#I still try to figure out Loop's eyelashes

[kancelolol]

On Loop Itoshi Rin x Fem!reader

— You love calling Rin to randomly update him on your day, and he wishes he responded more.

wc: 1.4k || Oneshot || Angst || Hint of fluff? || No happy ending || Implied death/Grief || Swearing || Might be ooc... || Not proofread

"Good morning Rinnie! I hope you've eaten already!"

Rin blankly blinks up at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of scraping and shuffling. His phone laid flat on its screen near his ear, showing off the back of his clear phone case.

On display was a polaroid of you. A personal favorite of his, mainly because you looked so cheerful and wore his favorite smile.

He tries to imagine that you're there with him, using your digital face and voice as a substitute (even when it can never truly compare to the real deal). He lies there in his bedhair, his eyelashes littered with eye crust that he tries to rub away.

A mess was what he was—just like his room that had scattered clothes on the floor and dust cultivating in the corners.

But he smiles nonetheless.

Because he gets to talk to you.

"Morning. Just woke up. I'll eat later." He answers quietly with a slight rasp, already being lulled back to sleep from your comforting voice.

"I'm making myself some pasta right now. Saw a video online last night and started craving it," you chuckle, which is accompanied by sizzling in the background. "You better eat before heading to practice. You can't run on an empty stomach!"

He rolls his eyes, but your words do a better job at warming him than the sun that's peaking through his window's curtains.

"I know. I know. No need to remind me," is what Rin says, exasperation seeping into his tone.

But the way you laugh afterwards makes him think that he wouldn't mind hearing more of your nagging.

Just as long as he could keep listening to your laughter.

He hears your voice again a few hours later while he's at practice. Feets away from his teammates—who were chatting during their break—Rin immediately reaches for his phone.

Even before his towel or water bottle.

"Hey Rinnie! I saw a cat today and it really reminded me of you!" You chirp like it was the highlight of your day, experiencing something so small.

Rin doesn't blame you. He thinks he's the same in some regard when it comes to you.

He still scoffs through his heavy breathing as he remembers the picture of a pleased black cat resting in your lap, "I saw the photo you sent. Is it cause of my hair?"

"It was super cute. It kept looking at me funny at first, and I thought it hated me. But it eventually came up and cuddled on my lap!" You snicker as you recall your meeting with the little feline, "Just like you."

"Since when have I ever done something like that?" He tsks, his lips twitching upward while he finally chugs some water. He takes a moment to pause, contemplating his next words.

They come out soft. Reassuring. And so unlike Rin.

"And I don't hate you. Never have. Never will."

"Who are you talking to?" Isagi appears behind him, causing Rin to whip his head around with narrowed eyes.

His response was a curt—"None of your business"—which prompts Isagi to open his mouth to retort. But a thought seems to flash through his mind, and he quickly shuts it.

"My bad. You just looked happier than usual. Got curious." He shrugs, wearing an unreadable expression.

Rin clicks his tongue, "Curiosity isn't a good excuse to interrupt someone's call. So fuck off. I'm talking to my girlfriend."

He turns his back to Isagi and the rest of the group again, murmuring a small apology as your voice continues speaking from the other end of the line—just barely missing the downturn of Isagi's mouth, and the glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.

By the time he's home and preparing dinner, you have something new to talk about.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what outfit to get, but I'm not sure about the color."

Of course he remembers. He could never forget the excited look on your face when you spoke about it, all happy for the bride, who was your friend.

A bowl and spoon clank against one another as Rin plates his meal, intently listening to your struggles with the dress code and purchasing attire that would match it.

"I don't even know what shade of either color would suit me..." You mumble to yourself, loud enough for the mic to pick up and echo throughout Rin's kitchen from his phone speaker.

"I think you'll look pretty regardless of what you go for," he gives a rare compliment that always circled in his mind, but was never quite able to escape his throat. At least, until now, where it comes out quiet, but firm.

As if there was no denying it.

And in Rin's eyes, there truly was no way of doing so.

"Ugh...I can't even decide on a simple outfit for this wedding. Makes me respect my friends who got married. Can't imagine how much of a hassle wedding planning is."

A corner of Rin's mouth curls up, "I think you're just an overthinker. You'll probably grow grey hairs if you were left alone to host a wedding."

There's silence on your end, except for the faint clicks and swiping of a laptop touchpad.

"...Still, I'd love to try it one day. With you." You admit, barely above a whisper, like it was a sacred dream.

Rin's heart skips a beat, lips tightening to prevent them from wobbling.

"Mm...I think I'll decide on this later. I've got time anyways," the snap of your shutting laptop rings out after a few minutes, alongside a soft laughter, "I'll give you a runway show once it gets delivered too."

Rin's chest hurts, but he snorts with amusement as he sits down with his food, phone in his free hand, "Fine. I'll look forward to it."

"I hope you look forward to it. Because I do." You state at the same time before pausing, and it's dead silent. Not just on your end, but with Rin too.

His apartment feels bigger—emptier—than usual. It's dimly lit where he's seated at his small dining table. Across from him stood a single, empty chair.

"But maybe that's cause I miss you."

You chuckle as the sentence falls off your tongue, meant to be light-hearted.

It's quiet though—too quiet—with an underlying hesitance, like you saying that was the equivalent of confessing a sin.

Rin swallows hard, releasing the grip on his spoon to trace his thumb over his phone like it was your hand.

But it wasn't your hand. It could never be.

No matter how much he tried to delude himself into believing it.

"...Fuck—I miss you too. I swear I do." His chest squeezes even tighter as his voice cracks, the words flowing out in broken pieces like his heart.

His other hand covers his eyes—shielding his impending tears—as he continues, "I think about you so much. It's so difficult to do anything when—"

"I think I'll end it here for today." Your voice perks up again, like you couldn't hear how you had cracked a hole that opened Rin's reality once again.

"Call me back when you can. Good luck with your match! Love you. Take care."

Rin can practically hear—see—the sweet smile that's on your face. One that used to light up his world, but now haunts him with its absence.

"Wait—"

The voicemail ends with a beep before the apartment goes back to silence. Rin just stares at the list of voicemails from all the times that you've called.

All the times that he never answered.

His food is long forgotten—appetite disappearing.

Yet, he still craved something.

He craved you.

Any piece of you. Any trace of you.

Like a wild animal searching for scraps, Rin thinks he will always cling to the memory of you. Even if it's poison.

And so his finger quickly presses the message he just listened to, and allows your repeated voice to lead him to his destruction.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what dress to get but I'm not sure about the color. The only thing is—"

Author's Note:

First time posting angst and it's kinda mid 💔 It's fine though (probably) Just wanted to post something to get rid at least one of the like, 50 drafts that I have...

[date-everything-headquarters]

Makeup Test

Description: So many makeup products are labeled as waterproof, but how waterproof are they really? You and Barry want to put that to the test. And put that to the test that obviously means tying Barry to the headboard and overstimulating him with a vibrator.

Pairings: Barry Styles x Reader

Warnings/tags: Barry is described as having a dick and a prostrate. You penetrate Barry with a vibrator dildo. You perform oral on Barry. Reader is gender neutral, no genital is described for the reader. Reader does not get off. Overstimulation and multiple orgasms. Dom!Reader.

Wordcount: 2,800

In the soft light of the room Barry lounges across your bed, pink hair tousled against your pillowcase. He’s only in his boxers, as per your request. His makeup (impeccable as always) is fresh on his face, ready for your best attempt at ruining. He looks up at you, a playful confidence in his eyes as he flutters his eyelashes though half lidded eyes.

“So, darling,” he begins, grin wide and face slightly flushed. 

“Do you really think we’re ready to try all this?” He asks as he gestures over to the mess of beauty products on your nightstand, his fingers ghosting over a tube of waterproof mascara.

“Every. Single. One.” You insist, tone firm but laced with amusement. 

In your hands you hold a soft silk rope; you want Barry still for what you’re planning on doing to him. “You’re going to help me figure out which ones can handle… extreme conditions.”

Barry’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of nervous excitement dashes across his face.

“Oh, hun, you’re serious.” He laughs, but it’s breathy, his cheeks flushing beneath the expertly applied blush. “I mean, I am down for anything! Well, anything but sleeping in makeup, or overdrawing my brows without blending..." 

Barry trails off, his mind no doubt spinning with everything you’re not supposed to in makeup. You smile down at him, he really was the cutest when he’s thinking. But you have a Mission, so after clearing your throat, Barry snaps back into the present with a sheepish grin. 

“But, anyways,” he brightly begins, “I’m down to try anything in the bedroom! Well, I’m down to try this. But, um.... Are you sure you want to see me cry? It’s not exactly my best look.

You step closer, dragging the rope along the edge of the end. 

"I'm certain. And I think you'll look absolutely stunning, no matter what." You stoop down, lips against his ear as you whisper, "And I’m sure you’ll look even more stunning babbling with mascara running down your cheeks, so fucked out you can’t even speak."

Barry swallows. He doesn’t mean to, it just happens, nor can he stop himself from shivering at your words. His pink face gets even pinker as he slowly nods. 

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles. “Just… be gentle with me, please?”

“Gentle?” You echo as you loop the rope around his wrists with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He laughs, sort of. It’s barely out of his mouth before it turns into a gasp as you pull the knot tight, forcing his arms above his head. You make sure that the knot is firm enough that he’s not going anywhere, no matter how much he squirms, thrashes, or pulls.

"You're such a tease," he pouts, voice slightly trembling.

“And you love it,” you shoot back as your hand runs down his side, admiring the way his muscles tenses under your touch, as if begging for more.

You grab for the first item on your nightstand; a vibrating wand, one that always made the most pretty moans and gasps tumble out of Barry’s lips. 

Flicking it on (low, for now) a soft hum fills the room as Barry’s eyes lock onto it, his breath hitching. He may not remember exactly when you used the toy on him, but he remembers how quickly and easily it can bring him to overstimulated tears.

“Oh, darling, you’re not wasting any time, are you?” He tries to sound casual, but the way his hips shift betrays his eagerness.

"Not a second," you sing song back to him as you stroke the vibrator along the inside of his thigh. His body tenses at the touch, a soft moan slipping from his lips like a sigh of surrender. You trace patterns along his skin with the toy, mesmerized by the way he tenses and squirms with every brush. 

You drag the buzzing toy upwards until it’s ghosting over the fabric of his boxers. His cock already hard and dripping, A faint sheen of precum glistens where it has begun to seep through the fabric. 

“Look at you”, you breathe, drinking in the sight of him spread before you; the flush creeping up his neck, the way his pulse jumps at your touch.

“So stunning”, you whisper, nipping gently at his earlobe. A full-body shudder runs through him, his hands lightly tug at the rope. “Perfect in every way.” 

“I-I’m not sure I’m perfect in every way. I mean, I could probably try ha-harder to remember appointments.” Barry stutters out, face painted the most perfect shade of pink.

You lean up and gently cup his face in your hands, your eyes locking onto his. 

“Perfect in every way, baby. I mean it. You could miss every date, every event, every anniversary and you would still be completely and utterly perfect.” Your tone is firm, unyielding, as if you can force the words into his brain so he’ll accept them. 

"Believe me when I say you're flawless," you murmur, tracing the delicate shell of his ear. His pulse jumps under your fingertips, a telltale flutter. Those honeyed lashes lower shyly, but you catch the way his lips part, the barest hint of a smile playing at their corners.  

"Darling, you're going to make me blush," he whispers, tilting into your touch. With infinite tenderness, you cradle his cheek, thumb brushing over the flush staining his skin.  

"Good," you murmur, leaning in until your lips graze his ear. "All flushed and trembling for me."  

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, hips giving the smallest twitch toward your touch. "P-please..." The plea comes out barely audible.  

"Easy, Barry," You nip at his earlobe, one hand sliding down to brush against his chest. “We’re just getting started.”

"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me, hun," he breathes, the words dissolving into a shuddery sigh as his head sinks deeper into the pillows. His usually cylindrical hair has gone wild, fanning around him like a halo.

You can’t help but admire how stunning he looks, how vulnerable. 

Setting the wand aside you reach for a bottle of lube.

“Not yet,” you say, pouring a generous amount onto your fingers. “But I’m not done with you either.” You slide your hand under the waistband of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly, teasingly. He whimpers, his hips twitching as you work him with practiced ease.

“Darling,” he gasps, voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please what?” You hum against his feverish skin, nipping lightly at the frantic pulse point. “What does my perfect boy need?”

“I…. I don’t know,” he admits, voice trembling. “I, just. I need more.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his neck before moving lower, trailing your lips down his chest until you reach the waistband of his boxers. You hook your fingers under the fabric and pull them down, freeing his cock and letting it spring up against his stomach. He’s already leaking precum, and you’re unable to resist licking a stripe up the length of him, savoring the taste. 

"Look at you," you breathe reverently, swirling your tongue around the swollen crown. Salty sweet precum floods your senses, addictive and electric. 

Your name spills from his lips like a prayer as you swallow him whole, taking him to the hilt. His thighs tremble, restraints creaking as he fights the urge to buck into your eager mouth. 

"Fuck, darling, your m–mouth, it’s so good." he whines, voice cracking. “I think I’m going to– darling I’m gonna come.”

You pull off with a wet pop, leaving him gasping and trembling on the bed. 

“Not yet,” you say as you reach for the wand again. “We’re not done testing.”

Barry whines, his lashes flutter shut as you press the vibrating toy against his weeping crown, his entire body bowing upward with a sharp cry. 

"F-fuck!" The word tears from his throat, raw and desperate, his hips stuttering as electric pleasure zings through him.  

You hold steady, watching his flushed chest heave, sweat-damp strains of hair clinging to his forehead as he writhes beneath you. Each broken moan that falls from his kiss-swollen lips sends fresh heat pooling between your thighs.  

"Shhh, easy now," you coo, dragging the buzzing head slowly downward. His abs contract violently, thighs quivering as you trace the pulsing vein along his shaft. "Let me hear you fall apart."

“Oh god, oh god,” he babbles, his head thrashing from side to side. “That’s–that’s too much, darling. Too much!”

“Too much?” you teased, moving the vibrator in slow circles, each pass drawing another desperate sound from him.

But when his eyes start to flutter and you pull the wand away (you don’t want him to cry too early and call an end to this experiment too soon), watching as he sags back against the bed, his chest heaving. His eyeliner is still perfect, but there's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Please,” he begs, tears welling up in his eyes. “Please let me come.”

You lean down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Not yet,” you whisper. “Just a little longer.”

He sobs, his body shaking as you torment him with the wand, pushing him past reason. His eyeliner is still holding up surprisingly well, but there are tears streaming down his cheeks now, smudging his mascara ever so slightly. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his cock twitching as he fights to hold back.

Please," he chokes out, voice raw and wrecked. "Can't–can't take anymore–"

Your smirk feels feral as you finally relent, replacing the toy with your fist. Three brutal pumps later, he's coming undone with a shattered scream, painting both your hands in hot stripes. His spine bows almost painfully as the orgasm rips through him, back arched clear off the sheets. When he collapses bonelessly against the mattress, chest heaving, his ruined eye makeup only makes him look wilder, more untamed.

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “How’s the makeup holding up?” you ask with a smirk.

Barry laughs weakly, voice hoarse. “You’re a menace, darling.”

Grinning you reach for the lube again, this time covering your fingers with it. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, though the way he spreads his legs tells a different story. “You’re really going to ruin me, aren’t you?”

Your smirk widens at his breathless question, fingers slipping between his cheeks. "Ruin you?" You circle his fluttering rim, feeling him tense and melt in equal measure. "Sweetheart, I haven't even started."

A single digit breaches him, and his answering moan vibrates through your bones. "Darling–ah! F-fuck!" His hands pull fruitlessly against their bindings.

"That's it," you croon, working him open with slow, torturous twists. "Take what you need." 

His walls spasm around you, hot and tight, as if begging for more. And God, you'll give it to him.

One finger quickly becomes two as you’re unable to stop you’re from spoiling Barry with pleasure. As you spread your digits his walls clamp down tight, a velvet vice grip that has you biting back a groan.

"Shit, you take me so well," you rasp, crooking your fingers just so. His back arches clear off the bed, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. "Like you were made for this."

“Fuck,” he moans, head falling back against the pillows. “That feels… so good.”

“Good. Because I’m not stopping until you’re begging me to.” You promise.

Barry’s response is a broken whimper as you continue to stretch him open, your fingers moving with practiced precision. His cock twitches against his stomach, already hardening again despite the overstimulation. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the desire for more battling with the overwhelming intensity of it all.

“Please,” he finally gasps, his voice trembling. “Please, I need–I need more.”

“More?” you repeat, withdrawing your fingers and reaching for a dildo vibrator this time. “Are you sure?”

"Y–yes, more, please! I can take it." His chest heaves with shallow breaths, pupils blown wide with desperate need. You trace the vibrating toy along his quivering slit, teasing without mercy. 

A high-pitched whine escapes his lips as you position the vibrator at his entrance, pressing it against him until he’s squirming with need. 

"Such a good boy, begging so sweetly. Gonna make you feel so good," you promise, voice rough with want. Slowly, torturously, you breach him inch by delicious inch. His hoarse cry echoes off the bedroom walls, back arching beautifully as vibrations ignite every nerve ending.  

"Christ, look at you," you rasp, drinking in the sight of him spread before you; cheeks flushed, cock weeping pathetically onto his stomach. "Take it all, sweetheart."  

“Oh god,” he moans as his hands desperately grip the ropes above his head. “It’s so much–it’s too much, but… but I don’t want it to stop.”

With a grin you dive into his mouth with ruthless hunger, swallowing every cry and whimper Barry struggles to make. Mercilessly you click the vibrator up a few notches, smirking as you consume the desperate gasp you get in response. 

You know your hand is going to be sore tomorrow, but right now you don’t care, you swiftly thrust the vibrating dildo in and out of his hole, slamming against his prostate with every push forward.

Before Barry can even comprehend what’s happening, another earth-shattering orgasm crashes over him, tearing a guttural moan from his throat. His back bows sharply, wrists pulling against the silk harshly, his muscles pulled taut as a bowstring before slowly easing back down.

You leave the vibrator in as Barry comes down his orgasm, only removing it when he’s reduced to boneless whimpers, slowly withdrawing it from his quivering hole. His eyelids flutter weakly, coated in smudged mascara that frames his glassy, unfocused gaze.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you praise softly as you gently caress his flushed cheek.

A few strands of damp, bubblegum-pink hair cling to his forehead and you tenderly brush them aside, marveling at the debauched picture he makes; tear-tracked face, kiss-swollen lips, chest heaving with exertion. “Just a bit more.”

Barry whimpers, his body still twitching from the last orgasm. “I can’t–I can’t–”

“Yes, you can, baby. Just one more, alright? Just one more little orgasm and then we can cuddle.” You soothe, softly rubbing his jaw. 

Barry takes a few steadying breaths, and you prepare for any answer. A no and you reach up and untie him, a yes and…. Your hand shifts towards the vibrating wand. 

“Alright, darling. Just one more.” Barry breathes, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. 

Your smile must be something wicked because Barry shivers as you rise the vibrating wand once more and click it on. 

You press it against his cock once again, and Barry sobs. His cock twitches helplessly, oversensitive and raw, but you don’t let up. You move the vibrator back up to the tip of his cock, watching as he thrashed against the restraints, his cries growing more desperate with each passing second.

“Please,” he begs, his voice hoarse. “Please, darling–I– too much–I can’t.”

You can’t tell what he’s begging for, but you doubt he knows either. You can see the way his body responds to your words; the way he arches into the touch, even as he begs for mercy. Despite his weak protests, his body betrays him, hips twitching needily, cock still semi-erect and glistening with evidence of his repeated climaxes.

Lowering the buzzing toy, you press its pulsing surface firmly against the delicate skin of his balls. A raw primal groan rips from his throat as his body thrashes, his cock jerks and pulses as he babbles incoherently. 

This time when he comes it’s completely dry.

His makeup is completely ruined now, streaks of black mascara running down his cheeks, but he looked more beautiful than ever, raw and real and completely undone. His entire world has narrowed down to the sensations coursing through him, to the way you controlled every inch of his pleasure.

“There you go.” You murmur as you turn off the vibrator and set it aside, this time for the final time this night. 

Reaching up you free Barry’s wrists and pull him into his arms as he continues to quietly sob, his body still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, stroking his hair gently. “You did so well, Barry.”

He looks up at you, his eyes red and puffy but still stunningly beautiful. “That… that was amazing,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “But… I think my makeup might need a touch-up.”

You laugh softly, kissing his forehead. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll fix it. But first, let’s just relax for a moment.” 

Barry hums against your chest, his eyes fluttering close as his arms shakily wraps around your back. 

That was one mascara who proved not to be as waterproof as the packaging claimed, now you just have… how many more to go. 

[buttercupshands]

Just a break from drawing something else also figuring out height for Loop that I had in my head while playing

Feat. Paper figures! Those guys are now always here

I also don't have a good place to put their first photo on a tree so here you have it.

They had a tree hangout for a minute or two now because it's dangerous to keep them like that for long

[pearlymel]

·˚ ༘ ·If bad, then why does it feel good?˚. ༉‧₊˚ ft. Sylus.

SUM. You happen to share genuine feelings with the supposedly man you hate.

WC. 2.5k

WARNINGS. not mc fem! reader, fluffy smut MDNI, emotional feelings, unprotected sēx, soft needy sēx, enemies to lovers type shit, not proofread.

NOTES. Just sylus. Nothing more.

It always comes down to this.

The constant hatred for him, you want to literally pierce a bullet to his head. Why does he have to smirk everytime you try to throw curses towards him? Why does he have to press those dangerous lips over yours to shut you up?

Why does it feel so good everytime?

Damn him.

Lately, something—someone has been bothering you. A certain hunter from Linkon city who seems to have earn herself some attention from the leader of Onychinus.

You squint your eyes at the memory of their interaction, it was pathetic. He didn't seem to have any hatred for her whatsoever, he even seemed to help her.

Is he really pretending to be the good guy in front of her? Or was it all a facade?

“you're zoning out,” Sylus drawls lazily while tapping a finger on your cheek to bring back your attention to him.

Right, you were trying to kill him, again.

You still had him down against the seat while you were above him, still careful not to perch yourself on his lap. Your index that brushed too closely to the trigger shook even more when his thumb played dangerously close to the trigger, resting right on top of your index finger, and you feel like the air is being taken away from your lungs.

“It seems like this isn't entertaining you anymore,” you shoot him a stare and he raises an eyebrow, “perhaps… miss hunter is being too soft on you.”

You watch at how his eyebrows raise in amusement, he knew he had the upper hand in this situation, and it was clear to him that you did as well.

He noticed your voice change, and how your fingers still trembled against the gun still pointed at his chest. Even in your feigned bravado, you couldn't mask your unease. Too easy.

"My," Sylus' eyes darkened as he looked up at you with the slightest curl of his lips lifting upwards, "Are you.. jealous?”

This is ridiculous, and you feel offended even. “Why the hell would i be jealous of stray cats?” you argue back, and he seems almost pleased by your answer, “atta girl.”

Not being able to handle him anymore, you make the decision to press on the trigger without thinking, that the loud bangcaused you to gasp in fear as you drop the gun from your hand.

So close.

Sylus remained still for a few moments as he glanced to his side at the bullet hole on the seat beside his head.

“You missed.” He stated, like he was disappointed.

“Did you not want me to miss?!”

He smiles, "And spoil the fun? Never." Clearly he was playing with your feelings at this point.

He brought a hand up, his fingers tangling into the messy strands of your hair, pulling firmly enough to tilt your head to the side. His eyes studied your own, his gaze roaming over every part of your expression, trying to figure out what you would do next.

"You should try again." He said lowly, his voice almost a whisper. "Maybe you'll hit me this time.”

You press your lips into a thin line at the proximity between you, and your hands find his shoulders, “you can't die.. yet.”

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetie. I'm not gonna die so easily." He let out a dry laugh as if it was obvious.

"That is, unless you end up killing me.”

The change in your expression didn’t go unnoticed by him, the worry, the concern, the frustration, the anger. It's all so interesting.

His hand left your hair to snake around your waist to finally pull you down on his lap, and that's when he felt your hands come to hold his face so dearly, your eyelashes fluttering between his eyes and lips.

You held him close to you as if he was the only thing that mattered—and he was, really.

You embraced him like you were lovers, like you were holding someone dear in your arms. With your arms looped around his shoulders, to pour all your love into his lips, you always did that whenever you kisses. Always soft, sweet, and slow.

Yet Sylus wanted to return the kiss deeply, his tongue trying to seek yours in a desperate, hungry manner. Like he's never kissed you before.

You part your lips for his tongue to delve further in, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he were trying to memorize the taste, the one he's already used to, but it only seems to be sweeter with each exchanged kiss.

He let out a low moan, feeling completely consumed by you. His hands continued to roam your body, exploring every contour and curve, every dip and valley, as if he was trying to commit you to memory.

You pant softly when his lips leave yours to graze the skin of your jawline and neck, but you tug ay his hair before he could do anything.

“no marks.”

“and why?”

“I can't walk around looking like that—”

Then it hits you, what the hell were you even doing?

You push yourself off him, stumbling slightly back when you stood up abruptly, but you don't reach for the hand that's out for you to balance on.

“This is messed up.” You say your thoughts out loud before you could stop yourself, and your fists clench to your sides.

He leaned forward to follow after you, leaving the warmth of the seat behind him, he then speaks with a tilt of his head, "I'd say what we've been doing is pretty normal for our relationship, wouldn't you?"

You sigh, “normal? What even are we?”

Ah, that question.

"Oh, you know. We’re just enemies with a mutual hatred for each other, who just happen to kiss each other on the regular. Nothing out of the ordinary here, sweetie." His tone dripped with sarcasm, “totally nothing odd here.” you try matching his sarcasm with a glare.

He met your glare with his own gaze, his expression suddenly turning serious.

"Why are you acting like doing this," he gestured between the two of you, "is something completely new? Has it ever occurred to you that doing this may actually feel good?" He paused for a moment, watching your expression twist into confusion, “you say you hate me, but let me ask you this: what do you feel when you're around me? Hate, or something else entirely?”

"I—” you press your lips shut when you realise you don't even know the answer to that. How did he feel about this?

"it feels like a drug yet I can't let go off." You settle with your answer quietly.

He takes a slow step forward, “you make it sound like an addiction, sweetie.”

“it is an addiction.” you confirm bluntly, and his smirk widens further.

“Mm, a drug you can't let go of.”

“A drug i need to let go of.”

He stops at his tracks, "You,” Sylus stares down at you, “think you can just let go of me that easily?" He asked, before moving closer, his body practically looming over yours now, trapping you against the wall. His hand came up to rest on the wall beside your head, his arm caging you in.

You're trapped, with nowhere to go, “i made a mistake, I'll leave—”

“No.” he captured your wrist in a tight grip when you tried making your way out.

Sylus’ grip on your wrist loosened when you winced the first time he grabbed it, his hand shifting down instead to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"You really think I'd just let you walk out that door and never see you again? You must be joking," he scoffs, his tone taking a lower route, and you're surprised.

"You're... you're mine, damnit.”

You blink twice, “since.. when?”

He lets out a sharp exhale, his patience and self-control slowly fading. "Since our first shared kiss," he practically growls out, "you may be a difficult, infuriating, little brat, but goddamnit if you're not mine.”

Sylus can see the range of emotions flickering across your face as you digest his words, those same expressions he always sees, this time, it's all anger and frustration.

"You look like you're about to explode, darling," he says, his voice coming out in a mocking drawl. "Want to shout at me? Let it out. Tell me how much you hate me again, because we both know that's bullshit.”

“it's no—”

“don't even try to lie to me,”

“i hate y—”

“lying, again.”

“Sylus.” You let out sharply, you were getting tired or him cutting you off.

He listens, it doesn't feel too shocking now. You're just.. overwhelmed.

Do you feel like crying? Yes. Do you want to really cry in front of him? No, of course not. But the tears threatening around your eyes is too hard to wipe off now.

And Sylus tenses when he realized the gravity of the situation, he doesn't waste time to lift your chin up. And the sight makes his heart ache abnormally.

“don't,” he whispers softly before taking you in a warm embrace, where your face us pressed against his chest.

You exhale, the hug is genuine, it feels like he's hugging your heart. You wrap you arms back around him, no wonder you always feel your little heart beating around him.

"we're both stubborn, hot-headed, and too proud to back down," He whispers against your hair, “But beloved, i… am sorry if i failed to see your genuine feelings.”

You tighten your arms around him, beloved, you like the sound of that.

You tip your head back up, and you can notice the way his eyes seem to soften… like that one snowy time.

And you lean to peck his lips, it makes him smile before he returns the kiss with a gentle press of his lips onto yours.

…

You mentally agreed with yourself that you would stop at kissing. Only a few kisses here and there… It felt too easy and natural to listen to his whispers

Your eyes rolled back almost every time he nudged against your sweet spot, making your jaw slack, and you don't let go off the hem of his blouse for not even a second with how of a tight hold you had on the fabric.

You would both get like this everytime your emotions were heightened. You crave this, it's a need at this point.

But this time it's different, it doesn't feel like two beasts ravishing eachother, this feels… slow, and romantic.

You both were not even fully undressed.

"Sylus," you whispered breathlessly, followed by a soft whine with how full you felt with the inches buried deep inside you.

spreading your legs even wider, Sylus pushed himself deeper until you took all of him. His hands caressing your trembling thighs, "Feel me, what you do to me." His hips snapped forward in a slow rhythm, grinding against your sensitive clit with each thrust.

Sweat glistened on his skin as he worked you over, oh how tortuous it felt with you clenching around him, your slick walls fluttering and massaging his aching cock. The wet sounds of your skins filled the room, obscene and erotic.

Sylus reveled in it, in the knowledge that he was the one making you break so beautifully.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your desperate moans. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as his hips continued their slow rhythm—threatening to just thrust in fast and hard.

Yet he knew better than to ruin the moment.

Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your intoxicating scent. "Do you want to cum?" he murmured huskily, his words vibrating against your skin. "I want to feel you come all over my cock." His fingers found your clit, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nub but your hand tries to pry his fingers away, you didn't want this to end just yet.

“Please no, i-i want to feel more of you.. harder.” a plea, and he swears you're going to be the death of him.

"Greedy princess, aren't you? Wanting more of me even when you're already stuffed full." He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours. You could feel every thick, hard inch of him buried inside you, stretching you deliciously.

His hands now gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he started to move faster, harder. Just like you wanted, he was only following along.

"I'll give you more, sweetie. I'll fuck you so deep, so hard, you'll feel me for days," Sylus promised with a chuckle, and you arch your back while pulling at the fabric of his blouse, "gonna ruin this pussy until it's molded perfectly to my cock."

True to his word, he picked up the pace, pounding into you relentlessly. And you wanted to scream.

“h-hah, right there—” your head rolled back and your lips stayed parted, your eyes half-lidded and you could barely feel your legs.

Sylus could feel his own release fast approaching, his balls drawing up tight, but he gritted his teeth, holding himself back. He wanted to make you come first, wanted to feel your slick walls spasming around him.

"That's it, sweetie" he panted, “Mmh—ah—!” and you cry out when you came, it felt different, you feel wetter than before, you just squirted without even realising from how fucked out your head was.

Sylus groaned as he felt you gushing all over his crotch, your body quivering and quaking in the throes of your intense orgasm. "Fuuuck, that's it my love, let it all out," he rasped, continuing to thrust into your fluttering heat as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

As your climax subsided, leaving you boneless and panting, Sylus slowed his thrusts but didn't stop. He rolled his hips in deep, languid strokes, savoring the feeling of your slick walls clenching around his throbbing length.

Sylus drank in your needy whimpers and moans with messy kisses this time, “I love you," he babbled, and you barely comprehend what he had just said.

And with a final thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside you. He groaned long and low, his hips twitching with each spurt of his release into you.

You both gaze into eachother's eyes after calming down, your eyes trying to search for the love in them.

“what are you starting at?” You mumble first, breaking the silence. He caresses your cheek at first, “etching your face in my head.” His answer was simple, yet it meant too much to you.

“Did you mean it?” You can't help but ask, “when you said you.. love me?”

Sylus’ lips spread before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i love you.” He whispered his declaration of love to you quietly for the second time.

[theshiniestgemstone]

gideon with baby fever omg he sees a cute baby in public and is like… babe… ;)

Gideon stands behind the cart in the checkout line, hands loosely on the handle, body leaning just enough to let you hover over the groceries with your usual muttered intensity.

You’re reading through your crumpled list for the third time, whisper-counting off ingredients like the fate of the world depends on whether or not you grabbed thyme. Your eyebrows furrow. Gideon doesn’t interrupt.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the store absently. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. A toddler shrieks somewhere in produce. He scratches at the back of his neck.

Then he notices movement. He turns slightly, gaze catching on a baby in the cart ahead of you, sitting propped in that little padded seat with a pacifier half-falling out of its mouth. Big, round eyes blink up at him. A soft, mashed face lights up with slow, dawning recognition, like Gideon just walked onstage at a show he didn’t know he was performing in.

Gideon blinks. Then he smiles. Tentative, small. A little curve of his lips and the barest lift of his hand in a wave.

The baby gasps. Actually gasps. Then squeals in delight, high-pitched and crackling, like his whole being short-circuited from joy. His chubby fist rises and flails. The wave is chaotic, all wrist and fat fingers, the kind of uncoordinated motion that says I have no idea how my arms work but I must communicate with you.

Gideon grins, a little caught off guard, and waves again, slightly more exaggerated this time. The baby kicks both feet in response, like he’s trying to blast off from the cart. His parent smiles at Gideon, placing more things on the conveyor belt.

You glance up, wondering what the commotion is about, just in time to see Gideon and the baby locked in a silent, joyful loop of mutual admiration.

You elbow him lightly, whispering, “You making friends again?”

He shrugs, still smiling, eyes twinkling. “He started it.”

And the baby shrieks with glee like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Gideon’s quiet on the ride home. Not more than usual, but you know that look. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, eyes straight ahead but distant, like he’s staring through the windshield and into some private film reel only he can see.

You don’t say anything. You let the music play low, one of those soft, lo-fi playlists he likes when you’re both tired and the sun’s starting to set golden over the parking lot lines and strip mall signs. Your hand brushes his knee when you shift the bag between your feet.

He doesn’t flinch. But he doesn’t speak either.

Because he’s still thinking about the baby.

Not the exact baby. Though that gummy, chubby-cheeked face is still printed somewhere in the soft part of his memory, but about the way that baby looked so undeniably like his parents. The shape of his mother’s chin, the exact curl of his dad’s dark eyelashes, all bundled into one tiny person still trying to figure out how fingers work.

He thinks about that and what you could both have.

About the thought, or more a vision, of a baby with your sparkling eyes, your smile that turns him to jelly every single time you aim it at him without warning. A baby who kicks their feet and squeals like that just because he looked their way. A baby with your gentle heart, your laugh when you're trying not to, your fierce little loyalty that’s held his hand even when he didn’t know he needed it.

It unlocks something. Like a door inside his chest swinging wide, creaking open after years of staying shut.

He sees it so clearly now. Little ones crawling over your shared bed, dragging blankets and stuffed animals in their wake. The pitter-patter of feet across hardwood, echoing in the morning as they tumble into the kitchen, demanding pancakes. The soft hush of you singing to someone smaller than both of you, cradled against your chest. You, holding their tiny hand as they waddle across the backyard. Him reading from a picture book and doing the voices because it makes them laugh so hard they fall over. He sees Christmas mornings, your eyes glowing even brighter than the lights on the tree. He sees himself sitting crisscross on the floor, a toddler in his lap, another leaning into your side, wrapping paper everywhere, and the smell of cinnamon in the air.

And you. Always you.

He pulls into the driveway a few minutes later than usual, like he meant to slow down. Like he didn’t want the thought to end.

You shift beside him, unclicking your seatbelt, and glance over. “You good?”

Gideon nods. Slow. Thoughtful. “Yeah,” he says softly.

You give him a look. "Okay."

The engine ticks as it cools, and the two of you start unloading the groceries. The sun’s lower now, brushing everything in warm amber, and you’re muttering about how the bagger crushed the bread again. Gideon takes two full paper bags without complaint, holding them with practiced ease.

He closes the trunk with a gentle thunk, and you walk ahead, keys jingling in your hand. He watches you for half a second. He sighs internally at your hair lit gold by the fading light, shoulders swaying as you shift the lighter bag from one arm to the other, and he thinks, not for the first time, God, I love her.

But now that door’s open.

Now he’s thinking, someday we won’t be carrying these in alone. Someday there’ll be little sneakers on this driveway, chasing after us to help. Clumsy hands grabbing a cereal box and dropping it, tiny voices insisting I got it, I got it! even when they don’t. You, laughing on the porch, holding the door open while someone proudly carts in exactly one bag of goldfish crackers they cried over in the aisle and nothing else.

He adjusts his grip on the paper bags and smiles to himself. A quiet, private smile no one would notice unless they were looking for it. And then he walks inside, right behind you, right into a future he never thought he could want so badly.

It comes later. After dinner, after the dishes, after the soft lull of the evening settles over the house like a blanket. You're curled on the couch with your legs draped over his lap, still barefoot from kicking off your shoes the moment you got inside. He’s absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along your ankle, eyes on the TV that neither of you are really watching.

You’re half-asleep, fingers tangled in the hem of your hoodie, when he shifts just enough to glance at you. "Can I ask you something?"

Your eyes open slowly, sleep still clinging to your lashes. You hum, letting him know you're listening.

He looks down at where his hand rests on your leg, fingers flexing once like he’s working up to something. Then he looks at you again, steady this time. "What do you think about having kids?"

The question lands softly. Not dropped like a bomb. Not a test or a trap. Just something he’s been holding gently all day, waiting for the right moment to give it shape. You sit up a little, just enough to see him clearly. His expression is unreadable but not cold. He looks thoughtful. Vulnerable in the way he only gets when something really matters.

You blink at him, lips parting. "Where's that coming from?"

He shrugs, eyes flicking away, like he wasn’t sure he’d get this far. "That baby at the store. Got me thinking. About us. About... all of it." He pauses.

You’re quiet. Not because you don’t have anything to say, but because you want to say it right. “I’ve thought about it,” you admit. “Not all the time, but... sometimes.”

He nods, encouraging you to go on.

“I think I’d want that life. Eventually. When it feels right. With the right person.” You give him a meaningful look, soft and sure. “And I think I already found that part.”

His hand tightens around your leg, just slightly. Like your words anchored him.

You lean your head against the back of the couch, watching him. “What about you? You never really talked about it before.”

He hesitates. His jaw works like he’s chewing over the words.

“I didn’t think it was for me,” he says. “Not because I didn’t want it. More like... I didn’t think I could do it. Be a dad. I used to think I’d mess it up, or disappear, or pass on all the worst parts of me without meaning to.”

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, lets you run your fingers over the calluses on his knuckles.

"But today, when I saw that kid," he says, voice lower now, almost hesitant, "and then looked at you... I don’t know. Something shifted. I thought about little feet in the house. Messy cereal bowls. Someone who looks like you laughing in the hallway. And it didn’t scare me.”

You squeeze his hand, grounding him.

“It felt good,” he adds. “Like maybe I could do it, if it was with you.”

The room is silent except for the buzz of the TV and the rhythm of your breathing. You shift so you’re closer, knees tucked beside him now, your hand still in his.

“I think you’d be a good dad,” you say. “Kind of annoying sometimes, definitely dramatic, but good. And patient. And loving.”

He huffs a laugh, looking down. There’s something glossy in his eyes, but he doesn’t try to hide it.

“We don’t have to rush,” you add. “There’s time. But if you’re asking if I see that with you... I do. I really do.”

He leans forward, forehead resting against yours, the kind of closeness that doesn’t need anything else.

Your words settle between you like a spark landing on dry kindling, soft at first—but then his fingers tighten on your leg, not enough to hurt, just enough that your breath catches a little. His thumb strokes slow and deliberate now, the kind of touch that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

He leans in and kisses you. Deeper than usual. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that speaks in heat and quiet promises. His hand trails higher, palm warm against your thigh as he pulls you closer, until you’re practically in his lap.

You break the kiss just barely, breath hitching against his mouth. “What’s gotten into you?”

He doesn’t smile, not in the usual way. It’s something darker, smoldering in his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours.

“We can talk about timing later,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “But for now…”

His hands slide to your hips, dragging you more firmly against him. His mouth grazes your jaw, then your neck, trailing heat in every breath. “For now we can practice.”

You let out a soft laugh that turns into a sigh as he kisses just below your ear. “Practice, huh?”

“Mmhmm.” He kisses lower, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt like he’s already mapped this territory but wants to relearn every inch. “Gotta make sure we’re good at it.”

You tilt your head back, giving him more space, and he takes it gladly, teeth brushing your collarbone before soothing the spot with his tongue. His hands are firmer now, greedy, like the thought of you carrying a piece of him awakened something deeper. Some instinct to claim, to worship, to make you his in every way.

“Seems important,” you tease, breathless now.

He hums, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips pink from kissing. “It is.”

And then he kisses you again, deep and slow and endless, like he has all the time in the world to prove it.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

when in rome

words: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut!, p in v sex, unprotected sex, female receiving oral, mentions of a blowjob, plane sex, mile high club woohoo!, cheating, not a happy ending!, angst

“hello.” you smile at the handsome man as the flight attendant guides him to his seat, and you’re glad its next to yours.

“hey.” he smiles right back and you swear you fall in love at that moment. “i’m rafe.”

“y/n.” you can feel your face flush, and you pray that its a cute blush rather than a full red face.

“nice to meet you.” he adjusts how he's sitting. you figure that due to his height it must be uncomfortable to fly, even if he is flying business class. “gonna get to know each other real well, huh?”

“yeah, seems like it.” you giggle. you find yourself going from dreading the 8 hour nonstop flight to looking forward to it as you fall into easy conversation with rafe.

“so, what are your plans in italy?” he asks you.

“ah, vacation mostly. i have some distant family i’m going to visit but its really just a fun trip for me. what about yourself?” “business.” rafe sighs. you should have been able to guess by his outfit, everything about him reads business man, even though he’s clearly on the younger side, you guess not much older than yourself.

“you’ll get some time to see a bit of the sights at least, right?” you ask hopefully.

“i will definitely find time if you’re the one showing them to me.” rafe smirks at you, making the flirtation clear, giving you the go ahead to bat your eyelashes right back at him.

--

“this-” you gasp. “this isn’t what i had in mind when you said show you the sights. thought you meant like the trevi fountain or-” your mind is completely blank of other attractions to see in rome, despite that being your whole reason for visiting. you’re far too overwhelmed with rafe between your thighs.

“mmm, this sight is all i wanna see.” he leans forward to press a kiss to your clit before darting his tongue out and flicking over it, movements still teasingly light like they have been for the past ten minutes.

“feels so good.” you moan. even with keeping his movements so gentle, its still evident rafe has a talented mouth.

he finally leans in fully, lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks the sensitive flesh into his mouth. your hands reach for his hair, grabbing onto the dirty blond strands. 

you try to keep your moans quiet as rafe eats you out, you really do, for the sake of the people staying in the hotel rooms next to yours, but you simply can’t help when you moan out, his sucking forcing it out of you.

“can’t wait to get inside this cute little hole.” rafe smirks, tongue moving down to your entrance, finally showing it some appreciation. he laps over your cunt, unashamed to slurp and swallow your juices, shocked how wet you are (although he shouldn’t be after teasing you for so long).

“i can’t wait to feel your dick.” you moan, hands tightening on his hair but rafe doesn’t complain as you push his face forward, finally conceding and sticking his tongue into your entrance, feeling your gummy walls against the muscle as he begins to thrust it in and out.

rafe continues for as long as he possibly can, even grinds into the bed slightly to hold off from how badly he needs to give his dick attention, but he can’t take it anymore.

you are completely naked while rafe is still fully dressed, now kneeling between your legs. he works on the buttons of his shirt first before tossing it away, undoing his belt buckle while keeping his eyes locked with yours until he’s able to slide it out of the loops, also joining his shirt somewhere on the floor.

he’s built for a businessman, muscles gleaming in the low light as he works his pants and underwear off next until his hard cock is revealed, standing upright away from his body with pride.

“wanna suck you.” you begin to sit up, but rafe pushes your waist gently back down against the bed.

“you can suck me off after showing me the trevi fountain tomorrow. need to get inside you.”

“tomorrow?” you smile. you weren’t sure when you called his number after exchanging them on the plane if he would even pick up, let alone find time to come and see you while in rome. “aren’t you busy?” “don’t care what my boss says.” rafe simply shrugs. “not if it means getting more time with you.”

its strangely romantic for someone who is basically a complete stranger to say, but the thought is quickly swept out of your head when rafe drapes himself over your body, his cock rubbing through your slick folds.

“condom.” you suddenly realize, eyes widening.

“shit, i don’t have one.” rafe groans, still rubbing his cock against you. “please, baby.” “i-i guess its fine.” you’re on the pill, but you only met rafe a few days ago, and unprotected sex would be completely out of the question if you weren’t so desperate for him to plunge his dick inside of you.

“thank you, baby.” rafe says, the nickname rolling like butter off his tongue, making your eyes flutter closed.

he reaches down with one hand, lining his cock up with your entrance before sinking in, both voices joining in a chorus as you moan out. 

“fuck, you’re so tight. feels so good.” rafe praises you, his hand reaching to grip your tit in is large hand, encompassing so much of your chest.

“mmm, slow.” you flinch slightly, still adjusting to how big he feels inside of you, stretching at your walls. “slow at first please.”

rafe nods, hips barely moving as he rocks in and out, dropping himself lower to press a kiss to your lips, quickly turning into a makeout session until rafe just can’t keep the slow pace anymore.

“you’re good.” you tell rafe, who has been slowly increasing his tempo since you started kissing.

“thank god.” he moans, hips going from soft swings to instant heavy pounding, thrusting wildly up into you. you let out an involuntary squeal as you reach up above your head, gripping the headboard as rafe repositions himself slightly, now kneeling with your hips held firmly in his big hands, holding you up so he gets the perfect angle to hammer inside of you.

you moan as you feel your high building, never having been able to from just penetration before, but rafe is hitting a spot inside of you that you swear no man has ever touched before, and when you feel him release inside of you, your own orgasm forces itself out too with a scream.

--

“i mean what are the chances we have the same flight back.” you laugh. you’re not sat next to each other like before, but you do plan on asking to move seats so rafe can keep you preoccupied again.

“i know.” he smirks, leaning forward to press a kiss to the edge of your mouth. “can’t wait to fuck you in the bathroom.”

you roll your eyes at him at the moment, but you do let him take you into the bathroom when the lights dim for everyone else to sleep, easily enticed by his blue eyes.

“gotta be quiet for real now baby.” rafe says, having somehow maneuvered both of your clothes off in the small room.

his hips are thrusting up into yours, his palm covering your mouth, seeing by the gloss in your eyes that you’re already too far gone to hold your noises back. thankfully, your hands are still able to grip the edge of the sink to keep yourself steady.

“can’t be like in the hotel room.” he smirks. you eventually got a noise complaint on your fourth night there, but the hotel associate simply asked you to keep it down before retreating, probably intimidated by the fact that rafe still had very little on when answering the door.

“wanna kiss you so bad, gotta promise me you won’t moan the second i take my hand away.” rafe says, looking into your eyes. 

you nod, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that has him instantly conceding, hand dropping away from your mouth, quickly being replaced by his own lips, still not trusting you fully, especially when he uses his newly freed hand to reach between your bodies and rub your clit.

rafe manages to dampen your moans that flow into his mouth as he pumps up faster, still without a condom, having never gotten around to buying them between working and trying to spend every spare moment inside of you, only agreeing to see the sights so your bodies could both recover before fucking again.

“close.” you whimper. rafe smiles, hes learned your body so well in such a short period of time, he was able to tell just from the way your cunt began to pulsate around his cock that your high was almost upon you.

rafe moves faster, the sink squeaking slightly until your body tenses briefly before turning into a tremble, clit pulsing under his finger as rafe lets out a low moan, lodging himself as deep within you as he can before cumming.

you feel blissed out, elated for the rest of the flight, even managing to catch some sleep while leaning against rafes shoulder. you don’t even think about what is going to happen after you land back in america, how you are going somewhere different than where rafe is.

you walk out of the plane right behind him, expecting him to turn and take your hand like he did when walking around rome, or to turn around ask you if you’d like to chat and have some coffee, maybe even kiss you and pull you into a random secluded lounge.

but he does none of those things, simply keeps on walking. you follow him, tears starting to swell in your eyes.

they fall when a girl runs up to him, her long blond waves flowing as she jumps into his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips that rafe instantly accepts like he hasn’t been kissing you for the past week.

“i’ve missed you so much, rafey!” she squeals. you’re not sure if its her words or the high pitch of her voice that causes you to stagger back.

rafe still doesn’t look back as he walks away, doesn’t turn to see you fall to your knees, doesn’t witness the way sobs rack your body.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie

[losing-it-lately]

pretty heels...

ellie williams x reader

The lights are dim, loud music is playing, and the drinks are packing a punch, but all Ellie can focus on are your shiny heels. You bought them for a special occasion: date night. Your boyfriend took you out to dinner, and his friends and your friends met up after the meal in this dingy house party.

You had tried to persuade yourself into thinking that being dolled up at this random house was exactly how you wanted your might to end, but your heels were uncomfortable from having been strapped in wrong, and your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. He was probably off having a drink or smoke with his annoying friends, and all Ellie could think was, how dare he leave you on this couch alone?

You weren't really alone. Sandwiched between a stoned Dina and her designated driver and sober boyfriend, Jesse, but still, if you were hers, you would be wrapped in a comfortable blanket watching a movie- not in some sweaty and loud living room turned nightclub. All Ellie could focus on was the small downturn of your lips, and those shiny heels. So beautiful, and classy, and definitely tied on wrong.

She approached the couch with a cup of punch, holding it out for you to take. "Thanks," you smiled at her.

"I like your shoes." You graced her with another small thank you, and then she slipped out, "can I fix them for you," before her face turned red. The lukewarm beers from earlier had clearly affected her and as confusion flickered over your face, all she could wonder was how much of a perv you thought she must be. An incessant vision of you rejecting her suddenly came to the forefront of her mind, but it didn't matter as it was interrupted by the bashful tone of your voice.

"Could you?" Your eyes peered up at her, eyelashes framing and fluttering and lips slightly pouted. You rambled as Ellie's brain short circuited, trying to find a way to answer normally, "I bought them to feel nice for dinner, and I couldn't figure out the straps, and Derek didn't want to help me. Something about us being late to our reservation, and-"

"Yes, I'll always be happy to help." Her response bounced around in her head until you thanked her yet again. She smiled back to you, and knelt down, putting one hand on your ankle, and the other working on gently undoing the first shoe. Her hands felt soft as they fixed and reworked the straps around your foot, eventually moving to the next shoe. Something about her fingers holding onto you and helping you become comfortable felt right, and as she finished with your second heel, she looked back up at you. "That feel better?"

You nodded, and all Ellie could think of as she gazed up at you was how badly she wanted to stay on her knees in front of you. It's all she could think about when you left with your boyfriend; how her hands would trail over ur legs, how her knees would get sore and bruised from how long she would kneel for you, how her breath would feel warm on your thighs. That same visual of you sitting above her was all she could think about that night when she was alone in her bed. She revisited it again the next morning, and the next time she saw you, and it ran in a constant, passive loop in her head, until you told her, "I broke up with Derek," a month later.

[chronologically-challenged]

Rambling some theories about @askoverkill AU~

1) Bodies from the previous loops stay. Not sure if it's just previous outer loops or both inner and outer loops. Currently have this theory is because the skeleton under the rock. Very conspicuous that the spot where Siffrins die first has a degraded corpse. We could be seeing more bodies from now on.

2) Dusk was the previous Siffrin before Dawn. (Which makes sense tbh. Dawn being the one now starting while Dusk is losing). I was trying to figure out their role in this AU, but looking back at the intro, the Siffrin who holds the star looks VERY similiar to Dusk's outfit.

The main differences are 1) under clothes are different (which could be just a design change or just a sign of depression. Who knows) and 2) the flowers on the hat, which I suspect Lupus gave him. Other than that, the hats are both pointy, the hair is placed nearly EXACTLY the same, they both have six eyelashes instead of the usual Siffrin three, the collar is very distinctive, and the triangles on the cloak. And considering how even the background Siffrins in the intro are very distinctive, it can't be a coincidence that there are so many similarities between the intro Siffrin and Dusk. Dusk has to have been the previous Siffrin, but how much Dusk remembers of the previous outer loop.... I'm not sure. (In many ways this makes Dusk more of the Loop parallel than even Loop. Overkill AU Loop has been through so much that everything is detached at this point. Dusk meanwhile... for them the feelings of self identity are probably all still raw).

Also uh. This ask? Anon asks if every Siffrin who gives up loses their he/hims and the answer is "Dusk still has their pronouns despite everything". So uh. Implication that they're a Siffrin who gave up!!!!

3) The Director is a bad end act 5 Siffrin. There's another post that goes more into this, made by 3rd-shrike. I'm convinced this is the case especially since Loop has been confirmed to still have been sasasaap Siffrin. So that means the ISAT timeline very likely has to have happened as well (ie: we're not starting from scratch with the timeline in this au).

4) This has to end with Siffrin choosing self care. The entire AU is Siffrin throwing himself into a death chamber for the sake of their friends, choosing to become meat for the meat grinder despite everyone telling him to stop. This can only end if they choose not to go in.

[thatgenericwriter]

The Moment Of Heat || Sam Winchester

Paring: Sam Winchester x gn!reader

Summary: dying day after day is going to be the death of you, ironic right?

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

p.s. based on season 3 ep 11 (mystery spot) and part 2 of the Heat of the Moment series

p.s.s. read part one here

༶•┈��୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You let the brothers deal with interviewing the people in the Mystery Spot as you were a little preoccupied scanning literally everything that could potentially kill you. A lady accidentally bumped into you and you about pissed your pants.

You shoot nervous and pleading glances at Sam hoping they will finish up soon. Finally, they walk up to you and tell you about their findings, or lack thereof, before you walk outside.

You can tell that Dean is still having a hard time wrapping his head around all of this. "So we die at the same time and then you two wake up and repeat the day again?" You and Sam, who you have now realized is walking very close to you, nod in agreement. You can see that Dean has an idea by the smug look on his face. "Okay! So let's just make sure we don't die. If we make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out."

Sam looks at Dean like he has two heads before turning to you. "I think it's worth a shot." You say while shrugging, "I say we grab some takeout and head back to the motel, lay low until midnight."

Dean starts walking backwards with a big smile on his face. "All right, good. Who wants Chinese?" That puts a smile on your face as you skip happily next to Dean, ready to finally get a chance to eat, but you don't even make it three more steps before a big ass table falls from the sky onto both of you.

You wake up again fucking pissed you rush to get ready and meet up with Sam again at the dinner. After telling Dean what happened once again you guys start coming up with theories.

"So, uh ... If you're stuck in "Groundhog Day", why? What's behind it?" Dean asks while you lean your head against Sam, who doesn't say anything but slightly moves so that you can be comfortable, which you appreciate.

"Well, first I thought it was the Mystery Spot. Now I'm not so sure." Sam sighs remembering how you jumped whenever someone looked in your direction. He just wished that they could figure this out soon so you could stop suffering.

Dean looks between the two of you before asking what Sam's plan is. "Well, we keep you guys breathing. Try to make it to tomorrow. I mean, that's the only thing I can think of." Dean looks around smugly, "Shouldn't be too hard."

You let out a big sigh and lean even further into Sam, "Says you. Your memory gets wiped clean. You don't have to wake up every day knowing you're just going to die again."

They both look at you with pity clear on their faces. Sam wraps his arm around you while Dean tries to find a way to cheer you up. "Well, nothing's set in stone. You say I order the same thing every day, right?" You hum in agreement.

"Excuse me!" Dean calls out to Doris batting his eyelashes at her, "Can I get sausage instead of bacon?" Doris yells back agreeing to his request. He turns around to both of you smugly, "See? Different day already. You see if you and I decide that I am not gonna die – I'm not gonna die."

Doris brings over Dean's order, complete with his sausage, which he immediately starts to choke on. Panic crosses your features as a metallic taste starts to form in your mouth. You quickly move away from Sam as blood starts to flood your mouth.

Sam watches you and Dean struggle to breathe feeling helpless as he calls out to you both. He turns your face to look at him, "Meet us at Wartburg Lodge room 27! Okay!?"

You try to give a thumbs up but you are waking up in your bed gasping for air before you even get a chance. Quickly, you get dressed and start making your way to the lodge, but you barely get a few blocks away before you are hit by a bus.

When you wake up again you contemplate even trying to leave your apartment, but then you think about being alone all day and that scares you even more so you start your journey to the lodge once more.

You didn't even make it to the front door of your apartment building before you died.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake up and die again. Gas explosion, then a burglary gone wrong. Dead, dead, dead, dead. It didn't matter what you and Sam did, nothing worked. You and Dean died every time. Every. Single. Time.

Sam was your only saving grace at this point. On the days where you guys lasted a little longer than usual were spent with casual chatter between the two of you, which eventually turned into flirting. Now you and Sam are teetering on the edge of a weird never-ending relationship.

Walking into the dinner you slide yourself into the booth with Sam as he casually puts his arm around you and pulls you in closer to his side almost protectively. You lean your head on his shoulder as you listen to him tell Dean for the literal hundredth time about what is happening to you guys.

After the stupid argument they have every day, you guys take your normal walk. Sam intertwines his fingers with yours as you name all of the things that are going to happen. Then something extraordinary happens. Dean breaks the cycle.

He asks the blonde lady about the fliers in her hands.

"A hundred Tuesdays and you never bothered to check what she was holding in her hands?" Sam shrugs as Dean holds up the flyer. It's a missing poster for a guy named Dexter Hasselback. "That's his daughter back there." Sam grabs the flyer and runs after the blonde girl.

You stay back with Dean to try and keep him from doing anything stupid to get you guys killed again, but when you look over at him he's already trying to make friends with the dog tied near you. You try to stop him but it's too late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You are with Sam in the booth again, but this time he brought his computer with him. You look over his shoulder as he reads the article out loud. "So the police report says Dexter Hasselback is a professor, but that's not all he is. I talked to his daughter. Guy's quite the journalist. Columns in magazines, a blog."

You look up as the man at the counter leaves. 'Does he always do that?' You watch as he walks past the window, no longer interested in the boy's conversation.

You guys stand up from the booth and you look at the now empty spot at the counter noticing something new. You pull on Sam's jacket sleeve and point to the now empty chair. Dean looks between the two of you confused. "What's wrong?"

Sam starts to pull you out of the dinner and after the guy. "This guy has maple syrup for the last hundred Tuesdays, all of a sudden he's having strawberry?"

Dean jogs slightly to catch up with the two of you letting out a sarcastic comment. "It's a free country. Man can't choose his own syrup, huh? What have we become?"

Sam shakes his head aggressively, speeding up even more. "Not in this diner. Not today. Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. Except y/n and I."

Sadly, that would not be the day you catch the man, Dean getting hit by another car sealed your fate, however, you had faith the next day would bring answers.

[birdie-in-arcadia]

All In

CHAPTER FIVE — THE TENSION BETWEEN NOTES  (My Point of View) 

The rain has faded by the time Vessel arrives. It’s late, later than our usual meetups. He doesn’t seem to mind. I’d texted on a whim, something about a record I thought he might like and how I’d rather not listen to it alone. He showed up fifteen minutes later. 

Now he sits on the floor of my room, long legs crossed, back resting against the foot of my bed. His coat is slung over the chair by my desk. He’s in a black Alpha Wolf hoodie and worn joggers; the sleeves pulled halfway over his hands. A single silver ring on his pointer finger catches the lamplight as he lifts the record sleeve, inspecting it like it’s a sacred text. 

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, turning the cover toward me. “You really do collect the good stuff.” I smile from my spot on the bed, knees drawn up beneath me. “You haven’t even heard it yet.” “I don’t need to.” He places the vinyl on the turntable. It crackles softly as the needle lands, and then the music begins; slow, moody piano layered with ambient textures that rise like steam. 

We don’t talk for a while. The record turns, the room warms, the city outside drifts further away. I tuck my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, hoodie sleeves tucked into my fists. The soft glow from my desk lamp stretches across the rug and catches the profile of his face. His eyelashes cast shadows against his cheekbone, jawline softened. He’s not speaking, but I’ve learned that his silences are never empty. 

The record drifts into a melancholic swell, and something in me folds a little. “I used to play this on loop,” I murmur. “Before I moved. It made the leaving feel… allowed.” He glances back at me. “You associate music with moments?” he asks incredulously. “Don’t you?” He tilts his head, thinking. “Sometimes, with people and places alike.” he laments. “And what does this make you think of?” I implore. He’s quiet for a second too long. Then, “Still figuring that out.” 

The record ends with a soft click. I get up to flip it over, passing behind him as he sits on the rug. When I return to the bed, I notice his gaze trailing across the corner of my room, where my N64 rests beneath my bookshelf, plugged into my TV. “Is that-” he begins, pointing. I laugh. “It still works, believe it or not.” He looks back at me. “What games do you have?” “Mostly nostalgic ones; The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, Super Smash Bros, a few others I can’t seem to part with.” He stands, smooth and quiet, and crouches beside the TV. “Can I?” “Of course,” I say. 

The console powers on with a soft buzz. He scrolls through the menu, fingers moving with the kind of familiarity that comes from muscle memory. “Zelda,” he says, selecting it. “Always Zelda.” I lower myself onto the floor beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder but not quite touching. He holds the controller delicately, like it’s a relic, and begins to play. “I used to get lost for hours in this,” he says. “Did you ever finish it?” I ask. “A few times. I wanted to try out different endings.” There’s something wistful in his tone, so I don’t press. 

We watch the story unfold pixel by pixel. He plays slowly, not rushing through anything. I watch the way his fingers move across the buttons, the way he leans forward slightly in concentration. He doesn’t fill the quiet with chatter, but he smiles when I laugh at the dialogue. He listens when I point out tiny details, nodding like they matter. 

I lean back on my palms, resisting the urge to let my arm brush his. We sit that way for a long time, soft music still spilling from the record, warm lamplight cocooning us. Rain occasionally tickling the window glass. At one point, he pauses the game and shifts slightly toward me. 

“This feels familiar,” he says. I blink. “What does?” “This,” he repeats, gesturing vaguely. “You, me, the music, the game.” I study him. “Is that a good thing?” He nods once. “It feels natural. Like I’m in my element.” My breath catches. Neither of us looks away. I want to lean into him. Want to rest my head on his shoulder, to close the space between us and feel something steadier than this silence we keep dancing around. But I don’t. Because maybe he doesn’t want that. Maybe I’m misreading. Instead, I wrap my arms around my knees again and tuck my chin there. He presses start, and the game continues. 

He stays until the record ends a second time. Then, gently, turns off the console, places the controller on the dresser next to my TV, and stands. I follow, walking him to the door. He lingers on the threshold. “I had a good time,” he says. “Me too.” There’s a pause. “I hope I didn’t overstay.” he says nervously. “You didn’t.” He hesitates. Then gives me a small, quiet smile. “I’ll see you soon?” I nod. “Yeah. You will.” And when the door clicks shut behind him, I don’t feel alone. I just feel like I’m waiting for the next message from him. 

@yourgirlisa here you go! If anybody else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

[transbeamrooikat]

the Charlie and Vaggie designs are finally done :DDD this was originally meant to be posted for lesbian visibility week, sorry im so late lmao

I also made a screenshot redraw :D alt version + original screenshot under the cut :3 (as well as a transcription of the text on the designs, but that's also in the alt :D)

The text around Vaggie reads:

"I feel like her personality is so Charlie-focused (which makes sense for her at this point to be fair) that aside from shifting her fashion to be more bitch it feels hard to figure out what she'd wear outside of Charlie/the hotel, I feel - heaven is the only other large influence on her so I tried to convey that? It's hard to toe the line between too little and too obvious"

"tried to keep her bow-ribbons as being attached to her belt loops, but I feel like a bow in and of itself doesn't match her militarism"

"considering - her having one key to the hotel on her carabiner & Charlie having a matching earing?"

The text around Charlie reads:

"gave her the eyelashes as the heaven-eye vaggie has on her carabiner to tie back to her heritage"

"made her shirt crumpled cause I think it firs her "trying but still ultimately still unexperienced" vibe"

"tried to make her goatness more explicit, particularly cause I feel like it's too stublel in the show, particularity cause I just like drawing goat features :3"

[lavendertales]

dark times || Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: the night you find Joel in a questionable state, to say the least, is the night a confession leaves your lips. A confession that both uplifts and shocks Joel.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: use of alcohol & pills (as depicted in the show); mentions of depression, loss, suicide; established relationship and a lot of fluff for all intents and purposes.

A/N: comments & reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

It’s not unusual for Joel’s house to be this somber: lights almost turned off completely and utter silence. On nights when he’s perkier he might play around with his guitar, but tonight it seems it’s not the case.

You haven’t seen him almost all day.

The fugitive glimpses you’ve caught of him throughout the day have not been enough. Since you haven’t gotten the chance to talk to him, you simply assumed he was having an off day. On those days, you came to understand that, more often than not, he needed space.

But it’s well past midnight and you have an annoying pit in your stomach, an ugly feeling that won’t cease pestering you. It can’t hurt checking up on him, right?

You let yourself into the house, gently closing the door behind you. The wooden floor screeches beneath you ever so slightly, indirectly announcing your presence there.

“Joel?” you say, barely loud enough to be heard. “It’s me, I let myself in. Are you still awake?”

You see the light coming from the bedroom as you reach the end of the stairs, so you figure he’s either sleeping or just wallowing in self-pity. Again, not unusual. You peep through the door, noticing Joel curled up on the bed, still in his day clothes. As you approach, you notice how disheveled he looks in his green flannel and jeans and big, dirty boots.

“Joel, hey,” you say, gently nudging his arm. “It’s me, hi.”

You keep nudging him, but no response from his side. Perhaps he had one too many glasses of whiskey and he’s finally sleeping properly.

“Joel?”

You start to lose some of your patience and nudge him harder, but still no response. You call out his name, a rush of panic spreading throughout your body. Something tells you to check his pulse; he barely has one.

“Joel, come on, don’t do this,” you quip. “Joel, I swear to God—get up. Now.”

Soon, all words flee from your mind and the only one you can say, on a desperate loop as you try to bring some life into the body by shaking it, is Joel.

Joel. The only man you’ve ever loved.

You fail to realize when tears began to stream down your cheeks, hot and filled with an impossible ache, but you couldn’t care less, not now. You cup his face with your palms, examining every freckle, every eyelash, every portion of skin you can register.

“Joel, don’t you fucking dare do this,” you whisper. “Don’t—don’t you fucking do this to us, I swear I’m—Joel!”

Then suddenly, a mumble makes your eyes shoot wide open, staring down at the face beneath. Joel opens his eyes, trying to get a hold of the surroundings. Then he stammers your name, and you sigh in relief.

“I thought—what the hell happened?”

“Uh—“

He’s clearly not fully awake yet, so you finally scan the bedroom and notice the empty whiskey bottle on the nightstand, as well as a small plate. Then it dawns on you.

“What did you take?”

“Some—pills. And whiskey.”

“I gathered as much. I meant, what pills did you take?”

Joel rubs his temples. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

That’s when you finally lose whatever shred of patience you had. The anger you feel is searing hot and white, and you are unable to control it, seeing as how you swiftly stand up, eager to get as far away from Joel as possible.

“So what was the plan?” you whisper through gritted teeth. “Mix alcohol and pills and just… never wake up?”

Joel barely blinks, avoiding your eyes, and the answer becomes crystal clear. It awakens a rage inside of you that you weren’t even aware you could feel.

“You know what? Fuck you, Miller. Fuck you and your selfish, self-destructive wishes. I don’t need this.”

Joel calls out your name, coarse and yet soft, but you pay no attention.

“I don’t need to be adding your death to my list of concerns!” you snap. “I really don’t! I’ve got enough shit to deal with as it is, and worrying whether you’re still breathing or not is not there, it should not—it shouldn’t be there! So fuck you! Fuck you for making me fall in love with you and then making me worry about you! You and Ellie… how the fuck can you think to do this?!”

“You—you what?”

“How can you think to do such a thing when you’ve got people around you who care about you?! Ellie, Tommy, Maria… me! Fucking—me, loving you day after day, night after night, and never getting easier because—“

Your chest is heaving, filled with heavy breaths. Your eyes are teary and your heart—oh, how it aches at the thought of losing this troubled man. It aches for him, incessantly so, and tonight is nothing if not a testimony to your accidentally spilled feelings.

It is now, in the aftermath of your anger, that you come to acknowledge you haven’t said the L word before, and that this is a huge deal for someone like Joel.

But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you; you simply stare at each other, hearts breaking and aching for each other simultaneously. You’re the one who decides to break the silence.

“Do what you want, Joel.” There’s defeat in your voice, as well as in your eyes. It breaks Joel too in unexpected ways, but he finds his body too heavy to react properly. He can only look at you regretfully. “I can’t tell you what to do. But I thought…”

You pause simply to catch your breath, only now realizing how hard you’ve been breathing and how much this scenario has been weighing on you.

“I just thought the life we get to start over here in Jackson would provide some sort of comfort,” you finish saying, wiping your cheeks. “I really thought you might be okay, or if you weren’t, that you’d talk to me or Tommy.”

Joel coos your name, struggling to stand from the bed, but you put your hands up in some sort of defense.

“Do what you want, Joel.”

You do feel some form of regret as you exit the house, still crying. Guilt slowly overwhelms you for not asking what was wrong instead of lashing out like that, but the truth of the matter is, you panicked. The thought of losing Joel like that was too much to bear, and seeing him in that awful state, probably drowning in his own thoughts and pain, it was shocking and debilitating.

For both of you, yet in different ways.

You hear your name being called out in the distance, yet you do not turn around. Although you want to see him, to look at him and admire the liveliness in his face, you also don’t want to see the pain residing behind his eyes, the hollowness of them.

“It’s her birthday today.”

You stop, the information sinking in.

“Was,” Joel corrects himself as he approaches you, clearing his throat. “Today was her birthday. Every year, it fucking sucks. I always try to forget, to leave it behind. It never works. I always wake up somehow… and I always remember.”

Your face softens, turning to meet with this face. When you do, you see the devastation smeared all over it, the troubling ache and the desperate need to fix the situation, and you sigh involuntarily. You know Joel used to be a contractor in his former life, and so he’s used to building and fixing with his own hands.

The inability to fix the worst pain of his life must be the most troublesome feeling.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all you can muster. “It must be unbearable.”

“It wasn’t intentional. I just thought I’d… numb myself, and then I’d wake up. Guess I did.”

You fear you sense regret in his voice, but you don’t express your concern. Joel, however, inches even closer and shyly reaches for your hand, lightly stroking the back of your hand.

“I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m ungrateful for the life I have now,” he mumbles apologetically. “You and Tommy and Ellie, and even Maria… you’ve given me a new purpose.”

“I’m sorry I was so harsh. I—I panicked.”

Tears threaten to flood your eyes again and you take a big breath in while Joel holds both your hands now.

“I saw you there unconscious and… I just…”

He pulls you in for a hug, and you finally exhale, buried in his chest.

“I just want you around for as long as possible,” you whisper. “It’s selfish, I know, but—“

“Love is selfish, I guess. That makes me selfish too.”

Eyes widened, you remove yourself from his chest to stare incredulously at him. But Joel’s face no longer seems wrecked—not to that extreme degree, at least. He seems confident in his words, whereas you probably look like you’re doubting everything you’ve ever heard.

“Did you just say—?”

Joel’s lips stretch in the slightest, revealing the beginning of a shy, small smile, and your heart flutters.

“Maybe I should’ve said something sooner,” he coos. “Thought it was obvious.”

You scoff, still unable to believe. “I do,” Joel continues. “I really do. It’s not… easy for me to say, not always. Never thought I’d say the words, ever again, but… here you are.”

“I don’t want you saying anything just because I accidentally said them.”

“Accidentally?”

“Well… I didn’t plan on saying that I love you under these circumstances or that I’d blurt them out like that, but… here you are.”

Joel chuckles, the sound so easygoing and saccharine it weakens your knees.

“That’s okay,” he replies, his mouth curling softly into a smile. “I have a better memory now for this day.”

[lovelaurs]

Please do it I would love to read a fic about freaking Laurence getting his glass prescription or something like that. ( also i head cannon laur has such bad vision and he has to wear grandpa glasses) 

AN EYE FOR DETAIL

featuring : laurance, cadenza, & castor synopsis : cadenza convinces laurance to finally get glasses. but when they arrive for his appointment, something seems a bit off about this optometrist. tags : poor eyesight laurance, eye care, getting glasses, silly shenanigans, traumatized forever word count : 1.3k a/n : as someone who has incredibly bad eyesight and refused to wear my glasses for years, i figured, "hey, why don't i project my issues onto laurance?". well, that's what i did. the man has poor eyesight now. enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“I’m not wearing them, Cadenza!”

Laurance yelled, staring daggers at the pair of glasses within his sister’s hands.

“I mean- just look at it! It’s practically a relic!”

The glasses in question were his Grandfather’s; as they were very ancient looking in appearance. A lot was simply wrong about these spectacles: a slight crack had formed on the left lens, along with the hinges being extremely loose, and not to mention the thing just overall looking like it was from the 1960s.

In short? They sucked.

“Look, Laurance. I wouldn’t have to force you to wear these if you simply just, oh I don’t know, went to the eye doctor?” Cadenza put her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrow at the brunette.

Laurance twitched at the thought.

The eye doctor? Like hell he was going to the Optometrist!

Ever since he got pink eye when he was younger after playing with the pigs on his farm, he had always been afraid of the optometrist. 

When he went in initially for a consultation all those years ago; the tools, lenses, and prescriptions freaked him out. Of course, he only needed eyedrops, so he wasn’t in dire need for any specific treatment, but still… The very idea of it horrified the poor man.

His eyes had always been sensitive.

The smallest eyelash, a drop of water, the slightest amount of soap from the shower; any of these things would easily bring the man to his knees in defeat. Hell, even seeing blurry or smudges through glasses would make his eyes water. 

He was pretty vulnerable.

That is why this man downright refused to get his eyes checked.

The concept of looking through a possibly blurry lens just sends chills up his spine. Even though the action was needed to help prescribe the exact lenses he needed to see better, he just couldn’t bear it.

“I just- I can’t go, alright! That place freaks me out!” Laurance crossed his arms, raising his head in defiance.

Cadenza sighed, pulling out her phone. “If you don’t come with me to get glasses… I’ll text our dads to not allow you to babysit Caleb for a month.”

Laurance gasped dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She flipped her phone over to Laurance, showing him the already typed out message she planned to send to Joh and Hayden. “Try me.”

Within the next hour, the two scheduled an appointment.

About a month later, Laurance was nervously pacing on the sidewalk outside a building named “Castor’s Eye Care”.

The brunette began to bite his nails nervously as Cadenza grabbed her purse from the car, rolling her eyes. She closed the car door behind her before walking up to her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Laurance. It’ll be fine.”

“You’ll stay with me the whole time, right?”

At that, Cadenza winced. “Well… um…”

Laurance’s eyes widened before he covered his face with his hands. “Oh Irene, you’re leaving me.”

She released his shoulder, shaking her hands. “No, not at all! I’ll still be in the building with you, but I need to get my own reading glasses repaired.”

She started to walk towards the door, until she turned around to find Laurance standing in the same spot. 

“Clock’s ticking, Laurance. Come on!” She looped her arm through his and dragged him along as he groaned.

As they stepped into the bright building, Laurance was immediately overwhelmed by just how many pairs of glasses there were across the walls.

Laurance looked around, his nerves starting to get to him, while Cadenza approached the desk to check them in. The generic pop music playing over the speakers was not helping in the slightest

After making sure they were ready for their appointments, Cadenza sat down on the bench by the window and patted the other side, silently asking Laurance to join her.

He sat down beside her, his leg shaking up and down as he kept his eyes focused on the door. Something in the back of his mind wished that the hinges would break, causing it to shut tight forever.

He never wanted to see beyond that very door.

Unfortunately, life seemed to always go against the poor brunette, as the door swiftly opened to reveal an older man with frizzled hair and a bandana. He looked around, almost confused, before his eyes landed on Laurance.

The man pointed at Laurance sternly, then motioned for him to come over.

Laurance nervously looked at Cadenza who nodded and pushed him out of the chair, causing Laurance to stumble forward. She smiled, speaking through her teeth, “Get your ass in there now or so help me, Laurance.”

With that, Laurance quickly made his way over to the curious looking optometrist, following him into the room.

The man motioned for him to sit on the chair, to which Laurance quietly complied; adjusting onto the leather chair with frantic nerves.

What didn’t help his anxiety were the countless pictures of chickens across the room’s walls.

Why were there so many chickens?

As the somewhat odd man began funneling through the cabinets, seeming to be looking for something, Laurance thought it best to break the tension with some small talk.

“So… how long have you been an eye doctor for?” He asked. He winced at the feedback that came from the song Toxic by Britney Spears playing obnoxiously through the telecom above. 

“Ah, well, only a few weeks! Can you believe how easy it is to get a license in this sort of thing- aha found it!”

What.

As it seemed the man found the tool he was looking for, he whipped around to face Laurance with it in hand.

He was going to die here, wasn’t he?

Laurance tugged at his collar nervously, his leg continuing to bounce. “Wow that’s uh… certainly fast, Mr…?”

“Mr. Castor!”

Oh gods.

The building was named Castor’s Eye Care… this newly graduated doctor had finished his lessons and rented out a building all within the same month.

Laurance silently repeated prayers to Irene in his head as Castor approached, mysterious tool in hand. His eyes seemed to focus too bluntly on the object as Castor followed his line of sight to it. He quickly averted his eyes to one of the many pictures of chickens hanging about.

“Ah, this old thing?” He motioned at the tool. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to fear! I’ve only been officially certified for a few weeks, but I’ve been doing this sort of thing in the Black Market for years!”

Black Market?! Who the hell allowed this guy to start a business?!

“Now, let’s take a look at those pretty green eyes of yours, shall we?”

His eyes were blue. He couldn’t even tell the color of his eyes– oh my Irene he was done for.

About an hour later, an absolutely horrified Laurance walked out of the room, his eyes blown wide in horror, red veins visible as Dr. Castor gave him a pat on the back.

“You did very well, Laurance! I can’t wait to see you back here to pick up your glasses in a few weeks!”

He has to come back?!

Laurance awkwardly laughed loudly, backing away while giving finger guns to the man. “G-Great! Can’t wait!”

The brunette quickly turned around, his eyes landing on Cadenza who was waiting by the bench, waving. She stood up and put her new glasses case in her purse before approaching Laurance.

“Ah, Laurance! You’re finally done! How was it-”

Without a second thought, Laurance pulled her by the arm and quickly raced out the store. 

When the two made it to their car, Laurance had his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Laurance? What’s wrong?”

“Britney Spears. Chickens. Black Market. Crazy.” He panted out the words, taking long pauses between each one. He quickly raised his head, looking Cadenza dead in the eyes.

“I’m never going back there again.”

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[heretolurkandnothingmore]

WIP Wednesday

So, same fic as before. Here's something I'm very new to writing: smut! Quick info on the situation: Obikin, soul bond (through accidental alien marriage), they're both projecting thoughts without realizing who's thinking what, it gets spicy. Feelings are mutual, they just haven't quite figured it out. Feedback greatly appreciated!

Space breathed softly and the few other people on the ship were murmurs in the Force against the background hum of the universe.

Obi-Wan managed to reach an equilibrium, let those sounds vibrate through and past him like ripples from raindrops on the surface of a lake.

He felt it all in turn - the clones buzzing with not-yet-dissipated post-mission adrenaline; Ahsoka deep in thought, probably tinkering with her lightsaber. Her frustration was a blip in the force soon replaced with a delight at having invented a way forward. Next door, Anakin radiated restlessness again. Obi-Wan could imagine him, sitting on his cot and fiddling with a screwdriver mid prosthetic arm maintenance. Or maybe taking off his tabards and changing into something comfortable to try and meditate.

A thought rose in him, unbidden. A flash of heat, a vision bloomed behind his eyelids - Anakin. Anakin, eyes bright, chest exposed, robes slipping off his shoulder, a blush creeping up his neck. A breathless exhale - "Master."

An undignified sound escaped the Jedi's throat. His eyes flew open.

It wasn't the first time since his ex-Padawan's Knighting that such a thought found its way to him. It was a thousand little things he'd started noticing after Anakin's braid was cut - the broad sway of his shoulders, the gentle curls growing out around the base of his skull, his unfairly dramatic eyelashes. The swell of his lips. The power in him, the solid presence, the burning soul that ignited something long-dormant in Obi-Wan. It was as if a spark struck the kindling of his heart. Not since his mission on Mandalore had he felt this intense longing to reach for another, to let himself go up in flames. Still, it used to be easier to shut the stubborn feeling out and let it go into the Force.

This time, it was more. More insistent and consuming and treacherous as a whirlpool.

He imagined, for a second, what it would feel like to succumb to it, to let himself want. What it would be like to indulge the fantasy. He'd slide his hands down the firmness of Anakin's shoulders, watch the tide of fabric recede and expose the expanse of chest he'd been dying to touch - warmth to warmth, skin to skin. He'd press his fingers over Anakin's heartbeat and chase the feeling with his lips. He'd-

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly and blew out an exasperated breath. "You are above it," he told himself. "You are not lusting after your apprentice, have some force-forsaken self-respect."

Except maybe the universe disagreed. Another image bloomed in his head, this time certainly not of his own mind. Anakin on his knees, robes in a heap around him, a hand in his hair - Obi-Wan's hand. The dusting of ginger hair on his knuckles was unmistakable. Curls wound around his fingers, tugging. For a moment, he felt the same sympathetic pull against his own scalp. "Please," the other man's voice spilled in his mind, "I want to. Let me take you in my mouth." The rasp of Anakin's voice sent a shiver down his neck.

Obi-Wan felt both chilled and over warm. He was already half-hard. There was a phantom of feeling, ghost-like slide of fingertips against his inner thigh. It were Anakin's hands, he realized with a gasp, what he was doing to himself. The lust burning Obi-Wan alive wasn't just his own.

This had to be another feedback loop. Obi-Wan's improper thoughts probably slipped into the bond and ignited Anakin's mind. Obi-Wan knew that the young man would never truly want him, some moments of fantasizing aside. He also knew that he could project a thought, tug on the bond just a little and send Anakin's shields flying up. It would be easy, to be rid of this sweet torture. But Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't lie to himself about that, at least.

The guilt he knew he'd feel was already creeping up on him, like fog settling in his lungs. He felt Anakin's hand go up his (their?) chest in caressing motions, skin tingling, and he told the guilt to shut it. Better to spare at least one of them the shame.

Then - rough grasp of fingers on his cock, mat colliding with his back, the lights dimming in his eyes for a moment from the rush of blood - he was dragged under into the tidal wave.

Obi-Wan watched the scene unfolding before his mind's eye: more than an observer, less than a participant. Anakin slipped his palm up and down in a rhythmic, languid pace. He moaned - in the bond, or outside of it, echoing through the wall. Obi-Wan didn't know. He could only feel that treacherous, slow pleasure spilling across his skin. He felt both their heartbeats speeding up in sync. The mark on his shoulder burned.

"Wish he'd want me", Anakin's voice lilted. Flashes of images flickered in the shared storm of their burning minds. Anakin's eyes looking up, pleading and dark. Moans being pushed out of him. Kiss-swollen lips and a trail of hickeys down his swan's neck. "I'd be so good, so good for him-"

More feeling, more touch: Anakin's hand squeezing and pulling and pushing at the head of his cock in just the right way. Suddenly, there was a rush of air against the campfire of his groin. Then the sting of teeth biting down over his knuckles - and a stifled moan in Anakin's sweet needy voice. He felt the heat of tongue slicking over the bite, and then that same heat, again around his shaft. "Wish he would let me. That thick cock down my throat-"

Obi-Wan surfaced from their bond into the shallows of his own lust. He'd wondered more than once before, how Anakin's full lips would look stretched around his cock. If he'd be confident in swallowing him down or if he'd make up for his inexperience with enthusiasm. How he'd concentrate, brows knitting together, on bringing his master pleasure. How all the sweet sounds of Anakin's own pleasure around the length and girth of Obi-Wan's dick.

Obi-Wan stifled a moan and fell back into the depths of their bound-together minds.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin's breathless voice keened. "Fill me up, let me- I-" The thought cut off with a whimper so desperate that Obi-Wan could almost physically hear it reverberate in the still air. More ghost sensations - a hand gripping his cock, slick fingers clutching at his thighs, the burn of them being held spread open. Anakin's voice in his head, high and wanton and needy - "Yours, Obi-Wan, take me, I'm yours, please-" And then it was all light, a supernova behind his eyelids.

Obi-Wan could hear his own hoarse breathing. Just his own breath, just his own need. He was painfully hard against his thigh. His nails left half-moon impressions in his palms. Dazed, he reached in. Precome slicked the soreness of his hand. Just some movement up the length of his cock - one, two strokes - and he shuddered apart.

After a moment of blessed darkness, the world slowly came back into focus. The mat was cool against Obi-Wan's back. The ceiling above him - dispassionately gray. He felt sweat cooling on his skin, his own heartbeat was thundering in his ears, pulsing at his fingertips as he tried to even his breathing.

"Oh, kark," a thought echoed in his mind, "I should not have done that".

[dangertoozmanykids101]

Brush And Floss To Fight Cavities And Other Villains

I forgot I even wrote this first half of a story - back in January of 2020.

SUMMARY: You'll never believe what happened to poor Tom today. He really got sent through the wringer - quite the rollercoaster of a day. But don't worry, Tom is going to tell you all about it. "It all started with this dream I had...."

But first let me blame @maryxglz for starting my morning off today far too fixated on young Tom and his teeth. Our dearest @maryxglz has been fueling our community with the most beautiful gifs for years. Look at this one! (Link to full post in blue.)

@maryxglz posted the above gif back in Dec 2018 in a perfect set of three all looping with perfect timing to showcase his mouth - those lips, that little tongue that peeks out in another gif, and those gleaming white teeth. And I haven't even mentioned the way those eyelashes brush his skin when they flutter closed like a butterfly sunning itself on my finger.

Only for his eyes to open back up with those pale ocean blue eyes that sparkle with ... GOD they are seductive! @maryxglz you have done it again!! He looks like a little coquette that I want to gobble up piece by piece!

[Clearing my throat, unsuccessfully trying to rid my voice of that hoarse gravely growl that undermines my desperate attempt to appear non-predatory.]

Brush And Floss To Fight Cavities And Other Villains

So after spending half my morning fixated on his teeth in this filthy erotic gif above that @maryxglz made, I remembered a stupid crack fic I started back in Jan 2020 that y'all may or may not get a kick out of. You tell me? It's 2111 words and somewhere I have a second chapter started. On AO3 I tagged it with warnings such as minor violence, dreams vs. reality, nightmares, teeth, tooth fairy, alternate reality, RPF Tom Hiddleston, crack fiction, I must've been on crack to write this. Sorry, no smut. It's not really RPF though - just a guy named Tom who looks exactly like the guy in the above gif by @maryxglz Enjoy.

This is from Tom's POV.

You know what saved me? Pilates. I was able to finally buck my hips hard enough to knock her off balance and free my legs from under me.

So it all started with this dream I had last night. You're going to think I'm crazy, but please hear me out.

In my dream, I woke up lying in bed still dressed, smelling like a saloon, and feeling like I'd been in a bar fight. My tongue was cracked and grooved from dehydration and mouth breathing; it felt like the floor of a desert and probably looked even worse. When I opened my eyes, I saw none other than the tooth fairy hovering above my bed with her face maybe 10 inches from mine. She was intently staring at my mouth until I snapped it shut. I was left with this awkward violated feeling, like she had seen me dancing naked in the kitchen.

"You're awake! Oh wonderful. This will be so much easier now." Her face lit up when she saw my eyes open. Her wings moved so fast that I hadn't noticed them until she did a happy spin with an extra swoop-dee-loop and flutter that scattered gold fairy dust all over me and the bed. Some got into my nose which I accidentally inhaled, sending me into a painful coughing fit. At some point I made the mistake of licking my lips; it tasted disgusting and bitter.

Once my cough settled down, I stared at her in disbelief, trying to figure out what or who she was. I hadn't noticed yet that I was dreaming, a concept still far out of reach, nor was I privy to the fact that she was after my teeth. I just felt groggy, still two sheets to the wind with my head feeling thick and fragile, so my mind wandered trying to remember why I would be hung over and where I had gone that night dressed in a tuxedo. In real life I knew I had stayed home, but my attire and the state of my health told another story.

During my internal debate of truth, facts, and misconceptions, the tooth fairy was flipping through some notebook mumbling to herself. All I could understand were random numbers she rattled off in no obvious sequence before she slammed the book shut.

"Right-ee-o then. You are Thomas William Hiddleston, correct?" She smiled with a very business-like receptionist's smile that was as superficial as her gold leaf lipstick.

"Yes." I had no idea what else to say since she wasn't wrong.

"Good. Now open wide please so I can take inventory."

I hadn't realized how little she was. Her face was so close to mine when she spoke that I could barely focus. Otherwise, she hovered beside the bed, slightly floating up and down and still far enough away to skew with my depth perception. Without my glasses or contacts in she was little more than a white blur that far away, appearing to float like an apparition or some energy being. I thought maybe she was an angel, since she wore white and her skin had a gold shine to it, as though she was her own nightlight.

When her hands grabbed my lips and pulled my mouth open, I was shocked that her hands were no bigger than a raccoon or maybe a tiny monkey. Her face came closer to look directly into my mouth. I just laid there and let her do whatever she wanted. I wasn't scared yet, just super weirded out and hoping the examination would be over soon.

She reached in and moved my tongue from one side to the other as she counted to herself, and mumbled things like:

"Yep."

"I knew it."

"Oh, that's no good."

"Yep. That one too."

"Well, that one can wait."

Leaning back she wrote some more things into her little notebook and shook her head. She scratched her chin furiously before writing more, then shook her head again.

"They are not going to be happy about this," she muttered to herself, but her voice was loud enough for me to hear.

In an attempt to lighten the mood as well as distract myself, I couldn't resist the urge to say anything to fill the silence. It didn't matter what I said, as long as I said something. This was unfortunate since what spilled out of my mouth was moronic.

"Well Doc, am I going to live or not? Just give it to me straight, Doc." I used some weird American accent that I couldn't identify, let alone tell you why I used it. I just felt stupid after I spoke out loud. The only other sound in the room was the low whir of her wings beating as fast as a hummingbird. Besides that, the silence was deafening, an assassin to any performer's ego. She completely ignored me as though I hadn't said a word. I'll admit that this wasn't a shock, since my comedic delivery needed a lot of work.

Without even acknowledging me, she put away her notebook somewhere and took a surgical mask out of her pocket. A little metal arm swung down from atop her head that had a huge magnifying glass attached to the end. The lens covered half of her face and from my view her eye was enlarged just as big as the lens.

"Okey dokey Tommy my dear. There is nothing to be afraid of. This will just take a few minutes and it won't hurt a bit. You'll only feel a tiny little bee sting."

"Bee sting?!" I jumped up and scrambled back across the bed. "WHAT isn't going to hurt? Because a bee sting DOES hurt! How do you know I'm not allergic to bee stings?"

“Tommy boy. Stay still." She advanced on my position until I fell off the bed.

I did a backflip, or more accurately a clumsy back roll and belly flop off the bed landing flat onto my face. Keeping my body low to the ground, I tried to crawl away from the bed toward the door. I didn't want to spook her since she seemed unpredictable.

Her advance was steady until I started to crawl, then she whipped around to block my path to the door and flew at me like a bat out of Hel. Knocking me back, the little demon planted herself on my chest trapping my knees still bent underneath me. This left me in an awkward and uncomfortable position with my arms pinned to my sides under her thighs. She may have been tiny, but no amount of wiggling and pushing would budge her. The laws of physics did not apply to this creature. Though she was tiny, she was fierce and weighed a ton.

The comedy of the scene was surreal; I, a very fit six foot two inch man, just got taken down and completely incapacitated by some little pixie devil the size of a large raccoon with wings.

She studied my eyes; she didn't look into them but AT them, first one and then the other, studying them as though she was reading a story we couldn't see, or listening to music we couldn't hear. I watched her facial expressions intensely, trying to interpret something, anything that she might give away.

"Can you hear me Tommy?"

I nodded. I thought I could hear her. My eyes were as big as saucers, so maybe I just saw her talk while my brain made assumptions about what she said. I rapidly blinked a few times to verify that my eyes were indeed open, but I couldn't figure out how to verify that my ears were turned on.

"OK. Good. I'm going to take three teeth, and then you can go back to sleep."

THREE? .... THREE TEETH!!

I shook my head violently, partially to make sure I was hearing things correctly, partially to rattle some things lose in case I was going crazy, and partially because I was really hoping this was a dream. I continued to shake my head plus as much of my upper body that I could, because there was no way in Hel I would let her near my mouth. I held my lips pursed so tight she would have needed a crowbar to get inside. She tried to grab the sides of my head to steady me, but I just thrashed harder.

"You need to settle down Mr. Hiddleston. Just open your mouth and you'll never even miss them. I promise! But I'm not leaving here tonight without them."

Anger and contempt formed in her eyes. Her hand pulled back and she swung. She slapped me so hard that I heard a bell ring.

In that stunned moment my mouth fell open and those tiny little monkey hands of hers dove into my mouth. She grabbed ahold of one of my molars and started yanking at it. I've never before felt anything so bizarre or disturbing.

If that little angel hadn't fallen from heaven already, she surely would soon. The anger in her eyes glowed like the flames of Hel as she glared at me; she looked scary. Those tiny little hands pushed down on my windpipe at just the right spot. With the creepiest smile flashing large bright white perfectly straight teeth, she watched me struggle and gasp for air. I slammed my knees into her back several times, but she didn't budge.

"Well my dear sweet Tommy-Boy, looks like we'll have to anesthetize you in order to retrieve what we are due. Now just close your eyes. That's it. Go to sleep."

The lack of oxygen to my brain started to take its toll. I stared up and the world slowly was swallowed by a black cloud encircling her so she became this golden flame still visible inside my rapidly diminishing vision; she was the only light within a vast darkness. The irises of her eyes spiraled with green and gold as everything grew darker and darker until all I could see were those eyes and hear her saying "Tommy-Boy" over and over again.

It was terrifying! I thought I was going to die.

With my last ounce of strength before I completely succumbed to an unconscious void, with one last abdominal crunch to literally save my life, my knees hit her back with enough force to push her off me.

I sat up, coughing and drawing as much air into my lungs as I could, but no sooner had I caught my breath that she knocked it right out of me again. I heard this shrill scream behind me seconds before I felt the impact. She flew full throttle into my back and sent me rolling across the floor.

With my adrenaline pumping overtime by this point, I felt like Kong as I stood up and reached for her as she flew around me just outside of my grasp. Swooping in and out, stabbing me repeatedly with something sharp, she hissed in response to my roars.

Then I got her!

My giant gorilla hand wrapped around her ankle and threw her to the ground. Dust plumed up from the carpet like a cloud, leaving a small crater on my bedroom floor.

Finally I had knocked the wind out of her giving me the upper hand for a mere moment, but that was plenty of time. I roared into her face with the fury of a wild animal before grabbing her feet. Lifting her up into the air like a rag doll, I slammed her body back down to the ground again and again and again.

Eventually she just disappeared out of my hands in a sparkling puff of smoke, leaving me standing alone and bewildered. I sat back down on the edge of the bed staring at the state of my room wondering how I would ever explain the damage to the floor, especially considering that every surface of my room was covered with a sparkling gold glitter.

Looking at my hands and legs, I was covered with the same glowing gold dust. I couldn't rub it off no matter how hard I tried. Finally I just gave up and flung myself back onto the bed absolutely exhausted.

'What the fuck just happened to me?` was all I could think as I drifted back to sleep.

"Tom! Tom!"

I felt something kicking at my leg still dangling off the bed, and I heard myself grunting with each kick to the shin. That sensation was real, very real. My shin would surely develop a huge bruise quickly.

"Ouch!" I finally moaned almost intelligibly.

"Thomas William Hiddleston! Wake up you asshole!"

I'm just tagging a handful of people off the top of my head who might have a good laugh or remember the first time I posted this. @nildespirandum @ladyoftheteaandblood @caffiend-queen @redfoxwritesstuff @myoxisbroken @imanuglywombat @jtargaryen18 @so-easy-to-love-me @acidcasualties @americasass81 @muddyorbs @lokisgoodgirl @frostbitten-written @talklokitome @latent-thoughts @mooncat163 @fictive-sl0th @mastreworld @gigglingtiggerv2 @deceitfuldevout @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @alexakeyloveloki @devikafernando @holymultiplefandomsbatman

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — you think it’s cute how much your boyfriend seems to enjoy your cuddles.

warnings! none! sfw & ticklish lil spoon nagi, hes written as a pro football player in this. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! i’m sorry i just had to get this soft lil scenario out of my mind <3

as big as your boyfriend nagi is, 190cm and looming — a pro football player with the physique to match, you thought it was cute the way he loved being little spoon.

there was something charming about it, about the way he always seemed to flop down next to you when you were lying in your shared bed — reaching blindly behind him until he can grab hold of your wrist and pull it around his waist instead. you push yourself closer and you hear the snowy haired striker sigh when your chest presses against his back, snug and tight.

“you sleepy, seishiro?” your voice is light, a little dreamy and it makes nagi’s eyelashes flutter with his next slow blink, nodding into his pillow as his hand stays wrapped tightly around yours to keep you in place around him. “was practice hard?” you ask again, squeezing your arms around your boyfriends waist and he shudders before he’s nuzzling himself even closer to you.

“eh, yeah. all the running is such a drag. jus’ wanna relax now.” his words are muffled from where his cheek is pressed against the pillow but you still hear him mumble something affirming under his breath when your hand traces under the hem of his shirt, letting your fingernails smooth along the plains of his toned abdomen as he whimpers. “hey, keep doing that. just for a while, feels sooo good.”

so you do, you push yourself closer until your lips are pressed against the dip of nagi’s shoulder, bathing the striker in featherlight touches along his chest and stomach until his breathing turns a little softer. your hands trace to his sides and he twitches slightly at the ticklish touch before he’s groaning and sending you a drowsy, lidded look and a pout from over his shoulder. “ah, that’s mean.”

“you’re ticklish?” you giggle as you press your lips into your boyfriends neck from behind and he presses back into you again before he’s turning to send you another look, one that you recognise as a wordless little request for a kiss despite the way his messy bed head rests along his features.

“nah, ‘m not.” nagi huffs against your lips when you lean in but he almost whines when you pull away a few moments later, his hand around your own squeezing slightly like he’s trying to bring you back into him. “why’d you stop? no fair.” he sighs followed by another pout and you can’t help but smile at how needy he seems to get when he’s sleepy before you’re giving him another.

“okay~” you sing into the next kiss but the tender moment only lasts a second longer before you’re deliberately swiping your fingers along your boyfriends sides again, laughing when it makes him jolt slightly followed by a long, drawn out huff.

“ow, y’re such a pain.” you feel nagi pull your hand away from him before his huge figure is turning to face you, sleepy features pulled into the cutest frown before his arms are looping around your waist and he’s pulling you close so he can nuzzle into the crook of your neck instead.

“you’re so mean!” you reply and you hear him grumble something into your skin when you pinch at his before its followed by a featherlight press of his lips against your collarbone, like he’s doing damage control despite the way your words were a joke. but he’s sleepy and you’re warm so he’s just trying to make you feel better anyway.

“don’t you want dinner?” you already know what the answers going to be so you busy yourself with brushing through his hair, making his eyes close softly as his lashes kiss along your skin with each of his slow blinks. his hands push under the hem of your shirt and you think it’s cute the way he seems to instinctively draw little shapes into your skin, wobbly hearts and little choki outlines that seem to grow messier the more he melts into you. but they keep his hands busy when he’s not playing video games.

“nah, jus’ wanna cuddle here for the rest of the day, ‘m comfy now so moving would be bothersome.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.