#and pretty much anything that isn’t jeans or sweats

[can-a-tuna-fish]

When you realize/remember that a skirt has pockets It’s very important to announce it as loud as possible in the middle of the mall.

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

[pshaven]

hii I’m back 😋 jake has been bias wrecking me so bad lately. can I request makeup artist!reader practicing a new makeup look on him at home for enha’s comeback? he’s being a lil perv and ogling at her curves :,) it can lead to more if you like idc, you take the wheel!

💫 - thank you <3

anon i love you

cw! oral (m receiving), pervy jake, RAMBLY JAKE RAHHH

“are you sure you don’t have any scheduling today?” you ask jake as you prep your makeup on the table in front of the mirror, your back facing the boy in his designated chair. you learned some new tricks from another makeup artist a week ago, but had no one to practice on other than your mannequin but you desperately wanted to try it on a real person. 

“of course i don’t, or else i wouldn’t be here right now. my manager would be getting on my ass right now if i had skipped anything,” jake chuckles, watching you fondle and organize all your products in a neat order. you sigh before turning around, your hands reaching for his face as you cup his jaw, maneuvering his head around to get a good look at the lighting in the room. 

“thanks for doing this again, jake,” you say for the nth time since he walked into the room. he smiles as he lets you move his face around, “of course. i gave you my number for a reason, so you can call or text me whenever you need something.” you bite the inside of your cheek at his words, your hands leaving a lingering touch on his jaw before you fully turn around to grab some products to get to work. 

you can’t say being flirted with by jake of all idols you’ve worked with is the worst thing, because it isn’t. the only bad thing is that it’s hard to not reciprocate it, especially when he makes it so easy with the pretty boy face of his. 

but you underestimate jake, with you being blissfully unaware at the way he is shamelessly ogling your ass through your tight jean shorts that have him sucking in a breath. he’s thankful he wore loose sweats today, feeling his lower abdomen swirl with arousal especially when you cupped his face earlier. 

you quickly get to work on him, your non dominant hand cupping his jaw as you focus on his eye makeup. he’s doing his best to be subtle, he swears he is! but you make it so hard, your tits basically hovering by his face, just asking for him to suck sweetly on them. he’s extra fidgety today, much to your naiveness so you grip his jaw a bit tighter, thumb digging into the side of his cheek slightly that causes his lips to purse together. 

“stay still,” you mumble with a smile on your face, eyes still trained on his own to focus the shadow on the outer corner. he gives you a boyish grin, his hands surprising you when they touch your waist. 

“then you should tie me down,” he muses, expecting you to react like you always do— caught off guard and surprised as if he doesn’t hint anything suggestive when given the chance. 

but you open your mouth before thinking, too consumed with getting this new technique down on him. “didn’t know you were into kinky shit like that,” you snicker. now jake is caught off guard, his mouth goes slightly agape despite your hold on his jaw. you furrow your brows before shutting his mouth for him, your index finger tapping the side of his cheek. “now be a good boy ‘n shut up for me, okay?” 

what was his half hard cock in his sweats is now fully rock hard, the fingers on your waist twitching a bit from your words. you’ve always been good at ignoring his flirtatious attempts whenever you would do his makeup before performance and award shows. he would’ve gotten you alone sooner if he knew you would start acting up like this. 

you smile satisfyingly when the chatty boy in front of you finally shuts up, letting you work on his eyeliner in peace. “oh shit, sorry—“ you apologize when you drop one of your brushes from his hands and onto his lap, you immediately reaching for it without looking. your apology falls short when your hand brushes over something… particularly stiff that is way bigger than a makeup brush. 

his eyes meet yours sheepishly, your own darting back and forth between his lap and his face. but jake doesn’t apologize. why should he? you’re the one who got him like this in the first place, and he likes the saying don’t start what you can’t finish. 

like what you said earlier. it’s hard to say no to jake, with his stupidly handsome face, so how can you say no when he asks you to help him out? in the confines of your small makeup room, you’re in between his thighs on your knees, heavy cock in your hand while jake’s chest is heaving up and down. 

“spit on it,” he tells you, but with his hissed tone it’s more of a demand. you do what he says, straightening your back to hover over his cock and letting your drool drip down messily onto his length. “my god, you’re so hot. you have no idea—“ he gets cut off with a gasp when your mouth envelopes him, a sigh leaving your lips in doing so. 

he lost his words, his head thrown back as he throws his free arm over his mouth to muffle his moans. “y-y’know… every time you do my makeup- hahh- i get hard just thinking about you like this… down on your knees, taking my c-cock in your mouth,” he rambles, hips occasionally lifting off the chair as he gently thrusts. 

“i-i love it whenever you- um—“ he hisses when you go even deeper, letting your tongue run down the underside of his cock. “fuck! oh shhiit. l-love it when you do my l-lips… just wanna kiss you everytime- ah!” his moans get louder each time your throat contracts around him. the noises that leave his lips only encourage you more, his rambly praises leading you to reach your free hand down your thighs, rubbing your neglected clit. 

“you enjoying it that much?” he groans, catching a glimpse of your hand reaching down. “shit, if i knew you were like this i would’ve gotten you alone much sooner,” he mutters, entangling his hand in your hair and pulling you off his cock. you whine in protest, a thin string of spit connecting your lips with his cock still.

“awh-” he coos in fake sympathy, his hand that was in your hair now cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes around your lips in a weak attempt to clean up your messy spit. “don’t worry, next time you can spend all day sucking on my cock.. but now, let me see how wet that sloppy cunt is for me.” 

[imfinereallyy]

Tattooed Steve

now with a part 2 :)

I need tattooed Steve. Like Steve starts to get tattoos after Vecna. Maybe it’s because his body is covered in scars now, and he no longer has to hold on to the idea of permanently damaging his skin, cause like it already is. Or maybe it’s cause he’s trying to love his body again, and he sees how excited Eddie gets each time he gets to show off his tattoos. And Steve, Steve wants to feel that way too. Or maybe he likes the pain. Maybe it’s all three.

But Steve Harrington, wouldn’t be Steve Harrington if he wasn’t like massively insecure about his interests and his looks. So he keeps it a secret, for months (maybe even years depending on your tastes for slow burns). And it starts to get harder and harder because he can’t avoid tatting his arms (it’s prime real estate as Eddie put it once), and wearing long sleeves all the time isn’t ideal. But he continues the charade because let’s be real, most people in his life make him feel inadequate (big word, Robin would say) about almost everything. Especially the people he cares about.

The only one who never really makes him feel that way is Eddie. Sure he teases him to high heavens, and is absolutely disgusted by his music taste but Eddie never makes him feel stupid about it or make it seem like he doesn’t get an opinion. Which is actually kinda driving Steve nuts because it’s making it harder and harder to not to fall in love with him.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that Eddie is the first to see them, he made Steve comfortable and that was dangerous. But it was hot in Eddie’s apartment (the a/c busted again), and Steve chose to wear a sweatshirt during mid-July with nothing underneath. So when Steve is sweating bullets, and Eddie just lets out an amused snort to just “take the damn thing off already”. Steve doesn’t really think. He just whips it off and leans back on the couch. It’s only after ten seconds of silence, and no eddie rambling that he realizes his mistake, and oh.

He doesn’t think he’s every seen Eddie Munson speechless.

Eddie reaches out to touch Steve without thinking (they had broken touch boundaries a long time ago, and damn it makes Steve want to kiss him so bad) and starts tracing his tattoos.

There is a bewildered look on Eddie’s face mixed with something heated. “When did you start getting these?” And oh, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard Eddie’s voice purr like that before. It makes Steve’s insides stir, and he’s pretty sure he would tell Eddie anything right now, do anything Eddie wanted.

“Last year, right after Vecna.” Steve’s breath hitches as Eddie slides his hands down his chest.

“Didn’t know you had it in ya big boy. Which was your first?” His eyes darken with even more heat.

Steve’s at a loss for words he can’t speak. Eddie needs to get his hands off of him if he wants him to actually respond. Instead Steve’s eyes wonder down his body where Eddie is starting to peak at the ones near his hips, and oh no…anyone but that one.

When Eddie hooks his fingers in his jeans and pulls down the right side, he freezes. Because there, right below the bat bite he and Eddie share, is a tattoo of a red guitar pick with a black and gold cursive E in the center (it’s also Steve’s only colored tattoo, despite his love of color he worries that colored ink will clash with his wardrobe).

“That’s not my first.” Steve rushes out when Eddie hasn’t said anything. “I uh, got it a couple of months ago on the anniversary of spring break. Sorry if it’s weird.”

Eddie’s eyes pop up to Steve’s, and gone is the heat. Instead there is something deeper, and much softer. “You’re an idiot.”

Steve freezes, because Eddie of all people, is now telling him something he likes is stupid. But before Steve can pull away in shame, Eddie holds his hips down and puts his face close to Steve’s. “You’re an idiot. Because of course it’s weird. And of course that’s why I absolutely love it. And it’s why I absolutely love you.”

Steve doesn’t think he’s every rushed so quickly so kiss somebody so hard before. And even when they fall off the couch, and he gets his sweat all over eddie, he can’t find it in himself to regret it one bit.

—

this completely got away from me, and I still need someone to write a fic like this asap, or like anything involving tattooed Steve. I also will jump for joy if someone draws something like this. Part two linked here

[sulfursmells]

S is for Smelly

“I won? I WON!!! OMG” That was me about 7 hours ago. I received an email saying that I won the sweepstakes to spend a recording session with one of my fav idols S.Coups from seventeen. I’ve dreamed of having a chance to talk and admire him up close. He’s charming voice, well chiseled face and abs. Not to mention his big, soft melon sized ass. I always wanted to get a closer look and this is that chance. Let’s skip a little to when I arrived at the studio. I was basically shaking with excitement and anxiety about finally meeting my idol.

After walking in I met his manager who asked me to sign an NDA. Which I didn’t question sing any music and conversation should stay within the room though I did see a strange word in there that I didn’t really think about. “Did that say gas?” I asked myself after signing my name and walking towards the studio. I look through the doors window to see S.Coup sitting in a chair wearing a white shirt and tight white pants, glistening with sweat as if he just stepped off the stage. I hastily open the door and walk in introducing myself. “Hi I’m ..” he quickly interrupts me and says, “come here and let’s get started.” I start walking towards him , when I turn my attention to the door that I just walked through lock behind me. In an instant his calm, constructed idol personal fell revealing something I wasn’t expecting.

“Get down here right now” is all I hear before my world goes dark. I feel the embrace of his Jean covered ass envelope my entire face not leaving any space for anything but air. His ass carrying the scent of musk and sweat dripping onto my face as if he just finished a workout, which he might have by the smell of it. “I get complaints from the staff about my musk and gas. They say I leave the room almost uninhabitable after an editing session” he says as he starts to grind my face deeper into the seat. “So until I’m done you’re going to be my little seat protector, isn’t that exciting” he says as he starts to giggle.

Is this why I was brought here? To be nothing mod than the seat of my favorite idol? This is …….. hot. What kind of fan would I be if I didn’t help my fav keep up his reputation. With that decision made S.Coups raises his butt up a bit letting me see again as he removes his pants then boxers. His fat vulumptous cheeks pouring out of his tight boxers, as sweat drips onto my face. “Ahhhhhh I have to sir it out you know?”he says. I can’t see his face but I know he has a smirk on while saying all of this.Staring up and taking in the scenery, as his melon sized cheeks start to make their descent. “Be a good fan and try not to make too much noise, I still have some work to do. Thanks in advance” was the last words I heard. His ass easily enclosed my entire head only the heavy smell of musk that could rival 4 bony builders after a workout was left.

Then I heard it the gurgle of his stomach as he leans a bit to the left. A torrent of hot gas as bad as a dumpster fire hit me in the face going straight up my noose. I start to gag and cough, flailing about underneath S.Coups. “Can you quiet down, this is a job only my number one fan can do. If you do it well I’ll give you a little present at the end” he says. A present I wonder what it could be, “Do you understand?” S.Coups asks. I respond with a muffled yes and steel myself for what comes next.

“Fair warning, I get pretty gassy after practice so prepare yourself” then he sits full weight on my face. Then came the constant blasts, each one ranging from long silent hissing to loud bassy trumpets, actually it could rival a trumpet with how loud it was. Each one so hot adding my own sweat on top of the sweat the would drip off his cheek. After about a two hours he finally got up, giving me the first sight of light and fresh air in a while. When I got up I coughed and took a deep breath thinking I survived just to breathe in the scent that was dense in the room. “Damn I hoped that you would sniff them all up, I’m going to get in trouble again. Guess you have to be punished for not doing your job!” With that S.Coups pushes my body against the door pinning my face between the door and his ass. “ I would say I’m sorry but I’d be lying, say goodnight!!” I heard a grunt and then a fart that lasted way longer than any of his previous blasts fogging up the window on the door, rivaling the smell of a skunk and a garbage truck combined. Everything goes black.

I wake up and check around the room, S.Coup is nowhere to be found but his smell still stains the room even with the door open. I check my watch and four hours since my experience with him. I go walk towards my bag and find a sign cd from him and was elated that at least I got something from this experience, though I fire I didn’t entirely hate it. I rush home to play the cd, avoiding streets with a lot of people since the stench of his ass and gas was scorched onto my clothes. I rush into my room and pop the cd into my laptop and hear S.Coup start talking, “thank you to my number one fan for a fun experience” I start to blush thinking that the entire experience was worth it. Then I hear one of his notorious blasts come through the speaker of my laptop and my coughing in the background. “HE RECORDED THE WHOLE THING”, I sit back in embarrassment and then catch a whiff of my hoodie which he imprinted his scent onto. I start to sniff the hoodie and listen to his blast at the same time reliving my wonderfully smelly S.Coup Experience.

[inexplicifics]

for the WIP List thing, I'm most intrigued by the Marika and Milena ficlet for the Broken Lock AU. Anything you'd care to share about that? (If someone beat me to that one, please share something from another WIP that includes Milena)

Someone did beat you to it, so have a bit of the doc currently titled "L/A/M modern tweet inspired", in which Aiden goes head over heels pretty much immediately:

Aiden downs another drink - what, he’s not sure, but it burned beautifully going down, so it was probably expensive - and grins wildly at the bartender before slinking back out onto the dance floor. The music is good and the crowd is cheerful and the drinks are strong and cheap - he’s having a damn good night already. Most of the dance floor is full of people bumping and grinding and flailing with various levels of drunken inelegance, but there’s a cleared space right in front of the stage where half a dozen people are dancing, fancy steps and flourishes and everything. Aiden ends up on the edge of that area after a while, pretty much by accident, and his eye is caught by a couple doing a sort of bastardized tango to a song that really isn’t meant for tangoing. They’re good, though, graceful and energetic, the big redheaded man twirling his much smaller female partner out and reeling her back in again, lifting her entirely off her feet a few times; she’s laughing, head thrown back in glee, and keeping up without any trouble at all. They’re beautiful, and Aiden spends a few minutes just admiring the view; the redhead’s black shirt is gorgeously tight, and damp with sweat, clinging to his chest and back delightfully, while his dark jeans cling perfectly to his ridiculously nice ass, and the woman is wearing a crimson dress with a skirt that flares out every time she twirls, showing off pale elegant legs all the way up above the knee, and her long dark hair is braided with something sparkly. The song ends, and the redhead bends his partner back in a deep dip and kisses her thoroughly; she doesn’t even flail, trusting her weight to him without hesitation, and returns the kiss with obvious enthusiasm. Aiden sighs a little, pressing a hand to his chest; yes, he’s a romantic idiot, his brothers remind him of it regularly, but how is someone supposed to look at that and not be smitten?

[momotonescreaming]

You can blame the STWG for this one. T | 743 words | Established Stomarol

“Did you hear that Wheeler chick has a crush on you?” Tommy says absent mindedly, looking over at Steve from his place reclining on his bed, throwing a baseball into the air. It’s casual, effortless, in one smooth motion. Steve follows it with his eyes, the curl of Tommy’s hand, the flick of his wrist, the expanse of freckled skin on display as his sleeve rides up. Lets his gaze drift across his body, from his hands to his arms, to his chest and up to his face. Soaking it all in. He gets to look, knowing Tommy’s looking back.

“No way, Tommy.” Steve snorts, although not unkindly. He picks up one of Tommy’s tapes, stops flicking through the stack, and focuses his attention on him. “Stop kidding around. There’s no way I’m her type.”

“I’d argue you’re everyone’s type,” Tommy smirks, throwing the baseball again, catching it in such a way he can show off his biceps. The flex of muscle. He knows Steve will look. Wants him to, in fact. “You’re mine. You’re Carol’s.”

And oh, Steve thinks. Isn’t that nice to hear. A warmth spreads inside him, sweet and sticky like honey, coating his insides. He belongs to Tommy, and Carol, and TommyAndCarol — and they belong to him in return. He grips the tape tighter, feeling the plastic creak underneath the palms of his hands, his calloused fingers. “Well in that case I don’t need to worry about if I’m anyone else’s type. I’ve already got the only two that matter.”

The flush immediately spreads across Tommy’s cheeks, pink and pretty and perfect as it smothers his freckles. Steve likes having this affect on him. Didn’t think he would, didn’t think this was an option, but now that he has it he doesn’t want to let it go.

“That so?” Tommy replies, letting the baseball drop off the side of his bed. It thumps against the carpet, but neither of them care where it lands. He doesn’t look, doesn’t worry about it hitting anything, just keeps his eyes on Steve. Inhales, polo shirt straining against his chest, legs propped up on the bed. Lets his legs dip, spreading wider, jeans pulling against him. Bites his lip, just slightly, drawing Steve’s eye to the pink plush of his lips.

“I don’t think you need a reminder,” Steve says, voice dropping low, licking his lips as he looks over at Tommy, displaying himself for Steve. Waiting. Like something ready to be eaten. He puts the tape down on top of Tommy’s dresser, not looking, still focused on Tommy. Steps towards the bed, watching the bob of his throat as Steve towers over him. “Do you?”

“Well maybe I want a reminder.” Tommy replies, his own voice getting lower, quieter, just for them. They’re in their own little bubble here, they’re safe, they’re together. “Can you show me, baby? How much I’m yours?”

“If you insist,” Steve replies, crawling onto the bed, knees digging into the mattress. Doesn’t stop until he’s hovering over Tommy, hands above his head, knees in between his, hair falling into his face as he looks down at him. Looks at Tommy’s flushed face, his bitten lips, the way his breath catches in his throat as Steve’s gets closer.

He watches as Tommy’s eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss him. Inches their bodies closer, feels the heat building between them. The slick slide of lips, the musky inhale of his cologne, merging sweetly with his own. With their sweat and the scent of them.

Steve brushes his hands across the mattress, smoothing down the comforter, as his hand seeks Tommy’s. Clutching tightly as they meet, fingers entwining together as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

“When’s Carol getting here?” Steve whispers into Tommy’s mouth, letting him swallow the sound. Pushing his body down onto Tommy’s, grinding ever so slightly. Smiling as Tommy groans and spreads his legs wider, opening up his hips. Creating the perfect space for Steve.

“Soon.” Tommy mumbles back, his free hand clutching Steve’s back, rucking up the fabric and drawing him closer.

“Good.” Steve replies, hovering above him, panting, catching his breath. Looks down at Tommy, as he looses himself in his kisses. In the sweet friction they’re building together.“ Lets give her a show for when she gets here then, yeah?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Tommy replies, surging up to kiss him. Wet, and deep, and exactly what Carol likes to see.

[Part Two]

[whyareyouhere66]

Call Me A Snitch - Benny Rodriguez/The Sandlot x GN Reader

“Could it be something like benny rodriguez x gn!reader and its they are on philips team and playing against the sandlot boys and the philips convinces the reader to cheat by using like this sticky rosin stuff…”

Here we go @yourgirljen4life - hope you enjoy and I hope this is what you were looking for 

[mind you I don’t know a lot about rosin or anything- also Phillips doesn’t have a listed full name, so I used the actors first name.]

CW: slightly rushed I haven’t written in a hot minute, not heavy on any relationships, Wil Phillips

Benny Rodriguez x GN!Tiger’s player Reader

x

It’s the middle of the day, sun hot and sticky beating down on the trees and dirt that cover the ground, temperature at least 80 degrees, when I realize I should’ve stayed home.

I used to say I’d never miss a good game of baseball, especially not with someone as invested as Benny Rodriguez or Wil Phillips. But then again, I’ve never played such an un-fun one in my life. Which is actually pretty impressive.

The ball swings across the field as Benny’s team hits it spot on again, and I see as our outfielder scurries to get it. I can’t remember who’s out there, probably Eric. Guess that wasn’t a great idea. Bertram, looking accomplished, smoothly jogs across the base. 

They’re getting real cocky, now. It’s funny, I think, I’d crack a grin when I hear Ham’s next remark but with the vein nearly popping out of Phillips’ forehead I decide to bite it back. 

“How are we doing so shit?” I hear him ask, but I don’t think he wants a real answer. The expensive jerseys can only cover so much, an idea he seems very much unaware of.

I look down at my wrinkled jersey, the white fabric tinted with dirt after I took a dive for home base in the last inning. I dust some of it off, hearing another crack of the wooden bat across the way. To follow, a curse mumbled from Phillips lips. 

I sigh slightly, and glance back at the score board. We’re down by 2, which isn’t horrible, but I know we’d all prefer not being down at all. My cleats scuff against the sand as I stand up from our bench, and stand next to the blonde boy. His gaze is strong and fixed on the new batter, Benny. 

‘Oh boy.’ 

Droplets of sweat trickle down his forehead, over his nose, and he stares intently at our pitcher. He’s in jeans in a t-shirt, to no one’s surprise, and I look over him as he gets into position. His eyes narrow, blocking the sun the best they can. 

From the dugout, I watch with crossed arms. I still remember the first game against the sandlot boys- when Phillips tried to stand off on their own field. I think that’s when I first realized, baseball would be a lot more fun if there weren’t the pressure of winning constantly on my shoulders. 

He’s so focused, swaying the bat over his shoulder and adjusting his feet across home base. Beside me, Phillips’ scoffs, I can basically hear how his teeth clench in his jaw.

Benny hits it mere feet away from the fence, our outfielder sprinting for it and suddenly Phillips’ hand grabs a firm hold on my shoulder, snatching my thoughts from the game.

“This is bullshit,” he complains, and uses the grip on my shoulder to turn me towards the bench behind us, “come on.”

My arms remain crossed even as he tugs me towards his bag, and he leans down to grab something from inside. Red flag, I think, he’s up to something.

“You’re up next,” when he comes back up, he’s holding a small tub in his hand, “use this.” 

I look down at the tub in his hands, and skim over the word “Rosin” bolded on the lid. 

He’s gotta be kidding.

I glance up at him, he’s looking at me expectantly, as if I’m supposed to immediately understand. When I don’t enthusiastically go along with it, he rattles his hand impatiently.

“No.” I tell him, and he groans.

“Y/n come on-“ he whines, “we’ve gotta get a leg up.”

“This is pathetic, Phillips.”

He groans again, dramatically throwing his head back, and I feel his fingers tightening against the bone of my shoulder. 

“Dude- it’s not a big deal, just do it so we don’t lose against these…” he looks back to the field, where Benny has already made it to 2nd base and players from our team and his are spread across the dirt and grass. Ham chuckles smugly, rolling up to base, and immediately just from one look at the field Phillips’ face scrunches into one of disgust. 

“…losers.”

He finishes, I scoff.

“Dude.”

He doesn’t listen to my protest at all, instead shoving the tub of rosin into my hand. Tan fingers slip away from my shoulder, finally, and he reaches back into his bag and pulls out another baseball, placing it into my free hand. 

“Do it, or I swear to god L/n.”  He looks at me like he’s giving a threat, which he is, but it’s not a strong one. I sigh, and he steps away from me back to the edge of the dugout to watch the game. I’m left alone by the cluttered bench.

Looking down at the ball and the tub, I sigh once more. But nonetheless, I unscrew the tub. 

It’s a bad idea, pathetic as I said, I should’ve known the second we went down a point Phillips would resort to a cheat. 

.

But hey, it worked. 

My fingers are still sticky with rosin as the game ends- the scoreboard has changed, now in our favor with 3 points above the sandlot group. 

Curses echo from them as ham kicks the dirt below his feet, and I watch as Benny throws his hat to the ground in a fit. It clashes well with the smug cheers from my team- but at the sight of the others so defeated, I feel guilty.

“Told you.” Phillips’ smirks into my ear, patting my shoulder much harder than needed before strutting off with the rest of the team. I dont join him, though.

It wasn’t our win to get. 

“Some pop and fries at the diner sound good to you guys?” Phillips asks, raising his voice knowing the sandlot boys will hear him across the dugout. Of course he needs to rub it in, sometimes i think he’s a better actor than he is a baseball player.

As my team saunters off, I listen in on the grumbles from Benny’s team.

“Damn tigers…” ham mumbles, glaring at the ground. 

“Yeah yeah- we had ‘em in the first half too. Like, what the hell?”

With all the mumbling, Benny shakes his head with a glare. I can tell by the clench of his fist he’s frustrated, he turns around to his friends.

“Just shut up about it guys- we lost, it’s whatever.” His voice contradicts him easily, but it quiets his friends grumbling a fair amount. He spins back around, about to match off to their dugout, and last second my mouth opens.

“Wait!”

They all turn around, faces still dark as ever when they see me approaching them, trying to catch up with a light jog. I don’t know why I’m doing this, I’ve never been much more than acquaintances with them, but it’s obvious they’re better friends than my team will ever get to be. Maybe that’s what motivates me to continue.

“Hold on, it’s,” I pause, breathing out and coming to a stop right in front of them, “hold on.”

“What do you want?” Squints obnoxiously adjusts his glasses at me. The only ones not glaring me down seem to be Smalls and the twins. Though, when i catch Benny’s eyes again there isn’t any anger directed at me behind his gaze. 

“I,” I glance behind me, my team is gone, and I turn back with a hesitant look, “you didn’t lose.”

This seems to confuse them, Bertram scoffs.

“Right, funny.” He says bitterly.

“Yeah yeah, hilarious.” Yeah yeah pipes up, but Squints holds up a finger to both of them, staring at me with vague interest.

Benny is lost, closing his eyes in thought. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t technically lose,” I rephrase, “not legally, I mean.”

When they’re about to question me further, I look down at my hand and squeeze my fingers, the rosin sticking to my skin. They catch on quickly, by the time I look back up squints has already marched over to me.

“What’s this?” He questions, grabbing my hand and examining the skin. I awkwardly watch on as he recognizes the sticky shit on my hand, glaring at me in disbelief. Spinning around to the others, he grabs my wrist.

“They used sticky rosin!” He exclaims, holding up my hand for the others like a clue. His friend’s eyes widen, and I take my hand back to quickly explain.

“They cheated?” Smalls let the question sit in the air, because no one really answered him.

“It was Phillips’ idea,” none of them are surprised, as Benny mutters with rolling eyes, “he got pressed when you started winning, he’d kept some in his bag.” 

Groans rumble from the group, I notice as Benny pulls off his hat once more, leaving his sweaty hair to the breeze. 

“I mean- are we surprised?” His voice is thick in sarcasm, standing out over the grumbles from Ham and Yeah Yeah.

“No- of course that blonde Bambi would cheat, pussy move.” Bertram curses, and despite their glares I feel a grin form at the words “blonde Bambi.”

“Sorry- I should’ve told him to quit, but…”

The hot sun is baking my skin, the baseball cap sitting on my head only giving so much. 

“So why didn’t you?” Ham quips- I almost bite my tongue, but Benny whacks him with his hat. 

“Shut up,” he clicks his tongue, before his gaze returns to me, and I’m not really sure what to do with it. “Thanks for uh- for telling us.” He gives the slightest hint at a smile, his teeth sticking through his lips. I smile back at him, the guilt from before falling further into the back of my mind. 

“Yeah- I mean,” I dip my head, “you guys were having a lot more fun out there than I’ve had in a minute.”

Smalls furrows his eyebrows. “Then you should play with us!”

Everyone turns to look at him.

I’m surprised by his offer, though not at the many, many quips thrown his way afterwards. I’ve never thought about it, never having been invited before, but now that the idea is fresh in front of me I consider it.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Benny jumps in- and that’s what really surprises me. 

“For real?” I ask, and Benny steps forward, blocking off the rest of the boys from giving their loud input. Face to face, I finally notice more of his grin. 

“Yeah- might be fun, plus, would drive Phillips crazy.” 

I grin. 

He holds out a hand to me, and I have to remember to switch to the not sticky one to return the gesture.

“We’ll play tomorrow- the sandlot at noon. If you’re in, join us.”

His hold is firm, yet his hands are softer than I think I expected.  Despite the blisters that cross his palm, his touch is warm. I look up at him through the shade of my hat. For a second, he looks hopeful. And after a moment of thinking, pushing away the migraine for Phillips to face the second he finds out, I nod.

“I’ll be there.”

He’s the last the leave as the others walk away, Smalls walking by his side at the back of the group as Benny throws me one last shiny grin.

Not as uninteresting as I thought it would be anymore- I walk home with the Tiger’s jersey now in lost value on my shoulders. 

[juuuulez]

📰 | part seven: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, father figure Negan my love, enemies to lovers/slow burn, kinda angst but not emotionally yet, graphic violence, attempted sexual assault, um this got kinda dark, also long.

summary: Once again, you are tasked with babysitting Carl, this time leaving Alexandria to find supplies. An unsuspecting attacker causes a rift in your feud.

eesh this is intense but also very succulent to write i LOVE LOVE LOVE some action!

also thank you all for 150+ followers!!! pls continue to send ideas to my inbox i’m absolutely eating it up <3

You’re really starting to get sick of this heat.

It’s sweltering, sticking your clothes to your skin, sweat patches running down your back and dampening the white tank you usually wear.

In favour of not being bitten, you wore the typical black jeans, which are doing absolutely nothing to combat against the unbearable heat.

Unfortunately enough, there isn’t any air conditioning in the Sanctuary, so you’d agreed to return once more to Alexandria with your father.

It had been a few days since your last impromptu visit, a week, actually. Though you’d previously been frazzled, irritated, you took the time to cool off and work through some pretty ugly emotions back at home.

Now, it was down to business, which meant giving strict orders to Saviours on where to check, what to take. Making sure everybody wrote things down, followed their routine.

“Woah, woah, woah! What do we have here?”

Your head snaps in the direction of Negan’s voice, who is standing at the gates, leaning against an old, beaten down car with the engine on. As you approach, the familiar outline of a sheriff’s hat comes into view through the rear window, and you almost want to turn away and forget you even saw anything.

“Now, I sure as shit hope you weren’t planning on leaving unsupervised.” Negan jousts at the teenage boy, still leaning against the passenger side.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where this is leading, and you shoot your father a tired little glare. “Can’t Dwight do it? Or, I dunno, anyone but me?” You plead, not exactly in the mood to be in a confined space with Carl once more.

For all you knew, he might swerve off the road to try and kill you.

Negan doesn’t let this slide, “Nope! You’re an excellent babysitter, doll. Best girl for the job.”

You bite your tongue against any sort of protest, still having not revealed the true extent of your last encounter with Carl. It would only cause unnecessary stress, you deducted.

At the beginning of this whole apocalypse, Negan had been cagey about letting you do just about anything. It only took a one bad incident to turn on his protective mode, and you felt like maintaining your freedom for a little longer.

“Fine.” You sigh, but instead of climbing into the passenger side, you skirt to the other end of the car. “Out, now. Leave the keys.”

Carl glares at you with an open mouth, clearly displeased about not only having his trip hijacked, but now being ordered around. “I can drive.”

“Don’t care. I’m not gonna risk you goin’ AWOL.” You tell him, unfortunately deadly serious, much to the boys’ dismay.

With an angry scoff, Carl departs from the drivers side, instead getting into the passenger chair. You sit down, leaning over to adjust the seat in order to ensure your feet would reach the peddles.

With Negan gone, having departed to keep a keen eye on the Saviours, you reach into your belt and pull a small handgun from the holster. This catches Carl’s attention, as he’s never seen you carry a gun before.

You hand it to him.

“One bullet,” You instruct, tone more serious than he’s ever heard from you. “Don’t fuck this up. It’s emergencies only. You’re lucky I don’t just let you die out there.”

He accepts it wordlessly, not wanting to push that very thin boundary.

The sweltering heat is worse in the car, harsh metal keeping the thick air inside, and you doubt it had any working cooling system.

Luckily, this proved to be less of a problem as you begin driving, the air whipping past your faces and offering a slight relief.

Carl gave you directions, but after the third instruction, you were beginning to get a little fed up.

“Why don’t you draw me a map?” You suggest, one hand on the wheel while the other brazenly fishes around in your back pocket, managing to pull out a small notepad. “Then I don’t need to listen to your voice.”

“What, like you can read?” Carl comments, a snide remark that contrasts the fact that he does take the notepad, flicking through pages in order to find an empty one.

His eyes are drawn to the little graphite sketches that adorn the pages, his thumb tempted to swipe the paper back and have a peek, but he resists.

A few moments later, and Carl hands the notepad back to you, which you hold in front of the wheel in order to get a good look. Your brows furrow, finger tapping against a strange looking blob.

“What’s this?”

Carl leans closer, brows pinched as he looks at the drawing. “A tree.” He says, as if it were obvious, despite the artwork being significantly less than professional.

“Okay?” You take your eyes off the road, giving the boy a confused, critical gaze. This only feeds into his temper, where Carl suddenly takes the notepad from your hands, drawing a few more scribbled lines on the so-called ‘leaves’ of his tree.

“So you know where to turn,” He specifies, like this would solve all of your problems, “At the end of the road. There’s a tree.”

You struggle to find your words for a moment, unsure how the simple action of drawing a map has just made this more confusing. “There are trees everywhere, dumbass. That isn’t helpful.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s a big tree,” Carl scoffs, throwing the notepad back onto the dash, opened so you can see it. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just let me drive.”

“Oh! Okay,” You turn to him, “I would have let you drive, had you not tried to shoot me. So, fairs fair, asshole. This is your fault.”

“I said I was sorry!” Carl retorts loudly, uncaring of how you’re no longer looking at the road, or about how fast the car is travelling.

You roll your eyes, “That doesn’t count. Murders don’t get let off scot-free just because they said two puny words.”

“That’s barely comparable!” He continues to push the conversation, all that pent up anger and frustration towards your adamancy against him starting to bubble up. “It’s not my fault that you’re, like, deranged or something.”

That was it.

You slam your foot on the breaks, sending the car skidding a few dangerous meters ahead. In that time, you brace yourself against the steering wheel, but Carl jolts uncomfortably against the seatbelt.

“What the fuck—”

“Get out.”

He looks at you like you’re actually insane, trying to decipher whether or not you’re being serious. But you only stare at him, glaring actually, jaw clenched in irritation.

“Get out!” You tell once more, needing Carl to get the message that you simply can’t be around him anymore. Not with all the arguing and bickering, it was getting on your last nerve, and you just needed some space to breathe.

With a huff, Carl obeys, but not without slamming the door shut. You run a hand raggedly through your hair, starting the car up once more and placing your foot on the accelerator.

“Fuck you!” Carl yells as you drive off, giving you the finger in hopes that you’ll see it in the rear view mirror. You probably didn’t, but it makes him feel a little better anyway, like he got the final word in.

But as the car disappears against the horizon, he’s left there, on the dusty road in that horrible summer heat. Sweat already sits on his nape, making his shirt uncomfortably sticky, and now he’s tasked with walking the rest of the way.

All because of your tantrum.

With the advantage, you make it to the abandoned gas station in record time. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far from where you’d ditched Carl, so you knew that he would be fine walking. You weren’t that cruel.

It’s relatively run-down, and you can only spot a few walkers mingling near the store’s back end. You keep your bat held tight, stalking through broken glass and tipped shelves to find anything of use. Whilst you don’t know what Carl had in mind for this trip, you could make a few assumptions, and managed to collect a small pile of minimal medical equipment, snacks, and even some baby food.

It was peaceful, actually.

Maybe a little too peaceful.

Slinging the bag of supplies over your shoulder, you approached the car once more, intending to drive the way back and pick Carl up along the way. He shouldn’t be too far off, at this point. You lean over, starting the ignition and popping the boot open, letting the supplies rest there.

But as you circle around, something catches your eye. A shiny glint on the ground. You poke it with your boot, only to realise that it appears to be a small razor blade.

Dread floods your system, and as you bend down to inspect the peculiar object, it hits you.

The tires, each one of them, have gone flat. Air completely let out, slashed. Unusable.

No escape.

You clench your jaw, rising to your feet once more, the metal bat still in hand. Someone was here. With what intentions, you didn’t know, but you could assume it wasn’t good.

Cautiously, you take a few steps backwards, towards the gas station. You watch the open space ahead of you, eyes steady on the treeline, inspecting for the most minute of movements that could betray the whereabouts of this potential attacker.

Except it doesn’t come from behind.

One steady thunk and your head is colliding with the concrete wall, to which the shock causes you to drop the baseball bat, one hand clasping the wall and the other digging your nails into the wrist of your attacker.

A firm hand has collected your hair, gripping onto your ponytail, fingers pressed into your scalp. You fight and squirm, but the body of a much larger man presses behind you.

With your stuff in the car, you can only imagine what he might want.

Despite this, you don’t scream, teeth clenched as you struggle to evade his grip. A harsh stomp to his foot assists your escape, where you’re able to land one solid punch square to the man’s jaw, before his leg swipes your balance out, sending you crashing to the concrete.

You almost twist onto your stomach, but the attacker is too quick, once again fisting your ponytail and slamming your face into the ground. One, two, three and you finally stop struggling as vigorously, blood and mucous caked all over your face, mixing in with chipped cement and dirt from the floor.

But the baseball bat is so, so close.

There’s one hand still in your hair, another on your back. Now waist, then stomach. Gross, burly fingers circling the button of your jeans.

A singular moment of weakness is all you need, where he’ll let his guard down, and you can leap for the bat.

Unfortunately, you know what form this weakness comes in.

You’re panting like a wild animal, trying not to squirm, carefully calculating your next move until suddenly there’s a loud pop then whistle that whirs past your ears, the sound almost making you flinch, before the weight of your attacker slumps against your body.

Crimson blood drips down onto your shoulder, coating your neck and back, the cold shock helping you regain enough consciousnesses to shuck the dead body from your smaller frame, scurrying out from underneath him.

The pavement is searing hot against your palms, you can even feel the burn through the thick material of your jeans. As you sit up on your haunches, looking around, you spot him.

Carl, crouched behind a few bushes, tentatively lowering the handgun.

One bullet.

As he begins to approach, you wipe some of the blood onto your arm, smearing the disgusting gunk further around your skin, which is still persistently dripping from your nose and mouth.

Gravel has surely made its way into the open wounds, but you do nothing about it. Not now, at least.

Carl approaches you slowly, putting the handgun back into his holster, and that genuine look of concern on his face makes you feel sick.

When he gets close enough, arms reach, you bristle and firmly shove him away, sending him stumbling a few steps backwards.

“The fuck did I say?!” You yell at him, directing all your rage and anger towards the corpse lying at your feet, back at Carl. “Emergencies only. What happens now, huh? I don’t have another bullet!”

He looks completely shell shocked by your outburst, not having accounted for such a reaction. But it doesn’t matter, as you’re still shouting, even as he stands there dumbly and watches.

“I had that under control!” You grunt, once again wiping at you nose, which runs with a mix of snot and blood.

When you garner no reaction from Carl, this frustration only continues to fester. You lean down to the ground, swiping up the baseball bat and clenching it hard in your palms.

You approach the body once more, and with one hefty swing, completely obliterate the man’s skull. Later, you would claim this was being proactive against potential walkers, but in the moment in was nothing more than revenge.

When you’ve entirely crushed the skull, you move on to the neck, spine, arms, torso. Anything. There comes a point where you’re no longer hitting to destroy any evidence of what happened, but hitting simply to feel some semblance of control. Blood spurts onto your jeans, some even reaching your tank, a darker colour that contrasts with the bright red of your own.

“Hey, hey. Cool it.” Carl is saying from behind you, and when you show no acknowledgment of his words, he reaches out to place a hand on your shoulder.

You shrug it off, but otherwise drop the bat, letting it clang harshly against the concrete, rolling a few feet away and leaving a gorey trail.

At this point, you try to clear your head, take stock of the situation. The tires are slashed, deeming the car useless. It was beginning to enter late afternoon, and though the days were hot, the nights were freezing. Not only that, but all this shouting has likely attracted whatever walkers you’d hoped to leave unsuspecting.

Finally, you spare a glance back at Carl, who’s been watching you this whole time. It looks like he’s on edge, waiting, ready for whatever you’re about to do, however irrational. A few specks of blood have made its way onto the sleeves of his flannel, where you realise how close Carl has been standing to you, even during the little outburst.

“Fine,” You mumble, answering his unspoken question. “No point heading back. Best push the car into some shade, camp out there for the night.”

Carl takes this as permission to contribute, though he still speaks to you with a level of cation. Mentally, you accept this as fear, but you know very well it’s actually concern. “I know the area pretty well. There’s a cabin not too far off, it was clean last time I checked.”

It’s reasonable, even if the idea of following Carl into the woods makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You’d rather not, especially now that he’d used the sole bullet, which you had none of on hand.

You chew on your busted bottom lip, nodding, accepting this makeshift plan. “Yeah, okay.” You sigh, almost sounding defeated, but nonetheless you pick the bat off the ground and stride back away from the gas station, not bothering to consult Carl any longer.

This was going to be a long night.

[laura1633]

For the drabble... maybe alpha Max coming home to omega Charles, who has just gone into heat 🥺

Hi anon,

Thank you for the drabble suggestion <3 , I've written a quick 500 word drabble (18+ content) below.

Normally when Charles goes into heat Max can’t wait to bury himself between the omega’s thighs and lap up every last little drop of slick, tongue broad and flat as he licks up and down the omega’s pussy until his jaw aches and his lips and nose are all shiny and wet. 

Today he manages to exercise a modicum of self control as he hangs back in the bedroom doorway and admires the sight that greets him. 

Charles is naked and face down against the bed, his body sweat soaked as he writhes, or more accurately humps at a pillow propped beneath his hips. Max isn’t quite sure how much Charles is really getting out of the movement. There may be some friction from the pillow against the omega’s clit as he rubs his pussy against it.  It doesn’t seem to be anywhere near enough to get him off though, not if the disgruntled little sounds are anything to go by. It’s hot to watch though, also kind of cute. Max smiles to himself as he enjoys the sight of his pretty little omega mindlessly thrusting. 

“Baby?” Max coos and instantly receives a desperate whine in return, “Baby, Do you need some help?”

Charles whimpers and when he looks back over his shoulder, its clear he has been at this for some time, his face is bright pink and his eyes wet with tears of frustration, “Didn’t want to start -, without you -“ 

“It’s okay sweetie, I’m here now,” Max throws off his shirt and steps out of his jeans as he makes his way over. As the alpha climbs on to the bed, Charles buries his head back into the mattress and arches his body, presenting himself for his alpha. 

“You are so wet,” Max hums as he pushes the tips of two fingers inside the omega and smiles at the near animalistic sound Charles makes in response, “What do you need?”

“You,” Charles mewls and wiggles his hips around trying to get Max to move as the alpha pushes the head of his cock against the omega’s pussy. 

“Do you deserve me though?” Max bites at his lip, his whole body vibrating as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting straight in. 

“Yes,” Charles whimpers. The omega still has his head buried against the bed but Max can just imagine the little indignant pout on his face. He really does deserve to be taken care of though. He always deserves to be taken care of. It’s why Max loves Charles’ heats, loves being able to please his omega. 

As Max runs his hand over the curve of Charles’ ass he realises how warm the omega is to the touch. He might normally tease a little longer but Charles has clearly been waiting some time already so without any further warning Max shoves in roughly and revels in the moan of relief and pleasure Charles lets out at finally having his alpha inside of him.

[2knightt]

can you please do dally and johnny hc's (seperate) of them dating a whimsigothic girl? ty!

↳nobody else matters, girl.₊˚✧

➬ J.C, D.C x whimsigothic!reader

a/n; i didn’t know what the whimsigothic shit was until i looked it up and i lowkey fell inlove. ALSO IM SO SORRY THAT IT’S SHORT I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO WRITE LMFAO

Johnny Cade ;

HE THINKS YOU’RE SO COOL??

if you ask him what to wear to an outing and you show him several different velvety dresses, he will explode.

“or this one? i think i like this one best..what d’ya think, johnny?”

“uh…”

“johnny?”

“what? oh! i like this one.”

he ADORES the velvety clothing you wear, especially if it’s a darker colour of one of his favourite colours.

he’s legit so inlove with your style.

if you’re witchy and collect rocks/crystals, tell him everything.

“what’s this one? it’s real pretty.”

“oh! that’s amethyst, it’s a calming, soothing crystal. take it!”

treasures it forever.

if anyone says your weird because of your style, he is ONTO THEM.

“can you believe what she’s wearing? like…this isn’t the 1800’s.”

“hop off her back, miss. you’re acting like your above her when you got jumped by a few 5th graders two weeks ago. quit it before i get a few..actual adults…on ya.”

he’s obsessed when you layer different clothing??

he thinks you’re a fashion GENIUS bro.

sometimes goes to you to ask what looks good and what doesn’t and how he can make his clothes look ‘different.’

“well for starters, take off the jean jacket. you wear it everyday, plus it’s summer! spice it up a bit, johnny.”

“it’s the prime thing of my look though…makes me look tuff..”

“makes you look like a bum too.”

tough, but he needed to hear it.

but overall, he’s OBSESSED period. nobody can change his mind, he thinks you’re the coolest girl EVER.

Dallas Winston ;

he probably talked to you just because of your style.

you stick out among crowds, especially since it’s the ‘60s.

i believe that dallas winston likes different, so that’s why he likes you so much.

when you wear a dress, it’s no joke, his favourite thing.

“i just bought this one, do ya like it?”

“i love it, y/n.”

will punch anyone who makes fun of you.

he can and he WILL.

“you let her walk out of the house like that?”

BAM! knocked out cold.

loves anything with lace.

it drives him MAD.

idk what it is with dallas and lace stuff but i feel like he loves it so much.

loves darker colours on you, even if your more of a lighter colour gal, he will be drooling if you wear dark colours.

doesn’t understand layering.

he cannot understand why you’d put this sweater jacket thing on top of an already pretty dress.

“..why?”

“why not? it looks cute like this.”

“it’s hot as hell outside and you wanna sweat more?”

“being pretty comes with it’s downsides, dal.”

may 24th, 2023. 4:05pm

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hello my love <3 I had an idea so I thought I’d request it! Bradley Bradshaw being so in love with you but cannot for the life of him talk to you normally. He’s a stuttering blushing mess. He finally convinced himself to ask you out but reader thinks he’s sick with a fever or something. He just goes with it and adventually spits it out that he wants to take you on a date (im sorry if this doesn’t make a lot of sense i don’t request very often and it’s hard to get my thoughts out clearly 😅) Xx

my lucky

cw: bradley is a bit shy, reader teases him, hangman being hangman, a supportive dagger squad, fluff

wc: 1.3k

Bradley is anything but subtle. The entire Hard Deck can see his desperate adoration for you, especially the Dagger Squad.

The only problem, when Bradley saw you twirling around the Hard Deck with drinks in your hand, and moving between tables with the breeze under your skirt and a little sheen of sweat on your skin he lost all ability to speak.

He wasn’t quite sure how it was that you made him so speechless, but he could never get out more than a, “Hey could I get six beers, Lucky?”

Phoenix, Jake and Bob had bets on how long it would take Bradley to introduce himself to you and so far, Jake and Bob were still in the range of their bets.

Tonight, the Hard Deck is full of some newer pilots and to say the least, you’re over them.

You’ll be the first to admit that there’s an unnatural appeal to men in their dress whites, but this group of pilots seem different.

You’re not in your typical outfit today- instead you’ve opted for a crocheted top on the balmy night, and a pair of jean shorts that you’ve embroidered with little beakers filled with red and pink hearts along the pockets and hem.

When you step behind the bar Penny whistles at you and smacks your ass making you laugh.

“You tryna catch the attention of a pilot tonight Lucky?”

You’re not entirely sure why she’s given you that nickname, but you love it.

“None of the newer ones, that’s for sure.” you say and she laughs.

Penny isn’t too fond of the newer pilots either, they’re rowdy, rude and just so full of themselves that they all rival Hangman.

You’re wiping glasses when the doors open, Maverick comes in and Penny blushes as he blows her a kiss making you roll your eyes.

They’re so in love it’s sickening in a good way.

Behind him is Jake, Phoenix, Bob and Coyote.

You’ve taken a liking to Phoenix and Bob, but the one you’ve really got your eye on is Bradley and recently he hasn’t been in as much.

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he can’t stop tripping over his words or looking down at his hands when he orders his drinks is endearing.

And it also helps that he’s always made you feel like a person and not a piece of meat.

“God damn sugar, you might be all I need tonight!” Jake shouts as he comes to the bar and you shake your head.

“Do you always try to sleep with pretty girls Jake?” you don’t ever really call them by their call signs; in your head that’s an extension of their work and they come to the Hard Deck to get away from that.

“Only the prettiest sugar,” he winks and Coyote pushes his shoulder.

“Leave the girl alone Bagman, you want Rooster to kick your ass?”

Bob shakes his as you set the beers down on the counter.

You gaze up at Phoenix who just shakes her head and mutters, ‘Coyote’s just being a dick.’

“How is he by the way? I heard Pen saying that he wasn’t too hot last time you guys were flying.”

Jake grins in his little impish way and it makes you nervous.

“You worried ‘bout the chicken sugar?”

“Jake,” you say and he puts his hands up. “He’s just not been coming in with you guys for a while.”

“You been looking out for him?” Jake pouts dramatically but before he can answer, the doors push open with a rush and in come the new flyers and you groan.

“Great, mini Hangman’s.” you mumble making everyone laugh besides Jake.

He mutters softly, “Ain’t nothing mini about me sugar.”

But your attention is stolen by Bradley who comes in dressed in his Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cargo pants and boots looking hotter than hell.

Maverick and Penny share a secret smile and Bob looks between you and Bradley and says to Phoenix, “Maybe I’ll actually win the bet.”

The disperse before Bradley makes his way to bar and when he stops you notice a harsh blush to his cheeks.

“Hey Bradley,” you say casually, trying to calm your racing heart. He smells heavily of eucalyptus and lavender and the scent reminds you of the ocean early in the morning.

“H-Hey,” he stammers and you give him a gentle smile. “Could I get a beer?”

You nod and as you bend to get the beer you hear him muttering to himself.

It’s too soft to make out but Bradley’s trying to hype himself up to asking you out.

He needs to get it done before he loses his edge, he’s only stammered once so far.

“Here you go,” you slide the bottle into his hand and hazard the comment, “You’ve been pretty mia ‘round here Bradshaw.”

It’s playful enough that Bradley’s stance softens and he gives an almost guilty smile.

“Yeah, I have,” he takes a swig of the beer. “Did you miss me?”

It’s your turn to smile and when you give him a nod, Bradley has all the courage to blurt,

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Bradley freaking Bradshaw just asked you on a date and your mouth has never felt drier but you’ve also never wanted to say yes more in your life.

But you also know pilots and you don’t want this to be just some little ‘date’ that ends with you just sleeping together.

You want something more with Bradley.

“A date with me Bradshaw?” you ask and he nods, eyes wide with panic.

He really hopes you don’t shut him down and report him to Penny.

You reach for his beer, Bradley’s eyes track your every move.

“What if you just wanna have sex?”

His eyes go even wider and you feel bad for dragging his chain.

He swallows just as you drain his beer.

“N-no! I wanna take you out on a date. Maybe to that music festival that’s coming up, I know your favourite artist is gonna perform and I was thinking maybe we could go,” he takes a breath, “together.”

His cheeks are rosy and you set the bottle back on the counter and smile.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous Bradley,” he goes a deeper red and you giggle. “I’d love to go out with you.” you say finally and he lets out a deep breath.

“You won’t regret it,” he leans into your space a little, “I promise you a great time.” His lips smack to your cheek and you gasp. A dimple pops in his cheek at the sound and you narrow your eyes.

“Is the shy Bradley a front?”

He shakes his head, “No, you still make me nervous, but now I’ve got a foot in the game so I’m a little less nervous.”

You laugh when Jake swears across the bar and hollers, “You couldn’t wait a fucking week Bradshaw? A week?”

Bob takes the money that Jake has in his open palm and Bradley turns to flip them both off.

“Be ready, Friday at eleven. The festival starts at 6 so we’re going for brunch.” He begins to walk over to his friends, when you call,

“Where are you picking me up, Big shot?”

He jogs back towards you with a bashful smile and offers his phone for your number.

Coyote yells out, “Damn! We could’ve had a shot if you didn’t say nothing sugar!”

“They don’t have a shot,” you whisper to Bradley who smiles. “You’ve got the best odds.”

He walks over to them with an extra pep in his step and smiles when you text him and see you’ve saved yourself as, ‘lucky,’ he sneakily adds ‘my’ in front of it and pockets his phone after responding.

[runninriot]

Inspired by the prompt Love is just a four-letter word by @sal-si-puedes for @steddielovemonth day 27

 the definition of love

wc: 944 | rated: t | tags: Established Relationship, Sappy Steddie, Dustin and Eddie friendship, Dustin and Steve friendship, Dustin is going through a bit of heartbreak

   “This is so stupid! What even is love?”

It’s not a question Eddie thought he’d ever get asked by Dustin. But he gets it, knows how much it hurts to have your heart broken for the very first time. Especially as a teenager, when it feels like it’s literally the end of the world.

Eddie thinks about it, let’s the question sink in.

    What is love?

Well, technically speaking, love is just a four-letter word. But it’s also so much more than that.

Love is a variety of expressions and emotions. Love is big gestures and little things that go unnoticed in the day to day life.

To Eddie, it’s the fear of losing Steve. It’s saying ‘Drive safe’ like a little prayer every day when Steve leaves for work in the mornings because Eddie couldn’t bear if anything ever happened to him.

Love is adoration, telling Steve ‘You look so hot in those jeans’ or ‘My pretty boy’ just to see him blush, just to let him know how beautiful he is.

Love is pride. To be rightfully self-appreciating of the things they’ve accomplished as a couple – overcoming insecurities, sticking together even through tough times, making plans for a future together.

Love is never wanting to be apart from Steve.

Love is a three-word sentence, a confession of the heart Eddie makes every night before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Sometimes it’s saying ‘I’m sorry’ after a fight. It’s saying ‘I cooked your favourite meal’ or ‘Let’s watch that movie you like’.

Love is saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘Pleaaase, baby’.

Other times it’s not saying anything at all, when Eddie just lets his lips pour all his feelings into a kiss or when he lets his fingers worship Steve’s body, caressing each scar, each blemish, every perfect imperfection that makes him unique.

It’s the flittering butterfly wings he feels in his stomach when Steve smiles at him and the prickling on his skin he feels whenever they touch.

Love is holding each other. Having your favourite person’s arms wrapped around you for comfort, when you’re cold, or just for the sake being close.

Sometimes, love isn’t gentle. It’s rough and wild. Sometimes it hurts, runs through your veins like a raging fire, smouldering in your soul.

It’s passion and longing.

Love is taking each other apart, becoming one in heated moments. It’s the urge to bite and suck and lick, to savour the taste of sweat drenched skin and spit slick holes.

It’s the rhythm of their bodies moving in sync, grinding, and gliding, and sinking in.

It’s falling together and landing on clouds.

Love is the delightful sound Steve makes when he laughs loudly at one of Eddie’s stupid jokes and the soft, whispered words they share in the dark of the night.

It’s a melody Eddie absently plays on his guitar while his mind is filled with thoughts about Steve.

Love is a four-letter word but sometimes it’s five – because it’s Liebe in German, and Amour in French, and to Eddie it’s Steve.

Love is everything, and if it’s true then it’s forever.

Love is what makes Eddie’s life complete.

   “You’ll know once you find it,” Eddie finally says, placing a comforting arm on Dustin’s shoulders to pull him into a brotherly hug.

It might not be the most satisfying answer but it’s the best he can give. And he knows one day Dustin will understand, when he finds the person holding the other half to his heart in their chest.

Eddie never expected to find his other half in Steve of all people but now that he knows what it’s like to love him and to be loved by him, he never wants to be without again.

   “You just gotta be patient,” he adds, can see Dustin rolling his eyes without seeing his face, huffing and sniffling into his shirt.

There’s a gentle knock and when he looks up, Eddie finds Steve’s worried face peeking through the half-open door.

    ‘Is everything okay?’ Steve mouths, pointing at Dustin who still hasn’t let go of Eddie.

Eddie smiles and nods at his boyfriend, forming a silent ‘I love you’ with his lips, just because.

Steve turns around and tries to make his way back into the hallway.

   “I know you’re there, Steve. Just get your ass in here,” Dustin mumbles into Eddie’s embrace, waving a hand in the general direction of Steve.

He only looks up once he can feel Steve’s hand on his back.

   “Suzie broke up with me.”

   “I’m sorry, buddy. That sucks.”

Dustin wipes his eyes with his sleeve, shrugs his shoulders, and sighs defeated.

   “Love is bullshit.”

Steve and Eddie share a look, soft and doting.

   “Yeah it is,” Steve smiles, “but it’s also the best goddamn thing in the world.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, takes Steve’s hand in his and kisses the back of it.

   “Ugh, you guys are the worst. I knew I should’ve gone to Robin instead. At least she knows what it’s like to be hopeless.”

With that being said, Dustin makes his way out of the room, ready to wallow alone in his heartbreak.

But before he exists through the door, he turns around one more time, finds Steve and Eddie still holding hands, looking at each other in a way that makes him want to barf and melt at the same time.

Because no matter how much he hates to admit – whatever they have, theirs is the true definition of love.

Maybe, Dustin thinks, feels something like hope blooming in his chest despite the lingering sadness, one day, I’ll find something just as perfect and wonderful.

[jealousjersey]

🩸ｂｌｏｏｄｌｕｓｔ🩸

warnings:, large mention of blood, afab fem reader, !lwounded mike!!! hematolagnia !!! p in v unprotected (wrap ur silly before u get silly) reader preforming oral, blood licking, pet names

a/n: i got freaky w this one, not proofread or read through this probably isn’t my best work.

like always; 18+ 🩸

word count: 950+ i yapped in this one

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡

mike came home at 3am with 2 cuts on his bicep and a couple of bruises on his knuckles. “oh shit. he was fighting again.” you thought to yourself. ever since the incident at the mall you’ve been afraid this would happen again. “baby, what happened??” you asked although you had a suspicion. mike heard the anxious tone in your voice and panicked, trying to sputter the words to tell you what happened. “i got into a fight.” he looked disappointed in himself. you couldn’t help but feel bad. the sweat on his forehead glistened in the dining room light. “it was just this guy. he pissed me the fuck off and i had enough.” he said with a angry tone in his voice. “do you wanna talk about it honey?” you asked, still worried sick. you knew mike never had a reason for getting aggressive, although never to you but you never had a thought he’d take his anger out on you.. ever since what happened with garrett he’s not quite learned how to control his anger. “not right now. can you do something for me?” he asked with a stern tone in his voice. “yes of course. whatever you need im here” you choked. he knew he worried you but he needed some kind of release.

“suck me off. i need it tonight.” he asked as he sighed. usually he would’ve handled it himself but since you were awake and waiting up for him, he figured to use you as a form of release. “only because you look hot with blood and bruises” you teased at him. “get over here” he demanded, trying to hide his smirk. you hopped on his lap and felt his hard cock tenting through his jeans. you tease him a bit, grinding back and forth a few times and finally unzip his pants and pull them down followed by his boxers just below his balls exposing his hard cock. you spit on the tip “hmm fuck” he groans as you start rubbing in the spit and circle the head. “quit teasing pretty girl, give it to me” he almost demanded. so you nod and wrap your mouth around his veiny length and start practically choking as he bucks his hips to push his cock deep down your small throat. the wetness combined with the salty taste of his dick had you almost seeing stars. you could feel the top of your mouth starting to bruise but as long as it made mike happy you didn’t care. mikes hard-on twitched in your mouth as he tapped on your hand, signaling he’s going to cum. you ignore it and swallow every drop. once you pull away from his now mildly soft cock, a string of spit still connects you two. “thank you pretty baby. you always know how to make me feel better.” he says, now rubbing your ass which is covered by your red lacy underwear.

you start to whimper “mhmm mike need help” softly, not knowing if he heard. “yes baby?” he replies, matching your tone. “need you in me soon” you groan while you can feel your panties soaking in your wetness. before you can say it again, mike picks you up and sits you on his dick, now hard from your request. the dried blood on his arm makes him so much hotter to you now. mike grabs your hips and brings them closer to you so you can feel his length better inside you, keeping a slow pace. “mmffph fuck baby” you mumble as his cock brushes your g spot so carefully. “bab-y i have a weird request” you ask him. “yes?” he says questioned. “could you, bleed on me?” you asked him, he knew you found blood and wounds hot but he didn’t know to what extent.

“baby girl..” he says as he stopped himself. “i know it’s a weird thing but itd help me finish faster” you say with a convincing voice and almost puppy dog eyes. mike has always said that there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to satisfy you, so he was up to this challenge. “alright im in, how do you want to do this.” you hop off him, as he covers up his still rock solid dick and he watched you run to the kitchen to get a paper towel and run it under water. you walk up to him on the couch, now starting to wipe the dried blood from his arm. the wound starts to reopen as you start practically scrubbing. as the fresh blood drips down mikes arm you feel warmer in between your legs, aching for his touch.

you get on mikes dick and start grinding back and forth and side to side to get any bit of friction you can get. mike drips his bleeding wound onto your breasts as it leaks down to your pussy. mike can’t resist the urge to lick the blood off your breasts, as you follow behind. mike looks you in the eye and leans into kiss you. a quick peck turned into a make out that you never wanted to break. as mike takes your hips and sways them against his hips he hits your soft spot perfectly and you start to climax “fuccck mike im gonna-“ he cuts you off with a finger to your mouth, warning you to be quieter to avoid waking abby up. “shh i’m here baby, slow and steady” mike whispers as he rides out your orgasm with you. as your eyes start to close, mike cleans the blood off of you and clothes you with his old tshirt and a pair of his boxers. he tucks you in as you’re clearly dickdrunk. your eyes flutter and he says with a smirk,

“i need to get into fights more often, huh pretty girl?”

[renoxvated]

SENSES & OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?

He smells a lot like warm skin on a summer's day, vaguely of (sweet but musky) sweat and earth— something akin to the hot sand and dust. There’s a smell that lingers of smoke and alcohol on his lips and you’ll often catch the waft of the coppery scent of blood, or the dull air of campfire from his clothing. 

Sometimes he smells like oil and grease too. If he's working on weapons or tinkering on something, it’ll linger on him a little longer than it should. 

When he’s in less hot climates— I like to think he smells more earthy but like the ground after it rains. 

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?

Rough, calloused from using them as a weapon. They’re large and thick and they’re not soft in the slightest but when he holds someone just right you’d think they were. They’re also heavily scarred and bruised at any given time, both various shades of old and new wounds settled into his skin, they make his hands feel like a road map of every decision he’s ever made both bad and good.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?

Food? Anything and everything, he doesn’t know when his next meal is going to be, so he’ll really just eat anything and drink anything that’s vaguely digestible and drinkable, even if it’s questionable at best. His favorite thing to eat is Sugar Bombs however as he has a bit of a sweet tooth. 

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?

Absolutely not, it’d be scratchy, loud and out of tune. Maybe charming if you knew him in a way that’s like your drunk friend being a dumbass at karaoke night but he definitely can’t sing— unfortunately much like the drunk friend at karaoke that’s never stopped him. 

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICS?  

He has SO MANY, he moves his hands a lot in weird little motions, he always has to be touching something like he’s grounding himself, most of the time it’s just his own hands cracking themselves together or rubbing at his arms or face. He rolls his shoulders often and bounces on his heels, or moves and wiggles in place. Roy licks and bites at his lips all the time, and he sticks out his tongue more often than any one person should when he’s excited or nervous, etc— whatever emotional extreme. 

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE/WEAR?

Usually like he just crawled out of bed, though it’s the sort of crawled out of bed that’s kind of half put together without him trying so you’re like, how??? His hair is in fluffy messy curls, when it isn’t drenched in sweat or covered in water, from him pouring it on himself when he gets too hot. 

He wears big ol’ dusty dirty work boots, or on occasion cowboy boots, depending on what he can find. He loves tacky tourist shirts and tank tops. Denim jeans are just fine by him, in either blue or black. 

He wears a lot of paramilitary clothing if he’s going out to fight more dangerous battles such as his NCR Ranger variant attire. Normally he has either a leather jacket on, or his Ranger duster that’s adorned with patches from all the places he’s been, they cover up all the bullet holes and mutant rips pretty nicely. 

He has two bags he carries around, one side satchel that’s his Mojave Express bag and an old beat up military looking backpack. There is of course the Pip-Boy that Doc Mitchell gave to him too, it’s nothing fancy but it does have some slight variation to it after he got House to have it upgraded. 

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW MUCH? HOW SO?

Roy is…well he’s a bit of an enigma when it comes to affection because he’s VERY touchstarved, like he might as well be so starved for attention and affection that he’s in a desert and he’s PARCHED for it. Be he fears it just as much if not MORE than he craves it. I think on a deeper level he wants that human connection with people, he doesn't want to be seen as some hero or villian, he just wants to be seen as what he is, and he wants people in his life that will show him the affection, either emotional or physical, friendly or otherwise that he's lacked. That being said he’s so leery of being touched or being affectionate physically and even emotionally that unless he’s doing it to be annoying, he’s just not going to do it at all-- or usually react well to it. 

He likes to show his affection in ways other than touch though, usually by his actions or gifts and in that way he is the most generous and affectionate to those that he cares about, in stark contrast to his otherwise flagrant nature.

That isn’t to say he couldn’t be physically affectionate with someone but it would definitely be harder for him to get comfortable, that being said once he was I imagine the fact that he's been so scared and touch starved for attention would make him almost overly affectionate physically at times and at other times when he’s in his feelings not at all again. 

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?

Roy tosses and turns A LOT, he tends to have bad nightmares after he returns from the Madre, so he prefers not sleeping around anyone if he can help it. Sometimes he just won’t sleep at all because of that. If he does sleep it’s always on his side, sort of curled up with one eye open. 

As long as he can anyway until he eventually surrenders to his exhaustion; before waking up sweaty clutching his golden arm or his neck. 

He doesn’t like to be under any kind of covers as his body temperature tends to run hot anyway and he doesn’t like feeling confined. He is however a bed hog and will slump his whole body on top of anyone next to him.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?

If you didn’t hear him even from another room it’d be a miracle, Roy is loud and boisterous, some might consider him obnoxious— but it is what it is. He knows how to be quiet but it’s in the spare moments where it matters. 

Those quiet moments before you put the fire out after dark, looking out at a sunset or someone just needs comfort without words, when it’s life or death if he doesn’t shut his trap, you know those kind of moments he could be so quiet you wouldn’t even think he was the same person. He can also be quiet in a rage just as easily as he can be loud, and heaven help whatever has him that quiet, because if he’s that serious; he’s also that deadly. 

Otherwise though yes, you will probably hear him from another room, but maybe if that loud laugh, or string of curses weren’t there the house would feel just a bit too empty. 

Tagged by @ruinouss

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do this!

[livingfictional]

Heyy!! Could I get an rdr2 matchup please? <3

(First I wanna list some characters that I do NOT wanna be matched with: Micah, reverend swanson, Strauss)

22, she/her, bisexual w/ a male lean, I don't really like anything girly like makeup, dresses, heels, etc. I usually just wear jeans or sweats with a band shirt or hoodie with either converse or vans. I really like to read, write, draw, I love long car rides, photography, I LOVE CATS!! They're literally me if I were an animal😭 I literally live for music, it's the main part of my everyday life Imao, I'm into heavy Metal, groove metal, punk rock, etc, but l also like jump style, dance/electronic, alt-pop, my music taste is kinda all over the place omg🤣 I also love gaming, fav games are rdr1 and 2, cod mw2 and ghosts, uncharted 4, Assassin’s Creed black flag and unity.

I’m not very good at talking to people, I’m just way too awkward. I have social anxiety but it isn’t as bad as it used to be. I’m pretty sensitive but hide my emotions well. I went through a bad depression a couple years ago (2020-2023) I’m just recently getting out of it, god it feels so much better now! Although I have gotten a lot better, I’m still not very appreciative of myself. Not very confident and don��t have much self love but I know damn well not to let anyone disrespect me or make me apologize for things I haven’t done. I can take up for myself, I know my worth in this world.

I don’t really care what my lover looks like, as long as they are loyal, respectful, and care for me how I care for them that’s all I need in a relationship. But I do have trust issues so I constantly need to be reassured😅 that’s only one of my red flags, I’m not very good in relationships, always too paranoid. Which is probably why I’ve only ever been in one serious relationship… :/

Hiiii, as per usual, im sorry you had to wait for so long!

I match you up with... Javier!

You guys would be perfect for each other.

Plays his favorite songs to you.

Honestly, if you're not up for socializing, his perfect date idea would be going for a long ride, letting you sit in the front with his arms around you.

He's very open and communicates with you. You don't really have to be self conscious or paranoid around him, but Javier knows you can't help it sometimes.

He'll do his best to reassure you and ease your worries.

Just tell him if something is wrong, he will try to make it right.

Type of guy to worship the ground you walk on. You really can't do or say anything wrong in his eyes. You say the grass is purple? Yup, you're right, love. You didn't land your shot? The target moved, you'll get it next time <3