#trash fiend

[kuroyuki-kokuyoku]

Random TFC-Related Thought: Tolerance

Here we go again with yet another of my literal shower thoughts.

So I was reading through some Humans Are Space Orcs posts and fics and one of my favorite tropes is capsaicin is a painful/lethal poison to the rest of the universe, yet we, humans, are a race insane enough to eat it for fun.

Follow me down this rabbit hole as I present to you the tried and true trope of Koreans do be built differently when it comes to spice, especially when compared to the people of a medieval fantasy world.

My headcanon is that the spices used in Nameless are completely different than those on Earth. Different worlds + different ecosystems = different food norms. My idea is that many plant-based ingredients used in healing potions can also be used as spices in food. Those very same spices were discovered a long time ago to have a lesser healing effect when used in food. However, the reason spices aren't widely available and/or distributed because they need them to mass produce potions, which has a far better healing effect than a tastier version of a pasta dish.

To sum, spices in food is a great show of wealth because otherwise it would be a complete waste of money and a precious healing potion that could have been made out of them. TLDR: Cale's palate have been spoiled ever since his transmigration cuz Beacrox has access to every spice in the world and money's no object to the Henituse.

Back to the topic of capsaicin.

Alright, so the White Knockoff is dead, Cale's farm is going great. He's been trying his hand at growing the ingredients so he could recreate Korean cuisine, starting with kimchi. His personal recipe to be exact. Just once problem.

Where the fuck is he going to get some peppers for his kimchi?!

Is there no equivalent in this fantasy world? He found a cabbage equivalent. He found some scallions equivalent. He even found a daikon radish equivalent (turns out, they're fast-growing edible weeds in this world. Hello, nostalgic catharsis). But no sweet, sweet capsaicin? The man has been craving for his own personal recipe of hot as Whale Beastmen kimchi, for Lee Soo Hyuk's sake!

Then one day, he gets invited to eat at another noble's mansion for plot reasons. Cale decides to go along with it, again for plot reasons. Now this noble was never Cale's biggest fan also for plot reasons, and they had the most brilliant idea of nonlethally poisoning Cale and getting away with it.

Cale takes a bite of his spiked food. Then another. Then another. Then he asked for seconds. By that point, the soon-to-be-put-on-a-T-shirt noble realized that Cale wasn't in squirming agony. Didn't their servants follow his orders to add the "secret ingredient" to Cale Henituse's dish. Whatever, discretely tell the chef to double to dosage just in case. But that only got more compliments to their food. And to add insult to injury, Cale asked to speak to his chef. Why?

Turns out, capsaicin can only be found in the pulp of a rare species of berry. The berry exponentially produces more capsaicin the longer they are left to ripe. Since Ancient Times, the ripened berries were consistently used in torture. But nearly a thousand years ago, it almost went extinct because it was primarily cultivated in the Dragon Slayer Village, and when the people died out, they took their secrets with them until some lucky botanist rediscovered them.

Once Cale knows about this, he made a beeline to Beacrox and shook him down for his stash of those berries.

Slightly sad but mostly funny headcanon here...

The reason why Cale likes his food hot enough to give Cheapskate's FoD a run for his gold is because of the White Rabies Symptoms' curse.

As a result, everything he eats back when he was KRS tastes a little duller so he has a habit of cranking up the spices and seasonings when he cooks. But he also learned through trial and error to make his cooking more palatable for "normal people".

The first time everyone tried his cooking made to his specific tastes and not dialed down for everyone else, the only other person who could eat it was Choi Han.

Later, an incident where they caught a would-be assassin and Beacrox asked Cale to get in the kitchen. No berries yet. They'll start adding that in the prisoner's meals if the assassin refuses to crack.

Cale didn't know how to feel about his cooking being used as an instrument of torture.

Bonus:

Zed: Ah, yes. You inherited Jour's disturbingly eccentric palate. She used to carry a whole jar of pickled berries and add them to all her meals. Her go-to excuse for having them was that they were her "medication" because if other nobles can afford to add healing herbs to their meals so why couldn't she add her personal "medicinal additives" to her meals? Deruth: (*sigh*) Unfortunately, growing the berries is illegal in Roan. Having them, on the other hand, isn't. I never did find out how Jour got her hands on them, but she'd always had a fresh jar every month until her dying day. Alberu: Oh no. Choi Han: OH YES!!! Do it, Cale-nim! FOR DAH KIMCHI!!! Violan: I'll get a greenhouse prepared. Cale: Oh, hyung-nim. Shining sun of our glorious empire. Won't you please find it in your generous heart of gold to grant this lowly citizen of your an exemption- Sui Khan: Hey, Cale. There's no such law in the Endable Kingdom. I can hook you up in exchange for some of that legendary kimchi of yours.

[rofax]

my SIL told me if i had a fursona it would be an opossum

i--

[batsovergotham]

double lives, double dates pt1

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: smut again sorry guys im a fiend, death, hurt no comfort, canon event </3, mark is a supportive boyfriend, mentions of sex

w/c: 6.7k

a/n: canon event time</3 also, thank you for your lovely asks and comments! they truly mean the world!

You rise slowly.

Even slower than normal.

Not because you're tired, though you are, but rather because everything seems... off. You're too warm, too conscious of your sheets, of the individual threads in the cloth rubbing against your skin. Of the air in the room, how thick. How dense. How it doesn't really smell the way it usually does.

With a grunt, you turn onto your back and look up at the ceiling. Steady and low, your fan hums in the corner; for some reason, the sound seems closer. As if hovering just above your head.

You sit up.

That’s when it really hits you.

It’s like a switch turns and the world pours in.

You can hear the home. Not like you used to. Not like hazy floor creaks and the buzz of electricity. You can hear the tiniest things. The refrigerator two rooms away. The sluggish drip of a leaking faucet. The creak of the porch swing outside even though there’s no wind.

You go still.

Not out of fear, not yet, but bewilderment. That type of silent, wide-eyed perplexity that settles in when your brain is still half-asleep and isn’t sure if this is a dream or a stroke.

Then come the odors.

You gag. Immediately.

Because holy hell, you can smell everything.

The old socks beneath your bed that you thought were alright until washing day? They smell like someone bottled remorse and gave it a foot fetish. The pizza box in the trash can downstairs is radiating through the floors like a beacon of rancid oil and melancholy. And the chips on your desk, the ones you neglected to seal last night? They smell as if a locker room married sour cream and had a chemical child.

You put a hand over your nose and stumble out of bed, scarcely realizing that you’re moving with a bizarre kind of... grace. Not in a ballerina manner. More like your body is reacting faster than your brain. You almost slide on your slippers but you don’t. You catch yourself before you even knew you were falling.

You freeze in place. Blink down at your feet. Then slowly…slowly, you gaze up at your bedroom mirror.

Just you. Still.

But not exactly.

Your eyes appear too clear. Too bright. And there’s something about the way your chest is rising and falling, too constant. Like your body is operating too well. Like you’re optimized.

You turn from the mirror and drag open the blinds. And quickly regret it.

The sun smacks you square in the retinas.

It’s like gazing into a spotlight, and it’s not even completely up yet. Everything outdoors is crisp. Your neighbors’ lawn has dew sparkling like glass. You can count every crack on the sidewalk. There’s a spider on the glass and you can see the roughness of its little legs, the glitter of webbing adhering to its back.

You stagger back, heart jackhammering into your ribs. And for the first time this morning, fear starts to bloom, slow and chilly and creeping.

Because this isn’t just bizarre anymore.

It’s wrong.

Your head twitches toward the door before you know why. Someone’s coming up the stairs. You can hear it. The particular pressure of weight on wood. Four steps. Five. Six. And then

“Hey! You awake up there?” your uncle calls, his voice like a cymbal smash across your eardrums.

You flinch. Press your hands to your ears. “Y-Yeah!” you yell back, attempting to sound natural. “Just, getting up!”

Too loud. Way too loud. You wince again.

Okay. Deep breath.

Nope. Don’t do that. The air smells horrible again. Like your nose is calibrated to detect remorse and ancient takeout.

You move toward the door, then halt. Every movement makes the floor feel overly sensitive. Like your feet aren’t walking on it, but with it. The grain of the wood almost vibrates under your heels. You felt that if you remained too still for too long, you’d start phasing into the structure of the home itself.

“Okay,” you mumble to yourself, voice shaking. “Okay. Chill. Maybe I’ve got... super puberty. That’s a thing, right?”

Your mouth is dry. You gaze at the doorknob. You can see the smear where your palm brushed it yesterday. You can see the oil from your fingerprint curled into the metal.

You feel like you’re vibrating out of your own skin.

And then

Something twitches.

Inside you. Beneath your skin. Like a thread just dragged itself taut in your chest, sharp and startling and alert.

You jolt back, breath trapped, spine forced against the wall.

For a second, everything is still.

And suddenly your arm shoots out.

Fast.

So quickly you don’t mean to.

You scarcely even think about it. Your palm shoots forward to catch the edge of your work chair before it can tip, before you even noticed it was tipping.

You gaze at your hand. It’s steady. Strong. Sure.

You weren’t.

You didn’t even try to catch it.

And that’s when it hits you

This isn’t a fever dream.

Something happened to you.

You don’t bother changing out of your pajamas. You don’t even brush your hair.

You merely shuffle across the corridor like a sleep-deprived cryptid and make a beeline for the bathroom, wanting...needing, to splash water on your face. Or maybe stick your head in the sink. Or plunge yourself in a cold tub and hoping this resets you back to Normal Girl Settings.

You flip the light on.

Instant remorse. The lights flash like a little sunburn over your retinas and you hiss, blinking against the glare. You gaze at the mirror, but you can’t look at your reflection long. There’s something too much in your own face right now. Something you’re not ready to deal with. Not until you’ve washed your teeth and maybe sobbed a bit.

You lunge forward and grasp the sink faucet.

Or, try to.

Because your hand doesn’t merely grasp it.

It sticks.

Your fingertips strike the cold metal and stay there. Like someone spread glue on your skin in your sleep. You pout and attempt to draw back softly.

Nothing.

A harder pull.

Still nothing.

You yank.

Your entire body jerks backward with the power, your feet skidding on the bath mat but your hand? Your hand stays. Firm. Locked. Fused to the stupid faucet like it's magnetic to your flesh.

“What the-! What the hell?”

You twist your wrist, attempt to peel your fingers up one by one, but they won’t move. You can feel the strain in your tendons, feel your skin stretching but not budging. It’s like your whole hand gets suctioned to the faucet at the molecular level.

Panic flutters in your chest.

You’re stuck.

You’re practically glued to a bathroom sink.

You let out a shaky chuckle, breath shaking as it tumbles out of you. “Okay. Okay, no big deal. I’ve experienced weirder dreams. Like the one where I was dating Mark and he changed into a goat halfway through a kiss. This is just another fever dream. Just a weird, slightly real-”

Your palm twitches.

And suddenly, you feel it. Not the stickiness. Not the resistance. But something else. A strain in your palm. Like a muscle you never knew you possessed. Like your hand is holding on, and you’re not the one doing the clinging.

You clench your teeth, sink your heels down on the floor, and pull. Hard.

And finally, pop, you break free.

You fly backward with the power of it and smash upon your ass, limbs spread like a knocked-over mannequin. The bath carpet bunches underneath you. You gaze at your hand, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

The impression of the faucet is still on your palm.

Your skin isn’t red. Isn’t bruised. It’s simply... warm. Tingling. Like it wants to stay there. Like it knew how.

You flex your fingers gently, like they’re strange. Like they don’t belong to you anymore.

“What is happening to me?” you murmur, voice hoarse and small.

You scramble to your feet, ignoring the way your knees quiver. You reach out again, carefully this time, fingertips lingering just above the metal. Not touching. Just... observing.

You can feel it.

The surface of the faucet, without touching it. Like there’s a sixth sense in your hand now. A subtle awareness. Like the metal is beckoning to you.

You yank your hand back and turn on the faucet with your elbow instead, since you’re not making that mistake again.

The icy water pours out and you push both hands underneath it, anxious to wash off whatever’s wrong with you. You scrub like a surgeon pre-surgery, washing, rubbing, forcing the terror down.

But the water doesn’t make it stop.

If anything, it makes things worse.

Because now you feel every last drop.

Every atom striking your skin feels like a ping on a sonar. You swear you can feel the vibrations of the water pressure, the grooves of your fingerprint lifting as the ridges pulse and move.

You gaze back up into the mirror.

And this time you hold the stare.

There’s a flash in your expression. A little, scared grin.

You’re not imagining it.

This is genuine.

You are changing.

You towel your hands off and exit the restroom like it just personally wronged you.

The hallway feels odd under your feet. You believe you’re imagining it at first, but the creak of the floorboards is harsher now. Like your brain is running audio in 4K. You can tell which ones are loose. Which ones are distorted. You can see where the foundation of the home dips slightly, something you’ve never noticed before, even though you’ve lived here for years.

You halt at the top of the steps and take a breath.

You’re not panicking. You’re not panicking.

Okay. You’re definitely panicking.

But you’ve watched enough movies to know you can’t freak out yet. That’s not the rule. First comes the denial. Then the foolish attempts at pretending you’re still normal. Then the emotional collapse and the rooftop existential crisis. You’ve got a few hours until that.

Right now, it's breakfast.

You ascend the stairs gently. Trying to step light. Trying to act like your legs aren’t humming with additional energy that has nowhere to go.

Your uncle Ben is already in the kitchen, wearing the same "World’s Okayest Cook" apron you bought him as a joke two Christmases ago. There’s the faint hiss of a frying pan, and the fragrance of eggs hits you like a punch to the face.

Your stomach growls, which is typical. What isn’t typical is the fact that you can smell the black pepper from across the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says without turning around. “You sleep okay?”

“Yup,” you lie, your voice breaking a little. “Just... vivid dreams. You know. Typical brain soup.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, you’ll grow outta that.”

You definitely doubt it.

You sit down at the kitchen table, trying not to make a grimace at the chair. It’s too tiny. Or maybe you’re too tall now. Your limbs feel longer today. Like your arms are just slightly too long for your sleeves, like your back wants to slouch in on itself. You move about, attempting to find a posture that doesn’t seem like you’re unfolding out of yourself.

Your uncle turns, a spatula in one hand and a dish in the other. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nod, swallowing hard as he places a plate of eggs and toast in front of you. “Thanks.”

The eggs smell strong. Like if you inhaled too fast, you’d taste them before your fork hit the dish. You can smell every spice, every fleck of oil. It’s overwhelming. But your stomach rumbles again, and you decide maybe eating will make you feel normal again.

You reach for your toast.

You don’t mean to grab it firmly.

You don’t.

But you do.

It snaps in your palm like a cracker. Crumbs erupt across the table.

You freeze.

Your uncle raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

You nod much too hastily. “Y-Yeah. Just a little nervous this morning. You know. Pre-exam nervousness. Biology test. Or something.”

“You don’t have a biology test.”

“Pop quiz. Surprise one.”

“You’re on break.”

“Extra credit?”

He squints at you for a second. Then shrugs and goes back to frying eggs.

You breath through your nose and gaze down at your plate.

The bread is disintegrating under your fingertips. You attempt to hold it carefully, but it’s like your grasp won’t listen. You have to focus to refrain from smashing it again. You feel like one of those robots that’s programmed to hold a tomato but ends up crushing it anyhow. Your fingers are too powerful. You don’t feel stronger. But something about the way your body’s moving, it’s different.

Too precise. Too tight. Like your muscles are tuned one octave too high.

You take up your fork.

And the metal bends.

Just a bit.

Barely a bend in the handle. But it’s enough to have your heart fly into your throat. You gaze at it in terror, eyes wide. The fork shouldn’t do that. You weren’t even pressing hard. Just holding it like a normal person handles a normal utensil.

You swiftly drop it, letting it clang against the plate. “I…uh, I think I’ll just eat with my hands.”

Your uncle frowns. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m great,” you say way too fast. “Never better. Actually, I’m gonna…go for a walk. Clear my brain. Before I... split another piece of toast in half.”

“Alright,” he says hesitantly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yup!” you yell over your shoulder, almost halfway to the door. “Just need some air!”

You go outside and close the door behind you.

Then lay your back against it.

The morning light reaches you, and this time it doesn’t feel like a sledgehammer. You’re adapting. Fast. Too quick.

Your body is humming again.

The breeze brushes your cheek, and you believe you can feel individual particles of dust in it.

You gaze down at your hand.

Open it. Close it.

You don’t feel normal.

And you don’t think breakfast is going to change it.

You make it halfway down the street before you change your mind.

The air feels too harsh. The sidewalk feels too detailed under your feet. And worst of all, your brain won’t shut up. It continues replaying the morning like a movie with the sound cranked up, toast breaking like glass, your hand clinging to the faucet, that fork twisting like taffy.

You halt at the end of the street. Turn gently.

And stroll back home.

You cut around the side gate and slip into the backyard. No one’s out this early. The old wooden fence is still sagging a little to the left from that one windstorm three years ago, and there’s a patch of weeds growing behind the rusted-out grill. The place is nothing exceptional.

But it’s silent.

You put your fingers on the cool wood of the fence and take a deep breath.

You need to know.

You peek up at the rear wall of the house just two stories tall, but it feels like Everest when you’re standing there, barefoot in sleep clothes, trying to figure out if you’ve fully lost your mind.

You curl your fingers.

Your palm recalls the faucet.

The pressure.

The hold.

You walk closer to the wall and reach out cautiously. Your hand lingers an inch from the fading paint. You don’t even touch it, just feel it. The way your skin hums when it comes too close. Like your body knows something your brain doesn’t.

You let your fingers brush the siding.

And they stick.

No effort. No glue. No suction cup sound effect. Just… attachment. As easy as breathing.

You blink.

Your other hand follows.

Then one foot.

Then the other.

And just like that, you’re climbing.

You don’t even recognize it until you’re halfway up the damn wall. You’re hunkered there, clinging to the back of your own house like a bug, your heartbeat thumping like a thousand small war drums.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, and the sound ripples through your chest.

You gaze down. A mistake.

The earth is only about 10 feet away, but it may as well be a canyon.

You stay still for a second, your fingers pressing into the wood like it’s soft clay. You’re not falling. You’re not even sliding. You’re sticking like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like gravity suddenly has no issue with you.

You should be terrified.

But you’re not.

Not exactly.

A weird, crazy grin sweeps across your face.

You press your toes more firmly on the wall. You shift your weight. You sense the equilibrium. The control.

Then you leap.

It’s not a big jump. Just a small hop down to the grass, like you’re getting off the sofa.

Except you soar.

You don’t even mean to. You don’t press that hard.

But your body throws you forward, and you fall six feet away in a perfect squat, knees bent, arms out, like some kind of nerdy ninja gymnast.

You wobble. A bit.

Then you straighten up and let out a gasping chuckle. It’s wobbly. It’s crazy. You’re trembling all over, and you don’t know if it’s adrenaline or excitement or simply your nervous system screaming into the vacuum.

“Okay,” you say to yourself. “Okay. Cool. Casual. No big deal. I can climb to walls and jump like a video game character. Totally fine.”

Your knees suggest otherwise.

You plop onto the grass and sit there for a second, simply breathing, heart beating as you gaze at your hands. They look the same. No shimmering veins. No bizarre new scars. Just your hands.

Except they’re not simply your hands anymore.

You lean back onto your elbows and look up at the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls. You can hear the rustling of its wings.

You’re not normal.

You don’t know what you are yet.

But whatever this is, whatever’s happening to you

It’s real.

You’re still pacing the backyard like you’re waiting for a lightning bolt to hit and explain your life. Or maybe smite you. Either works.

Because this morning you didn’t just wake up weary or aching or in that floating post-makeout haze. No. You woke up with your fingers glued on the faucet. You leaped six feet without trying. You climbed a wall like it was a ladder. And the worst part? You didn’t even panic right away. You just know how to move. Like it was already inside you. Like it had always been there, waiting.

So now you’re going in circles behind the home, overthinking to the point of nausea, when you hear the knock.

Three solid knocks.

You don’t need to look. You know.

Your stomach lowers.

You don’t want to lie to him. But you don’t know how to speak the truth yet.

You're still brushing grass off your legs and attempting to arrange your face when you hear the door open.

May’s voice, sweet and clipped. “Well, good morning! Can I help you?”

Then Mark’s voice. Soft. Cautious. “Hi. Sorry for showing up uninvited. I just wanted to check on her. She didn’t respond my texts and I felt a little, uh, worried.”

“She’s here,” Ben adds, and you can nearly hear his eyebrows knit together. “Who’s asking?”

“Mark. Mark Grayson.”

A long pause.

“Oh,” May says. And that “oh” encompasses the whole story. “That Mark Grayson.”

Then she’s smiling. You can tell by the difference in her tone. “So... what brings you by? Just checking in, or...?”

Mark coughs. “I mean, we’re... dating. We have been. Since high school. Senior year.”

Another extended pause.

You sigh silently and smash your forehead on the side of the house.

May’s voice gets sugary-sweet. “Oh, really? That’s funny. Because not once…not once, has she addressed that small detail.”

“I thought she told you,” Mark says hastily. “We weren’t exactly hiding, I mean, okay, maybe we were a little hiding. Strategically.”

Ben’s voice is dry. “Strategically for three years?”

“I didn’t say it was a good strategy.”

You round the corner just as the scenario threatens to blossom into a full-blown comedy.

“Hi,” you say, breathless. “Yes. Hello. Good morning. Did I mention how much I love both of you?”

May only grins, arms folded, blocking the doorway with a pose that says ‘I’m not upset, I just want to know everything.’ “You’ve got something you want to share with the group, sweetheart?”

“Um. Surprise?”

Ben touches the bridge of his nose like he’s praying for patience. “I need coffee.”

Mark extends a hand like he’s attempting to surrender without getting shot. “I’m just gonna say for the record that I voted for the ‘tell them’ plan.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to live in the same house as the potential fallout,” you murmur.

“I like to think of this as more of a... controlled explosion,” he says.

“You outed us in under thirty seconds.”

“Somebody had to.”

“Mark,” Ben cuts in, “would you like to come in for breakfast, or are you going to keep traumatizing my front porch?”

Mark smiles sheepishly. “I’d love breakfast. Big fan of porches though.”

You grasp his sleeve and yank him inside, ignoring the smug sparkle in May’s eyes.

“Open door policy,” Ben yells after you. “And I mean that literally. If the door’s shut, it’s coming off the hinges.”

“If I hear a bed creak, I’m getting the fire hose,” May adds happily.

You don’t even bother to react. You just pull Mark upstairs, cheeks on fire, dignity trailing after you like a kicked can.

When you eventually make it inside your room and close the door, softly, gently, legally ajar, you both slump into your bed, looking at the ceiling.

“Well,” Mark adds after a beat, “I think that went pretty well.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He grins. “You love me.”

You make a big moan and turn over, covering your face with a pillow.

But he watches you.

Quietly.

Carefully.

And then, after a long moment “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

You freeze.

He lifts himself up on his elbow, scrutinizing your face.“You didn’t text me back. You dipped without a word. You look like you’ve been running laps around the backyard, which, judging by the grass in your hair, might actually be true.”

You grin, but it’s tight around the edges. “I just panicked. About the whole... everything. You know how I get.”

“You usually panic with snacks and Wikipedia rabbit holes,” he explains. “Not disappearing acts.”

You chuckle uncomfortably. “I leveled up. Panic 2.0.”

Mark doesn’t say anything right away.

You can feel his gaze on you. Searching.

“I’m fine,” you repeat again, quieter this time. “Just... needed space.”

“Space,” he echoes.

“Yeah.”

He’s still watching you with his big blue eyes. Brow drawn, like he’s trying to figure out what’s underlying the sarcasm.

You open your mouth, almost say it. Almost tell him you stuck to the sink, twisted a fork, leaped off a wall like you were born to break gravity. That something is changing. That you’re terrified.

But instead you remark, “I just didn’t want to freak you out.”

And he softens quickly.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s me. You couldn’t freak me out.”

You grin, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

Mark lies back again. “Well, good news, you’ve survived the Parental Gauntlet. We’re officially out of the shadows.”

You slump next him, laying one arm across your eyes. “Yeah. Now all we have to do is survive finals, capitalism, and whatever slow-burn mutation is happening in my blood.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” you blurt. “I said emotionally. Mutation emotionally.”

Mark stares. “You’re weird.”

“Still love me?”

He grins. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

And as he pulls you in, arm slack around your waist, you let your head rest against his shoulder. You let the warmth of him ground you.

But your fingers are still twitching.

And your skin still hums like a live wire.

And you know, sooner or later, you’re going to have to tell him.

Just... not today.

“You’re staring,” you tease, voice quick and playful, like always. Snark was always your love language. “What, got a crush on me or something?”

Mark just laughs, that low, deep kind of laugh that rumbles in his chest. “I’ve had a crush on you since the first time you made fun of my shoes, remember?”

“They were hideous,” you shoot back, but you’re already leaning in, already kissing him, slow at first, like it’s a promise, like it always was with him.

His lips are soft, but the way he kisses you, he kisses you like he wants to make you forget how to breathe. His hands slip around your waist, drawing you close until there isn’t a sliver of air between you.

The slow build of it makes your toes curl. It’s different with Mark, gentle and desperate. You feel wanted, adored, but also like he’s holding back a storm every time he touches you.

You pull back just long enough to catch your breath, grinning against his lips. “You know, if you keep kissing me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Mark smirkes, brushing his nose against yours. “I love you, dumbass.”

Your heart hiccups. You blink, then grin wider like your face couldn’t hold it all in. “Damn, Mark… now I’ve gotta pretend I wasn’t already in love with you.”

His eyes soften, and he kisses you again, this time deeper, hungrier, fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, warm palms splayed across your stomach. You shiver, the gentleness of his touch grounding you even as it set you on fire. You always talked a big game, always cracking jokes, throwing sarcasm like knives, but Mark knew how to shut you up. Knew just where to touch, just how to look at you.

He pushes you gently back until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You let yourself fall, dragging him down with you, both of you laughing into the kiss, tangled up in love and limbs and soft sheets. His body is warm over yours, heavy and solid and safe. You curl your fingers into his black hair, tugging gently, just the way he liked. “C’mere,” you whisper, and he did, like gravity, like instinct. Mark kisses down your neck, murmuring soft things into your skin, hands exploring like he’s memorizing you. And you let him. You always let him. Because this was Mark, your boyfriend, your sweetheart, the guy who flew across states just to sleep next to you. The guy who knew how fast you talked when you were nervous, how you used sarcasm when you were scared, how much you melted when he kisses you like this.

He slips a hand under your waistband, fingers brushing lower, teasing. You gasp, hips jerking. “Mark, fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking, eyes fluttering.

“Shh,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw. “I got you.”

You taste like lip balm and nervous laughter, and Mark can’t stop kissing you. The kind of kissing that has you both smiling into it, teeth knocking, mouths greedy. His hand slides up the back of your shirt again, fingers tracing your spine like it was precious. You tug him closer, your thighs spreading just a little to pull him in, and god, the warmth of him pressed between your legs made your breath catch.

“You’re such a menace,” he whispers against your lips.

“I contain multitudes,” you mutter back, but it comes out breathless, dazed, too distracted by the way his tongue brushes yours, slow and hungry.

The bed creaks under you quietly, old springs protesting softly. From downstairs comes the faint murmur of voices, May’s soft lilt and Ben’s warm baritone, oblivious, thank god. Your bedroom door is still cracked, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway. You know that, you know, but you don’t care. Not when Mark is kissing you like he meant it.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy, cheeks pink with heat. “Door’s open,” he whispers.

“I know,” you say, biting your lip, grinning like the world’s worst influence. “So don’t moan too loud.”

Mark groans, forehead resting against yours, laughing low in his throat. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You kiss him again before he can say more, hands threading into his hair, lips desperate. The tension thrums like a tightrope beneath your skin. You’re both trying to be quiet, but god, you are not quiet people. Especially not with each other.

He rocks against you, just barely, and your hips buck up without thinking. Heat sparks, sharp and ready, right through the seam of your pants. You gasp again, fingers fisting his shirt. He swallows the sound with another kiss, deeper now, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth like he wanted to keep a piece of you.

“Mark,” you whisper, voice thin, cracking, wrecked in the softest way.

“I’m right here,” he whispers back, and his hand slips lower again, palm warm against your belly, tracing the edge of your waistband. He doesn’t push, doesn't rush, just waits, eyes locked with yours, asking without words.

You give him a little nod, subtle, just between you. The kind of trust that only comes from being seen, really seen, and still being wanted.

Mark kisses down your neck, barely brushing his lips over your skin, and your breath hitches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is lighting up, humming like a power line. He knows what he’s doing, taking his time, driving you insane. And you love it. You love him.

You arch into him, hips rolling just enough to feel the ridge of his hard cock through both your clothes, and he groans low against your collarbone, biting down softly to keep it quiet.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he mutters, breath shaky.

“You already have,” you whisper, fingers moving fast, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease. “Now shut up and take your pants off.”

He chokes on a laugh, kissing you hard before shifting up, shoving his jeans halfway down. You push your pants down just enough, just enough, for what was about to happen. No time, no space for being fully naked, not when the door is cracked and voices drift up from downstairs.

And god, you’re wet. You can feel it, slick between your thighs, your soaked panties clinging to you. Mark looks down, eyes wild, biting his lip as he dragged his fingers across the fabric, slow, reverent.

“Holy shit,” he breaths. “Baby…”

Your hips jerk, desperate for more, for him. You tug at his boxers, free him, thick and aching in your hand, and his breath hitches loud in his throat.

“Shhh,” you hiss, eyes wide, a grin twitching at the corners of your mouth. “You wanna explain this to May and Ben?”

Mark is trying so fucking hard to be quiet. Trying not to grunt when your pussy clenches around him, not to swear every time he bottoms out and feels you tremble underneath him, writhing in silence, your mouth stuffed behind your palm. But his composure is fraying by the second.

He isn’t good at holding back. He never had been. Mark Grayson doesn’t know how to do things halfway. He fights like a blunt weapon. He fucks the same, rough, messy, honest.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice shaking, forehead pressed to yours. His body trembles over you, sweat making his dark hair cling to his brow. “You’re too tight, too wet, I can’t-”

You squirm beneath him, thighs shaking, still struggling not to make a sound. The bed creaks, and you freeze, but Mark doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. His cock is buried deep, your soaked cunt sucking him back in every time he tries to pull out. You’re wrapped around him like your body never wants to let go.

He drags his teeth along your jaw, panting ragged against your skin, voice hot and sharp and needy.

“They’re downstairs,” he mutters, as if reminding himself. “Ben and May, fuck. You’re making this impossible.”

You can barely breathe. His hand stays on your mouth, muffling the tiny, gasping cries you can’t control. Your eyes beg him not to stop. You don’t care. You want to be reckless. You want him to fuck you stupid and deal with the fallout later.

“Do you want them to hear?” he pants, voice right at your ear, and god, that, that sounded like Mark. That raw, emotional snap behind his control. “You wanna get caught with my dick buried in you? You wanna explain why you’re dripping down your thighs in front of your fucking aunt?”

You moan into his hand, body jerking beneath him, thighs clamping around his waist.

“Jesus, fuck don’t do that,” he hisses, voice breaking as your cunt flutters around him again. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that. And I’m not…fuck, I’m not pulling out if I do.”

He was pounding you now, still quiet, still trying to keep his breathing steady, but there was a desperate rhythm to it. He needs you. Needs to finish. Every muscle in his body is shaking with restraint.

Mark reaches down between you, fumbling, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles, and he watches, watches his soaked fingers working you while his cock slams into you, slick and loud and wrong, and his jaw clenched like he’s fighting off a scream.

“Shit, shit, that’s hot-”

Your orgasm slammed into you so hard it stole the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened in a silent cry under his hand, eyes rolling back as your cunt spasmed around him, wetness gushing out between you.

He pulls out with a stifled groan, shoving his cock in his fist and stroking himself furiously. His cum spurts out in thick, hot ropes, across your stomach, your shirt, your trembling thighs. His body rocks with it, trying to stay silent, trying not to grunt loud enough for the whole goddamn neighborhood to hear.

You’re still catching your breath, body flushed and aching in the best way, when Mark shifts beside you. His hand slides back over your stomach, slow, possessive, and you feel the weight of his gaze before you even turn your head. He’s looking at you like he’s not done. Like he can’t be done. His lips brush your shoulder, then lower, trailing heat down your skin, and you don’t have to ask what he’s thinking. “One more,” he murmurs, voice low and a little hoarse.

Your soaked panties twist around one thigh, one of his hands brace beside your head, the other stays clamped over your mouth. He’s fucking you again, slow, a quiet, rolling grind of his hips that makes your toes curl but the sound of it is unbearable. Slick, wet, shameless, the sticky noise of his cock dragging through your dripping pussy, again and again, with obscene clarity in the silence.

Downstairs, you can hear May talking. Ben answers with a laugh.

You can’t focus on their voices. You’re trying so fucking hard not to make a sound. Your moans vibrate against Mark’s palm, and your eyes beg him, plead with him, not to stop. Every nerve in your body is strung tight, trembling from the pressure of keeping still, the pressure of him, the way he stretches you so deep you see stars behind your eyelids every time he grinds down just right.

“Fuck,” he breathes, right against your cheek, barely a whisper. His voice is strained, shaking. “You’re gonna get us caught…”

His blue eyes burn down into you, dark, sharp, the same intensity you’ve seen when he’s angry, when he’s turned on, when he’s kissing you like the world’s about to end. But right now, there’s something more in them. Something hungry. Something dangerous.

And you have no idea. No idea who you're lying under. What he's done. What he's capable of. That Mark Grayson isn’t just your sweet, sarcastic boyfriend with the tight shirts and warm hands.

You just know the boy above you is fucking you like he means it. Like he can’t get enough of you. Like his whole body aches for it.

Your hips roll up to meet his next thrust, and he hisses, low and sharp, trying not to lose it. Your pussy grips him tight, your slick soaking his cock, soaking both your thighs, and he can’t keep it together.

“Shit, shit, baby, don’t move like that, you’re gonna make me-”

The bed creaks. Loud. Too loud. You both freeze, breath held, still as death.

Footsteps move below you, slow and rhythmic. The sound of someone getting a glass of water. You clamp your thighs around him and hold.

Mark doesn’t move. Barely breathes. You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. His cock is still buried deep, twitching inside you, throbbing with the urge to move, to fuck you through the mattress.

After a moment, the footsteps recede. The sink runs. The fridge closes. A laugh. Then silence.

Mark looks at you, mouth parted, eyes wide like he’s just survived a car crash. “That was too close.”

You nod, barely able to process language. His hand is still over your mouth. You kiss the center of his palm, slow, soft, trembling.

He lets out a shuddering breath.

Then he pulls out, just a few inches, and thrusts back in, harder, sharper. You gasp into his hand, your eyes flying open, your whole body arching into him, but he pins you down, firm and heavy, grounding you in place.

“Keep quiet,” he growls under his breath, voice low and rough.

You moan, muffled and raw, as he fucks into you again. Then again. He sets a rhythm, fast and deep and quiet, every stroke careful but devastating. Your nails dig into his back, your heels press into the small of his back to drag him in harder, your pussy a soaked, pulsing mess clenching around him like it needs him.

You’re getting close. You know it. He knows it. Your walls flutter again and grip him harder with every thrust, your legs shaking, your breath coming in choppy gasps against his hand.

And his voice, god, his voice, he’s panting through his teeth, whispering the filthiest things against your skin like they’re sacred.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “So fucking tight, sucking me in like your pussy owns me. Fuck. You like this, huh?”

You nod, eyes wide, tears pricking your lashes from the pressure of it, pleasure, fear, need. You can't speak. You can't do anything but take it.

He reaches down, fingers slicking over your clit, and your body jerks, the pleasure too much, too sharp.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Be good. Just let it happen. You’re gonna come, and you’re gonna stay quiet, or they’ll hear.”

You break.

Your orgasm tears through you and you scream against his hand, but it barely comes out, a stifled, strangled gasp as your whole body convulses under him, pussy gripping his cock so tight he chokes on his own breath.

Mark loses it.

He pulls out fast, barely in time, his hand still muffling your cries as he strokes himself hard, his cock throbbing against your belly, and then he's coming. His body trembles as he groans, voice raw and strangled in his throat.

When it’s over, he collapses beside you, his chest heaving, still fighting to be quiet, his hand sliding away from your mouth.

You lie there, dazed, soaked, still trembling, your cunt twitching with aftershocks.

“…Holy shit,” you whisper.

Eventually, you both know you can’t just lay on your bed forever like ghosts in hiding. You both get dressed hurriedly.

Mostly because May bangs on the wall and sings, “Hope you’re not dead in there! I made eggs and passive-aggression!”

You moan into Mark’s sweater.

He chuckles softly beside you. “God, I missed her.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

current taglist: @adeptusxia0 / @moonjellyfishie / @ladynoirx321 / @moraxussy / @saturnalya / @the-good-kooshe / @atomspidyr

not on here but want to be? just let me know! i don’t bite :)

[wtftaylr]

I love Companion Benny. I love the idea that he gets huffy-puffy and “just a little” jealous if you switch him out for another companion. He simply cannot cope with the fact that you’d toss him aside like yesterday’s trash for… what, some scribe in rags? A boring-ass first recon guy? A vaquero ghoul? (ok he thinks Raul is kinda cool actually but he won’t openly admit that)?? Benny has STORIES, baby. Interest. Intrigue. You wanna know all the juicy strip gossip? Guess what, you CANT now because you DISMISSED him. How DARE you.

Benny is VERSATILE, baby. His tagged skills are guns, melee, and unarmed. Good luck finding another companion that can do what he can. Yeah Craig “Frowns” Boone can headshot a cazador from a million yards away or whatever, *mumbling* show-off, he would’ve seen that cazador eventually *end mumbling* but Benny can shoot, stab, AND punch. Hey courier, watch this. I’m gonna punch the fuck out of this deathclaw. He does it (you gotta administer a few stimpaks) BUT HE DID IT. And he was only at half health. 400+ health honeybaby, Benny can take a few whacks from those deathclaw freaks. What was that? Showing off? Benny doesn’t have to show off, sugar plum. He’s just that good.

He also won’t complain that his feet are getting tired. Yeah he’ll complain about minor inconveniences and wants you to do something about them regardless if you realistically can or not, but at least he’ll walk miles upon miles in a day and not complain. He also won’t complain about going back to the Lucky 38. (he’ll just complain about not being able to get in there before the Courier showed up.) What, no one else complains about their feet hurting? Uhhhh BOOT-RIDERS. Silly name. But that’s how they rode the Mojave, dig? On their feet. He’s done this before. Experienced.

AND ANOTHER THING. how many companions shout words of encouragement during a fight. Go on. He’s waiting.

You’re doing great, baby! Show these punk losers what you got!!

I bet all the caps in Vegas you’ll miss that while getting shot to shit by the Fiends or whatever. Grumble. Benny hopes you come back in one piece, of course. He’d just rather see to it himself that you remain in one piece. Uhh BECAUSE HE’S JUST THAT GR-

(The courier left with their choice of companion hours ago. Swank is trying to work but Benny won’t stop gabbing his ear off. Dear god Benny just go be the Head of The Chairmen somewhere else. Swank is trying to do actual work here.)

[slamvan]

I uh i drew them as goths lmao

Thoughts and explanation below

Ok so the goth subculture is pretty old, it starts around the late 70s and spans on, but really picked up in the mid 80s credited to the band The Sisters of Mercy as the second wave starter of the genre. Fun fact, there's a Sisters of Mercy song in GTA 4, it's Dominion but they cut out the second part of the song (Mother Russia.)

ANYWAY, I thought it would be funny if they were dressed as goths because of the slight references to the subculture in the game, the fact that Trevor and Michael are in the perfect age range of people who would have seen the start of the subculture, and the general themes of the game like death, heartbreak, and loss.

Michael is dressed like Andrew Eldritch from TSOM, one of the rare few bands that has a man with a beard in the subculture, it's kind of a rare thing. I didn't give him one this time for the look but he has a mullet similar to Andrew's. I also thought he would look sick as hell with a cross, because he doesn't wear any form of jewelry in the game and also he's Catholic?? I think. Michael listens to the rock station sometimes in the game and I believe TSOM would be a band close to his taste.

Franklin isn't dressed like any band or specific significant style because I honestly don't see him enjoying gothic rock but he is a fashionable man. I gave him some New Rocks and a hip chain to mirror Trevor. Overall he's not outdated looking in terms of goth fashion, but not entirely using any form of trends or fashion within the subculture.

Trevor is dressed like an 80s deathrocker with makeup optionally included. The makeup is a reference to Nik Fiend, the front man of Alien Sex Fiend. His leather jacket would come from a Lost biker he killed. The jacket would be repurposed with trash he finds like bottle cap pins, spikes and patches. He's wearing a bondage belt and a submissive collar because I see him being into the whole fetish gear as fashion thing to be a troll.

uhh yeah lol combining my two specific interests

[ambitiouspotions]

RUSTED PICKUP | JAVIER PEÑA | ONESHOT

summary — javier reconnects with his childhood best friend’s sister on his father’s ranch

word count — 4.1k

warnings — 18+ MDNI, language, smut

author’s note — too much stress, but not enough to not think about javi *sigh* i also promise i’m not avoiding my inbox

the cows in the pasture dunked their noses into the basin of water, softly mooing as water dripped from their mouths full of cud. the calves were enjoying the breeze, playfully jumping by their mothers who could be less amused with them and more focused on the herd. the steers were on the perimeter ducking their heads down to munch on the pillowy grass beneath their hooves. in a separate pasture, the bulls were content, sniffing in the breeze and roaming the open field. it was a pleasant sight to live within. the livestock of the peña ranch was thriving and part of that was thanks to you. calving season had ended on a successful note, and now the foaling season would begin; there was never any pausing for nature.

you were in the maternity ward, or that was what you had always jokingly referred to it as. the left side of the horse stables had the larger stalls for the pregnant mares, and your coveralls were soaked in various fluids having to help the mare deliver her new foal and after birth.

you were writing the care instructions and invoice for the ranch hand, luis, who had stepped away needing to tend to one of the horses in the pasture that was kicking up far too much dust and becoming too rowdy due to a loose piece of trash that had spooked it.

“javito?” you questioned in disbelief, your brows furrowing as you looked up from your clipboard when hearing shuffling to your side. it wasn't luis, but another mustached man hard at work. javier peña, son of chucho peña, the man who owned the ranch and also your brother’s childhood friend.

javier had left texas, gone out of the country, and brought down a major player in the war on drugs. you didn't follow javier's life, but you did follow the news. he had worked hard for years trying to control the narcos overseas and stop the importation of illegal substances into the united states. life for you had been simpler, but not any less busy. caring for large animals for the animals in and around laredo, texas. emergencies, minor injuries, uncommon questions or concerns, among other things. you had both chosen very different paths.

you had moved out of your parents’ ranch house only to move back in years later after breaking off your engagement. javier had been balls deep in more colombian whores than he could count and knocked the generic paintings off the walls in the apartment of the embassy while he bottomed out. you, well, you were fiending for a new unserious relationship after settling for the bare minimum while you were with your ex-fiance.

javier turned his head despite the heavy feed bag over his shoulder. that nickname would only ever surface from one person, you. he stared at you, his mouth suddenly dry. when has he ever stumbled on some witty remark or quick draw on a flirtatious introduction? he was acting as if he was seeing a ghost. he never knew his father hired you.

“vaquita,” he responded, taking the sack of sweet oats off of his shoulder. he approached you slowly, placing his elbows on the stall door, taking your presence in with uncertainty. “you're the vet.”

that ridiculous nickname, ‘little cow,’ from the time you were eleven years old because you had bought some injured little calf from the saturday morning auction with your pocket change that your father had given you for lunch. your older brother, ruben, and javier, his friend, who were five years older than you, had only looked away for a minute. you were holding your hand up so high the moment calf number twenty-eight was up for grabs. no one wanted that thing, the auctioneer practically gave it away for two dollars. he probably would've given it away for less if you didn't push the money into his hand so quickly.

you were so excited, you had gone up to the fence letting it lick your hand. it’s fur was missing in some spots, walked with a limp, and looked like it had been trampled by the rest of the herd, but it was yours. you named him kisses. when ruben saw you hanging over the fence to give your docile calf scratches behind the ear, your brother was complaining to javier about the lack of space in the horse trailer.

“how am i going to fit that ugly—”

“kisses is not ugly!” you defended the calf, almost immediately. yes he was, he was hideous, so hideous in fact that your brother was wondering if it might be easier to “accidentally” let it loose the moment you arrived home. your father was going to think that the calf was an embarrassment to the livestock they raised.

“he's a boy, cojones are hanging and his tag is white. you bought a lame cow and gave him a girly name,” ruben huffed, helping you off the fence. the cow let out a soft ‘murring’ noise shaking his patchy head, licking his leathery nose wet.

“don’t get mad at vaquita, she has more cojones than that bull,” javier teased, watching you climb onto the fence again as the cow’s tongue wrapped around your hand. “vaquita and her new friend are gonna have to ride in the back.

ruben was laughing at the name javier had settled on for you. vaquita you were, but not even a teasing nickname could dull your spirits seeing as you had a new companion to bring home.

you rode in the tailgate of the truck clutching the makeshift lead around kisses the cow. your father was confused the moment ruben pulled the horse trailer next to the barn. the two horses were there, but you and the cow were also there. it took him a while to get used to some ugly calf being integrated into the herd of healthy bovines.

that was the first animal you truly cared for. the vet that aided kisses was the reason for your chosen occupation.

“yeah, the vet,” you nodded your head once in agreement. you eyed the mare with her foal, unlatching the stall door. javier moved back, opening the door for you as you exited.

“i haven't seen you since ruben’s graduation party,” you began, looking at how his mustache had filled out, how his shoulders had broadened, how he was even carrying himself differently.

“i've been busy,” javier said casually, watching you strip your rubber boots and coveralls. you dusted your socks before dawning your leather work boots. you pulled down the sleeves of your shirt. that had been scrunched and out of the way from the shoulder-length gloves you had taken off to begin writing.

“i know,” you laughed softly, ensuring the latch to the stall was secure with the carabiner.

“you know, vaquita?” javier raised an eyebrow, as a smirk played on the corner of his mouth.

“everybody around here talks about you, but i didn't expect to see you,” you confessed folding the coveralls into a rough square so your hands wouldn't touch the grime the clothing had acquired.

“i moved back,” javier admitted, kicking the loose dirt with his boot. his eyes now darted to the new foal nursing from its mother.

“welcome home.” you didn't know if your tone was sarcastic or endearing when it came out. you thought he was moving away from his goal of being an agent, but in reality, he was done. working at the ranch he grew up on, was backwards for you, but he felt was contrary. it was time to rest his mind. he fought too hard. he worked too much.

“you grew up, vaquita,” he was trying to avoid the conversation about his absence. he was fixated on your body without being covered in the tan working overalls. he could really take in your figure now. the way the belt laid on your hips, the way your shirt was misbuttoned, how it wasn't tucked in straight.

“you could say that without staring at my tits.”

“no, i couldn't have,” javier chuckled, as you slid him the paperwork you were writing out for luis.

“i feel awful for the girls you used to hit on,” you rolled your eyes taking your bag off the peg, stuffing your clipboard inside the oversized sack.

“you only feel awful because it wasn't you,” javier quipped only to be met by your gagging noise.

“oh yes, i’m sure sixteen-year-old you would’ve been dying to flirt with eleven-year-old me,” you teased, knowing he never had much interest in you other than to bother you while being accompanied by your older brother.

“well, maybe i had no interest in you at all until now,” javier confessed to the truth you already knew. he picked up the bag of feed again. you could see his muscles flexing through his plaid shirt.

your pager was beeping on your belt loop, with a quick look at javier you gathered your rubber boots in your hand.

“i’ve got an emergency across town, but call my office,” you said, a smile riddling your face. “we can catch up more when we both have less work to do.”

“no problem, doctor vaquita.”

you hadn't known how the next few weeks had transpired after javier got a hold of your personal number. you and javier hadn’t done much talking. you had mentioned small things in passing: ruben’s whereabouts, your failed engagement, javier’s vague stories about columbia that he didn't want to dwell on, but most of it was asking how you liked to be fucked.

each time was like experimenting, javier constantly trying to make it even better than the last time. most of the time it was late at night with him covering your mouth or shoving your head into a pillow. moving the headboard away from the wall to silence the creaking and slamming it would cause. both of you were getting fed up with having a filter on your affairs.

what was more southern comfort than sliding your pants off in the back of a field?

you were in the farm truck, pulling to the furthest point of the peña ranch, watching javier hauling branches into the large bonfire. javier’s tailgate was almost empty.

the rickety truck you were borrowing was your father's, the newest thing about it was the tires. it’s rusted patches, sun-damaged dash, exposed wiring, and missing floorboard were all characteristics of a well-loved farm truck. the seats on the inside were caked with years of dust and dirt.

it had so many miles, but they weren't accurately kept seeing as the odometer and gas gauge were both broken. the truck had a list of rules that came with driving it. no going over thirty-five miles per hour, no driving it longer than thirty minutes without topping it off with gas, check the oil each time before it goes in the garage, don’t pop the tailgate without holding the left side, knock the side of your hand against the gear shift before switching gears.

when the truck had been clean was the day you came home from the hospital, other than that even your father couldn't pinpoint a time when the blue, now brown spotted truck was in a better condition.

you turned the ignition off once the truck was backed into place. javier had to clear the branches anyway. this was just killing two birds with one stone.

javier was flicking his cigarette butts skillfully into the fire. one after another you watched him smoke. there was a sheen of sweat that was noticeable on his forehead. he had his flannel shirt open revealing a worn wife beater. he was manspreading on your tailgate, one hand sitting in his lap casually as his shoulders were slouched.

“everything okay?” you questioned, your legs dangling over the side of the truck’s tailgate, occasionally having your boot heels click together.

“it’s hard seeing you, vaquita,” he confessed, spitting on the ground. the nicotine was suddenly leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “just wasted a whole lotta time and feel like i have nothing to show for it.”

you leaned back on your elbows looking to the stars on the cloudless night rather than javier who was next to you. “the first thing you have to do is to stop thinking that you've done nothing,” you sighed softly, the exhale clearing your lungs enough to breathe in the smoky scent of the fire. “we both know you worked hard.”

“easier said than done,” he wiped his hands against his thighs leaning forward, his head bowed slightly. “especially when i decided to come back home.”

you didn't know why javier was so occupied inside his mind tonight. you could only assume the only reason he was talking to you about it was because he had no one else to talk to about it. you figured he was talking to vaquita, ruben’s little sister, rather than sweetheart, the owner of tight pussy he ruined.

“truthfully, it makes me pissed,” javier mumbled, leaning back to mirror you. he was going to reach for another cigarette before you stopped him.

“we’re supposed to be here so we can relax,” you reminded him, turning to your side, uncomfortably being met with a sharp pain in your hip from the rivet in your jeans. you shifted again, now swinging one leg over his waist and toying with his belt. “let loose for tonight.”

the moment it was unbuckled, you were fussing with his button and zipper.

“no wastin’ time, i see?” he asked, laying back fully, a deep exhale leaving his body as he placed one of his hands behind his head to watch you. the firelight illuminating enough of the area to appreciate the view. you slid in between his legs as he lifted his hips to aid you in sliding his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.

he spits in his hand, grasping his soft shaft, his muscle memory taking over. the way he grabbed his cock, his hand had just the right amount of slack and grip at the same time. his thumb rubbing over his tip on every upward stroke.

“we both have early mornings,” you murmured as your lips were pressed against the side of his thigh, teasingly moving to lick his balls.

“or is it because you think talking about our personal lives makes this too real?”

you lifted your head to respond, but javier had moved his hand away from his erect shaft guiding your head down his length. an easy and good way to silence you from possibly admitting the truth.

your mouth stuffed full with him, struggling to take every inch he provided. his hand caressing his cheek as he looked down on you. he was wetting his lips every so often as you continued to cover his cock with your saliva.

you only had more incentive to keep working his length as he let his lips part with a breathy moan.

“you're good at that,” javier praised, holding his hand against your cheek as your head went down further. his eyes shut for a moment feeling the back of your throat tighten around his tip. he bucked his hips making you pull back your head, a soft gag coming from your mouth. your hand was firmly against his thigh to hopefully prevent it from happening again.

catching your breath, you took to his length again, a hand around the base of his shaft you were unable to fit into your cramped mouth. as you moved your head, your hand followed, jerking more of his length upwards. your spit was on and under your fingers, ensuring all of his length was properly being cared for.

“just like that sweetheart, you know i like that,” javier’s eyes rolled back as he was met with the resistance of your hand on his thigh as he tried to move his hips upwards again, aching for more.

relaxation at its finest, warm fire accompanied by a warm mouth and soft tugs of his cock being pulled into your mouth. he could tell you were getting impatient by the way you were rubbing your thighs together, trying to match the seam of your jeans right against your clit to feel some sort of pressure or stimulation from something.

javier lifted your head from his shaft, holding your chin to speak to you directly. “you want my cock?”

you could barely focus when he held your face like that and he knew it. it made you melt, it made your head fuzzy, fuck, it made you wet.

“i asked if you want me to put my cock in your pussy,” javier repeated, shaking your chin lightly, watching your eyes flicker.

“yes,” the way he could easily flip that switch was one of the most attractive things about javier. when it came to pleasure he didn't want to play a guessing game. he wanted to be accurate and precise to absolutely ruin you.

“yes, what?” he tried to coax a longer sentence from his mouth as he sat up, only adjusting your chin when he was losing your attention.

his other hand unlatched the overly large belt buckle you had received as an award from a veterinary conference you went to. hearing the click of the buckle made you antsy, thinking about his cock about to be pushing into you.

“yes, javi, i want your cock inside of me,” you confirmed, making javier begin to slide your jeans down. his fingers met the outside of your panties, curling on the underside of the fabric.

his fingers slid inside of your walls so easily making him chuckle as your mouth fell open at the feeling of two of his fingers buried inside of you. your cheeks were flushed, as you moved against his hand.

he placed a gentle kiss against your cheek. “you gotta taste your pussy sweetheart, tell me if it’s good enough for me to have some,” he whispered the entire phrase, every few words he would place another kiss on your face. his digits moving so easily inside of your walls. your panties moved out of the way so he could have a clean exit.

he offered his slick fingers to your lips, which you accepted, licking them clean. once they were clean you took them back in your mouth again, your tongue parting his fingers and thrusting into their center.

“it’s the best pussy,” you said confidently. you expected him to pull you to his face, but that wasn't the case. he pulled your panties down to your ankles to mingle with your jeans. he was pawing in the pocket of his jeans for a condom as you somehow managed to get your boots and jeans off without tripping over him or on the bed of the truck.

when you saw the condom wrapper you were confused. he just asked you to taste yourself for his pleasure. he wanted you to sample the goods he was about to feast on, yet now he was getting his dick ready.

“don't look so disappointed,” javier taunted, as he pulled a condom over his thick length. “i’m going to eat this pussy when it’s dripping,” he assured you, guiding you onto his tip. “gotta play with my meal before i eat it.”

you closed your eyes tightly, as you sunk down. out of breath, wondering how you had managed to get so lucky to receive an ungodly amount of dick after breaking things off with your fiance.

you were barely settled on his length though your eagerness was showing because you had already started to bounce despite the tight squeeze.

“sweetheart, i promise i’m not going anywhere,” javier was holding up the edge of your shirt revealing just above your belly button, not pressing to remove it, only wanting the comfort of more of your skin as he had you on top. “take it easy,” he squeezed the edge of fat at your waist, slightly groaning as you were fully filled by him.

“it’s just so good,” you moaned, tilting your head back.

you had done it, finally soaking onto his cock, getting a good rhythm as you slid up and down. you were making him voice the sounds of pleasure that you usually spouted from your own lips.

“sweetheart, that pussy is gripping me,” javier confessed, mumbling as he pulled your clothed chest closer to his face. he couldn't deny him a few of his own unsteady thrusts upwards into you, mostly only to watch you grip his shirt.

his hands fumbled the grip on your waist having to find it again in between your relentless motions to stroke his cock in between your soaking walls.

javier had to stop you, shaking his head as he pulled his cock out of you. he helped you stand, placing one of your legs onto the raised wheel wells on the side of the truck. he was behind you, bending you forward slightly so you could grab the top of the vehicle.

he knelt down between your legs, having to slide his shirt off in the process. he was getting far too worked up to have anything other than you touching him. he craned his neck, having to steady you as his tongue began to explore your folds.

his favorite part was sucking at your clit after his tongue had been buried inside of you. you didn't know who was enjoying it more. the reactions you produced made it seem like you were the one who enjoyed it more, but the more you whined and begged for him javier continued to aid in your pleasure.

one hand was wrapped around his shaft occasionally, stroking it or gripping his base tightly, wanting his erection to be just as hard, if not more when he entered you again.

“god, fuck,” your legs began to shake as his crooked nose began to rub the same trails his tounge had taken.

“best fuckin’ pussy,” he murmured, taking a few more laps within your arousal again before he stood, guiding his solid shaft into you.

“javi, my dear god,” vocal, very vocal. you were both able to spew whatever nonsense you wanted. whatever needy desires you had. whatever overly audible moans you needed to vocalize, tonight would be the night.

javier had gotten in that disgustingly pleasurable deep thrust he had learned you loved. your eyes were fluttering, knuckles white as you gripped the rusted truck, feeling it rock beneath the both of you.

his hand slid up the bottom of your shirt, shuffling with the bottom of your bra as he gripped one of your breasts, fiddling with your nipple as he had to focus on allowing you to achieve your orgasm before he could think about his own. that was proving hard, your pussy was gripping his throbbing cock like it owed you money.

“you make this too hard,” javier lightly nipped at your shoulder as he pulled you against his chest, his position slightly squatted to continue his rail into your wet cunt. too hard to focus, too hard to not release before it was his turn, too hard not to want to stay in your pussy forever.

“o-oh, there!” you exclaimed, so high-pitched, he knew any second you would be unwinding onto his cock. he could hear his belt buckle hitting the bed of the truck as he slammed into you.

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” you whined as he pulled your chest closer, kissing just below your ear. your pussy held javier’s cock throbbing against him wildly as your orgasm surged through you.

“sweetheart,” javier moaned, tapping your leg to adjust its position on the truck. “i’m about to let you take this load,” he huffed, his eyes only now fixated on your eyes as you had turned your head to look at him as he kept pushing his dick in and out of you.

you were practically losing your mind, riding out the orgasm of your life, unable to clearly think as he was still inside of you.

“you gonna take it?” javier asked, only seeing a nod coming from your crooked head. “where?”

his movements were more ragged and uncoordinated. he was waiting for the answer impatiently, closing his eyes tightly trying to be as calm as he could in what felt like the longest three seconds of his life as he waited for you to respond.

“my mouth.” that was enough said javier was pulling his dick out of you, making you drop to your knees quickly. a bit of his seed spilling into the condom as he pulled it off. the warm cum shot into your mouth, and his dick twitched as you worked his length again, ensuring that he was drained.

javier was sweating, pushing his hair off of his forehead as he pulled up his boxers and jeans. you had crouched down to rifle for your underwear and untangle your denim from your boots.

“you really know how to take it, vaquita,” javier laid his head back against the old farm truck, his discarded shirt sitting in his lap.

“you know how to give it, javito.”

[one-hit-boy-wonder]

On the one hand i like tiktoker redditor twitter trash fiend tim. On the other hand i think Timothy “i discovered Batman and Robin’s identity by watching the news” Drake has to beat internet safety into terminal oversharers Cass and Damian

[onysfavreader]

Random hc of being Ony's hyperfemblack!wife

You getting spoiled way to much but Ony who doesn't mind because his girl deserves the universe and more

Ony who can never have enough pictures and videos of you on his phone because he is quick to show you off at any chance you recording little maintenance vlogs for your photo shoots together

Ony who just loves you so much and never want to not see you smile

Ony being the only one to help you handle your emotions and make you feel better because he knows you can't help but be so emotional "Shh baby tell me what's wrong" "What happened ma why you look so upset"

Picks you up if you try to walk away from him when you're upset

Ony letting you decorate bc you're helping each other create your dream lives and that included giving you your dream pinterest house and closet lmao

You being the only one who gets to see Ony's soft side after you spent forever trying to get through to him like he put you through the worst when you first started talking but now he makes up for it every day and you brag about it to yourself because it took you forever to get him to that point

You not being any better in the beginning of your relationship those half assed ‘situationships’ could never prepare you for your relationship with Ony your the reason ony’s patience and trust for you is as high as it is

You two giving golden retriever and black cat energy Ony doesn’t look like he likes anyone and doesn’t but is the sweetest ever once you really get to know him especially to you and you looking the sweetest on the outside but you’re are worse then people think Ony is

Ony supporting you through everything and you doing the same even if you don't know exactly what he's doing you trust him

You walking around wrapped in a robe or one of many blankets almost everyday bc your always cold until Ony caught on buying you hoodies and jackets in his size just to see how cute you look when they cover so much more of your body than his

Ony giving you all the hugs kisses and praises he can because he knows you fiend off his attention and will throw the worst fits when you don't get it

You holding onys two fingers instead of his hand bc he's so big

Ony who lifts double your weight on a bad day this and just picks you up and you love it until he pisses you off "Put my ass down now" you shout trying to push him away "Why you not talking to me ma what's wrong" "Boy fuck you" "We gotta work on the mouth of yours" "Ony put me down" You laughed as he carried you to your bedroom “Don’t laugh now” “Baby I’m sorry” “I don’t want to hear none of that ma”

You absolutely loving Ony and the life you've built together

You're only piece of gold jewelry is an anklet with an 'o' charm and you refuse to take off even after he offered to get it in silver

Buying Ony just as many if not more flowers then he buys you

Ony and you having two dogs that are your babies. Ony's being some big 'scary' dog like a black pit bull that absolutely adores you and your a cute little brown toy poodle that Ony tries not to trip over bc they follow him almost as much as you follow him

You and Ony would have different "rooms" that would be your own space yours would be in the attic and he would have his in the basement but you two would still have your bed room

Ony never letting you know what he does for work but he keeps you safe and happy so you push your suspensions aside

You and Ony being the cutest together like your head over heels for him and he completely adores you

You being onys entire world and universe sun and all with the brightest smile on your pretty face and biggest heart

You both having to learn to love but know you want to be with each other for the rest of your lives so you push through the rough patches

Ony cooks and you bake

Ony doing the bathroom, dish, taking out the trash, fixing things, lawn work, bills, bugs, ect

You organizing, decorates, takes care of the dogs, cleans laundry, houses maintenance, groceries, ect

You and Ony who spoil each other rotten and love it

You doing Ony's hair and it's just a cute moment between you two every few weeks one of you will set up the bathroom before going to get the other then you'll sit on the sink with him in front of you most off the time it's quiet as Ony watches you concentrate

You rarely buying Ony gifts because you're always making something for him

You never being able to get enough of Ony

You have the prettiest garden with flowers herbs and fruits that you somehow managed to scared the dogs away from and plug!Ony will some times ask for help when growing his weed

- smut

Definitely the daddy dom of your my dreams he can be the sweetest softest dom ever or the scariest brat tamer but a pleasure dom either way

You almost being apillow princess bc Ony loves being the one to make you cum just by using you but you knowing how to suck it off the bone and neither of you can resist having him down your throat

You being a sweetheart but when you aren’t you can get a horrible attitude and smart mouth only Ony can handle because he knows how to keep your mouth full

Ony can't help but come inside of you so he pays for your birth control

Ony's 's so big and strong and so so big especially compared to you and you love it just the thought turns you on like just looking up at him while you standing next to him maybe holding his fingers and all you can do is squeeze your legs together

Ony fucking you in his hoodies

His voice is music to your ears but His praise will make you're eyes roll back and brain go dumb every time "Fuck you're so good baby just like that" "There you go ma"

You calling him daddy bc what is an Ony

Being each other's biggest eaters

Ony will pick you up and carry you away to your bedroom when he needs you and when you need him you’ll wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist or you’ll straddle his lap until he eventually gets it

You are definitely kinker then ony hands down and has to teach him things like

You liking soft intimate sex and Ony who fucks you so hard you go dumb almost every time And somehow he always knows which one you need

[satoruhour]

AFTERCARE

a/n: an aftercare collection from da old blog, enjoy! plus also i had an anon asking abt nanami aftercare !!! u read my mind lol / tagging @na-t0, @jabamin who do i tag !!!!!

wc: 2k

warnings: overall fluff, contains nsfw at the start, pet names for all, praise, protected sex, implied breeding, tickle fight (gojo), unprotected sex, creampie/breeding (geto & nanami), implied fwb, cuddling, unprotected sex, creampie/breeding (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“oh, good girl, that’s it,” gojo mumbles out breathlessly, forehead against yours as you both come together. his lips continue to mutter out praises because he knew how much they affected you, and he hopes that you’d forget all of his saccharine words just so he could make you shiver and whimper all over again. your back arches into his hold one last time, digging your nails into his back.

“you did so well for me — shit — i didn’t think you still had any energy left,” gojo laughs breathlessly at how tired you two were after a mission, yet you know none of you could hold back on each other when passion took over. there’s a slight smile lingering on his face at your sweat-filled forehead and heaving chest and he loves, loves that he’s the only one to make you feel this way. the way moonlight weaves through the window makes you look stunning, and gojo’s smile can’t help but widen.

“what?”

he shrugs, removing his flaccid cock from you and eventually, the condom from himself. he ties a knot quickly, dumping it into the trash beside the bed, but before he can make a move to the bathroom to get you a wet towel, he feels your weight on his arm. it makes his heart flutter and sends shivers down his spine at the thought of doing away with contraception altogether — how would you look with his baby? who’s features would they get? what— 

“satoru.” gojo snaps out of his stupor, observing silently while you moved across the bed to him (hell, you sometimes forget he has a king sized), kneeling so you’d almost be at his height. “why were you smiling at me earlier?”

he eyes you with a levelled stare, grin turning into a smirk, “nah, no, it was nothing, baby.”

“hmm… really?” your arms hang limply over his shoulders, “i feel like i should know, you know.”

gojo simply winks, cutting off the teasing atmosphere with a deep kiss before he takes advantage of the situation, hands flying to your sides and you yelp, loudly. your laughter breaks through the quietness at 1am, making your stomach hurt and body squirmy.

“just planning a tickle attack s’all, princess.”

“y-you— fiend!” you try your best to escape the torture, but gojo is relentless in seeing you suffer, his laughter mixing with yours as his initial agenda is yet again interrupted. “satoru!” you both collapse into the soft sheets, giggles slowly subsiding to broad smiles as you admire the other, and him, you.

“god, you’re beautiful.” gojo’s stare bores into you and you avoid eye contact just like every other time he’s told you that, but your lover made it a point to make it clear to you.

“i love you, my pretty girl.”

✶ GETO

geto doesn’t stop giving you kisses even when he releases in you, helping you through the overstimulation by holding you tight until the euphoric feeling subsides and everything halts. there’s a moment of quietness, save for some concerned questions from your boyfriend like he hadn’t just blown your back out.

“sweetheart? you okay?” his eyebrows knit together, always worried that he might’ve hurt you in any way. but you’re always too tired to answer after, simply settling for a delicate hand to his face and a faint nod.

“kiss me,” it comes out as a whisper and dies out, dazed and still on cloud nine and geto indulges you like the lovestruck lover he is. even if he doesn’t need your palm to guide him, he lets your hand bring him right to your lips where they lay waiting. his kiss is soft, unlike before, moulding against your lips perfectly and like always, it makes you sigh and smile. “how’re your lips always so soft?”

geto smiles, hair falling from his loose hair tie. it shields his face and you think he looks like a greek god. “they just are, darling.”

your boyfriend’s always prepared when it comes to cleaning you up, so he usually has towels draped across the bedside table’s railing. wetting it with some water, he warns you gently with the free hand that strokes your thigh.

“but i also sorta use the lip balm gojo uses.” he cheekily admits, hand still diligently wiping at your core. he makes sure to cover it one, twice, thrice, before turning around to stand up. “i can buy it and we’ll share it instead.”

from here, his eyes skim over how the sheets cover you, and how your pose is provocative yet guarded — like an unnamed muse in a romanticism painting. there’s a teasing tone in your smile, a slow and languid drag to your movements. your dramatic gasp cuts off his thoughts, and your acting falls apart when you see geto’s jaw dropping in faux shock, “so you’ve been indirectly kissing your best friend this whole time? how dare you, suguru?”

geto slaps you lightly with the towel, laughing, “you’re crazy.”

“and that’s why you love me.”

he simply rolls his eyes, crawling back onto the bed to come face to face with you, the you who’s still feeling a bit playful, the you who grins at him and thinks that you like your suguru unkempt and messy and drunk in love with you.

the kiss tastes a bit like cigarettes, a little less prominent than earlier, but it tastes like him, nevertheless. “yeah, yeah. although, you’re the only one i’d wanna kiss — no one else, but you.”

✶ NANAMI

nanami groans into your neck with a final thrust, skin feeling the way your body shivered and trembled at how his cock twitches in you. he pumps you full, drinking in the moans of his name and he stays sheathed in you, face buried in your neck like none other. you realise it’s his favourite position — to stay close to you, to feel your pulse, to hear the almost inaudible sounds.

“you’re perfect, fuck,” nanami says, breathless, body propped up with his elbows by your ears; and of course you’ve heard your lover swear — at gojo, at some stubborn curse, at the terrible dishwasher in your home in kuantan and at you, sometimes, but never said like this. nanami looks at you like you’ve the breeze of the beach and the sunset that dips below the horizon.

you had the privilege of seeing that everyday, yet nanami choses to look at you each time, even if you’re always fixated on the scene. today you get the chance to see the love he has stored for you within his irises, and before you can retaliate, you feel his lips on you. nanami moans into the kiss, the need to feel you again taking over him as he deepens it, kissing down your jaw and neck and chest until you remember the abandoned pancake batter you were mixing.

“kento, honey,” he hums into your chest, acting like a child dreading school. “we can’t leave the batter out in the open.”

nanami grunts, “just leave it. i’ll cook eggs and have some kaya on toast or something later.”

“but that’s exactly why we decided to cook pancakes!” you laugh softly, hands running through his blonde hair. it’s starting to whiten a bit, too, but you don’t mind. if anything, he makes getting old look good, “to have a change from our normal breakfast.”

nanami sighs, blinking tiredly at you as he lifts his head to look at you, and every time he fails to resist your expression. you’re not even doing anything, sitting there looking pretty and your husband simply can’t fathom the action of saying ‘no’. he doesn’t want to move from his place — because your profile against the endless stretch of the ocean is a vision he never thought would come true.

nanami gives in, like he always does.

“fine, you win.”

you cheer with a big grin that escalates into giggles as nanami sweeps you off the sheets, placing a kiss against your temple. he smiles at you, at the possibility of living here until he dies; and if that possibility is compromised, he’d fight to make it okay again. he would bring them to hell himself if he could.

nanami kento never liked killing curses, but for you, he would spill blood again just to keep you safe.

✶ TOJI

toji never gave up the chance to fuck you stupid, always propped up in some dingy motel while the money from his sorcerer missions are left on the bedside table. he has yet to splurge it, the need to gamble getting less and less the more and more he sees you. he grunts into your hair behind as your hands make a mess of the vanity table — both too needy today to use the bed — one hand under your leg and the other on your waist as he spills into you.

“that’s a good girl,” your pupils are blown wide at the unexpected orgasm as his cum spurts into you, hitting you like a truck that you’re begging for toji to slow down until he pulls out and his cum drips to the floor. but you notice he doesn’t scoop it up and tease you like always, he doesn’t tell his little insults while slipping on his pants, nor does he avoid aftercare like the lazy and non-chivalrous man he was — no, you notice the silent movements of toji. he was never this quiet, surprising you even more when he sits on the bed.

“what the hell are you starin’ at?” his eyes are locked on the floor, the distance from your to the bed a few mere steps yet it felt like crossing the globe.

you swallow. after all, he was still a large, bulking man, and while his gruff voice did wonders, it always made you a little terrified out of sex. “oh— uhm, nothing.” with another sigh from him, your curiosity gets the better of you, inching towards him with cautious steps. “toji-san?”

his hands are hesitant to reach out towards you, but they make haste to grip onto your waist and although they’re nothing like the rough ones earlier, you still get a flutter in your heart at how big his hands seem to be. they wrap around your waist before his head falls onto your stomach. too scared to ask, you just settle for playing with his hair, content with the warmness of the embrace.

“you’re making me confused.”

frowning, you raise his head from his safe place, “how so?”

you’re careful, because you know about toji’s past through rumours, you know about his hesitancy to show vulnerability. you’re holding his heart, and you’re hoping the words you mutter out don’t shatter and make him bleed again. toji grunts, yanking you down to sit beside him before staring into space as the night winds down. you can both hear the rooms quietening down and the world going to sleep.

“i don’t like this.”

and your heart breaks, because of how toji hates love and how every experience has never ended positively. we fuck and i leave, got it? if you tell me you like me or something, i’m breaking this off. so you lean forward to hold his cheek, offering a small smile. ironic that he’s told you that and yet he feels like he’s the one who broke his own rule.

“it’s okay if you don’t, i’ll be here no matter how you’re feeling; i won’t even say a word.”

toji curls his lip in disgust, but you know he doesn’t mean it when he grabs your hand, “that line was cheesy. i fuckin’ hate it.”

“it was good, i liked it.”

he only shakes his head with a sigh and lies down along with a gesture that says are you coming or what? before your smile is uncontainable and you’re moving to his side. even if you’ve only known what his body feels against you, you’re already hoping it’d happen again and toji reluctantly feels the same, wrapping an arm around your waist with lips to your hair. your heart soars when he doesn’t move away from your hand interlacing with his.

“not a word.”

you giggle at his tone, and the harshness of it. and if you read in between the lines, you’d see that there’s a bit of endearment in him, you just hoped you had the rest of your life to make him love love again.

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

The Rival (Chapter 2)

(Summary: Alastor sought to possess one of the only does in Pentagram City for the rut season, however, you wanted a mate, not a master. But what happens when a handsome new buck shows up one day and tries to capture your attention away from the Radio Demon. Who will you choose?)

Hey, so here is part two as promised (I rewrote it like 40 times 😅) please continue keep in mind that it's just practice for a beginner's writing class

***

Alastor POV

GOD, DAMN HIM ALL OVER AGAIN! How dare this bastard come into HIS territory and make eyes at HIS adorable doe. And how could Charlie, the naïve ninny, allow this…this interloper into their hotel as a guest? Going as far as to prevent him from watering the front lawn with the other male’s blood (and perhaps impaling his head on the entrance gate) in warning for any other foolish would-be usurper. He felt that the spice garden could use some Canadian reindeer mulch.

 Alastor couldn’t help but feel he was behind the eight ball thanks to his agreement with the Princess to not lay a finger on any who sought the hotel’s services; however, she even placed the rake next to your room. It seemed like she expected you to show him around and ensure he acclimated to the new environment without issue. To be a friend to this new guest. Was there no end to Charlie’s flagrant disrespect?!

You had had to walk him down to breakfast once because he had gotten “lost” in the hallways and ended up “accidentally” darkening your door asking for assistance. However Alastor knew it was intentional on the misguided reindeer’s part. It was as if James thought he could capture your heart within the span of a five-minute walk to the lobby. Nonsense. But, Alastor noticed how you sported a slight blush when you rejoined the others, with the newest guest in tow by the hand, in response to whatever inane attempt at charm he had thrown your way.

If the flannel fiend wished for a duel, Alastor would gladly oblige.

He had made certain that his precious doe’s hotel door frame was properly marked with scoring from his antlers and his shadow insisted on being posted on guard at night in case of any “lost” reindeer. This didn’t seem to bother you, as your instincts most likely told you to let the males fight it out, so he continued his pissing contest. For instance, no matter where you were, so was Alastor. He continuously shirked his hotel duties in favor of gluing himself to you and if he wasn’t (very publicly) rubbing against your neck or hair to leave traces of his heavy musk, and attempting to jump-start your heat with his pheromones, he was feeding you from the same plate as himself or whispering sweet words into your sensitive ears.

Oh yes, he saw with satisfaction how your ears twitched in contact with his warm breath and how you shivered slightly at his honeyed words of love. He also didn’t miss the glare that the Canadian continuously shot towards him, and aimed a shit-eating grin of his own right back, as you once again unconsciously relaxed into Alastor’s side.

***

Oh yes, The Radio Demon was absolutely certain that HIS doe would choose HIM as the superior mating option like she did every season over the trash that begged for a mere glance from her direction. HE was the one who always provided protection for her during this fragile time. HE always saw to her meals and ensured her nutrition as is the responsibility of the courting male. And HE was the one who you harbored romantic feelings for.

…Those same warm feelings that slept within him as well…

Alastor tried to shut the thought down before his mind strangled itself in a black cloud of doubt. To say that he was wholly unfamiliar with genuine romance, even throughout his many decades in Hell, was an understatement.

He huffed heavily through his nose.

Carmilla better have a good reason for dragging him away from his territory at such a time. As he begrudgingly made his way to the overlord meeting, Couldn't look weak during a season now could he? Alastor reflected on the last time he had allowed his heart to open itself for another long ago. It ended in his technological "friend" nearly voiding him to make a quick buck.

 …Never again…

 It certainly didn’t help his mood that the start of the rut season was ever hot on Alastor’s heels, but he could only wait for his pheromones to trigger his doe’s heat so every second away from you felt frustratingly wasted. He wondered if your body was taking longer than usual in response to the multiple suitors.

…What if she’s with him…

He shook his head as if trying to forcefully repel the vision of you accepting the other male’s advances. Laughing at James’s crude sense of humor turning into allowing him to drift ever closer to you and eventually seizing his chance to- no, his doe would never betray him.

...She's not mine...

It felt like a stone had settled in the pit of Alastor’s stomach at the thought of you being moved even emotionally by another. Ok fine! He was not the most romantically inclined during the rest of the year, but it wasn’t like you weren’t well aware of this relationship's transaction.

…What if she throws me away too?...

Alastor’s grip nearly broke his cane in half, but he didn’t notice in his shock at such an intrusive thought. She’d never reject him. He remembered how it felt like the whole of Hell suddenly stopped spinning the moment he found you hunched and bloody from defending yourself after an entire herd of bucks had stalked and cornered you in an alleyway. He normally never went out during a rut (can’t let anyone see his body’s weakness) but, even from the hotel, he had smelled something too alluring to ignore. A doe in heat.

Alastor thought you were magnificent in your demon form; legs bent like an actual cervid, claws sharp as knives, and covered in the blood of those filthy bucks who tried to take you by force. Even now the image continues to take his breath away.  

…I know her heart needs more…what if I …

No, that is not what this agreement is. You used him and he used you. Just like every other lost soul in Hell, you were leveraging your Satan-given circumstance to better your situation under his powerful allowances. Romance was merely a tool at best and a distraction at worst (Alastor tried to convince himself).

…What if her body chooses the other male’s pheromones…

He stopped dead in his tracks, just a short distance from the Carmine compound, as the surrounding windows shattered, and nearby demons fled from the intensity of his sudden static outburst. He felt his antlers grow and his bones shift in the fury that overcame him at the image of you held under the other man. Keening and gasping James’s name in your desperation to find relief from your heat. A loud snarl escaped him. Dammit! He never should have left her!

…What if his name is on her lips right now??!...

 Alastor had never phased through the shadows so fast in his afterlife.

***

Your POV

The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun once you felt yourself suddenly pulled into a suffocating nothingness, you opened your eyes to see that James was being violently shaken around in the air like a ragdoll. Only then did the blood in your ears stop pounding long enough for you to hear the sharp screeching of a ruined record and the overwhelming sensation of staticky pinpricks uncomfortably all over your body. Your instincts kicked in and you immediately scanned the yard for the cause of the disruption though you already knew its source as Alastor’s shadow was winding around your body protectively, but also in a restraining manner.

Your eyes searched for Alastor and found him, standing in between you and the flailing reindeer, to be almost unrecognizable in the most demonic appearance you have ever seen him and it broke your heart. Shit, he must have seen James kiss you and maybe even heard what you two had discussed. His body was completely stretched out and bent at impossible angles as he laughed manically at his rough treatment of James and snarled wildly, “HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON MY MATE!!!!”.

“ALASTOR! STOP IT!”, you cried out in hopes of capturing his attention away from James, but it seemed as though your voice had only made things worse as Alastor flung his prey high into the air with another laugh before turning his attention towards you.

Heavy footsteps rumbled through the air as Alastor stomped towards you menacingly slow like a predator taking his sweet time in devouring its next meal and you pulled at his shadow with all you were worth to free yourself of its confining hold. “Please wait!”, you pleaded with the Radio Demon (this wasn’t Alastor anymore). Surely he was about to kill you just like every other demon who he felt had crossed him and their screams and lifeless eyes danced in your memory, but, until now, you had never felt fear of the same fate. You knew hot tears were pouring down your cheeks and you tried to look as small as possible as the giant deer finally made his way towards you with the most strained smile you had ever seen split his face. It seemed like the green stitches that lined the smile were about to pop and you saw the black void of The Radio Demon’s eyes that were pinpointed by fastmoving golden dials.

You could only continue to sob and whimper out pleas for your life, quickly losing your voice in desperation, as Alastor kneeled down and bent his neck to look into your eyes before growling fiercely in your face. It wasn’t really understandable, but it sounded like the accusation that you could see in his twisted face and your heart sank even further. Of course, he must be feeling betrayed and angry, however, he also looked a bit…hurt? It was only for a moment but you were sure of what you saw and it made you wonder if this was really because he felt mating competition from the other male. You couldn’t ponder this any further, though, because you were suddenly whisked away from the hold of Alastor’s shadow in a vice of muscled arms, a firm chest, and white fur.

The fuck?!

“GIVE HER BACK TO MEEE!!!!”, Alastor roared so loud that your ears began to bleed and tighten even further against your skull.

You were quickly placed onto the safety of the hotel’s nearby back porch and looked up to your new kidnapper, only for your mind to completely blank as you took in James’s transformed body and the eerily powerful aura that radiated from his very soul. He walked in a circling motion towards Alastor as the two sized each other up. James now had two sets of strong, bent deer-like legs that attached to the abdomen of, what you assumed to be, a huge reindeer. His humanoid torso connected to the deer body and his shoulders to his head was adorned with spikes of thick, black antlers that grew more massive and curved as they reached the crown of his hairline. You recognized this form.

Dude was a freaking cervitaur? Wait…are DxD characters actually real??!

You noticed that thin vines lined his antlers with small, colorful flowers growing on them and that with each powerful step he took new plants sprouted from the contact of his hooves with the ground. James’s expression was marred with a threatening look towards Alastor and he began to kick out his back legs into the dirt as he twisted his, now thicc neck, from side to side in a warning display of his impressive but deadly rack.

The Radio Demon didn’t back down, however, returning the gesture as he coiled his body before both demons sprinted directly at each other as two harsh cervid howls rang out through the air like a thunderclap.

***

I really hope that you liked reading this! I enjoyed focusing on Alastor's side of things and James's demon transformation that is actually inspired by a DxD character. The cervidtaur, though James's powers will differ a bit, I believe that the fight of the next part will show off how awesome of a character design it is. 😊(See the pic below) I think I spent like a week researching reindeer aggression signs and how to write in a dude's pov 😂

Taglist: I hope I did this right!

@Xalygatorx , @songbirdpond , @bitter-rabittt, @sakuraluna2468, @cinnamon-galaxies, @speedycoffeedelight, @diffidentphantom, @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this, @eris-norwega, @anngray1369, @ladyadrasteia666, @wends, @prime-in-time-and-space, @supeersimpeer, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @type-ink, @fantasyhopperhea, @martinys-world, @apad-ravya, @galaxywolf3, @thoughfullovercreator, @Boogiemansbitch, @helluva-simper, @alastorsgirl48, @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog, @need-a-life-or-grass, @michi-keinz, @milkissesx, @ari42, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard, @lil-glum, @amariskygal, @strawberryoverlord1893, @cherry-cola-100, @noellebellq, @lettuce-frog16, @junieshohoho, @phoephan-123, @dreamraven13

[mychemicalweevil]

Alectopause is hitting again and I’m vibrating from espresso so welcome to…

The Unofficial TLT Coffee Shop AU Caffeine Rating

(aka, how much caffeine would that necromancer require to function in Harrow’s coffee shop AU)

1. Dulcinea

Would caffeine probably be contraindicated for her meds/treatments? Yes. Would she drink quadruple shots anyway? Absolutely. She’d like to stay awake sometimes, thank you. HtN Dulcinea would love pretending to be a hard-boiled detective drinking black coffee and smoking first thing in the morning.

2. Abigail

She seems perpetually caffeinated, although she’d use different types of tea to keep her caffeine high going throughout the day rather than just espresso. Coffee beans are a very easy present for her students to get her (because she Has to be a university professor in every feasible AU). She’d lie down when Magnus is ready for bed at night, then get back up as soon as he falls asleep because she’s still wide awake and has ideas to write down. She’s replying to student emails at 4am, and no one is sure if she ever actually sleeps.

3. Palamedes

So many shots of espresso it becomes a problem. Would be higher on the list, except: Camilla secretly started swapping out his drinks with higher and higher concentrations of decaf. He thinks he developed a tolerance since he stopped having heart palpitations, but really it was Cam. She was scared he might break.

4. Ianthe

She doesn’t need caffeine to function but she’d actually enjoy the taste of espresso. Coffee isn’t great when you’re iron deficient/anemic but she wouldn’t care; it’s part of the aesthetic. Terrible coffee breath (sorry girl, me too though).

5. Judith

Requires exactly one cup of coffee in the morning. Two if it’s been a bad day. It’s not much, but if she breaks routine she gets a headache and is scary. Would scoff at the idea of putting flavors in her coffee, but she’d like it if she tried.

6. Coronabeth (necromancer-adjacent, aka I just wanted to include her)

She’d order trendy drinks with lavender in them to flirt with the baristas. When she leaves the shop, she’d take a few sips, then trash the whole thing (or give it to Babs if it tastes really terrible). Straight espresso is not her vibe but she’s trying.

7. Isaac

Abigail doesn’t let him have caffeine but he and Jeannemary would sneak coffee out of her office (and hate it. Also Abigail 100% knows they took some). If allowed to develop a taste for coffee, he’d become an absolute fiend.

8. Silas

He doesn’t drink coffee because it’s sinful. It would rock his world if he tried it, though.

9. Harrow

Coffee would be her end. It has too much flavor and would make her tiny bird heart explode. She doesn’t need it as she runs entirely on spite. Doesn’t mind the smell, though (especially when barista!Gideon comes home from work).

[cusackswhitehair]

Hallo!

asking for romantic! hoarder alex hcs :]

(I love this stinky italian a little too much lol)

//Desc: Certainly, I was soo waiting for this one!! And no worries, that numbskull is hard not to love if you manage to look through like…every attribute of his! But this was certainly a really fun time, because it is physically impossible to imagine this guy not being in a total blindzone when it comes to romance. I also made this one non-gender specific for all Hoarder Alex kissers alike! Thanks for the request as always!! \\

𐙚｡⋆♡ 💌 Hoarder Alex Romantic Headcanons 🗯️ 𐙚｡⋆♡

————————————————————————————

When it comes to Alex and love, he has the same philosophy like with his trinkets ; he sees something he likes and he will make it his purpose in life to know it as his. His science end here though, the whole operation tumbling down as if it was a fascinating car wreck. It’s insulting how much he lacks the ability to flirt when he puts in the effort. “So uhm— do…do angels have names?” “I’m sorry?” “C-Cause—like you’re an angel, as…as like, like I—HHNG FORGET IT! PORCA MISERIA!!” It is quite painful to watch, his skills only seem to work when he’s infuriated, (not a difficult state to keep him in) his passion blooms the best mid crash-out and it’s quite beautiful in a way.

Alex — for a lack of a better word, has numerous foes and fiends to his name, so just brush it off when you pull up at his bridge and find him having quite a squabble with someone. “KEEP ROAMING AROUND MY BRIDGE AND YOU PAY THE PRICE, YOU GOT THAT SFIGATO—oh, hey babe, you’re here early, cool.”

Belive it or not, despite how much of a deadbeat Alex can seem for first glance, he writes poems. More importantly, poems for you, he does have quite the firey passion inside of him and he SOMETIMES doesn’t waste it on smugly sitting on his trash bags and yelling at people walking by like a madman. He writes his poems in blank those files he loves to organize, well now we know, the man is quite the troubadour!

Him and his partner would find the best common ground in the people they hate. The gossip puts highschool girls into SHAME. “That jerk has been eyeing my things all day, look at those eyes, he’s got shifty eyes and they’re shifting on MY PROPERTY!” “Yeah, and that hairstyle is atrocious.” “YEAH—wait, hm?”

Unfortunately, he is definetely one of those guys who would brag about how they used to DJ. While that in and of itself is tragic, don’t knock until you tried it! Some regulars in the Purge Event do seem to know the guy very well and they’re far from complaining.

He is also the type of guy who, after a harsher argument between the two of you — would to pull up in front of your house in the middle of the night and start blaring cheesy love songs, making sure he will wake everyone up in a ten meter area.

He is keen on PDA, being ridiculously posessive he will always be holding your hand in public, standing by your side, chirping into your conversations with people. He is also quite effective as an unexpected body guard, if he senses someone overstepping your boundaries, the offender won’t hear the end of it. And don’t even get me started on catcallers…

You’re probably one of the few people who ever got to touch his hoard, and since it is simply a goldmine of funky trinkets, you often find yourself spending the whole day by his bridge, idly chatting along, sneaking under the bridge to steal a kiss or two like two giggling teenagers on Lovers’ Lane. It’s quite a lovely schedule.

No matter how much he wants to keep up the façade about himself — he complains to his partner all the time. About how hard and unfathomable his job is, about how bad his back hurts, about how he “can’t walk for too long!” because he’s got clubfoot (he doesn’t, he’s just lazy). Just pray he doesn’t catch the flu, that man will act like he’s on his death bed.

Alex loves to huddle up with his partner, it sort of seems to be in his nature, him being…how do I say this? Full-figured. It’s easy to just grab onto him and never let go, not to mention how aerodynamic he is! His droopy face is always curved just enough so that he can hide his nose into your neck and curl his tail around your leg while he’s at it. Deserved after all of that hard work he does (being a compulsive slacker)!

Hiding behind his overly tetchy temperament, he can bottle up his emotions and stay silent when something hurt him. Make sure to check up on him sometimes, he’d appriciate it.

If you think he’s masking his feelings well enough, think again and look down at his tail. It’s always a perfect indicator to tell you if he’s actually mad at you or not. But don’t tease him about it please, he has it rough enough.

————————————————————————————

[demialwrites]

FF7 x Reader

Annoying things about being in a relationship with them

Rufus Shinra

He knows how to clean surprisingly decently because of his time confined to Turk HQ in Before Crisis but stubbornly refuses to do certain things. It's 'beneath him'

Even if you're on birth control or otherwise can't get pregnant, it doesn't matter. He's wearing a condom and how dare you suggest otherwise

He takes up all the space in the closet because of all the layers he insists on wearing

He insists on taking his dog everywhere, even if you explain it terrifies some people. For example: your poor parents

Rude

There's a third wheel in this relationship and his name starts with a Re and ends with a No

Rude is very romantic. However, he only barely has time so his gestures happen spontaneously and it's hard to plan around his schedule

Often comes home with injuries and you're the one who has to patch him up and worry about him. He doesn't worry about himself

He prefers to show not tell. You have to learn how to read him with a glance

Reno

There's a third wheel in this relationship and his name is Rude

His insecurity randomly spikes and he gets mega jealous, sometimes with threats at the offending party

Very loud. All the time

Gets broody about things he has to do at work and sometimes nothing you do will help

Gets whiney when you don't have the stamina to have sex all damned night

Cloud

Cannot communicate his needs. Does not know what his needs are. WHAT ARE NEEDS?

Everyone flirts with him but if you try to talk to him about it, he never noticed the flirting in the first place

Sometimes cute animals follow him home and oops, one day you have seven cats, fifteen chickens, four dogs, several chocobos, and one of those giant elephant fiends because it was injured and alone. You didn't sign up to live at a zoo but here you are, shoveling elephant shit every day

Occasionally, one of his hair spikes stab you straight in the eye when he's being the little spoon

Barret

Thinks he can fix everything himself when sometimes you just need him to listen

Like Reno, Barret can be quite loud. If you like peace, sometimes you have to take some space. It makes the big guy sad

Not very detail-oriented. Leaves little things like ammo all over the garage/shed floor and small bits of trash all over the house. He meant to pick it up, honest!

Occasionally breaks the bed

Tseng

You can't be spontaneous for shit because he anticipates everything

He has certain cleaning standards but he doesn't always tell you. He just redoes it himself

Must be the one to clean and iron his suit himself or he will get annoyed

His handwriting is annoyingly perfect and it makes you feel bad about your chicken scratch

Elena

Puts herself in danger way too often. She doesn't understand your horrified reaction to her story of how she jumped out of a helicopter onto a moving dune buggy in the middle of the Corel desert

It can be hard to tell if she's actually angry or just venting

You know more about her work than is probably safe for you

Too spontaneous. She sometimes makes important decisions without consulting you first

Reeve

Main bad habit: he is a workaholic

Sometimes puts others needs before yours. He's just trying to help

Doesn't take good care of his health

Uses the sad puppy eyes to get out of arguments more often than he should

Sometimes leaves spare cait siths and his parts all over the living room

[leithillustration]

Well more like Sunday Silliness but I've not got a banner for that (yet) XD

Thank you @nausikaaa for the early tag, I love me some stats! It’s awesome you hit 100k words 🩵 I have written about 100 words total this week, documented here.

I'm deeply entrenched in Realm of the Elderlings chaotic brainrot, having almost finished Fool's Fate (still one hour left to listen to and I keep dragging it out because I'm not ready). So to soothe The Traumas™️, I've been doodling the Fool and noting down silly scenes that make me laugh both with and at myself. I apologise in advance.

The colours aren’t right for the first doodle but I don’t have a white posca pen 🥲 Second sketch is based on a bust of some 18th century noble who had wonderful aristocratic features I had to borrow for Lord Golden.

And now for some Ass Quest era trash:

Fool: Fitz! Fitz! Wake up! Fitz: Umph, what, what is it? Are you okay? Fool: I think a dog crawled down my throat while I was sleeping! Fitz: You— what? Fool: Because now I’m awake my voice feels very… Husky. Fitz: -groans- Fool (laughing): Nighteyes said that was sure to make you howl with laughter. Nighteyes: I did not.

I'll see myself out. But not before leaving another dumb scene under the cut

Fool: (arrives in Aslevjal with Realder’s Dragon and a smoothie) Dutiful: What on earth have you got there?! Fool: A smoothie Dutiful: No I meant the dra— Fitz (used to dragons and Beloved’s antics): What the heck is a smoothie? Prilkop (prophesied this all decades ago, rushing forward desperately): What flavour smoothie?!?

Does anyone really want to be tagged in this? Probably not. Especially since I know most (if not all) of you from a different fandom 😬 Am I hounding you anyway? Yes. Yes I am. (Haha hounded. Pun only slightly intended this time 🐺)

As always, tags are pressure free and sent with love

@youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @alexalexinii @cattocavo @that-disabled-princess

@orange-peony @cutestkilla @rimeswithpurple @larkral @best--dress

@scribble-tier @theimpossibledemon @artsyunderstudy @raenestee @thewholelemon

@nightimedreamersworld @itriednottothinkaboutit @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @angelsfalling16

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @monbons @katatsumuli @fiend-for-culture

@aristocratic-otter @snowbazdaily @argumentativeantitheticalg @lovelyladzzzz @tragediegh

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Roman Bridger

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Sorry if you're allergic to cats...guess you'll just die then.)

- You're a good mother....

- ...Well a good cat mother, but maternal instinct knows no bounds, right? Especially in relation to a twenty something year old female with far too much time on her hands. You had to wrench your kitten out of an alleyway full of cobwebs in order to save it's life, but you don't regret a single second of it. The fading scars on your forearms from his defensive assaults and the bricks that caged him are just a reminder of how far you've come; how well you've taken care of your now mild mannered little man.

- You love Boxes with every inch of your being, so much so that even total strangers can see it: total strangers like Roman Bridger, the man who's lived in your apartment complex even longer than you have. He can still remember the night you came home with the little thing cradled in your arms: kept close to you and away from the cold regardless of how filthy his fur had been; covered in dirt and trash and dust bunnies.

- He was in the lobby looking through his mail when he heard you walk in, cooing at and lightly scolding the stray as it sat cocooned in your jacket, hissing at you in response to your kindness. His throat had gone dry at the sound of your voice, at the sight of pride on your face; a sight which even the dirt on your skin couldn't sully. You were the most invigorating thing he'd ever seen, and he'd decided in that moment that he had to have you.

- Roman had caught glimpses of you around the building since the day you'd moved in, always just missing you as you went up and down the stairs or in and out of your apartment. He'd had no real interest in you up until that moment, always too absorbed in his own life to bother paying attention to yours. The two of you lived on opposite ends of the same floor, separated enough to where it really didn't matter if he introduced himself or not. You had other neighbors, and you typically ran on different schedules; you hardly even knew he existed and he didn't go out of his way to make himself known.

- But suddenly, he felt as though he had to get to know you: get to know the type of person who could take something in off the street and care for it unconditionally. Someone who would fight tooth and nail to love something: who would refuse to fail in their attempts to save it even as it pained them, even as they punished them for it. In the back of his mind, he knew this obsession of his was a product of his upbringing, but he simply didn't care. You were everything he'd ever wanted, and he wasn't going to let you get away...

- He watched for months as you cultivated a relationship with the little fiend: watched as the scratches on your hands and arms began to disappear, replaced by patches of loose fur hanging off of your clothing. He watched as you bought food and toys and everything else it could ever need, and eventually, he watched as your precious pet began meeting you at your door, curling around your ankles every time you returned home.

- It's a tale as old as time: pet owner leaves door slightly ajar while bringing in groceries, and their animal takes the chance to dash out and run away.

- Admittedly, Boxes had simply been sitting in your doorway, patiently waiting for you as you made your way back to your car for the final few bags that you needed to bring in. But you didn't know that. You were still hunched inside your trunk when Roman returned home and scaled the steps to your shared floor, catching sight of the feline as he fished his keys out of his pocket. He'd made sure that you were gone before he'd done anything, locking eyes with the furball as he kneeled down and called him over, watching as Boxes happily trotted towards him and allowed himself to be pet.

- You were still nowhere to be found as he scooped him up and weighed his options, glancing down the staircase to ensure that you wouldn't catch him as he carried Boxes into his own apartment, dropping him delicately onto his couch. He felt a little bad hearing you later in the day, calling for your lost pet as you searched your apartment and the hallways outside of it, but he soothed himself with the knowledge that he was creating a classic love story. He'd always wanted to make one after all....

- He kept Boxes for about a week: up until you started asking around and hanging up Missing posters, giving him the perfect excuse to finally approach you. He'd practiced in the mirror before he'd made his way over, checking his appearance a couple times before scooping Boxes up and knocking on your door.

- He'd given you a friendly yet sheepish smile when you'd answered, watching your face light up with relief and excitement upon seeing Boxes safe in his arms. He'd apologized for worrying you, claiming that he'd found him wandering the streets a couple days earlier and had been taking care of him ever since: that he just feels terrible knowing that he's kept him from you, and that it's such a coincidence that the two of you ended up being neighbors.

"I've only had him for a couple days, but I'm sure I'm gonna miss him now that he's gone. I should have known he wasn't a stray, he's too sweet to be living on the street." He'd gushed, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling at you.

"Well, you're welcome to visit him any time you'd like. It's the least I can do after you brought him back home to me." Came your reply: the very "in" that he'd been looking for with his perfectly orchestrated plan.

- Roman takes this offer as a chance to ask you out, catching up with you in the hallway a couple days later and claiming that he has something for Boxes, something he forgot he bought for him during their time together. You watch as he enters his apartment and comes out a few seconds later, brandishing a cat toy as he smiles at you and explains that he feels kind of silly keeping it around with no cat. You open your door for him and watch as Boxes happily greets the two of you; making a mental note of the fact that he very obviously approves of your rather attractive neighbor. Animals are always a good judge of character, right?

- You watch as Roman kneels down to pet him, stroking his fur before showing him the toy that he's brought over, tossing it across your floor for Boxes to run after and attack. You watch as your cat attempts war crimes on the colorful, feathery thing before you're interrupted by the sound of Roman asking you out to dinner, an offer you eagerly accept. He makes some plans with you before he leaves, giving you his number and promising to pick you up at a certain time the next day, saying goodbye to both you and your furry little friend.

- Your first date takes place at a rather expensive restaurant: one you're sure you couldn't afford to dine at if you weren't in the company of Roman Bridger, director. The more you learn about him, the more you seem to like him. He's everything a girl could ever want in a guy: sweet, funny, charming, accomplished. The type of person you could take home to your parents: the type of person who's good for you.

- It's all too easy to agree to another date by the time you're both returning home to your apartments, smiling at each other from across the hall as you unlock your doors and wave a final goodbye. It only takes another date or two before you share your first kiss.

- All it took was him looking up at you from his kneeling position on your floor, and you'd found yourself overcome with the unwavering urge to kiss him. You're sure he saw the expression on your face when your eyes finally met, his hand pausing in it's efforts to pet Boxes so that he could focus on you even more, raising up to his full height after a couple of moments and leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you softly.

- You didn't go all the way but you certainly came close to it, your kisses deepening as you made your way over to your couch, only ending when you ran out of breath and put a hand on his chest, holding him back as you both began to smile and chuckle breathlessly. He lightheartedly apologized and you brushed him off, teasingly telling him that you should say goodnight before things get out of hand.

- He presses a kiss to your lips, to your cheek, to your forehead, and finally back to your lips before murmuring goodnight, giving your hip a gentle squeeze before he stands up and straightens himself out, grinning at you as he makes his way over to your door.

"See you tomorrow?" He questions as he walks halfway out the door, beginning to close it behind him as he sticks his head in to look at you.

"Tomorrow." You confirm with a smile.

- Tomorrow and forever.

- I think that Roman naturally tries to keep your relationship somewhat private: especially if he intends on including you in some of his future schemes; whether you're fully conscious of what you're helping him accomplish or not. But I also think that he'd use the public and the paparazzi to his advantage if he ever felt threatened: purposefully outing you as his significant other in an attempt to pressure you into staying with him or to keep other men away from you; knowing that it'll be much harder for you to leave him when the entire world is keeping an eye on you and all of your decisions. So PDA in your relationship really just depends on how much your celebrity boyfriend wants the public to know about the two of you.

- The first thing you'll notice about Roman is that he acts differently when he's in different company, and his affection towards you oftentimes reflects that. He has a tendency to act dramatic and melt into you whenever you're on set with him: laying his head on your shoulder and/or hiding his face in some part of your body whenever his work is stressing him out. He tries to keep his affection to a minimum and mimic the relationship of a close friend and/or long time boss: wrapping his arm around you and leaning in close to mutter things in your ear; keeping things between you somewhat ambiguous and hiding your relationship in plain sight.

- He makes whoever takes notice of his actions or walks in on the two of you in a more intimate setting feel like they're the ones in the wrong, and that they're intruding on something they have no business telling anyone about. Though he acts unphased by the persons sudden interruption; stepping away from you smoothly or not moving a muscle until they hurriedly excuse themselves, his lack of guilt sends a very clear and obvious message: tell whoever you want, I'm still the one in control and you're still risking your job....

- When you're not in public together, he usually acts very sweet and clingy with you, loving to lay against you and seek comfort from your touch. It isn't uncommon for him to lay his head in your lap and feel you scratch at his scalp or wrap your arms around him, taking the time to talk about your days while you relax against one another and bask in the quietness of your surroundings.

- Hugs from behind and kisses on the cheek.

- Romans kisses have a tendency to vary: how he kisses you one day might be the opposite of how he kisses you the next; it all just depends on his mood and what he's trying to portray himself as. I think he'd try to act as normal as possible for as long as possible, kissing you soft and slow and sweet, trying to make himself seem like the kind and perfect boyfriend that he wants you to think of him as.

- When that mask of his starts to slip, his kisses take on a much more rushed and rougher feel: turning hungry and needy and passionate. He refuses to let you go or explain himself so you're oftentimes swept up in the emotion that he's suddenly pouring into you. And when you seem to thoroughly enjoy this more depraved version of him; teasingly asking "who" he was last night, he feels reassured in the idea of you being able to love him, the real him. Lets just say that things are never boring with him.

- When the two of you cuddle, he oftentimes treats you like an oversized stuffed animal: wrapping himself tightly around you and grumbling whenever you try to move away, burrowing his face in your hair and squeezing you just that tiny bit tighter. Since he's so whiny, you'd think that he'd complain about your hair getting in his face, but I feel like he'd get so used to it that he'd start having trouble sleeping without the feeling. P.s. it's crucial to him that you want to cuddle with him, so bonus points if you're equally as needy for snuggles.

- He mainly calls you honey but can get a little 'Jack Torrance' on you whenever you're upset with him or not listening: spouting off exaggerated pet names in an effort to get you to talk to or hear him out. He also might call you his partner in crime; sometimes even before you realize the extent of what that could mean....

- Being alone in his apartment after spending all week with you makes him feel like a miserable divorced man who still misses his wife. Everything bad that happens to him is because you aren't there with him, he uses every minor inconvenience and excuse to call you, and he's unnecessarily bored and stressed whenever he doesn't have you in the house with him; sitting in the other room and able to occasionally observe the same way you would a fish tank whenever he needs a break from whatever he's doing.

- You're kind of like his emotional support girlfriend: you go along with him to a lot of different places; especially when he thinks something is going to be a hassle and needs some reassuring company. You'll sit in his lap while he goes through all of his different movie cuts and rants to you about his work, squeezing and patting your thighs for emphasis whenever he gets really caught up in what he's saying. Or he'll pace around while you sit in his office and try your best to soothe him, cupping his face in your hands or rubbing his back while he whines and pouts and insists that "no, no everything isn't going to be alright".

- The two of you probably meet just as he's starting to get more credentials under his belt, so when he finally decides to move in to a new and much more expensive apartment/penthouse, he probably convinces you to move in with him. Although, even if you didn't actually move in, you're bound to spend a lot more time there than your own apartment.

- Growing up without a real family, Roman has always felt as though he's missed out on all the stereotypical experiences that one would have with all of their closest loved ones. So when he gets together with you and finally feels as though he has a genuine connection with someone, he's very eager to make memories and do all of the things that he's always yearned to do.

- Spending holidays together and indulging in all of the traditions that one would expect from them. Haunted houses, hay rides, ice skating, ski resorts, picking out trees, decorating together, etc. He might occasionally seem like he's too grown up for such arguably juvenile activities, but he's actually the one eagerly anticipating and planning things out; clearing your schedules and/or making a fuss over you being too busy/not wanting to participate.

- Roman is very passionate about his "visions". Regardless of what you're doing together, he usually has a very specific idea in his head about what it should look like, and will subsequently be very anal about making sure it's as close as possible to what he's imagining: whether he's picking out clothes for the two of you or decorating your house. It's simply what you get for dating an artistic and creative man.

- Him making home movies of you and/or taking a bunch of photos. It isn't uncommon for him to position you however he wants you, or to suddenly find him filming you; even if you're not doing anything special. You just have to get used to him cataloging your lives together, and understand that he's doing it because he loves you and thinks you're beautiful.

- Arguably trivial details can mean the world to him, and he'll oftentimes make something seem like a far bigger deal than it actually is. He'll insist that he needs to see you "asap" then ask about your opinion on something you simply don't see the importance of and/or have already talked to him about five times already. Expect him to obsess over every little detail and be very particular about things, showing up to your house at odd hours of the day because he needs to ask if you prefer Chantilly Lace or White Heron for the backdrop of his latest scene. Keep in mind: everything is important to Roman.

- Roman memorizes everything you say; almost to an alarming extent. Yes, it's romantic that he knows you like the back of his hand, but when he can guess what you're about to say down to the exact way that you were going to say it, it does occasionally give you the creeps.

- It's important to note that Roman has intense mommy issues, and that everything you expect from someone who grew up in his same predicament can be magnified ten times in relation to how he behaves. Abandonment issues, fear of rejection, trust issues, validation seeking: it's all a big part of his personality, and it's just something you're going to have to work with him on.

- Try your best to bring up/compliment the little details in his work that you think no one has noticed before. He'll immediately light up and gush about whatever it is, eagerly explaining it to you and showing off as he subtly fishes for more praise. He loves to flaunt his knowledge and talent; and to receive validation, so it's the perfect way to cheer him up whenever you think his stress is getting the best of him.

- Being invited on set. If you are allergic to cats then there's a good chance that you met him as his agent or secretary. Regardless, you've had a lot of amusing moments with his employees and their reactions to finding out that they've just flirted with their new bosses girlfriend.

- He's super sweet in private but can act like a little shit when you're out in front of other people: wanting to keep his reputation of being a cocky and obnoxious director up whenever you're around "the public". It might confuse you if you're unaware of his secret and more devious endeavors, not understanding why he'd want to be known as a stereotypical asshole, but you're just happy that he isn't like that all of the time.

- Meeting with him for lunch whenever he's particularly busy. He tries his best to always make at least a little time for you; even when his schedule is a bit hectic.

- Reminding him of work events and meetings that he has.

- Going to Hollywood house parties with him ...or not: he has a love hate relationship with the idea. You'll reassure him that nothing will happen to you and convince him to let you accompany him, but he'll still keep his hands on you the entire time, his grip on you tight, protective and unrelenting. Even as manage to stray a little ways away to look around or talk to different people, his eyes will continuously find you in the crowd and interrupt immediately if he doesn't like the way a certain interaction of yours looks.

- If he's really against the idea of you coming to the aforementioned parties, then he's bound to make it up to you by letting you accompany him to different dinner meetings and/or award shows: settings he deems as much more professional and safe.

- Five star restaurants and other expensive dates.

- He always remembers your anniversaries and does his best to make them special for you: never failing to make a sentimental little toast over a glass of champagne; whether you're comfortable at home or seated in a five star restaurant.

- Mini vacations. Beaches, resorts, cabin retreats, five star hotels, etc. He needs a break from his day to day life every so often, and since you've practically become a part of him, you're obviously coming along for the ride.

- Pool and hot tub dates.

- Movie dates where he overanalyzes the shit out of them: acting like a stereotypical pretentious film student as he gushes over their camera work and directing talents.

- Relaxing at home on your couches after a long day, drinking some wine and taking turns rubbing each others sore limbs: scratching scalps and smoothing hands down each others backs as you both collapse into odd and tired positions.

- Wholeheartedly denies having a favorite stuffed animal of yours, but still always grabs or leans against the exact same one whenever he's waiting in your room for you.

- Sharing eye glasses. The two of you get used to yoinking your prescriptions off of each others faces whenever you need to read something and don't know where your own spectacles are.

- He's always the one in the relationship to get rid of spiders, and yet, you almost always argue over whether or not he's "allowed" to kill them.

"You want me to handle it, but I have to bring it outside?? Just let me squish it!"

"No!!!"

- He has a habit of teasing you, making little comments or "complaints" about your personality or your physical traits, yet he's actually the epitome of "the smell of your hair reminds me of the smell of her feet". He is genuinely obsessed with you and loves even the worst parts of you so wholeheartedly that it's kind of amazing; even if he never outwardly admits it. You sort of just have to read between the lines: like how he calls you a zombie without makeup yet is always the one making moves on you whenever you're barefaced or saying he prefers your more natural makeup looks whenever you ask his opinion on things.

- He always refuses to let you pay for things. He loves the feeling of being able to take care of you and the pride that comes from it.

- Nonchalantly gives you his credit card whenever you want something: like genuinely doesn't even question it when he hands it over, and just trusts you not to completely bankrupt him before he even hears what you're actually asking for.

- When you're living in an area as congested as Los Angeles, it helps to have a boyfriend with a nice car and a not so strict schedule who can drive you to work or college whenever you're both heading out at the same time. It's also nice having a boyfriend who mindlessly lets you borrow his car whenever he's not using it: letting you run errands or drive yourself around whenever he's busy at work; so long as you make it back by the time he's done shooting.

- He likes calling to check in with you whenever he's out of the house and/or out of town: telling you when he's coming home, where he is, what he's doing, asking what you're doing, etc. He may or may not be using you as an alibi whenever he's out committing crimes, but that's neither here nor there.

- Being dragged into his Ghostface affairs in one way or another; whether you're fully aware of it or not. You might not help him do any of the actual killing, but there's still other ways that you can be of service: providing alibis, destroying evidence, communicating with people for him, laying out traps, etc.

- Get used to manipulation and ulterior motives. There's gonna be a point in your relationship where he confesses to everything and you finally realize that innocent little Roman is the mastermind to a lot of things you weren't even aware of; down to even the smallest of details. It's a startling realization but at that point, you're probably already stuck with him and incapable of getting away from him even if you wanted to.

- Having him assure you that nothing will happen to you when the murders start occurring all around you; maybe even comforting him when he comes home from the police station and talks to you about the news that you've been seeing all over the tv. You don't realize that he's so certain that you'll be safe because he's the one behind it all....

- As athletic and psychotic as Roman can be, he's honestly pretty shit at killing people. He's clumsy and inexperienced and sort of scrambling whenever he's forced to do his own dirty work, so you're probably forced to tend to his wounds a lot because he manages to hurt himself even when he's doing something simple and/or something he considers himself fully capable of accomplishing. Catch him dropping boxes on his feet while moving or cutting himself while cooking.

- That being said: his overall clumsiness makes it easier for him to come home covered in bruises and use the simple excuse of getting into some kind of accident, hiding his smile as you fuss over him and his various injuries. Don't believe him babe, he's killing people.

- Taking turns cooking for each other. He's been on his own for a while so he definitely knows how to cook for himself and for other people. But because he's been on his own for so long, he also loves the feeling of finally being taken care of as well.

- Would lowkey immediately break down into tears if you told him that it was okay to cry. Once the two of you are close enough, he opens up about his traumas and rants to you about his childhood, desperately wanting you to agree with him and to reassure him that his opinions are correct. He can get very dramatic and emotional so just try your best to comfort and calm him down: it surprisingly doesn't take much; not when it's you.

- The perfect guy to bring home to your parents. Roman sort of adopts your family as his own: especially in the case of your mother; if the two of you are close with each other. He loves her a lot and becomes her golden boy who simply can't say no to her: always bringing gifts whenever he comes to visit, sending mothers day flowers, and agreeing to whatever she asks of him; which makes it imperative that you form an alliance with her if you really want something from him.

- Always notices when you get jealous over him and his past relationships/one night stands. He honestly loves to see it, to know that you love him as much as he loves you and that you hate the idea of him being with other people, that you genuinely care if he's a part of your life or not. He always assures you that it "was nothing" whenever you see his actresses cooing at him and making it known that they slept together, but he's still all to pleased whenever you get all snippy with and territorial over him.

- His jealousy is capable of transcending the actual actions of other men: like sometimes you simply look so good that it triggers an unhealed part of himself and makes him sick. All he can do is sit there and imagine someone else seeing and falling for you and learning to love you the way that he has, and it makes him think evil thoughts. He's the type of boyfriend who would try to sway you from going out with your friends and/or wearing certain things. And he hates it whenever your guy friends/strangers try to act all buddy-buddy with him whenever the two of you are out together: it turns him borderline murderous and ruins his night.

- He's also the type of boyfriend who would get jealous over you innocently complimenting another person; even if it's just someone on the television or in an actors headshot he's looking at. He stands there glaring at them all stoic and stern, so obviously upset that you notice right away because he genuinely looks like he's got a thousand yard stare. Roman is simply a jealous man to his core.

- Roman loves you like a dog and he protects you like one too: like a stray who knows exactly what it's like to be left out in the cold, and is scared of losing the only home it's ever had. He always wants you to feel like he's there for you and that he loves you with every fiber of his being, so his protectiveness and the violence or the cruelty that comes from it can feel an awful lot like desperation. He stops at nothing to keep you safe and comfortable, and it's in those moments that you can see his carefully crafted facade start to slip and show you the darkness that lies beneath it.

- Your boyfriend outsasses you and it's devastating. Roman is so tightly strung that the two of you probably bicker/argue a considerable amount. And while he can occasionally be a little shit and act a little mean, all it takes is one look from you and he usually redirects his anger or tries to change the subject.

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry. But just-just listen, alright?"

- I mentioned them before but Romans abandonment issues are a big part of why he apologizes so quickly; his general obsession with you also plays a part in it. He hates going to bed angry and/or not being on speaking terms with you so he tries his best to get you to forgive him as quickly as possible; that's usually where the aforementioned 'Jack Torrance' impression comes in. Honestly though, even if you're still fighting by the time you're ready for bed, you still end up cuddling because he simply cannot sleep without you.

- He tells you that he loves you a lot. He also needs to hear you say it back to him in order to have a good day so try to keep that in mind.

- Sorry but you're stuck with him. Roman simply won't let you leave him, he'd honestly either kidnap or kill you before he'd allow that to happen. Regardless, expect a very nice engagement ring to be offered to you not too long into your relationship. He's not incredibly fond of kids so he's gotta find some other way to tie you down as quickly as possible....

[melancholicstation]

how a vacation with boyfriend!bobby kennedy sr. would go

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123@absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

warnings: nsfw, 18+

you would 100% have to bring bobby's dogs with you because his (trash, nasty ass, ungrateful) family members didn't want to dog-sit for a couple of days

i feel like bobby would be so delicately soft and pseudo-submissive in a way that he didn't feel free enough to be in d.c and places where his family could possibly see you guys together

he would be a paranoid freak about pickpocketer's, he has that damn lanyard with his wallet attached around his neck

is a fiend for a couple of film photography photos... he loves taking photos of you but when it comes to posing in his own photos he's as natural looking as a stone statute

gives you a flower from each touristy location you pass and you're there trying to balance being besotted with you're darling boyfriend and worrying about him getting arrested for disturbing public property😭😭😭

you try to braid that damn chest hair off his and he gets BIG mad...

would a hundred percent be the person in the couple who's going to the hotel manager if you get a room with the wrong view

cause he's annoyingly persistent like that

lots of outfits consist of you wearing flimsy cotton/silk tanks without a bra on, cause its a vacation for gods sake! but it's definitely impacting bobby's ability to cognitively function in your vicinity

when you do wear undergarments, its a simple, unfussy chic one-piece

he gets so spent after time in the sun, despite summering in the cape every year—sometimes even more, so you spend at least a couple of hours of vacation time

still won't lose the damn tie even on an italian vacation... I MEAN COME ON

you both worship your single digit bedtimes, since you guys will be so busy once you return to normal life

long naps spent together with his legs wrapped up across your lower waist

this is absolutely the imagined scent for the trip

boyfriend!bobby gives your feet a massage after a long day of walking across cobblestoned streets

how the soles of bobby's loafers look after the vacation's ended, even though you advised him against wearing loafers and instead wearing... a sneaker:

the type of snacks bobby forages (going to the local market) for you at the absolute crack of dawn

you force him to do you're hair once it's become entirely too much of an effort to manage

and he's posted up like this in front of mirror... helping like a man should!!!

NSFW UNDER THIS CUT:

would be a fiend for fucking under an outdoor shower with people five metres away... as i said he's a us senator AND a man with a voyeurism kink. get with the program people!

you most definitely coerce him into packing those swim trunks that are a little lot too small for him, just so you could shamelessly objectify him on the beach

when you both forget your wallets during lunch you bully bobby into taking his shirt off to sweeten up the older women who run the restaurant!

and it works... what can i say he's a princess of the people... and of older european women

and in return for his hard work (removing a linen shirt) you get on your knees in the alley behind the shop that you're kind of pretty sure has no people around

he gets very excited when put up to the task of applying your sunscreen for the capri sun

and... it turns into a very un-pg 13 experience in which he uses half of your biologique recherché spf 50 sunscreen to explore the planes of your body with direction

an action you use to scold him into apologising to you in a very, very creative way!