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fennecfics · 9 months ago

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Cuphead Show! King Dice & Devil x Reader preferences (romantic):

Heyyyy I’m gonna be posting more x Reader stuff here. Also some words are censored because Tumblr is a meanie and won’t let me swear in my fanfiction-

The gender for (Y/n) is vague, but it does have menstrual cycle preferences mixed in, along with some talk about these two respecting pronouns and that jazz so, yeah.

Hope it’s a fun read, I might post more of these guys.

Being in a (romantic) relationship with The Devil would include:

• It’s actually hard for him to fall in love or even trust others, so it’ll take a while for him to say “I love you”.

• Though the first time he’ll ever say “I love you” (most likely after a few months of you two dating) it is immediately followed by a scrunch of the face and him going. “That was… strange..”

• He forces you to live in Hell with him, and only lets you visit Earth on special occasions. Family stuff, friends, but other than that YOU’RE STAYING!!

• He’s so dramatic whenever he has to cut his nails. He’ll run away from you, or hide. Once, while trying to find him to cut his nails, you found him on the ceiling.

• Despite hating his nails being cut, he will literally beg you to paint his nails. He won't just do one color though, he likes to change it up a bit. Sometimes he'll ask for grey, gold, red, but he loves the black nail polish!

• Whenever he has to do stuff that he doesn’t want to do, he tries to argue that he’s the devil and because of that, you can’t tell him what to do.

• One of his favorite activities is burning bibles, so...you have to deal with being woken up to the smell of smoke at 3AM.

• He's still not fond with current technology, but he does seem to enjoy Netflix.

• Devil giving you weird pet names: Darlin', succub!tch, shmoopie, baby-cakes, cow-pie, and tortoise-pigeon (Being the main nickname).

• If you ever need to practice your makeup on someone, Devil won't mind. He likes how it makes him look.

• Surprisingly enough, this guy brushes his teeth regularly. He got them pearly whites. That, and he doesn't want to loose his sharp teeth, they're his favorite, apparently they make him look intimidating.

• Devil is a man of art, very therapeutic for him. He loves to paint, sometimes he’ll want you to pose for him. And he's actually quite quick when it comes to painting.

• Both you and Henchmen helping him whenever he basically gets electrocuted by the sweater. The two of you are practically the only people he trusts, with Dice being the third.

• He doesn't care what gender you are, or if you're trans. If you're still you, and if you're not lying about anything, he won't care. Along with that he also doesn’t KNOW anything about that stuff, so you probably gotta help if you want him to understand.

• Even though he's the devil, he would never want you to feel bad about yourself. He loves you unconditionally, he would kill anyone who makes you feel that way, steal their soul, eat it, then spit it back out ‘cause it’s clearly rotten!

• If you go through the menstrual cycle and are having bad cramps, he gets very…awkward. He’s not very affectionate with others so he has no idea how to comfort people. He’ll most likely just have some of his little demons looking after you for a few days.

• He tries to use correct pronouns, he mostly slips up though, and he won't realize. You just have to be there to correct him for him to actually notice.

Random example:

(He's showing you to someone)

"Yeah, she's really adorable, isn't she?"

"It's 'they'.”

"...AHHH!" *frustrated demon noises*

• He’s not frustrated at you or the fact you use different pronouns, he’s frustrated at himself for not doing it right. So don’t worry.

Being in a relationship with King Dice would include:

• Probably says “I love you” way too fast, and by that I mean on the first date.

• If you wear makeup he’ll experiment with it whenever you’re asleep. (The masculine urge to wear your partner’s makeup)

• One of his favorite parts of your body happens to be your hands. He loves how perfectly they fit into his. Sometimes he’ll preform a type of show using his hand and your hand as the actors.

• If you go sit in the audience him during Roll The Dice. He'll immediately see you in the crowd and blush for the rest of the show.

• When he knows you're in the audience, he'll say this while announcing to everyone: "Ladies and gentlemen! ..and (Y/n).." (he'll whisper your name under his breath, but loud enough for the microphone to pick it up.)

• King Dice ALSO giving you some (semi)weird pet names: Darling, fuzzy dice, you adorable gambler, my wild card, little poker, and pumpkin.

• The personification of drama.

• Has a lot of gossip and info on the other famous people of Inkwell. Will tell you this gossip. You will listen. You have no choice-

• This man may seem like he knows how to do shit on his own, but he actually needs help with most things. Such as you having to help with this man's bow-tie every morning, because he just cannot figure it out for the life of him.

• Perfectionist, such a damn perfectionist. He won't go on with his day without him looking perfectly chipper, and he also spends hours in the shower. Really making sure to run up those water bills.

• A little sensitive about his age. If you ask him about it, he’ll say "that's not important" which is an oddly a creepy answer-

• If you wake up early, you'll find Dice in the bathroom just looking at himself in the mirror with a blank stare. If you actually enter the bathroom, he'll be so terrified that he jumps INTO the shower and closes the curtain to hide himself.

• He's mostly insecure about his pips, or dots. He knows he's getting old, because his color is fading. So...he buys lipstick to cover the faded coloring. But you smudged it once while he was kissing you, and he reacted like he was dying.

• He fiddles with his mustache when he's nervous and yet hates if tell him it makes him look like a villain.

• Much like his boss, if you go through the menstrual cycle he gets ungracefully awkward. But he tries to be very casual about it, despite his awkwardness being obvious as hell.

• “Oh, it’s that week?” Silent for a second. “Do you need me to get you anything or ..no?”

• Will buy you everything you need. And since stuff like tampons were fairly new in the 1930s and therefore most likely a tad expensive, thankfully he does have the money for it.

• If reminded, will carry some on him for you. If reminded that is, I’m putting emphasis on “IF REMINDED” for a f—king reason! Guy’s on autopilot all day, he’s famous but also has pretty much everything done for him, and so he doesn’t have to think about much.

• If not reminded he will completely forget and therefore freak the hell out if asked if for some.

• Like The Devil, he has no idea what being Non-binary means, or Bisexual, or anything related to that. I’m not saying he’s straight….He’s not, he just doesn’t know there are words for stuff like that other than ‘homosexual’ and a few other words I can’t mention-

• So, he'll mess up a few times when trying to use the correct pronouns, except he'll correct himself very VERY quickly.

• "He- THEY.. are my partner. I said they, of course I did. I would never say anything other than they.” Silence for a few seconds before then saying in a much more serious tone: “I said they.”

• He cares. He’s just stupid/j

#cuphead show x reader #the cuphead show #the devil x reader #king dice x reader #cuphead devil #fennecfics #gn!reader #gn!y/n #the devil cuphead #x reader #fanfiction

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radiolore · 5 months ago

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MY VENTURE HEADCANONS!!! :3

copy pasted from my tiktok plus some :3

AAAAA I LOVE THEM SO MUCJ U DONT UDNERTSND

~☆~

• wants to take care of plants but cant due to their job

• forgets to drink water a lot

• one time passed out due to dehydration, the wayfinder society found them in a cave and they had to be in the emergency room for a day

• since then, they got an app on their phone that buzzes when they should drink water and itll water a virtual plant :3

• unironically loves classical music

• likes to scour the internet in their spare time to listen to different music genres from different eras

• wishes they could learn intruments, especially ancient ones that people dont typically play anymore but cant cause of the time their job takes, but they still admire people who do play those intruments still!!

• their parents are missing and are pressumed dead and they hope that by being an archeologist they can find them one day

• used to cry as a kid when people would squish ants :(

• they think they dont have time for a partner, so theyre not really looking for one, but wouldnt be opposed to having one if they met the right person

• if they did meet someone they were interested in, would be super estatic and friendly, talking to them a lot, looking for them when they enter a room, etc

• would prefer an in-person relationship, they would be willing to try long distance but with how much they travel for their job, they will end up not being happy because they feel like they have to choose between their partner and passion :((

• they would end up romantacising the person theyre interested in and get disappointed when they dont live up to their fantasies

• really good at coming up with art n crafts ideas, bad at executing them

• autism

• used to be super interested in internet history as a kid, like random events that went down on the internet n stuff, but not so much anymore since theyre an archeologist now

• fav ice cream is rocky road (who would've guessed)

• messy eater

• love language is gift giving and quality time

• speaking of gift giving, if they liked someone they would def research crystal meanings and give them specific crystals based on their meaning

• need some extra luck? they're giving u aventurine, got into trouble recently and need protection? boom amethyst, they like you but they're too scared to say so? they're giving you rose quartz daily and hope you get the hint

• LOVES those shark tooth necklaces and wears one under their sweater (mostly just cuz they don't want it to get caught on something while working and have it fall off)

• any vacations they get from work, they always make sure to visit their grandma and tell her all about their adventures and findings !!

• thinks people with crooked teeth are the absolute cutest (totally not a self insert for me cuz I got crooked teeth ahahahaa nope)

• when they paint their nails they always just do it messily and just let the excess nail polish on their fingers to fall off ☠️☠️ (same)

• can def carry a conversation if ur shy or just don't talk a lot

• has a social media platform where they post cool things they find, after becoming associated with Overwatch, it gains traction

• after their profile gains attention, it actually becomes an in-universe meme/rumor that they chipped their tooth eating a rock

• Sloane thought it was funny, but they eventually come out and make a post saying they chipped their tooth after a rock came flying at their face while drilling 😞

• asexual cuz I said so

• u know that one dinosaur death pose fossil? they have something like that tattooed on their body

• also a compass tattoo probs

• is the BEST hugger

• when they're excited to see you, they'll hug u n pick u up n spin u around n everything

• is the type to see smth random and go "so-and-so would like this" and just get it without seconds thoughts

• used to draw in high school, but kinda stopped after joining the wayfinders

• is incredibly embarrassed by said drawings and would only show you if you either also showed something equally embarrassing or if yall are extremely close....

• had a lego phase

• Sloan and Junkrat send each other random cryptic texts that wouldn't make sense to anyone else looking at them, but it makes sense to them (it'd be stuff like random images or words or gibberish that'd make u go "what ☠️") (and it'd be at such random intervals like a random text from junkrat at 2am and Sloan doesn't send anything back until 3 days later at noon like???)

• I'm sorry but they're a bad texted lmfao they forget to check their phone all the time

• but they're def not a dry texter tho, they'd use faces like :D D: :p :) :3 >u< ): and type in all caps when they're excited with typos

~☆~

I COULD WRITE MORE BUT IF I CONTINYE ILL LITERSLLT BE HERE FOR HOURS SO I HAVE TO STOP

ANYWAYZ THAMK U FOR LISTENINGN TO ME RAMBLE ABOUT VENTURE BECUZ I LOVE THEM SO MUCJ IM SO OBSESSED WITH THEM N IM LIKE AAA AAAAANAAA AAA

anyways

yea

:3 eeeee

#venture #venture headcannons #overwatch #overwatch 2 #venture overwatch #venture x reader #venture ow2 #overwatch venture #overwatch headcanons #venture save me #save me venture #venture one chance pls #ONE CHANCE #headcanon

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haunting-venus · 1 year ago

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green with desire ↳ rafael barba x fem!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), canonical svu violence, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy/anxiety ( so, light angst ), dirty talk, fem!dom if you squint really hard, some begging

word count: 6241

Of all of the terrible ideas you’d had in your life, debating punching a police officer in a crowded bar was definitely top three on the list. Your rational mind knew that it would end with split knuckles and an assault charge, while the emotional side of your brain told you to throw rationale to the wind and throw your knuckles across that brown-haired bitch’s temple.

You tried to focus your gaze on anything but the woman inciting your rage, your nails biting into your thigh. Soft light flickered off of the vintage art prints hanging on the wall, reflecting the black-and-white images of famous figures in the history of New York. Pop music sounded against the walls, just loud enough that you could feel the bump in the music at the bottom of your chest. The venue was moderately sized but felt claustrophobic with the amount of casually dressed NYPD officers that teemed at all corners, sipping a variety of beers and leaning against the polished mahogany countertop of the bar.

Leaning against that mahogany bar was a tall, slender woman with tumbling brown hair and doe eyes squinted in delight at the man in front of her. A manicured, unpolished finger circled the rim of her mojito while her other hand rested closer and closer to the man’s rested elbow. Below her fitted purple top rested a gleaming gold badge, saddled on a shapely hip. Her teeth glinted just as brightly as her badge when she giggled, lightly swatting the man’s arm. None of this would necessarily be a problem, if the man the officer was inching towards was not your boyfriend.

Instead of letting your fist connect where it was itching to, your grip tightened on your margarita glass and took a heavy gulp of the sour drink. You were a guest at an unofficial NYPD get-together, surrounded by acquaintances celebrating the recent closing of a corruption case in tandem with an officer’s birthday. Somewhere in the crowd, Detective Sonny Carisi strolled with a beer in his hand and a ‘Happy Birthday Big Boy’ pin gleaming on his breast. Tensions had run so high within the precinct the last few weeks that the need to let loose was nearly oozing off of every civil servant in the bar. The last thing anyone here needed was a librarian they barely knew from Queens assaulting a police officer and disrupting a perfectly civil get-together.

You’d met Rafael Barba while waiting in a ridiculously long line for the new coffee shop that opened down the street from the library you worked at. Caught in your own world listening to a podcast, eyes downcast to adjust a seam on your cable-knit sweater, you had collided head on with the rushing attorney resulting in black coffee tipping onto each of you. The pale blue shirt under his pin-checked brown vest and jacket had suffered the most, thoroughly drenched in hot coffee with a mottled brown stain right across his chest. You’d made a horrified, choked noise and tried to apologize as you rushed across the room in search of napkins, mumbling apologies as you dabbed at his wet suit in vain.

His annoyed gaze had softened slightly as he watched you flit around the shop with pink cheeks and wild eyes, completely ignoring the mess on your own shirt in favor of making amends to a complete stranger. He had eventually chuckled, pushing your hand away from his chest and declaring the suit a lost cause. You’d finally been able to get a good luck at him as you lowered your hands, trying to reassemble some sense of pride as the patrons of the shop gazed after your neurotic display. He was hispanic, not too tall but with broad shoulders outlined pristinely by his tailored jacket, brown hair coiffed and barely out of place even with all of your fretting. His green eyes shone with a hint of amusement even behind his mostly serious expression.

You had insisted on paying for the dry-cleaning of his suit, to which he brushed off the offer with a chuckle, promising that no grudges would be held in exchange for a new cup of coffee. He had been intrigued with your kindhearted (if strange) behavior and the way your cheeks flushed cutely when he smiled at you, prompting him to ask if you’d have time to meet for a real sit-down coffee the following week. You’d been delighted and tense at once, not one to go out on a limb with strangers, especially such handsome and well-spoken ones.

When you had met Rafael for coffee the following Thursday, the two of you had thankfully been able to avoid spilling your drinks on one another, to which Rafael had given a quick joke about in order to break the ice. You’d found yourself easily falling into conversation with Rafael, who you had learned was a prosecutor that worked nearby for the District Attorney’s office. Your nerves were quickly comforted by his easy ability to joke and his unhidden interest in getting to know you, his soft green eyes never leaving your smiling face. It didn’t take long to discover that you shared a love for historical fiction literature and high-end coffee, and you had ended the lunch with entwined fingers as he walked you to the large double doors of the library you worked at.

A few lunches quickly turned into dinners on the rare nights when Rafael was able to escape his office, where he showered you with compliments and wine expensive enough that it made you nervous to drink it. You’d quickly become accustomed to the strong feel of his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you in the entrance of his oak-furnished apartment entryway, heat rushing through your veins at the heated whispers he hissed into your neck. You treasured the quiet mornings in his kitchen almost more than the extravagant dinners. Scrambled eggs and espresso in his brightly-lit kitchen overlooking the city, his hair soft and unstyled as he swayed with you on the tile floor, that peek into this more relaxed version of your usually nothing-less-than-proper partner felt more precious than gold.

You’d never been the type of person that flaunted their relationship, especially since Rafael was such a prominent figure in the New York legal system. There was a prickling fear in the early days of your relationship that you were too plain to publicly be seen with a man associated with such prestige and power, that you would look like nothing more than a sweater-clad bookworm feigning at being worthy of a man much above her standing. When Rafael had discovered this, he’d been quick to quiet your concerns with his fingers in your hair and his head between your legs until you could think of nothing else.

After his many reassurances that he would love to show you off at any time possible, including to his coworkers, you’d become more self-confident. You’d begun to surprise Rafael at work with bagel sandwiches from an artisan bakery in between your workplaces, toting coffee and paper bags through the looming hallways of Hogan Place and barely paying attention to those who spared you a second glance for planting a kiss on the primly dressed ADA. Soon afterward, you had joined the squad of the Special Victims Unit and Rafael for the celebration of the conviction of a serial rapist. You were proud of the progress you had made with Rafael’s coworkers, forming timid friendships with the detectives that he worked so closely with on a daily basis. You were glad that you’d gained enough confidence to hold your own without using Rafael as a fallback in social situations with his coworkers, but it all felt bittersweet now that he’d been approached by another woman as soon as you had gone to chat with Detective Rollins with celebratory tequila shots.

You had gathered vaguely from Amanda that the brunette ogling your boyfriend at the bar was a recent witness in a major police corruption case that Rafael had been handling, Detective Sandra Allen from the Narcotics division. She was a hero and a villain at the same time in the eyes of her fellow cops; a snitch who ratted on her fellow officers who were spending their county-paid salary hours manipulating prostitutes into sexual favors in exchange for staying out of prison. The case made you sick, and the fact that you could feel nothing but disdain for this woman who bravely stood up and testified on behalf of those sex workers made shame burn deep in your stomach.

You didn’t need to be a police officer to notice Amanda’s sly looks between you and the scene going on at the bar, or that she was trying to hold back her laughter from the growing redness in your face that you tried to blame on the alcohol. You had hardly been listening to Fin’s rambling story about how his grandson had been inexplicably angry at the balloons he’s seen in the park because they would not stop floating, no matter how much he asked. On any other day, you would have loved to look at Fin half-drunkenly showing off his adorable lump of a grandson with a grinning smile. Right now, though, you could only hear the deep cadence of Rafael’s laugh as he finished off his scotch, and only see Detective Allen’s beautiful and flirtatious smile directed toward the man you had spent the last several months building a life with.

You were worried that the glass in your hand would shatter under your grip as you set it forcefully on the table. You knew there was no reason for you to be acting this way, feeling so scorned and bubbling with jealousy over the easy way that Allen fawned over your partner. You knew more than anyone the easy charm that Rafael brought to conversations, even when he was being a sarcastic bastard. You knew you weren’t the only woman who admired his passion and his good-looks, but having it shoved in your face like this felt much worse than just knowing it in the back of your mind.

Amanda’s mischievous expression quickly morphed to shielded concern when she noticed just how much you were bothered by the scene in front of you. Her demeanor took on the protective edge that came so easily to all the detectives you had met at the SVU, poised to talk someone down or to throw an elbow into someone’s teeth. “Hey, you want me to go do some crowd control over at the bar? I’m sure the Counselor is just waiting for the best opportunity to get out of there.”

You knew that you should just go over there and put a stop to it. You wanted so badly to have the conviction to strut over to Rafael, straddle his lap and make him moan in front of that woman, to show her just how he crumbled under your touch, how you were the one to bring him to his knees, to receive his hardships and his worship, not her. That display of power, of claim over a man that so many people wanted, would no doubt make her back off. But that wasn’t who you were. You were not the sultry-smiled woman who captured the eyes of every room she walked into, the one who could bite at a woman to back off of what was hers. So, instead, you threw back the rest of your drink, taking a moment to relish in the burn of tequila and the acidity of the lime that buzzed through your veins, and sent a tight-lipped smile to Amanda and Fin.

“I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night. Too much tequila makes me stupid, you know.” You gave an unconvincing chuckle as you set some bills on the table to cover your drinks and a tip. Amanda opened her mouth to protest, hoping to keep you from leaving, but you were already pulling your peacoat onto your shoulders.

You had only gotten halfway down the street, heaving heavy breaths to lighten your heart rate and the burn behind your eyes, when Rafael called out your name from the direction of the bar. The street was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, with only a few stragglers walking between the handful of establishments on the block. You steadied your expression before turning on your heel towards him with a shaky smile.

He stepped toward you with a soft look so often reserved only for you, his brows furrowed in slight worry. His black trenchcoat fell beautifully against his broad chest, green eyes accented by the specks of emerald in his patterned tie. Even after months, you still felt yourself melt a little at the kindness behind his eyes. “You ran out so quickly with no goodbye, is everything alright?”

“I’m just tired, and you seemed like you were having a good time talking to Detective Allan. Didn’t want to take you away from the fun.”

His eyebrows rose in question at the unexpected bite in your tone. You had tried to hide your rising feelings with the shit poor excuse, but Rafael hadn’t become a successful ADA by not being able to read people. It was one of the things you loved and hated about him, how he could peel back the layers of what you were feeling to gaze at the very core of you. It made you feel cared for and probed at the same time.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was only being cordial with a witness who put a lot on the line to testify in our case.” He stepped into your space, running a thumb across your cold and flushed cheeks. His voice was steady, his eyes honest but confused. You scoffed lightly, still feeling your anger simmering but being calmed by his steadying touch. His hand dropped from your cheek at your exclamation, steadying a solid look at you. “Look, you know I am not exactly the DA’s office favorite person, much less the police department. She was worried about how her colleagues were going to see her, she wanted advice on how to deal with interoffice conflict.”

“Oh, don’t pull that. The only thing she was worried about was how quickly she could get your hands up her skirt.” The words burned your throat, emerging into the air before you could stop yourself. You knew Rafael wasn’t a stupid man, and you didn’t want him to treat you like you were either.

“Excuse me?” Rafael’s eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as you took a step back from him. Your outburst had gained the attention of a passerby who gave the two of you a quick once over, and it only stoked your anger and shame. Rafael guided you with the motion of his hand towards the side of the sidewalk. “Look, I didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sorry. I was only being polite to a woman who is going through what might be the worst time of her life. She needed someone to reassure her, to ask about her options-”

“So she had to wait until your girlfriend left to ask you about all of that? I’m not naive, you know. I see how women look at you, the looks they have when they realize you’re with me, like you’re settling for something that’s so beneath you. That they could give you something hotter, younger-”

“Stop! Just stop!” He ran a hand across his face, his expression softening as he saw the hurt on your face, the insecurity he thought the two of you had quelled long ago. “We’ve talked about this, I thought we had dealt with this. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one that I want to see in my bed in the mornings or bringing me coffee for lunch or watching tv in my old t-shirts. It’s only you.”

Shame and anxiety still burned deep in your blood as you felt burning behind your eyes. The anger had fizzled like a campfire under rain, replaced with humiliation settling deep into your stomach. A few tears wet the side of your face, and you avoided what you hoped wasn’t pity on Rafael’s face. “I’m sorry, I know that. I just- I just lost my temper and-”

“Look, I only want you. I want you to know that I only want you.” He brushed away the wetness from your cheekbone with a reassuring smile. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of your head as he pulled you into his chest, stroking a heavy hand between your shoulder blades. His woody cologne mingled with the salt of your tears, wrapping around you in comfort.“Let’s take a cab, forget about this bar. If you’re still doubting the way I feel about you, I clearly didn’t get my point across last time.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh, tightening your grip on the sides of Rafael’s neck. A new heat flushed to your face with the intrigue in Rafael’s eyes, your ego stoked that he still found you desirable in the messy state that you were in. You leaned up, capturing his lips in an impassioned kiss, letting the feel of his stubble and the grip of his fingers wash over you like a wave. A shiver ran through your limbs to your fingertips, goosebumps rising as you felt the edge of his teeth against your lips. A heated gasp went through you as your back hit the nearby wall, feeling the solid line of Rafael’s body slot between your legs and against your chest.

“Let me bring you home, show you exactly how much I want you. Please, hermosa, let me.” His voice was thick and had an edge of desperation that shot heat through your entire body, igniting every edge of your nerves with the brush of his lips to your neck.The lick of power that ran through you at having this man, so powerful and beautiful and respected, begging for the opportunity to bed you sent you reeling. With a nod, you pulled Rafael to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, his hand gripping your waist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d spent the majority of the cab ride from the bar stroking your thumb on the inside of Rafael’s knee, taking long moments to let your eyes linger on the clenching of his strong hands, the swell of his powerful chest beneath his vest, the slow darkening of his eyes with arousal as you raked your eyes over him. In the elevator ride up to your loft, his fingers trailed teasingly along the bottom of your sweater, sneaking underneath to rub at the skin of your hip with fleeting touches that ran heat up your spine and between your legs. You felt yourself wanting to push him back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, to go down to your knees and to hear your name echoing from his lips as you sucked him, but kept your face falsely neutral. This was part of the game, of him letting you know how much he wanted you, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You felt your face flush with the intimacy of the touches, his eyes glinting at your suppressed smile.

By the time you’d reached the entrance of your studio apartment, the buzz of your earlier tequila drinks had worn off in favor of the thrill of Rafael’s touch skating up under your shirt, fingers trailing beneath your clothed breast. As quickly as your jacket slid to the floor, your back was pressed solidly against the entryway wall, your hair pushed to the side to let your boyfriend suck slow kisses into the column of your throat. The nick of his teeth against the cord of your throat let a soft sound rise from your chest, your head falling back to knock against the wall.

Stepping away to remove his trenchcoat, Rafael took a brief moment to admire your panting frame, your cheeks flushed high with want and warmth. His tone was breathy, but serious as he hung up his jacket and vest.“You’re sure that you’re in the mood? I can always bring out some wine, put on that Bermuda Triangle documentary you’ve been wanting to watch.”

His words were sweet, but you could still see the heat burning in his eyes, even as he stood carefully away from you as he awaited your answer. You smiled as you stepped forward, fingers stroking the bulge in his black trousers, a rush of confidence coming from the deep groan he let into the air. “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll save that for after I ride you until the neighbors complain about the noise.”

“Your noises or mine, cariño?” He taunted as he pulled your sweater over your head, his hands finding your breasts with a delicate squeeze as you pulled him by the tie towards your bed in the further corner of your studio. His thumbs rubbed against the ridge of your nipple through the thin bra, your bitten lip barely containing your groan. His lips found yours again quickly, swallowing up the breathy noises you made.

“Why don’t we see who makes them come knocking first?” You grinned as pulled firmly at the back of his hair, letting a groan rumble against the seam of your lips. A swell of pride rose in your chest as you pushed Rafael back against the mattress, making quick work of his buttons as you let your ass fall firmly onto the bulge in his pants. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers indenting your pants with their firm hold. He brought his left hand between your thighs, letting his thumb rub idly against you through your pants as your movements on his buttons stuttered.

You steadied yourself against Rafael with a hand on his shoulder, rushing to remove your bra with the other hand to feel your skin against him. Your fingers stuttered over the clasp repeatedly, your head falling back at the pleasure that pooled between your legs. An easy smirk graced his handsome features at the stuttered breath you let in at the work of his fingers, sitting up at the waist to pull your breasts against his chest and rub between your legs more firmly. “Getting distracted over there, hermosa?”

The pet name brought a groan from your throat, wetness pooling in your cunt from his deep voice laced with arousal. Rafael’s pressed white button-up hung loosely off his shoulders, and you pushed the rest off with a renewed need to get your hands on his bare chest. His tan skin stretched over a strong chest and corded shoulders that held you firmly, dark chest hair brushed across your skin. You ran your hands down his pecs to run your nails across his stomach near the buckle of his belt, relishing in the shiver that ran through him.

Your tongue licked into his mouth with a moan, bringing one hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his salt and peppered hair while your hips moved against his covered cock. The hand over your pants faltered as he pulled away from your kiss, letting you get a look at his wide-blown pupils before he took his teeth to your neck with a moan.“Who’s distracted now, huh?”

You rolled to the side to shimmy out of your cotton pants, taking care to stretch your back to give Rafael a view of the curve of your ass as you turned. He pulled himself to the head of the bed, one hand stroking firmly against his hard cock over his trousers while he held the other near his kiss-swollen mouth. You felt a pang of wetness between your thighs at his lidded gaze, his eyes following each curve of your body like it was a melody he yearned to play. You leaned forward toward Rafael, your hair tumbling over the swell of your breasts as you climbed on top of him. His hands quickly moved back to slide along your body, one pinching your nipple while the other slid underneath the purple lace between your legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there.

Rafael groaned as you ground your cunt against his hand, letting you seek your pleasure from his steady hand. The hand at your breast lowered to unbutton his trousers, his cock peeking from the edges of his dark briefs. “God, cariño, you're always so wet for me. You like my fingers on you?”

You stuttered out a breath as Rafael’s fingers dipped inside you, the palm of his hand rubbing gently against your clit as he stroked inside of you. The rolling pleasure from both areas of contact had sweat building on your chest, a moan coming high in your throat when you tried to answer. “F-fuck, yes, Raf, just like that. God…so good.”

Your breathy words spurred him on, adding another finger to your pussy. You gathered some composure, gripping your nails into Rafael’s shoulder with pleasure while your other hand went to stroke his thick cock. His rewarding moan was well worth the effort it took to keep a clear head as his fingers massaged inside you, bringing you rapidly to a crest of rising pleasure. Your legs shook even as you brought your hand up in a stroke, tightening your grip around the head in the way you knew made his eyes roll back. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock, slicking the way for your fingers to work faster, to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll be gone before I even get to fuck you.”

He groaned out your name as he flipped you onto your back, moving your hand from his cock as he moved his thumb to rub firm circles against your clit.You threw your head back in pleasure from his show of strength, his forearms and biceps flexing enticingly each time he drove his fingers into you. The fingers of Rafael’s other hand gripped your ass, bringing your hips up to his hand as he kissed his way down your neck and breasts. He murmured praises of ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ that made your blood soar, pleasure cresting low in your stomach as your breath quickened. Your moans pitched, your nails digging into Rafael’s shoulder letting him know you were close. He breathed out a few words of Spanish, letting his teeth sink hard into the junction of your neck as you reached your high. His name slipped loudly from your lips before you bit down on your lip, shaking in his arms as he continued to stroke you through your orgasm.

Your gaze was blurry with pleasurable tears when you faced Rafael, bringing his lips to yours in a messy kiss before sneaking off to the washroom for a glass of water. When you re-emerged from the bathroom with a half-drunk glass of water, Rafael was on his back with a hand wrapped lazily around himself, his cock jumping when he caught sight of your flushed face and the growing bruise on your neck. You crawled atop your boyfriend, letting the wetness of your release drag teasingly over the length of his cock. Rafael’s hair was tousled, strands hanging enticingly in front of his eyes as he gazed hungrily at your body. He looked delectable, sweat edging along the edges of his brow and his cock glistening when it peaked above his fingers. He looked at you like a parched man drinking in the sight of an oasis, like you were anything and everything he needed at that moment. You wanted to see just how far he would go to have you.

Testing your luck, you edged your fingers along the edges of Rafael’s arms, guiding them above his head. His eyes were curious as he followed your lead, raising his muscled arms above his head for you to wrap a hand around his wrists. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he readjusted himself as he raised a teasing eyebrow at you “Want to have me at your mercy, hermosa?”

What had started as a fleeting idea now struck a new wave of arousal over you as you gazed down at the powerful man underneath you, his eyes soft and filled with hot desire. God, he was everything you’d ever wanted presented beautifully between your legs, gazing at you like he wanted to devour you. An idea picked at the corner of your mind, sending a coy smile across your face as you draped your body over Rafael’s chest.

“Tell me.” Rafael looked at you with confusion now, readjusting his hands above his head. His tongue came out to wet his lips. He was usually the one making demands in bed, bending you to his will for both your pleasure. You felt it might be time to turn the tables. “Keep your hands there, and tell me you want to fuck me, only me.”

Your words were shakier than you’d wanted them to be, revealing your anxieties about taking control in this way for the first time. However, Rafael quickly relaxed under your touch, a new degree of interest entering his gaze at this undiscovered side of you. He looked you in the eyes as he groaned what you had asked. “God, I want to fuck you, more than anything.”

“I think you can do better than that.” You teased, licking a long stripe along the side of his neck up to his ear. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you were encouraged by the twitch of his cock against you as he gasped lightly. He looked up at you with a playful glimmer in his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you asking me to beg?”

The words sent a blazing heat to your cunt, swallowing heavily at his words. Rafael’s eyes lit up in a similar way as when he was cross-examining someone in court, when they gave him the inch of leverage that he could stretch a mile. The proud look he got when he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you cariño. Me, begging for your pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life.” it was a statement more than a question, and fuck, the confidence he exuded even when he was under you like this had your head spinning with heady arousal. His words rumbled in your chest, urging another movement of your hips against his cock.

“Only if you want your cock inside me at any point tonight.” The words sounded hollow in your throat, undermined by the breathiness of your voice, you pressed against him again to quell off any embarrassment you felt. He grinned like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but let himself play the role you’d assigned him for now. If part of you wanted to try something, all of him wanted to comply, to fulfill your every desire.

“God, you look so beautiful like this. Please, please let me inside you. Let me get you off how I know you like hermosa. Please.” Even though you had a feeling he intentionally raised the whininess in his voice, the breathy tones still sent pangs of pleasure to your cunt. You gasped as the words left his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to Rafael’s lips as you lined up his cock.

Your eyes slipped shut as you eased onto Rafael’s cock, the ridges of the head stroking the sweetest places inside of you that caused stuttered moans to fall from your lips. You ran the flat of your palm up Rafael’s chest, cupping the side of his cheek as you drove his cock into you. Rafael cursed as you seated yourself on his lap, your head thrown back in ecstasy at being filled, at being fucked. His hands shook above his head with the desire to touch you. He keened as you shifted his full length inside you, circling your hips to adjust to him.

You looked down at him between your thighs, flushed high on his cheeks with nothing capturing his attention but your body moving above him on his cock. Each swivel of your hips pushed his cock firmly into that spot that made you see stars and pushed deep, moaning praises from his throat. You reveled in the fact that no one else could see him like this, could make him moan and beg under them like this.

“God, everyone wants you like this and it’s just me that can have you. Just me that makes you feel this good, right baby? They all wish they could have your cock stretching them like this.” You babbled as your thoughts were overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew you sounded half mad, but you were too far gone to notice, relishing in the pleasure deep in your cunt.

“Fuck!” Rafael, moaned your name, finally moving his hands from above his head to bruisingly grab your hips. He raised his knees behind your back to gain leverage to roll his hips into you deep and steady, moans stuttering from your throat with every thrust that sent his cock deep inside you.

“So sexy, keep making those pretty noises for me, please.” Rafael’s words were near ravenous and you were glad you weren’t the only one overwhelmed with pleasure, desperately voicing every dirty thought that came to your mind when you looked at the man in front of you. Rafae’s grip along the curve of your waist allowed him to get the leverage to pull you down hard onto his cock

“Aah, fuck, please, Rafael, I-I’m gonna—d-don’t stop.” You didn’t know if you meant him pulling you down hard onto his cock or the filthy words that sent heat reeling through your body.

“God,” one of Rafael’s hands slid up to grasp your breast tightly, your nipple brushing the calloused skin of his fingers and had fire licking up your spine. His eyes were wild as he drank in the sight of you crying out on his cock, your fingers reaching to circle your clit as he pulled you against him. His tone was pinched and loud, ragged with his heavy breathing.“I want you to come, on my cock, right now. Please, cariño, give it to me.”

“Raf, God, you’re making me-fuck, yes” You felt tears brim the edge of your eyes as your pleasure climbed to something primal, each rub of your clit, every brush of Rafael’s hands against you setting you aflame until you felt yourself collapsing around him with a cry of his name. He slowed, but never stopped, his movements as he rocked you against him through your orgasm, soothing the shivers of your body with his warm hands. You panted as he came down from your second high of the night, your legs shook with the effort to remain upright.

“God, you’re killing me. Please, let me come inside you, fill you, I need-” you cracked your eyes to capture Rafael’s expression, lips parted around a moan when you moved your hands to grip at his hair. Hardly trusting your words, you nodded in your agreement with a whispered plea to ‘do it, please, come for me’. Rafael’s body went taut for a heartbeat, driving himself hard into a last few times as he came. His eyes clenched shut, his hands gripping your hips as he mumbled out praise.

Catching your breath, you rolled off of the bed to grab a towel, taking a moment to wipe yourself off before jumping back onto the moderately clean sheets, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend in his post-sex haze. This could be one of your favorite versions of Rafael, limbless and content, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as you regained your breath together. You pressed a kiss to his chest as you wrapped your arm around him, whatever insecurities you had been feeling before was long extinguished by the solidness of Rafael underneath you, his ragged breathing and the ache between your legs as proof of your mutual want.

You lay in silence for a few moments, his fingers carding through your hair before he spoke. He pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, stroking a soft hand across the back of your head. “Will you promise me that, next time you are feeling the way you did at the bar, you’ll let me know instead of storming off. That way, we can talk it through and maybe have a repeat of this, instead of you feeling awful because your mind likes to tell you lies.”

You gave a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with your smiling lips. “Sounds like we’ve reached a deal, Counselor.”

He let out a rueful groan, pulling you tighter into his chest as you giggled. “Call me that again and I’ll be rescinding my offer.”

“Understood…Counselor.” you whispered, avoiding his playfully stern gaze by heading to the kitchen to get that wine he had promised you.

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #raul esparza #venus writes

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painted-bees · 1 year ago

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part i

Hitting a cafe during rush hour wasn’t Raf’s definition of a fun idea, and he was well practised in the art of saying ��no’. Yet, for some reason or another, that skill failed to find him when the wide-eyed little Portasound busker insisted on treating him to a coffee.

The streets outside Granville Station were abuzz with traffic of all kinds. The wide sidewalks were, at least, accommodating to the amount of pedestrians that relied on them during the city’s busiest times of day. The same could not be said for the roads as cars rolled slowly forward, bumper to bumper. Still, the ambience was manageable despite all the bustle. Only the hissing, honking noises of transit bus breaks would coax the occasional wince out of him in their random, unpredictable intervals.

The little Portasound busker, ‘Magritte’, kept up beside him in lock step. She hadn’t stopped talking since they began their walk together and, in honesty, he preferred it that way. She was a disheveled little thing, more than a head shorter than he was. Her manner of dress was as sloppy as the thick bundle of curly, dark red hair that flopped loosely atop her head. Her grey sweater was several sizes too large, covering her to the knees. With sleeves that hung far past her hands if she didn’t scrunch them in her palms. Black leggings were tucked into knock-off ugg boots whose soles had eroded so severely on the outer edge, Raf was concerned she’d roll an ankle if he made her walk too briskly. She smiled so vehemently as she spoke, that her lips rarely closed around consonants, making it difficult to understand her at times.

“–so when my dad was like, ‘you can stay here and work, or you can move out and do your music stuff’, I moved out. That was like…oh–almost three years! I was eighteen. I just turned twenty-one today!” She accompanied that last sentence with a joyful little skip that caused Raf to turn his head and watch her.

“Well, happy birthday.” He exhaled a small laugh. “Vancouver’s an expensive place to live, but house hunting here probably already gave you the full story on that.”

“Rent’s insane,” Magritte echoed his small chuckle. “But the weather’s way more agreeable in the winter, which is what I’m after. And the music scene! I heard there were tons of musicians in Van, and look–I’ve already met two in the first few hours of being here!”

“Oh, you’ll meet more.” The way he said it made it sound more cautioning than he intended and he diffused it with a snort. “Guess the music stuff must have paid off after all, if you can afford a place in the city.”

There was silence between them and Magritte chewed the nail of her forefinger for a moment. “It actually hasn’t, I’m not a professional musician by any means. I’m just really good at finding a lot of short term work and stuff. Sometimes it’s music related, but not often enough to call it a living.”

“Mmh.” Raf glanced down at her. The bounce in her step had vanished and he watched her chew on her lip beneath a knitted brow. With a shrug he said, “You sounded good in the station, all things considered. You stopped, you listened, you came in at appropriate moments, you improvised really well. The pieces I played weren’t really…great for busking…and demanded a lot more than what your little keyboard could reasonably provide, but even your rests were composed and natural. You didn’t drop off abruptly any time the melody brought you past the range of your keys, you played into it.” He smirked. “I’m not gonna lie and say we did a great justice to Paganini today or anything, but I was very surprised by what you were able to pull off. I dunno, seemed like the chops of a professional to me.”

That brought the bounce back into her step, though she continued to chew on her lower lip. Raf was content to see her spirits buoyed at least somewhat by his sentiments. He hadn’t embedded a single white lie into his assessment.

They arrived at the cafe of his choosing; a popular spot, very near to the station, named Caffe Artigiano. The outside seating was full up with patrons, but Raf hoped the inside would be a quieter space to sit anyways. Opening the door, he followed Magritte in. It was busier than he would have liked, but he couldn’t have expected differently, considering the hour. Still, one thing he appreciated about the place was that it did not play music. Only the sound of numerous quiet conversations filled the air. Raf gravitated towards a freshly vacated table in a far corner, and Magritte followed him to it. Her gaze hung on the coffee menu that loomed above the counter.

He waited for Magritte to pick her seat before gently offloading his violin case onto the seat across from her. “I’ll go order. Was it a latte you said you wanted?”

“Actually…” She let out an indecisive little sigh. “A mocha, I think. I want…choco. Oh, but–!” She dropped her duffel bag onto the ground before unzipping a side pouch and pulling out the twenty dollar bill that had found its way into her upturned ball cap at the station. She held it out to him. “With this! Please?”

He hesitated before taking the bill from her. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in telling her that the twenty had been his before it became hers. The thought was what mattered.

The line at the counter wasn’t long, despite the busy patronage, and Raf soon returned to their table and evicted his violin case out of the seat across from Magritte. Finding an unused chair from a nearby table, he pulled it up next to him and sat his carrying case on it.

He reached over the table to hand Magritte the change, and she stared at it blankly for a moment before saying, “–Oh!” with a bit of a start. She turned her palm up to receive it.

Magritte stuffed the money back into the pocket of her duffel bag. “So, Question.” She sat back up and looked to Raf. “You say you’re not a professional, but you sound like...you know…Properly trained, or whatever.”

“Mmh.” It was a predictable topic, but not one he wanted to stay on. “Or whatever.” He laughed. “Yeah. Parents pushed it onto me a little too hard. I’ve got the training, but playing it is a chore and I kinda hate it.”

Magritte’s eyes grew wide and rueful and she shrank against the backrest of her chair. “Wait, really?” She covered her face with the sleeves of her sweater and threw her head back with a guilty little groan. “I’m sorry, I made you play so many songs!”

Raf patted the air in front of him in a placating gesture, “No, no. You didn’t make me do anything, relax.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I did that to myself. I meant it, though, when I said it was fun. It was the first time in a long while where I actually enjoyed myself once things got going.”

Magritte drew in a deep breath, recollecting herself before tentatively asking, “Enough that you’d wanna do it again sometime?”

A beleaguered laugh escaped him, “No.” He had given her much of his time and energy already, and being asked for more put a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrival of his iced americano and her hot mocha couldn’t have been better timed. As soon as it was placed in front of him, he brought the drink to his lips and took a long sip.

Magritte sheepishly turned her gaze down to admire the little white hearts in the foam of her coffee before she started to drink it. She placed the cup back down but kept both hands curled around it. “Did you enjoy it when you were younger?”

“Music?” Raf shrugged. “I don’t remember. It doesn’t really matter.” His gaze turned down towards her duffel bag as he grasped for a better topic. “Is your main instrument the piano?”

“Yeah! It’s what I had access to, growing up.”

“Who taught you?”

“Oh, I, uh…mostly just the internet and stuff. My parents didn’t wanna waste money on it, and my highschool didn’t have like…a music class or anything. Just choir. None of my friends played music.”

“...You learned online?”

“Well, like…on Myspace and LiveJournal. Lots of people share what they know there, and I made some really good online friends who tried to teach me things. We’d share music with each other and do weekly challenges and stuff. It was fun.”

“So, self-taught, more or less.”

“Mostly. Oh, except–!” Magritte ducked down to unzip the main pocket of her duffel bag and dove her hands into it. She rummaged around until she produced a small mp3 player and earbuds attached by a chord. “There was a year when I was living in Montreal, my girlfriend was a jazz pianist. And then we met other, um…friends who taught me more in that one year than I think I ever learned in my entire life. It was her and a whole lotta horns. They all let me use their instruments and taught me proper technique and stuff. I think they liked watching me stubbornly struggle with it. In the end, I was only able to record one song before I had to, um, move on. But I’m still kinda proud of it. I dunno if you wanna–it’s instrumental and kinda eclectic, but I loved making it.”

In response, Raf extended his hand, and Magritte spent a second scrolling through her library of mp3s before stuffing the little music device and earbuds into his open palm.

She performed an excited little wiggle in her seat as Raf wordlessly placed an earbud into his ear. “Just hit play, and it should be the right song.”

Raf wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear. He was, at least, perfectly comfortable with listening and offering his honest input. He didn’t believe in ‘bad’ music. There was skilled and unskilled music, there was music that fit his tastes and music that really didn’t. But none of it was bad. All music created deserved to be created and allowed to exist–if only for the satisfaction of the musician who produced it. He was prepared to tell her that the best music she could make is the music she enjoyed making, even if it didn’t resonate with his personal tastes. He pressed ‘play’.

What hit his ear was an uptempo half-time funk sound carried on a unison horn line; crystal clear, well mixed, high quality audio. Right from the jump, the sound had a quirky, catching character. He fitted the other earbud into his ear as a sustained note leapt into an energetic, off-beat ska groove. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to discern the instrumentation. The drum fill might have been digital, but the winds sounded far too dynamic to be synthetic. And there were…three of them; the two horns he couldn’t quite specify, and then a baritone sax. The horns took centre stage, confident and playful, supported by a jaunty walking bassline and synthetic, bubbly organ accompaniment. Despite its G minor key signature, the character of the piece was lively and a little goofy, smart but playful; it was simply–fun. A smile lit across his face as the melody modulated G minor into G Phrygian for the bridge section. The effect was a jesting ooh gonna getcha vibe.

He listened to the end of the song before he began to comment on it. “Very cool. Your jazz friends weren’t sleeping on their music theory classes. I assume the organ is you?”

Magritte shifted nervously in her seat as her thumb smoothed over the handle of her coffee cup in small, repeated strokes. “I borrowed instruments for this one and recorded it in…um, my girlfriend’s parents' house. They had a music room where I was allowed to record things.”

“You borrowed–right. But the horns..?”

“Yeah.”

Raf levelled a measuring stare at her.

“I recorded each instrument separately,” she began explaining, “It’s uh, piano, trumpet, trombone, and–oh! The baritone sax was played by Sadie, one of my, um…jazz friends.” She let out a weak laugh. “And then, like…a bass, I also played. And a synthetic drum fill ‘cus…none of us knew how to actually play drums.”

“You played each instrument? Learned them and recorded this song within the span…of a year?”

“No, just the trumpet and trombone! I already knew piano and bass.” Confusion must have been apparent on Raf’s face, and she tried to address it by saying, “It’s all digitally processed, so it sounds a little more–”

“No, I–I know that.” Raf massaged an eyebrow with one hand. “You’re the songwriter too, I assume?” His tone was a little more sharp than he’d have liked it to be. It betrayed his incredulity.

Magritte picked up her cup and eyed him nervously over the rim as she sipped from it.

“No, I don’t know how.” She sounded embarrassed. “I can’t read or write music. I just sketched a bunch of it out digitally first, and then–”

“Fresh compositions? By ear?”

“Yeah. And then I recreated it with the correct instrumentation.” She chewed on the nail of her thumb. “It works, I think.”

“That’s still songwriting. It counts.” Raf sniffed and leaned back in his seat. “I gotta be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s a little hard to believe.”

Magritte’s nervousness dissolved into a flattered grin. “Yeah?”

Raf’s brow twitched downward as he tried to read past her demeanour. He had expected a more sheepish response, if not a more defensive one. His doubt wasn’t intended as a compliment, but if she were being wholly honest with him, perhaps it made sense that she’d take it as one.

He drained the last of his americano. “So, you’re not pursuing this professionally, because..?”

“Oh, I am!” Magritte shrugged and turned her eyes to the upper right corner of the room. “It’s just been kinda…difficult.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” It was a stupid question he already knew the answer to. Music was more easy to find nowadays than ever before, but discoverability still relied on knowing how to promote the work and get the right ears onto it. And, across the entire spectrum of skill, this is what everyone tended to blame for the inability to live off their–

“Money.”

“M–!” The response was so sudden and matter-of-fact in tone, Raf couldn’t stop a bark of surprised laughter from escaping him. He’d have laughed the same way if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

Magritte slapped her palms down on the table and leaned forward with wide eyes to state her defence. “Instruments are expensive, lessons are expensive, computers are expensive, software and sound libraries are expensive! Everything’s so expensive!” She slumped back in her seat, turning her palms over in an exasperated gesture. “If I could afford to go to school and actually like–learn music, and if I could afford to rent instruments and recording equipment and stuff, I could make more songs! I could upload like…whole albums! I’ve got all these doodles with my shitty midi libraries and they might sound actually good if I could just record them properly! But it’s been like…four years since I left home, and the only properly produced track I have to show for it is that one.” She flopped her hand towards the mp3 player on the table. “So, I just make my little digital doodles, and I come up with tunes that suit the sounds I have access to. I like it. I’m happy I get to make any music at all, but it’s a bit niche, you know? And I have all these other ideas in my head that need like…better, less…synthetic sounds. There are libraries that sound pretty convincing, but all the best ones are…expensive. And vocals are hard to record with the stuff I’ve got.”

Raf held up his hands in effort to placate her. “No, I know, you’re right–money. I just–” It wasn’t a struggle he had ever faced, and he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a heel over the fact that he hadn’t even considered it as an obstacle to the extent that she was describing it.

“On the other hand,” Magritte’s voice took on a capitulating tone, “With the right skill, I should be able to produce bangers with whatever I’ve got, yeah? And,” she took up her coffee cup in one hand, staring into its contents, “if I was better at saving money, I’d be able to afford those really good sample libraries just fine, probably. I just like my sweet foamy lattes too much.” She sighed a little laugh at herself.

Raf let out a low groan of disagreement, but didn’t elaborate on it. “I kinda…want to listen to those ‘digital doodles’ you mentioned.” If nothing else, it’d give him an idea of how much input her jazz friends had over the composition of the song he heard. If the obvious compositional prowess flexed in that fun-loving jazzy ska piece were completely absent in her little sketches, he wouldn’t chalk it up to being just a fluke.

Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Margritte reached for the mp3 player and scrolled through its contents before handing it to Raf. “You can just skip through these as you like. It’s all a little–” She wrinkled her nose and let out a grunt in place of any real adjective.

With an affirming little snort of his own, Raf took the little music player and put the earbuds into his ears once more. He pressed play, and immediately understood what she meant. The synthetic instrumentation was wholly lacking in dynamics, and the musical ideas present in the melodies begged for more colourful phrasing. As he skipped from one song to the next, he grew more frustrated. The compositional writing was good. Consistent with the first song he had heard, Magritte seemed to really love playing with eccentric progressions and modulations that were unconventional for the mood or emotion that the song was attempting to capture. And ever present in each little composition was this boundless sense of joy. But god, the instrumentation (or rather, the lack thereof) really, really held it all back.

As he listened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, with a low groan that betrayed his thoughts, he took out the earbuds and handed the music player back. “Yeah, that sucks.” The end of that statement stuck in his throat as he sputtered to clarify, “Not the music–”

“Yes, the music.” Magritte’s giggle was one of genuine affirmation as she tucked the mp3 player away into her duffle bag.

“No,” Raf argued, “your toolset. There’s a lot of skill here, but the cheap synthy sounds aren’t doing it any favours. You went absolutely ham on those horns in the first song, and I don’t hear any of that in these sketches because it’s just not possible. There’s a lot of energy that is just…missing. Even watching you play at the station, yeah your keyboard suffers the same limitations, but at least in person I noticed you’ll even make use of like…the percussion of your fingers hitting the keys, which, you know…is dynamic.”

As he spoke, Magritte retained a smile and provided small nods before asking, “You like it, then?”

Raf leaned back, folded his arms and chewed on the question for a second before replying, “Yeah. I do. A lot.”

A lot.

There was a corner of his mind that begged him to get back home to his apartment and try out the melodies with an instrument that could do it proper justice. Jesus Christ, this actually makes me want to play the violin.

The realisation made his lip curl with a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite identify. “You know…”

Magritte, taking the last remaining sips of her latte, turned her eyes up at him with a little “Hm?”

There was a pause while Raf wrestled with himself. “I, uh…work at a recording studio not too far from here. Just down on uh…Powell Street.” He felt his jaw clench. There was no good reason for him to tell strangers about where he worked. There was no possible good outcome in doing so. Mentioning it felt too much like an open invitation for her to pop in at any time, for no good reason at all except to make things uncomfortable. “It’s called Hi-Note, and it’s got like…a pretty standard assortment of instruments to rent out and such. It closes early.” He wasn’t looking at her. Brow furrowed, he stared at the ice melting in his otherwise empty glass. “Swing by tomorrow night, after eight, and maybe we can jam for like..half an hour or something before I head home.”

He didn’t glance up to see her expression, but her voice was slow to rise to his ears. “..Wait, really?”

No. “Yeah.” What the fuck? “Really.” Unable to unfurrow his brow, he managed to at least turn his gaze towards her. Her eyes were so large on that petite face of hers, and her lips parted slightly, muscles tense with the anticipation of some kind of catch or condition. Or, perhaps she had picked up on his apprehension and was waiting for him to revoke the offer. For some reason, the idea of doing so suddenly felt…unconscionable to him.

In a small voice, she said, “I’d really like that.” The restraint of her response was belied by the way she wiggled in her chair. Beneath the table, her leg wagged restlessly like an excited dog’s tail. “Eight o’clock?”

“Mmhm.” Raf felt some of the tension in his browline relax as a slight smile passed his lips. “Let's see if we can revisit some of those tunes you have. Just–for fun. No recording, nothing serious.”

It seemed that Magritte could never keep a smile off her face for long, and once again, that broad, delighted grin of hers painted her features. “Yeah, yeah! I’d like that a lot!”

“Alright then.” Raf knocked his knuckles twice on the table like a gavel, before standing up.

As he reached to retrieve his violin case off the chair next to him, Magritte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Hi-Note, eight o’clock.”

Raf favoured her with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I’ll see you there!”

He provided her with an affirmative little wave, but by the time she had realised he was taking his leave, Raf was already halfway to the door.

He heard her call out to him, “Thank you for the–um–everything!”

Looking back to her, Raf returned the sentiment with an appreciative nod before pushing through the cafe doors; exiting onto the busy sidewalk outside.

He wanted to get home before sundown…

To play his violin.

#Hi-Note #I'm not a very good writer I don't paint very well with words haha but this is at least one way to get the scenes outta my head!#rafael #magritte

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thewandererh · 15 days ago

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Ya’ll’ve seen Todd, Simon, and Leo so far in my cccclinic au. but what about Dove?

KABLAMMO, DOVEBEAM💥💥

bonus content: tidbits on how i figured out dove’s design as a character!

i have a bit of trouble writing the heart-based character in my cccc stories, but i’m very persistent with expanding on everyone equally. a previous writing experiment for this au helped give everyone more depth, and i wanted to reflect that in dove’s design! they were originally verryy,,, blank-feeling, with little to no personality flare reflected through their design. so i got to work.

the blindfold is familiar to a heart’s design, but emphasizes the ‘hiding away’ + an abstract/metaphorical vibe i wasn’t looking for. this heart is diving into a world of self expression while recovering from their whole au ordeal, and favors coziness as stress relief while they get accustomed to the new world. a sleeping eyemask with a unique decal reflected this coziness while giving them a bedhead/mysterious aura. very welcoming!

dove’s short, mangled hair grows out as a form of moving on. they keep their white stressteaks to accept the past while perfecting their purple plumes (the ends naturally turn pink). then comes clothing experiments!

the first outfit above is based for comfort, and is where the permanence of the eyemask appears. unique purple color combos like that feel very ‘dove’ to me :0. the second is for outside occasions with a cane dove’s learning to use. they’ve memorized the house already but handholds or uses a cane in new places. the third is general lounge-wear stitched with comforting texture patches, depicting a forest setting with different moon phases. all three were inspired by something (my chemistry teacher assistant’s outfit, my personal heart fit on a dressup day, and a comfy big sweater thing a friend gave me). they were ways for me to experiment with palettes and decals!

being mute, dove has been learning sign language and braille for communication. i’ve been thinking about them visually “speaking braille” as replacements for speech bubbles in silly jokes, or having the speech bubble come from their hands instead. oc drawing ideas…

last are expressions! understanding how a character visibly expresses themselves adds a lot to their, well, character, especially with how much enthusiasm is behind the expression or movement. it was loads of fun experimenting with how the mask would work alongside the eyebrows and mouth. it’s a very meaningful exercise for nailing a demeanor, and I highly recommend :]!

also, i drew the last page while listening to our awesome english teacher read out the LOTF chapter A Gift for the Darkness. my art hilariously contrasted the content of the book and i just wanted to highlight that. man. a new hyperfixation is coming on…

thanks for listening to me figure out dove :]!! you reading means a lot ^^💛

#cccclinic #cccclinic dove #artists on tumblr #playingwithpens&pencils #chonny jash #cj heart #heart cj #chonny jash heart #heart chonny jash #chonny heart

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charincharge · 8 months ago

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I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-eight

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: I said I was back, and I meant it! Anyway, if you haven't read the last update, this is the second update this week. That's right. New Chapters 67 and 68. NSFW-ish warning.

Aelin was exactly seven minutes early to her interview. She’d spent the last week emptying her closet and putting together the perfect outfit – a sweater dress, tights, and boots that were just the right level of put together – and mapping out exactly how long it would take to get to Xavier’s house, so she could feel the most prepared walking in. She would not be late to the most important meeting of her life. No way.

She slid out of the jeep and waved goodbye to Rowan, who promised to be waiting at the closest coffee shop until she was ready to be picked up. She assumed it’d be around thirty minutes, but she honestly had no idea how long this interview would take. It wasn’t like she had any experience. Looking around, Aelin took a deep breath and took her first step down the long driveway and toward her future. She gained confidence with each step, feeling her stride lengthen and solidify as her chunky boot heel crunched the gravel beneath it.

They were definitely in the wealthier part of Orynth, closer to where Lysandra’s family lived. Sprawling lawns and expertly manicured greenery dotted her winding path. It felt so different than her own tiny street with closely stacked duplexes and shared family homes that she felt a small tug of insecurity before reminding herself that she was prepared for this. Both her dad and Rowan would attest to that. She’d put them through their paces, going over the “best answers” to potential questions that ranged from her favorite book (The Secret Garden — to lead into her thoughts on why lack of autonomy within the disabled communities is a problem) to what she planned to study (an interest in biology and pre-med with flexibility to also take liberal arts classes) all the way to challenges she’d had to overcome and how she’d personally be an excellent addition to the Wendlyn community. Those were too complicated to boil down into small snippets. But she had the bullet pointed lists laid out in her head, ready to be explained and fully ready for engagement. Honestly, as nervewracking as this whole situation was, she felt prepared. She reassured herself one more time, scrolling through her list of answers over and over, until she reached the oversized front door. In the middle of it all was a door-knocker so large and cumbersome she hoped she could lift it.

Another deep breath. She could do this. No matter how rich and fancy this person was. Whatever laid on the other side of that door, she was ready and prepared for.

She inhaled, filling up her lungs with extra reassurance, but as she lifted her hand to raise what was surely a heavily weighted solid brass knocker, the wind was completely knocked from her chest. Of all the things she had prepared herself for, she had not anticipated this one single thing that could fully derail her.

Before Aelin knew what was even happening, she could feel herself shrinking at the sight before her. She’d know that perfectly coiffed hair and polite smile anywhere.

“Mom?”

“Aelin,” Evalin said, leaning in to kiss her on both her cheeks, surely leaving behind smudges of her burgundy lipstick on Aelin’s pale cheek.

She leaned back and looked Aelin up and down, her crystal eyes pausing and practically flinching at the tiny snag in Aelin’s tights. She’d only had that one pair and even went over it with clear nail polish to make sure it wouldn’t pull or run more, fully assured that Xavier wouldn’t be looking at the side of her shin where her boot met the tights. But she hadn’t anticipated Evalin’s eagle eyes pulling apart every slight detail, searching for anything out of place to berate her for. “Don’t you look lovely,” Evalin continued, though the downturn of her lips as she touched Aelin’s sweater dress gave her real feelings away. Evalin chuckled as she stepped aside, letting Aelin enter into the large dark foyer.

“Why don’t you take off your coat, darling?” Evalin said, reaching her hand out.

Aelin cleared her throat, trying not to let the slight choking feeling overtake her and draw in a steady breath as she finally got out a soft, “Mom, what are you doing here?”

If Evalin was fazed in the slightest, she didn’t show it at all. But Aelin had never felt so small. She had worked so hard to put together this outfit, and now that her mom was looking at it, she knew it was all wrong. The sweater dress had been put through the wash one too many times, tiny pills forming in its most worn spots. Evalin would have shaved them off. Or bought Aelin a new dress. She’d make sure that Aelin had a fresh haircut, none of her desperately-in need-of-trimming dead ends left unevenly past her shoulders. She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater dress as her coat disappeared from her shoulders, suddenly feeling naked without it. There was a tiny thread coming undone from the hem of the sleeve, and she knew that without a doubt Evalin would clock it. The woman missed nothing. She should have tugged it and tried to remove it immediately, but all she could feel was shock and horror. Needing something to do, she untucked her hair from behind her ear, letting it tumble forward, but of course that was the wrong thing to do. Aelin could never do the right thing. Be the right way. Be good enough to keep her mom happy. To keep her around, even.

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat as Evalin frowned and straightened her shoulders back, warning Aelin silently to do the same. As she retucked the thick gold wave behind Aelin’s ear, her furrowed brow melted away, replaced by a smile only reserved for others.

“Xavier, please meet my beautiful daughter, Aelin,” she said with a sweep of her hand. It took everything in Aelin not to flinch as the hand gestured toward her. Instead, she donned her most polite smile — ruing the way it felt like an Evalin reproduction — and bowed her head and curtsied, instinctively.

Xavier chuckled. “Oh, my. Look at that,” he said as his elbow nudged into the air by Evalin’s side. “Impeccable manners, of course. I would expect nothing less from an Ashryver,” he continued, his tone light as he ushered Aelin further into the cavernous foyer.

Xavier was everything she should have expected but was somehow unprepared for. He was Evalin in male form. His thick blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, swooping gently over his forehead in a way that told Aelin is had taken hours of work and product to get it to look so natural. He was tall but reedy, like someone who spent a lot of time mixing up green smoothies, per his personal trainer’s request. His navy suit was clean and pressed, sharp with creases that told the world he was someone with something important to say. Shiny cufflinks glinted in the mid-afternoon sun, and Aelin knew if she looked close enough they’d be monogrammed with a flourished script.

“But no need for formalities,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s turmoil. “Your mother and I go way back. In fact, our parents’ parents go way back. Evie and I were friends long before our time together at Wendlyn.”

Aelin nearly choked at the use of the nickname for her mother. She’d never heard anyone address her as anything other as her full name, and it took Aelin aback that this man was not only allowed to use this familiarity but received a smile in return for it.

“We were bred in the same kennel, as my father used to say,” Xavier said scratching at his too clean-shaven chin. It was red and shiny and Aelin wished she could stop staring at it and listen to him again. “I can’t remember a holiday I didn’t spend with the Ashryvers,” he droned on. But Aelin’s mouth was faster than her filter.

“But I’m not an Ashryver. I’m a Galathynius,” she said. Two pairs of eyes widened but melted quickly back into an amused gaze.

“Hi, ho. A spitfire, just like her mom. That’s the Ashryver spark for sure,” Xavier said, ignoring Aelin’s growing discomfort.

Because she wasn’t an Ashryver. She was a Galathynius.

“Who, me?” Evalin batted her lashes and giggled, feigning innocence. Flirting. Aelin’s mom was flirting with this man. This alum. Right in front of her. She swallowed again, biting down the ire rising in her throat. She hated it here. She would do anything to send a fire signal to Rowan to come and pick her up immediately, but, no. She had an interview to complete still. An alum to impress. Aelin could feel her heartbeat quickening as she realized that she still had an interview to complete. That her mom would bear witness to this whole thing. She just wanted to get it overwith and be out of her presence as quickly as possible.

“Can we get started?” Aelin cut off the man, who was clearly surprised.

“Ah yes,” he fumbled with his thumbs and shoved them into his pocket before taking one back out and gesturing down a long dark hallway. “The study is right this way.”

Study. So formal.

She looked down the long hallway and tried her best to grasp at any of the tendrils of her waning confidence, but it was fruitless. Aelin had never felt so out of place, like such a fraud. Here she was, pretending to be Wendlyn material, but that wasn’t her; that was Evalin.

Evalin, who had grown up with this man, knowing that her future held the glowing promise of a Wendlyn future. Evalin walked through this home as if she belonged there, looking completely at home. But as Aelin traversed the dark portrait-lined hallway down to the study, she could feel the sharp stares of the painted faces judging her with every cautious step. You don’t belong here, they seemed to mock, their pinched noses and haughty smirks watching as Aelin’s chunky boot heel step on the delicate mosaic tile beneath her feet. She didn’t want to think about how expensive these fancy floors were, and the fact that her $20 boots were most likely leaving black rubber smudges against them.

While Lysandra’s family home was fancy, it was nothing like this – whereas her house was bright and wide and open and modern, this expansive home was dark and crowded with ornate moldings and décor that felt like it could close in on Aelin at any second. She managed to keep her feet steady, despite the long walk down the seemingly never-ending hallway. She could hear Xavier maintaining casual conversation with Evalin, but Aelin stayed quiet, fully focusing on maintaining her stride and praying that she wouldn’t stumble and fall or accidentally break something. Foreboding crept up Aelin’s spine as Evalin fell into pace beside her and smoothed out the fabric of her sweater dress against her back. She could feel her picking off an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder just so she could dig her fingers into her bicep and pull her close.

“Behave, please,” Evalin whispered through clenched teeth, causing Aelin to stumble, just as she’d feared she would. “Careful, darling,” Evalin drawled in a much lighter tone. “These floors are priceless.”

“You break it, you bought it,” her mother and Xavier said in unison as he pushed open the door to his study. They both laughed as it was something hilarious from their youth, but all Aelin heard was – You’re not one of us. Again and again and again.

Aelin blinked at the harsh expanse of daylight that filtered through the floor to ceiling windows lining the wall of the study. Thick burgundy drapes were pulled back to allowing a shock of grey-white sky to cast its milky pallor over the dark wood room, somehow leeching it of any warmth, despite the burgundy and mahogany color scheme.

“Ah yes, it’s quite the view, isn’t it?” Xavier chuckled as he gestured to the frost-laden yard that seemed to go on for miles and miles. “You can see the mountains in the distance on a clear day. When we first bought this place, the neighbors behind us were trying to plant trees in our view, which turned into a bit of a legal battle. But it ended up alright. We bought them out, and now we have a perfect view.” His voice was haughty with pride at the notion of buying someone out of their home. Aelin’s stomach curled at the notion that one person could be so selfish. But still, she put on her best smile and nodded politely. Evelyn would tolerate no less.

Still smiling smugly, Xavier waved Aelin over to the large leather loveseat where Evalin was already perched. But Aelin didn’t want to sit next to Evelyn. She couldn’t think with her hovering so close — all her well-prepared answers had floated to the recesses of her memories, blocked by the constant perusal of her mother’s perfectly controlled facial expressions. But as Xavier slid into the arm chair across from them, Aelin was at a loss. There was nowhere else to sit. She’d have to sit next to her mother.

As she slid onto the stiff couch, the skirt of her dress rode up slightly, catching on the leather. But before she could even it out, Evalin was there, doing it for her. Always hovering. Always watching. Aelin didn’t even realize that Xavier had asked her a question, until she heard her mother’s sharp whisper. “Don’t be rude, Aelin. Answer.”

“Hm?” Aelin’s head whipped up, watching Xavier face lips tug downward into a slight frown.

“Xavier was just asking what you’re interested in studying?” Evalin repeated, her blue-grey eyes staring a hole into Aelin.

Aelin knew she had an answer for this. She’d talked about the phrasing with Rowan over and over about why it was actually a benefit that she wasn’t completely sure what she wanted to study yet. That it allowed for… curiousity? Flexibility? No, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. The words were completely mixed up in her head, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of them. With every flash of her mom’s eyes, Aelin’s rehearsed answers disappeared further and further until all that was left was a gaping black hole of confusion in her anxiety-addled brain. What was she supposed to say? She had no idea. Literally none. She couldn’t do this. Oh god. She couldn’t do this.

Aelin swallowed back the threat of tears as she croaked out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

“Aelin has many interests,” Evalin jumped in, placing her perfectly polished nails on Aelin’s knee. “She’s trained in ballet and is extremely creative.”

She should have said something about how she had just joined Orynth’s Dance Company. About her time spent teaching last fall, how dancing was for fun and she wasn’t sure she’d want to pursue it professionally but she loved that Wendlyn had recreational dance teams she could participate in. That was the answer she’d rehearsed. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth and brain work together.

“Ah, so perhaps a performing arts major?” Xavier asked. “I myself studied the bard and was in a play or two back in my day. Wendlyn has a thriving theater department. We even have quite a few celebrity alums,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s complete mental shutdown.

“No,” Aelin said. Apparently she couldn’t even explain more than that. She could see the corners of Xavier’s eyes tightening uncomfortably as he watched Evalin’s hand grasp Aelin’s knee – the edges of her dark red gel tips sinking into Aelin’s tights, as the conversation plummeted into a dead silence.

“Right,” Xavier cleared his throat, clearly at a loss. Aelin could feel her stress welling as he continued, hopeful, knowing that her next answer was sure to be another disappointment. Just like her entire being. “Well... perhaps you’d like to tell me about why you’re interested in Wendlyn?” he asked.

And though Aelin knew she had a full essay response for that exact question, she simply shrugged and let him continue his list of questions, each one said with less curiosity as Xavier realized what Aelin had feared: she wasn’t Wendlyn material. And with each question and answer, Aelin knew her chances of getting into college with Rowan were quickly disappearing.

. . .

Aelin had been in a mood in the days following her interview with Xavier and she who shall not be named. But, she was trying her very hardest to keep a smile on her face and pretend like she was totally fine. Mostly because today was Rowan’s first lacrosse game of the season, and he needed her in the stands cheering him on, not sulking about her botched interview. It wasn’tthat she wasn’t a fully supportive girlfriend, but she wasn’t feeling particularly into lacrosse — the sport that was fully responsible for handing Rowan a future that she so clearly wasn’t going to be a part of. She wanted him to do well, but an uncomfortable feeling of panic was pressing against her chest, and it was taking everything in her to put a smile on her face. And Aelin was a lot of things, but a spectacular actress was not one of them.

To Rowan’s credit, he was letting her feel her feelings without pushing. He’d asked how the interview went upon picking her up, and Aelin had simply snapped and said, “Bad.” When he pushed for any more information, she shut him down completely and she could feel a thick wall of armor rising. She’d been furious, practically shaking with anger, but for some reason, hadn’t want to share her mom’s surprise appearance with him. She’d told him that she’d talk when she was ready, and even though she knew he wanted to push, he accepted what she’d asked for. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She had other things to think about. Like figuring out any other plan for her future that still included Rowan.

Which is why that Friday morning, she donned her green and gold best, tied her long braided pigtails with the #47 ribbons she’d decorated in puffy paints last year, and woke up early to grab a few special treats for her boyfriend on his big day. Before this whole debacle, she’d asked Maeve if she could make a batch of Rowan’s favorite peanut butter cookies, decorated like his jersey, and sure enough, they were waiting on the counter with two coffees when she let herself into their townhouse. She could hear the shower running upstairs, along with a loud blaring bass of one of Rowan’s pump-up playlists, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and push aside any traces of residual insecurity and focus on Rowan. It was his big day, and she knew he was nervous. He always was.

Within minutes, she heard his heavy step skipping every other stairs as he descended into the kitchen where she was waiting, and his smile upon seeing her there temporarily melted away her bad mood entirely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over receiving that look from him.

“Happy game day, Captain,” Aelin said, smiling widely.

His arms surrounded her, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, as he leaned in and pulled her against his chest. He smelled warm from his shower, and she took a moment to inhale the comforting scent of his pine body wash combined with something just innately Rowan.

“Coffee?”

She held out the cup in his direction, but he ignored it in favor of kissing her. Who was she to disagree? She let herself melt into it, letting her anxieties disappear for the moments his mouth was on hers.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, and she couldn’t help but laugh against his lips.

“You saw me less than nine hours ago.”

“Too long.” He pulled her even closer and went back in for another kiss, this time with more fervor. His tongue slid between her lips, and she could feel herself getting slightly carried away as their bodies pressed together even tighter. Her grasp on the coffee cup in her hand was getting dangerously loose when he finally pulled away, resting his head against her forehead and bringing the coffee to his lips.

“Mmmm. Delicious.”

“Me or the coffee?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“Both.” He leaned in and kissed her one more time. “I wish we had time to go upstairs, but…”

“Someone has a game to kick ass in today, and missing first period is probably a bad way to start that off, huh?”

He nodded sadly, but the mischief didn’t completely leave his green eyes as he looked her up and down. “But maybe during lunch?”

Aelin couldn’t control the burst of laughter that bubbled up her throat. “A pre-game warm up?” she teased.

“Always.” He let his hand fall to the swell of her butt, pinching it lightly and causing Aelin to yelp in surprise.

“Be nice or I’m not giving you your cookies.”

Rowan raised his brow. “You baked?” he asked, rightfully skeptical. After all, he spent most of his time with Aelin and he would have definitely noticed if she’d disappeared to Maeve’s for a few hours without him.

“I had help,” Aelin said, procuring the tray of decorated cookies.

His excitement couldn’t be contained as he leaned back in for yet another kiss, but Aelin knew that if they kept this up they definitely would be late for school.

“Later,” she promised, hoping that would keep her spirits afloat.

But as soon as she waved goodbye to Rowan in the hallway, all her doubts came flooding back. She parsed through every second of her time with Xavier and her mom, wondering if there was any world in which that interview could have been construed as positive, but she knew in her heart the truth. She had bombed. Big time. Not just a minor bomb. That whole afternoon had been a full nuclear wipeout with no survivors left standing. She’d killed her own opportunity, and she’d never forgive herself for it.

By the time lunch came around, Aelin was so deep into her self-pitying wallowing that she felt like she was being suffocated by negativity. She’d hoped that seeing Rowan would brighten her spirits, as it had this morning, but apparently that’d been a fluke. She was just as prickly as ever, barely even smiling when he greeted her with a giant bear hug, spinning her around the hall in an exuberant whirlwind. In fact, her mood was made even worse by the flurry of cheerleaders who giggled in his presence, blushing as they wished him luck in tonight’s game. She practically hissed as one got too close, flashing her canines in feral warning.

“Ease up, Ace,” Rowan chuckled as he led her out to the far side of the parking lot where the jeep was parked.

“Stupid fucking cheerleaders,” she grumbled as she slid into the back seat. She was so in her head that she barely even noticed Rowan driving to their special secluded spot — a nearby parking lot that was midway through some sort of construction when it had been fully abandoned. She was sure the crews would come back one day, but for now, it was perfect for their, uh… needs.

Rowan joined her in the back seat and pulled her onto his lap with skilled ease, as if they’d been doing this for years, rather than merely weeks. But it was good. She was on full autopilot. Aelin’s body knew exactly what to do without being in her brain at all. Her hips rolled against his lap as his fingers tangled in her hair, clashing their teeth together in a harsh mingling of breaths and low groans. She didn’t wait for him as she pulled her top off, and allowed her head to fall back as his mouth trailed down her neck and to the bare expanse of her cleavage. Gods, she loved him so much. What was she ever going to do without this? She tried to imagine a world where she didn’t get to be this close to Rowan, but all she saw was a gaping painful hole in her hear heart. She felt her throat closing slightly and swallowed down the threat of emotion she’d careful kept walled up all week.

“Ace?” Rowan looked up at her with concern, clocking the change in her breathing, but she forged forward. She would not lose any time with him. She’d take advantage of every second they had together. Clothed and unclothed.

“I’m good,” she reassured him,

But she knew he could feel the slight waver in her touch as she reached down to his waist to unbutton his pants. His green eyes flashed in warning, but she ignored it, pulling him into her hand and tightening her grasp exactly as she knew he liked it. Autopilot.

Her hands regained their surety as she continued, lulling Rowan into a state of blissful arousal. She leaned in and bit his exposed throat as he leaned further into the seat, moving his hips into her hand. Her mouth opened and sucked at his skin. Hard. She wanted anyone who saw him to know that he was spoken for. That he was claimed. That he was hers. No matter what. She never wanted anyone else to know him like this, and she could feel her pulse stutter as she even considered the possibility of that. No.

She needed to refocus. Without removing her mouth, she reached for the condom he’d placed beside them on the seat and opened it. She leaned back just barely enough to make room to place it on him, not wanting to give him any space. That was the opposite of what she wanted. She could hear him groan a loud expletive as she slid on top of him and started to move. He fit so perfectly. No one else would ever fit like this. And when it was gone, she’d miss it so, so, so much.

“Oh, Ace.” She thought he was moaning her name in pleasure, but it wasn’t until he said, “Aelin, baby, stop,” that she clocked the tone was actually of concern. His face was blurry, and as she blinked, she felt that her cheeks were fully wet. Unbeknownst to her, silent tears had welled and dripped from the corners of her eyes in full, hot streams. “Baby, stop,” he said again, his hands going to her hips to still her, but her autopilot refused.

“No, it’s okay,” she said thickly. “I’m okay.”

“Aelin, you are not okay. You’re crying.”

She tried to keep her legs in a vice grip around his hips, but he was fully in control as he pulled her off of him and tucked himself back into his pants.

“No, no,” she croaked, her tears pouring out in earnest now. “We can keep going.”

“Ace, we’re not going to have sex while you’re crying.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed as his hands came up to her cheeks, wiping his thumbs against them. That seemed to be the thing that cracked her open, a full sob releasing from her mouth as her shoulders shook with the weight of the past few days. Rowan shushed her gently as he pulled her against him, rubbing comforting circles into her back. But she barely felt a thing. All she could feel was the hot sting of embarrassment and shame.

“Do you want to talk about it finally?” Rowan asked, but Aelin shook her head into his shoulder.

“N-no.”

“Okay.”

And she knew that he meant it. He’d sit there, erection still throbbing in his pants as she cried it out silently. That only made her cry harder. She owed it to him to tell him what had happened. She didn’t even know why she’d kept it to herself. Maybe she’d just wanted to pretend for a little longer that the future she’d imagined for them could happen.

“I blew it,” she finally said.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Rowan said. Her body was suddenly exhausted, and she couldn’t sit upright anymore. Or maybe she just couldn’t look at his face during this conversation. Instead, she slid until she was slumped across his lap and cuddling into the soft fabric of his pants. She struggled to calm her breath as he ran his dexterous fingers down her back and up again.

“You may as well break up with me now,” she sniffed.

Rowan’s hand paused on her back and tilted her ruddy face to look up at his concerned gaze. “Ace, I thought we talked about this. No matter what happens, we’re not breaking up.”

“That’s what you say now, but…” Another wave of tears took over as she sobbed. “What if you meet someone else? Some pretty and smart Wendlyn girl who fits into your world?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rowan asked, seeming genuinely perplexed as his finger pushed aside the stream of tears on her hot cheek. “You fit in my world perfectly.”

“But all those girls at Wendlyn are going to be from upstanding families with two parents whose names are on libraries, and I bet they wear real pearls and have perfectly painted nails that are never chipped, and—”

“Aelin, what the fuck are you going on about? Why would I care about any of that?”

She bit her lip, sniffing back another round of tears as she finally told Rowan about Evalin’s surprise appearance and how of course she couldn’t have gotten that interview without Evalin’s help, tugging on those elite strings. And how clear it became that she was anything but that.

Rowan scratched at her scalp, and she leaned into his comforting touch.

“I don’t use the word hate lightly, but I fucking hate Evalin. What she did to you, surprising you like that with no warning was completely fucked up. She should have told you she was going to be there. Leaving you unprepared like that wasn’t going to help your chances, even if she thought being there would. You deserved a heads up. And the fact that she didn’t think you did just shows how little she understands about life. And you.” He took a deep breath. “And it’s okay to feel fucked up about what she did. But, Ace, it’s not okay to think I’m just going to suddenly disappear from your life if you end up at another college. That’s not going to happen. Never. Ever ever. I’m going to be in love with you for the rest of my life. Forever.”

“But—”

He held up a finger to her lips, shushing her. “But also, one person’s review of you isn’t going to make or break your college admission. You don’t know what anyone thinks of this Xavier dude. He could be hated! They could have him interview people as a barometer for who not to accept.”

“That feels highly doubtful, Ro,” Aelin laughed through the remnants of her tears. “But I appreciate your optimism.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s not over until the school year starts. And even then, it’s not over. Best case scenario, you get in with me for the fall. But there are a hundred other things that could happen before then. You could get waitlisted and get in, you could apply to transfer after a semester or a year, if you wanted. Or, other best case scenario, you love wherever you end up, and we still make this work with phone calls and video calls and weekend visits. Because I’m going to love you for the rest of your gods damned life, so stop trying to get rid of me,” he said, poking her cheek with each pointed word. “It’s insulting.” He paused, looking her over thoroughly, and it felt like he could really see through her in that moment, and she could hear his words before he even said them. “I’m not your mom.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Because I definitely don’t have my last name on any libraries. And I couldn’t tell you what a real pearl looks like if a million dollars were at stake. And guess what? I bite my nails, and the only reason Evalin even came around to the idea of me is because Wendlyn became interested in me. You think that I feel like I’m going to magically fit in there, but I doubt many students were raised by their single aunt and grew up working in her restaurant. I don’t have a trust. That’s why I needed this scholarship.” He paused. “If we’re weighing which one of us belongs at Wendlyn more than the other, only one of us is a legacy there, you know?”

“Okay,” she whispered, but the hurt was still so raw, and she felt ragged from her marathon of crying. She could feel Rowan still hard in his pants, and she felt awful. She went to reach for him, but he sternly put her hand back by her side.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“But—”

“We’ll celebrate after I win the game tonight,” he said.

And true to his word, they did.

#idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #tog fic #rowaelin fic #throne of glass

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gooseormaybeduck · 5 months ago

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The brain worms were suddenly very active. Dead dove do not eat. Fucked up gore and slasher! Simon Riley/141. MDNI (obviously)

Cw: gore, blood, manipulation, slasher horror, fingering, masturbation, mutual masturbation? Voyeurism (kinda), Obsession.. dead dove. Again, do not eat.

Quiet reader who just likes to go to her little coffee shop to type away short blurbs on her laptop. Always wearing a soft sweater and some jeans, something comfy, normal. No one would think a cute lil’ thing like her would be so chock full of so many horrible ideas and fantasies. Curiosity and obsession is built into the spongey marrow of her bones. It crawls through her fingertips and drips from her teeth, nothing but viscera behind her eyelids when she flutters her long an’ pretty eyelashes. But she’s so soft ‘n sweet- could never hurt a soul for real (even if it’s all she dreams of, some nights).

So she writes about it.

She drinks her tea (or coffee, if she needs it) and clicks away at her keyboard. Pretty, gelled nails making soft clacks as people come and go all day. If she’s not paying attention to them- they won’t pay attention to her, right? Smiles all pretty when the friends she’s made at the shop clocks out. Flushes and shakes her head whenever a guy tries to ask for her number. The apples of her rounded cheeks blushing red just from the attention. (She makes sure to keep her laptop pointed away from them, of course). She crosses her legs and takes up as little space as possible, all while writing horrible, horrible ways people get cut open. Chased and hunted for sport- organs realigned into a different art piece all together. Fantasies- really. Ways she wishes she could sink her teeth into the same people who’s eyes linger a little too long.

Sometimes, she gets a little too worked up ):

Poor girl, having to close her laptop and drive home while heat creeps up her thighs and makes it impossible to focus. Only to shove those pretty gelled nails as far as they can go up her needy pussy as soon as she gets through her door, thinking about soft trails of red from her clavicles that run down and drip, following the curves and lines of her stomach. Mewling and whining, panting as she rides her own hand like a needy mutt until she cums on her fingers, never satisfied ):

Thus, slasher!Simon comes in. Sees the writing she posts online, nearly salivates as he reads it. Palming his cock through his jeans by the time he reads 2 paragraphs of the way she wants to give people the gift of their own gore. She just wants them to know how they taste, carefully feeding them their own intestine while their tongue goes limp in their mouth, coppery iron left to drip out of the corner of their lips. Even in her fantasies, they never last long enough to enjoy it the way she wants them to ):

So, like the good ol’ boy he is, he finds her. Finds her little coffee shop and just… watches her for a bit. His dick throbbing against the confines of his jeans as he orders a tea and sits in his own booth, pretending to busy himself with his phone. Has to swallow down the urges to grab her and take her home, filthy images of fucking her so hard she cries and bleeds on his cock clouding his mind. She’d take it, of course. Like the good girl she pretends to be for everyone else. Slasher!Simon can see through it. It only turns him on more.

It’s only a matter of time before he’s studying her writing. Dark eyes tracing over it until he’s about to cum in his pants, only to take a break and start again. Memorizing it as if it were scripture… and then recreating it. Leaving pretty scenes from the reader’s lil’ head in real life, a mess of skin and bones and blood that make our poor reader fucking drip. He learns everything he can about her- who she hates, how she takes her coffee, her childhood best friend, the name of her first cat- anything and everything about his new pet (and wife, he quickly decides). Her fantasies deserve to come true, after all, Slasher!Simon thinks. She’s been such a good girl, hmm?

She doesn’t know what to think, not expecting to have caught this kind of attention. She’s scared, fingers trembling ever so slightly as she continues to write away in her laptop at the coffee shop. But.. she never bothers to change her locks, leaving her curtains open just a crack when she rubs her clit sore to the news articles. Toes curling into her sheets and back arching for him to watch. It’s a show meant for him and only him, he knows. Lets himself rub his dick chaffed with his thick, calloused fingers. Spitting on his cock to aide him as he watches her fingers disappear inside of herself. Her laptop open next to her as she moans and writhes about what he did, creaming all over her fingers and giving her pussy a few wet slaps that make her body shake and jump.

Slasher! Simon might just have to show her one day.

#ghost cod #call of duty mw2 #writing #tw blood #tw g0re #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #slasher Simon!#Slasher!Simon Riley my love #cod angst #horror #TRIGGER WARNING #dead dove do not eat

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writing--with--the--stars · 5 months ago

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Who needs love when it only hurts.

✭✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

✧ A/N; Pico angst and Heartbreak.

✧ CW; Hurt/No Comfort, Dissociation, Self Harm, Breakdowns.

✧ Notes; Pico gets my projection and feelings, so the hurt is strong with this one. Art was also done by me.

✧ Word Count; 1,577

ﾟ₊☾ Taglist;

@drxgonspine

@undertheknightwing ☽₊ﾟ

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“No hard feelings, right Pico?” …. “Yeah. No hard feelings.” A lie. One that rolled off his tongue way too easily for his own good. No hard feelings? Is that what was expected from him? To not feel the stinging ache that was drilling itself deep into his chest? To not feel the way the rejection was lighting his heart up into flames, killing him slowly? Staring up at the ceiling, the conversation replayed over and over in his brain like a broken record. “I guess so.” The ginger spoke out to no one in response to his own questions. His eyes were heavy and tired, made worse with a headache that was slowly pounding and making its presence known behind his eyes. Adding a vice-like pressure against his temples. Pico sighed, turning his attention to his phone screen, absentmindedly scrolling through videos and posts, trying his damnedest to shove back his thoughts. Shove away his feelings. But the thoughts and pain just lingered. And God did it hurt. It hurt so much, seeing Boyfriend and Girlfriend happy and lovey-dovey with each other on their Instagram posts and stories. It all sent a wave of hurt through his body like a lightning strike. They looked so much happier…without him. Was..Was that why Boyfriend broke things off, deciding on cutting him out of their prior polyamorous relationship? Because they didn't feel happy with him in it? …. That thought. Just the idea that he was nothing but a nuisance, a third wheel made his body shiver from emotion. Letting out a choked noise that had been building in his throat and suffocating him, Pico felt hot tears burning in his eyes, building and blinding him. He sat up and clutched onto his green sweater with one of his shaking hands, his bottom lip trembling as fresh tears streamed down his pale skin. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! Pico felt like he was drowning, hyperventilating and unable to catch his breath. He couldn't swim out of his sorrow over the break up, over not being needed. How could he let himself stoop so low? Didn't he remember the last time this happened? Was he really THAT stupid and naive still, that he trusted and gave his heart to Boyfriend once again, only for the bluenette to crush it under his shoes as if it were a nas ty, disgusting insect? Yes. Yes, he was that stupid. That naive.

He ran his fingers into his hair, his fingers slowly and tightly gripping at the ginger locks, his nails digging into his scalp in a way to ground himself. He needed to calm down. He needed to stop being so dramatic. Quiet padding to the bathroom, and the splash of water onto his face, Pico stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, his cheeks and nose were flushed and his hair was disheveled and messy from crying. He looked so.. pathetic. His body trembled with emotion again, him looking away from the mirror. He felt sick. Turning, he looked down at his phone, the time being a quarter past 11 PM. It had been a little over 15 hours since he had been broken up with and was left to be alone with his heartache. Yes, he would admit that he had been distant for a few weeks, his mental health declining slowly once the remembrance of the day his school got…attacked came up. He always got like that anytime it came around, but this time. This time, he had no one to help calm him down and console him. No one there to help him out of his funk. Boyfriend had been too wrapped up in Girlfriend to care or remember, him slowly leaving Pico in the background as if he were a distant memory. He'd be blinded by the onslaught of tears that were building and building, threatening to spill over again. Calm down. He needed to calm down. .. Stripping off his sweater, and clothes, he tossed them aside and into a clothes pile in the corner of the room. He stepped into the shower, turning on the stream of water, letting the warmth wash over his body from his head and down. It was a nice distraction from his aching chest and heavy mind. His stray tears mixed with the flow of water that cascaded down his face, him letting out a low sigh. No matter how comforting the shower was, it couldn't help the lingering pain he felt in his psyche, and heart. He cracked his eyes open slightly, blankly staring down at his feet, his mind hazy and filled with the static that was his self hatred, it buzzing and screaming at him. Deafening him with the loud smack of reality. His hand twitched, his eyes slowly casting their sights up and back over to the mirror behind the glass doors of the shower. He stared at himself. He didn't even seem real to himself. He just looked fake, much like how everything felt to him now. As if he was watching back on a memory that he could somehow control, despite his body feeling full of heavy pins and needles. Swallowing thickly, he scowled as he could taste the bitter agony that threatened to swallow him whole. He needed to ground himself, he needed to feel SOMETHING other than this. But he couldn't. Usually he had Boyfriend help him when it came to being grounded back to Earth, back to reality and the present.

But Boyfriend wasn't there anymore. His nails dug into his arms, puncturing his pale skin and leaving deep indents to ground himself. He kept digging, and digging, before something in him snapped up on feeling the small trickle of blood that ran down his arm. Slowly lifting up his hand, Pico would furrow his brows and wince at the sight of the blood he drew up from his arm. “Shit—” Was all Pico could murmur under his trembling breath, him running the wound under the stream of water from the shower head. He'd open the door with a hit of his hip, before he'd reach out and grab a bandaid. His movements were heavy, and he felt like he was moving on autopilot. After he patched himself up, he stood under the cascade of water, the temperature slowly dropping till it was cold as ice, drawing him out of his thoughts. He sighed and rinsed the shampoo from his ginger curls, him hating how his brain would drift to the memory of the gentle touch of his ex's fingers combing through his hair. It tore him up inside, made him choke out another sob he tried to keep in. He shut the water off after finishing his shower, and stepped out, feeling more miserable than ever before. Pico could only stare at himself again in the mirror, his white eyes harboring all the emotions he kept inside. He could see the way he was so broken up inside. Over a stupid boy. A stupid boy that stole his heart, only to crush it with a smile. ….. Why did everything go wrong in his life? Why? WHY. He didn't understand. Couldn't understand why everything went wrong. Who did he have now? His dad? Busy in the army. Nene and Darnell? They were too caught up in getting money and slaughtering targets to get it. His cousin…Otis. Otis wasn't even in the country, living out in Mexico with his parents. God how he wished to be anywhere but where he was right now.

He slumped against the wall, him trembling before going back to his room, laying back down after getting clothed again. And he was back where he was before, staring up at the ceiling in his thoughts. He looked through his Instagram. A poor move on his end, his self esteem dropping lower than low when he saw a picture of Girlfriend and Boyfriend sharing a kiss on the beach. A screamed out sob came from out of his body, his emotions overwhelming him, him throwing his phone as hard as possible at the wall, before he broke out into tears and cried. He was a wreck. A mess..but he deserved it, didn't he? What did he bring to the table? Nothing. All he ever brought to it was his emotional problems, his anger issues, and his distrust in others while they were all out and about. But he couldn't help it. People scared him. He couldn't trust people, not when his mind would be screaming at him, telling him that they wanted to hurt him and kill him. His hands were trembling. Everyone was a threat, his mind flashing back images of his elementary school, of the incident that brought about his trauma and mental health issues. Why didn't he see the signs… Why did he never see the signs with anything? “I'm so pathetic..” Pico whispered out to himself, his voice cracked, and shaky from tears. He rubbed his eyes, them puffy and red from his breakdown, him laying in bed now. Silent. His chest felt heavy. He left his phone by the wall on the floor, before turning onto his side, having no energy to pull the blankets up over himself. Maybe he'd feel better if he slept away the heartache and sorrow he felt. And he laid there, letting his eyes get heavy before he drifted off. Alone for the first time in years.

─ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✭

#Art 『••✎••』#Writing 『••✎••』#Violence / Drugs ☒#Hurt / No Comfort ☒#FNF ☄. *. ⋆#Self Harm ☒#Mental Breakdown ☒#fnf pico #pico newgrounds #bf x pico #fnf bf #hurt/no comfort #tw dissociation #tw self harn #tw mental breakdown

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baratiddyappreciator · 1 year ago

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Baki Cast Odd Habits

Ideas are bouncing around in my empty little noggin non-stop, so I'll keep writing them down for both your and my own enjoyment. Have some odd habits that the Baki cast have! I'll be making another post about habits that they all have towards each-other later on.

Baki:

The man stares. A lot. At everything and everyone. If he finds anything mildly interesting, everyone knows, because he'll be leaning over to stare at it, those big ol' peepers of his are wide open, and they see all.

He uses pens as drum sticks on his thigh whenever he gets bored and has more than one in his immediate reach. Does he actually know how to play drums? No, but would he be good at them? Probably.

If he can have a say in what channel the TV is turned to, it's absolutely to some nature documentary about bugs. Bro likes bugs, thinks they're neat as hell, and he'll always take the opportunity to learn more about them if that can potentially make him stronger.

Get this man a fidget toy and watch him just zone out completely. Were you saying something important? He certainly didn't notice, because he's been busy with this fidget cube for the past hour and a half staring at that one specific spot on the wall.

Smelling random shit. Seriously. If he gets bored enough, and there are enough things around him, he'll just pick them up and sniff them. Too big to pick up? He'll just lean in. It works great when you're grocery shopping, the man can pick the best fruits and veggies. Not so fun when it's, you know, an empty ceramic vase.

Kozue:

She chews on stuff, like, all the time. Gum, pens, her nails (she's trying to kick that habit don't @ her) or even mints. She's a heathen and she knows it, but that doesn't stop her from cracking a mint in half with her molars.

All those fun and weird hairstyles she did when she was younger? Yeah, that was a habit of hers too. She'd zone out while she was playing with her hair and wind up with some pretty interesting looks.

She plays with her clothes a lot too. She'll worry at the edges of her sleeves, or play with the hem of her shirt or jacket. She does it a lot even if she's not nervous, it's just a really stubborn habit of hers that doesn't stop. And it's not just her own clothes either. If she can, she'll start picking at Baki's shirts and sweaters too. All those little balls of fluff? They'll be gone by the time she's done.

That's another habit, picking at things that don't fit the established texture of an item. Is there a rough patch on her desk because the protective lacquer wore off? That patch is going to steadily get bigger and bigger because she'll pick at it.

She's picked up Baki's habit of smelling things, and it's something she catches herself doing all the time for no reason. He'll just hand her an apple and tell her to smell it, and she will, without question. Get this girl a candle collection.

Hanayama:

Destruction. That's a habit, right? Or would that be considered a hobby? He used to really like just destroying things with his grip strength as a child, and that has NOT changed in the slightest. It's less of a hobby now and more of just an outright habit.

He destroys, but he also makes things... Sometimes. He'll do it absent-mindedly, just tear an entire magazine apart just so he can twist it into little shapes and figures. Useless with a paintbrush, and also useless with any propter sculpting media, but just hand him a book or something and let him sit without entertainment for a few minutes and watch as he turns it into an art project that would make 14 year old you insane from jealousy.

Fixing little things here and there. Is that vase slightly skewed? He'll straighten it out. Same with that picture frame on the wall, and that carpet, and that stack of loose papers you meant to put away... Now that he's thinking about it, your entire bedroom is slightly off-center, and that's really bugging him.

Not knocking when he walks into a house. Like, ever. This man doesn't knock unless he absolutely has to, which is to say, if he's still able to walk on two feet and move his arms, he's not going to.

He folds towels in really particular ways. The tag needs to be facing a certain way, and it needs to be folded in a specific direction with a specific method... The man is really picky about his surroundings, he wants them to be nice.

Katsumi:

Before losing his arm, he absolutely used to bite his nails whenever he was spaced out. Both hands, he'd rip his nails off with his teeth then go in and clean them up later when he zoned back in. After losing his arm, he only ever bites the nails on his own hand. Retsu's hand gets taken care of meticulously.

He fixes his hair a lot. Like, a lot. Almost constantly unless he's fighting, he's tucking little stray hairs away so that he's all neat and clean. It applies for other people too, if he can get away with it. He definitely does it to Natsue all the time.

He stands weird as hell when it's just him and his boys. Not like, "oh, look at Katsumi, he's standing like he's never heard of posture before", nono, it's more like "what the hell are you doing?? How is that comfortable??" levels of standing weird. You ever just stood on one leg with the other one tucked up behind you? Take that and multiply it by ten.

He hums a lot. Not even particular tunes, he just hums to hum. If he's cooking, cleaning, in the shower, setting the table, anything. He's just making noises and vibing in his own little world until he remembers that he can actually just speak.

Jack:

He doesn't have a lot of super obvious habits, his mom was pretty strict on him, so if he used to bite his nails, that habit died out by the time he was like, ten for good. The only habit of his that has ever come back is his slouching, but that's more of an environmental thing at this point.

He cracks his joints a lot. There's a lot of pressure there, and he needs to relieve it somehow, otherwise he'd just be uncomfortable and stiff. Sounds like a gunshot whenever he cracks his neck, someone get this man a chiropractor.

He also has a habit of just... Staring at things. Not to the degree Baki does, where he's just blatantly looking at something. He's the opposite almost, where it's painfully obvious that he's not really looking at whatever he's staring at. Man stares straight into space quite a bit.

Diane instilled a lot of habits in him from her time in the military, so he always leaves his clothes folded neatly on the foot of his bed before he gets into the shower.

He touches his own scars a lot. Usually it's just him running a thumb over a scar on his arm when he has his arms crossed, but other times he'll rub at the scar on his throat, or the ones on either side of his face from when Pickle, you know, ate part of his face. He doesn't even realise that he does it, and if you point it out to him he'll get confused.

Kosho:

When he was younger he would pick at his nails a lot, but as he got older that habit turned into him picking at his cuticles, and then at whatever calluses formed on his hands from his training.

He also rubs at his scars, but it's something he's aware that he's doing, unlike Jack, who just doesn't process that he's doing it. Kosho has a favourite scar to rub at because it's just been there for so long that it's familiar now.

He likes to wander around and pick up little knick-knacks from around a room. Do you have a little model on your desk? He'll pick it up, look it over, then he'll put it back and move onto the next thing. His brother's office is a no-go for him because he'll make it even more of a mess than it already is.

Speaking of his brother, when they're having one of their genuine brotherly moments and not one of Kureha's smartass "I'm your big brother" moments, Kosho just starts to hip-check his older brother. Not hard, mind you, just a little bump, but it's something that he started doing when he was young and never stopped.

Kureha:

This man doesn't have many habits at all, and if he does, they're beneficial to him, because he's a petty bitch that way. He's legitimately trained himself to do these little habits so even when he's "at rest" he's still improving himself.

His worst habit, however, is when it comes to his laundry. Clean or dirty, this man puts off folding it for as long as physically possible by just ignoring its existence. Fresh load of laundry, straight out of the dryer that gets shoved right into his hands? It's like it doesn't exist, he just puts it down on the nearest surface and keeps going like it was never popped right into his grubby mits.

He used to toy with the ends of his hair a lot when he was little, but he's long grown out of that habit. If anything, now he'll just toy with a stethoscope or a pen if he has them handy.

Retsu:

This man has the most wholesome habits out there. If he starts to get bored, he doesn't immediately jump to training, he just goes for a walk. Is it kinda cloudy outside? That's fine, just go walk through a wooded area.

Hand him a flower and instead of picking at the petals, he just gently pets them. He doesn't want to damage the flower, it's just that they're so soft and delicate that he can't help but touch them and admire their natural beauty.

If a bug lands on him, he'll just sorta let it sit there and catch its breath for a minute. If it doesn't fly off on its own fast enough, he'll just take a small pause to set it down or gently blow it off of him so he doesn't crush it.

Can direct eye contact be a habit?? Because he makes it a habit to always look at the person talking to him and nod at least three times while they're talking so they know that he's listening. Direct eye contact, active listening, this man wants people to know that he's legitimately paying attention.

Doppo:

He stares at Natsue a lot. Give him the chance to sit and stare at his wife all day and he will. If he was a poet instead of a karateka, he'd write enough sonnets about her to fill the ocean with paper. He just thinks that she's beautiful.

Ever since he got his hand cut off, he rubs at his wrist occasionally. It's not like it hurts, no, the doctor did a good job putting it back on, but sometimes he just has to feel that little scar around his wrist.

We know where Katsumi got his habit of humming from, and it's this man right here. Walking around the house, cleaning the dojo, getting ready to do some early morning training, he'll just be humming along.

He developed a habit of fixing Katsumi's clothes and hair when he was younger, and that habit has kept around. If he notices that his son has a leaf on his shoulder or if his sweater drawstring is a bit loose, he'll just reach over and fix it.

Shibukawa:

He cleans his glasses a lot. Not even because they're that dirty, it's just a familiar, repetitive motion that he doesn't even realise he's doing most of the time.

He pats people a lot. Not to be demeaning or anything like that, he just does it. A quick pat on the hand or the arm, sometimes even a thigh if that's all he can reach. Just a small old person pat that they just do sometimes.

He reminds people of their youth quite a bit, and it's absolutely a habit by now. A lot of "Young man" and "youngster", but also a lot of "when I was your age" and "back when I was in my prime", even if it comes out of nowhere.

He absolutely fidgets with his fingers in his sleeves whenever he's just sitting there, chilling. It's probably something he picked up when he was younger, and he can't place where or when he started doing that, but he 100% does it.

!BONUS!

Tokugawa:

He absolutely has developed little habits with each of his fighters, he loves them so much, these men are fantastic and they all mean so much to him.

He absolutely brings little candies and snacks for Baki, even "sneaks" them to him in that little old person way of grabbing your hand and stuffing said snack into your palm. He can't help that he's so fond of his champion, who is incredibly food motivated.

He always calls Kozue "Little Miss" or "Little Lady" whenever he sees her, because while he knows she's not a fighter, and actually dislikes fighting as a whole, he does still appreciate that Baki has such a headstrong woman to take care of him.

He pats the taller fighters on the back of their calf when he walks past them so they know that he's there. He does it to Jack so often that he doesn't react to the touch itself, but if he glances down to see that it isn't Tokugawa he actually jumps a little.

He just lets himself get picked up and carried around by the fighters at this point. He's accepted that he's just small and light, and they mean it in as respectful a way as possible, they've all just gotten used to picking him up and walking off with him to go wait for a fight to start.

Definitely a social smoker, if he's sitting with Doppo and Gouki he'll light his pipe and have a little puff now and again, especially if they're having a few drinks.

#baki son of ogre #baki the grappler #grappler baki #baki headcanons #baki dou #baki hanma #kozue matsumoto #hanayama kaoru #jack hanma #katsumi orochi #bg3 companions #kosho shinogi #kureha shinogi #retsu baki #retsu kaioh #doppo orochi #shibukawa gouki #tokugawa mitsunari

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