourself (or him using them on you). Other than that, he really doesn’t have any experience or knowledge of what other toys are out there, so if you like to use more, you’ll have to show him. He’d be a bit out of his element at first, but since he’s so intelligent, would get the hang of them quickly. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Rust Cohle, while he doesn’t have what you would call “game”, can be a motherfucking tease when he wants to be. Generally, he doesn’t play games and if he wants you, he’ll let you know, BUT he thinks it can be entertaining to see you riled up over him, to the point where you’re clenching your thighs and nearly begging for him to take you. He’ll use his hands to slowly rub your thighs if you’re out for a drive, going higher a little bit each time, but never as high as you want/need him to go. Or he’ll take his time kissing down your torso or up your legs, but never making his way to your center. He has his cocky smirk on at that point. He will eventually give you what you want, because it’s actually what he wants to. 

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

Rust doesn’t make much sound in terms of moaning, but he does breathe very heavily and grunt when he cums. He absolutely lives for your moans, though, and there’s just something about the way you shakily scream out his name in the heat of the moment that snaps something inside of him. He has an excellent auditory memory, and can recall each note and sound you make. When he’s home alone and it’s late at night and he can’t sleep, he remembers every sound you make.

He has an unsurprisingly filthy mouth, and once he’s truly comfortable in the relationship, he’ll say things to you that make you blush furiously (he loves this response). “Fuck, Y/N. That pretty pussy all for me?” and “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, huh? Cum all over my dick.” And you are a good girl, so of course you do. 

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

Rust wants to take pictures of you wearing only the leather jacket so he can have them with him when he misses you (we don’t have sexting at this point in time), but he has no idea how to ask. He knows you would do it in a heartbeat, but it just seems so personal for some reason. Little does he know, you have plans to surprise him on his birthday with some pictures you’ve taken yourself in the jacket WITH garters and stockings WITH a cigarette in your hands. Even though he hates birthdays and doesn’t see the point in celebrating a day when he was ripped out of nonexistence against his will into this violence, he’s going to stop complaining when he sees the pictures. You actually render him speechless. 

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

Not very thick, but very long: a shower, not a grower. Since he’s on the thinner side, it makes sense that it wouldn’t be too thick. It has a slight curve to it, which he uses to angle into you just right. Surprisingly pink when he’s aroused.  

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

Pre-shootout, it would not be very high (though for him it comes cums as quite a shock since he was not expecting to be horny at all), maybe twice a week. Once the shootout happens, he feels like he can relax a bit more, and that’s when it ramps up for you two. At least 3 times a week, though it is usually more if his case load isn’t too busy. His sex drive is absolutely tied to what else is going on his life, and to his mental state. When it does pick up, he craves you. He’ll never pressure you if you’re not in the mood, though. Forcing himself on you is something that Rust wouldn’t even think about doing.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rust has terrible insomnia, but every once in a while, after you’re both sated, he finds himself actually sleeping. Not every time, but often enough that it gives his body some of the rest he desperately needs (please just let this Sad Boi sleep. Please.) If he has trouble sleeping for a long period of time, you can bet you’re going to get it rough soon, because he’s figured out that there’s a connection between how hard he goes and how deeply he sleeps. You’re honestly glad that you can help him rest. For the times when he still can’t sleep, he’ll just lie there, quietly watching you sleeping peacefully and his heart aches a little bit at the sight. He might shut his eyes and dream, the dreams being softer than what he used to dream about before he met you.  

[roadkill-75]

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

[roadkill-75]

you ever read something so good it makes u want to quit writing all together………… yeah

[roadkill-75]

[roadkill-75]

patient

it's trope night!!!! i've really enjoyed write anything that you want to week <3 i've got a little friends to lovers for you. enjoy!!!

“Matty, where are you?” I cried over the phone, storming down the sidewalk.

“What’s happened?” he replied, worry streaking through his voice.

“I need a fucking drink, are you at home?” I choked, pulling my jacket around myself tighter. God, it was fucking cold.

“Yeah, should I come get you?” he asked, “I’ll come get you.”

“I’m already here,” I stood at his doorstep, listening to him clamber down the stairs. He swung the door open, both of us still holding our phones to our ears.

“What did he do?” he frowned, jaw tense at the sight of me. I rubbed at the smudged mascara under my eyes, watching him slip his phone in his pocket.

“What makes you think he did anything?”

“It’s always him,” he spat, ushering me inside with an arm over my shoulder, “Fucking useless prick.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” I gave him a hollow laugh, letting him sit me down on the couch.

“You don’t have to,” he grabbed a bottle of whisky, ignoring my sour expression as he handed me the bottle. “Just drink it.” I let the alcohol hit the back of my throat, the sting more comforting than usual.

“You’ll like this one,” I rolled my eyes, passing him the bottle. He handed me a tissue as he took a slow sip.

“Go on,” he nodded, eyes expectant and patient, “How tall was he again?”

“You could take him,” I shrugged, “How about we pay him a visit after we finish this bottle?”

“Gladly,” he smiled, a bit too wide, “Tell me already.”

“He asked me a stupid question,” I sighed, palm against my forehead. “Maybe I’m overreacting, I just-“

“You’re not. Just tell me,” he took another swig. I groaned, burying my head in the couch.

“He asked me to rate my looks. Like, on a scale of ten.”

“Yikes,” he winced, shoving the bottle in my hand.

“Yeah, fucking yikes,” I look up to see him shaking his head, “So, I’m honest, and I tell him I’m a seven.”

“A seven?” he coughed, jaw slack. “That’s… Well, what did he say?”

“He said I was a ten.”

“Okay, good,” he nodded with approval, “What did he say next?”

“He clarified,” I huffed as a tear threatened at my waterline, “That if he didn’t know me, I would probably be an eight.” The tear rolled down my cheek. I took another sip, passing it back to him.

“He said that?” he said in monotone, knuckles white around the bottle.

“I know it's silly, but it just hurt to hear,” I bit my cheek, frustrated. Flames were licking at the back of my throat. “He’s a fucking idiot, I can’t explain it anymore."

“Honestly,” he whispered, “Good fucking riddance.”

I looked at him, shaking my head with a quivering lip.

“No,” he groaned, “No, you’re not serious. You broke up with him, right?”

“I just left, and I walked straight here,” I raked my hands through my hair, another tear wetting my red cheek, “I don’t know, Matty.”

“What is this, strike fucking eleven?” he stood abruptly, the bottle clattering on the coffee table. “What’s it going to take?”

“I just-“ I bit my lip, knowing one more word would have me sobbing in his living room.

“The next time you come over here crying about him, I’m not answering the fucking door,” he paced in front of me, “I can’t see you like this anymore. Why don’t you know what’s good for you?”

“That’s not fair,” I whispered, hugging my arms around my knees.

“I’m sorry, but please, just fucking listen,” he knelt in front of me, dropping to my eye line, “Break up with him.”

“I will,” I couldn’t meet his eyes, “I just…”

“We can go right now,” he said, pulling at my wrists, “I’ll take you to his apartment. I’ll break up with him for you, I don’t care.“

“I’m fine, I’m taking this too seriously,” I shrugged, “I’m sure he has his reasons for saying that.”

“Stop deluding yourself,” he squeezed my wrists, “You’re a fucking ten. Anyone can see that, without even knowing you. And knowing you, you’re an eleven. When you’re hungover, eleven. Sick, eleven. Sobbing on my couch, eleven. Eleven. It’s that fucking simple.” He sighed deeply, standing again. “It’s that simple, and he can’t even do that.”

I let his words sit with me, stirring in my head, then my heart.

“Eleven?” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, fucking eleven,” he rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeves up his forearms, “I’ve known that from first glance.”

“Sure,” I rubbed my palm against my cheeks, collecting the tears.

“You don’t even believe me,” he threw his hands into his hair, “He did this to you. Planted all these insecurities, this doubt. You would’ve never had that with me.”

“With you?” I laughed, without humour, “What are you talking about?”

“With me, yeah,” he sat back down on the couch, “I know I make you happier than he does.”

“As if you were ever an option,” I muttered, “You haven’t been single a day in your life.”

“Neither have you!” he shouted, hands in the air, “If I knew I could have you, I would have waited for you forever.”

“You wouldn’t have waited,” I reached for the whisky, bringing it to my lips, “You barely even showed me any interest.”

“You’re joking,” he caught my hand holding the bottle, “Be serious.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me! For nearly an entire year, you wouldn’t glance in my direction. Why would I think you were interested?”

“Of course I was interested,” his head hung low, “And all those years after, you still thought I wasn’t in love with you?”

My voice was caught in my throat. “In love with me?”

His lower lip hid between his teeth, “Yes, in love with you.” His fingers were tight against my hand as we gripped the bottle together, letting it hang in the molasses air between us.

“Don’t lie to me,” I watched his eyes, sinking into his pupils, “Because I have always loved you.”

“I don’t lie to you.”

The bottle slipped from our hands, shattering to the ground. Amber liquid spread over the hardwood, crawling under the couch. He didn’t even flinch. He snapped to me like a magnet, mouth on mine in an instant. My chest caved in, my perfectly organized emotions and carefully concocted delusions tumbling inwards, joining the pool of whisky below us. His mouth was desperate, the years of braided patience severed as soon as our lips met. My hands gripped his shoulders, his waist, his back, all the places I had daydreamed of kissing and memorizing. His hands were free, too, holding my jaw tightly. I could finally taste him, taste his carefully watched mouth. He kissed confession after confession into my mouth, and I prayed he’d never relent.

//

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˚ ༘ ♡ ⋆ ｡ ˚

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are you a peach or cherry person ? ice coffee or ice tea ? sleeping in or waking up early ? lipstick or lipgloss person ? daydreamer or planner ?

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you don't want to know what i'm thinking you don't want to know how i 'm feeling i think i'm going to be violently ill i think i'm going to be sick i need him so bad i need to fuck that man so badly i just got chills i'm going to -

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matty healy covers 'new york' by benjamin francis leftwich

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my baby fever is also … atrocious. would love to see anything with matty and a baby (or a dad to be matty) if you’re comfortable with that!

Literally cannot stop thinking about a tiny baby with curly hair in a Paddington Bear onesie. Look at what you’ve done!!! 😭😭😭

(Do not take a shot every time I say onesie). I hope you like it :)

Matty x Female reader

Onesie

‘She already has a bunch of onesies, love,’ you tell him gently but he’s lost in his excitement

‘She can always have more,’ his voice trails off as he’s already making his way into the newborn clothes aisle.

‘She’s not even out yet and she’s the most spoiled girl ever,’ you laugh.

‘And she should be!’ he calls out.

This is the first time he’s left you alone all day. He’s always there with his hand on the small of your back, making sure people don’t accidentally bump into you, making sure he’s there if you are in pain or start to feel dizzy or nauseous or any other disaster that you’re sure he’s thought of.

You take advantage of this alone time as you wander over to another rack. You gently run your fingers over the clothes, make sure they are as soft as they look. You rub a hand over your belly and ask her what colour she wants. 

It’s not like she can respond to you but you love the idea that she’s contemplating the answer in there; that she will move and kick when you come across a colour she likes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Matty debating between two onesies—a sage green one with daisies on it and a lilac one with bumblebees. Then he shrugs his shoulders and grabs them both. 

‘Look how excited Daddy is,’ you whisper to your stomach and start making your way to him. 

Just as your eyes slide off the last rack, you freeze in your tracks.

In a sea of darker colours, the white onesie stands out like a beacon. And it is the best thing you’ve ever seen. 

It’s patterned with little Paddington Bears doing various activities. There’s one that stands in front of Westminster Bridge, there’s one that’s leaning against a lamp post and there’s one that’s waving in excitement. 

You can already feel the flood of incoming tears. Just as the first soft sob comes out of you, Matty’s already there. 

‘Are you okay? Are you in pain?’ it’s the worry and concern in his voice that makes you cry harder.

‘No,’ you manage to take a deep breath, ‘it’s so stupid…but lo–look at the Paddington Bear onesie!’

‘Wha…ohhh,’ his face softens as realisation dawns on him. 

It takes him one look before he’s also fallen hopelessly in love with the tiny thing in front of him. He takes a step forward and touches it in a daze as if he’s already imagining caressing his daughter’s cheek, tickling her tummy until she can’t stop giggling. 

‘I think this one’s perfect,’ he whispers while trying not to sound all choked up. 

Almost as if in response, you feel a familiar flutter in your stomach. 

‘I think she likes it too,’ you laugh quietly while rubbing a hand on your belly. 

He turns around, looks at you with quiet joy radiating off of him. 

‘Is she kicking?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ you confirm and hold your hand out for his. 

He eagerly obliges, waits until you place it on the exact spot and then caresses the spot gently. It never gets old for him. He’s felt the baby kick countless times before. Often at night, he sings to her—sings to both of you—while rubbing your belly but he’s always eager for more. 

A few more tears escape your eyes as you think about what a good dad he’s going to be. He wastes no time in wiping them off and you focus on the callouses on his fingers, on the humdrum of the people, on this moment that feels like a core memory. 

‘Let’s get this then,’ he declares. 

‘Let’s get this,’ you confirm.

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my babys (+ross) 🥰

cutest guys around

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best ross fic i have ever read OMG IRIS!

Cute domestic Ross fluff please🥹

She's short and sweet but her filthy older sister is coming in 20-ish minutes

Morning Routine

You spit toothpaste back into the sink just as Ross, sleepy and tired, walks into the bathroom. 

His t-shirt rests unevenly on his shoulders and his eyes are barely even open but his mouth splits into a sweet dimpled smile at the sight of you. 

‘Morning, my love,’ he mumbles and presses a kiss to your sleep-tousled hair, ‘are you excited for today?’

You bend down to rinse your mouth, put your toothbrush back into its place and then beam up at him in the mirror. ‘So excited!’

Because today, after months of being separated by the tour, is the first time you get to just walk around the city with him. The plan made half-asleep and in the middle of the night is finally coming to fruition. You turn around in his arms and pull him into a kiss. 

‘So,’ you say, ‘we’re getting coffee and breakfast, then going to the farmers’ market, then to the cinema?’

His smile widens with each item you list. Your excitement is contagious and tired as he is, he can’t wait to spend the whole day with just you. But for now, he nods and goes in for another kiss; this one longer than before. You can feel the sink digging into your hips and his beard tickles a bit but then his hands squeeze your waist to hold you in place and all the other sensations melt away. 

When you finally manage to pull apart, he closes his eyes and sighs in sweet bliss. Strands of your hair separate themselves from his beard when he steps back. 

‘I left you something on the bed,’ he says, chuckling a little when you make a beeline out of the bathroom.

The sheets are still messy and rumpled from last night’s shenanigans. The sunlight streams in and illuminates small particles of fluff in the air, and his neatly folded cream jumper sits on the bed. 

‘Ross!’ you shriek in delight, ‘I can borrow your favourite jumper?!’

His laugh echoes in the bathroom as he walks out, toothbrush in his mouth and a bit of paste on the corner of his lips. ‘You can borrow my favourite jumper,’ he confirms. 

You run up to him, wrap your arms tightly around his middle. ‘Thank you thank you thank you!’

He laughs around the toothbrush in his mouth and strokes a hand down your spine. 

You let him walk back into the bathroom to clean up as you busy yourself getting dressed. Because of the giant that he is, his sweater swamps you completely. The sleeves extend a good few inches past your fingertips and you have to bunch them up a bit (okay, a lot!) to make it fit comfortably. But it smells just like him; a woodsy, spicy scent mixed with something that is just Ross. You sit on the edge of the bed and bring the sweater-covered hands in front of you to inhale deeply. 

All the while, Ross leans against the doorframe and watches you with a soft smile on his face. 

‘Sweetheart,’ he pushes himself off the doorframe and walks in, ‘you look adorable.’

You grin at him through the mirror and open a tube of lipstick to put on. It’s something Ross has seen you do countless times before; you putting on your makeup. Yet he stops in his tracks and watches the whole thing mesmerised. The way your fingers blot away the excess lipstick, the face you make when you put on mascara, your small excited jiggle when you get your eyeliner just right. 

‘I missed this so much,’ he mumbles to himself when you put the makeup bag away. 

‘What?’

‘You,’ he smiles, ‘I missed you so much.’ 

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what a beautiful necklace !

HANDS

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my fave pics of him to ever exist came from this article

The 1975's Matty Healy on social media, supporting artists and 'Being Funny In A Foreign Language'

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jesus fucking christ

once again thinking of him