#but as a couple?? nope

[1very1fancy1doilies1]

I love being absolutely delusional about eremin

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 168/327 (part 1)

12.9 First Blood Written by Andrew Dabb Directed by Bob Singer Original Air Date: January 26, 2017

[fossilizedhysterics]

guess who finished tlok tonight and immediately had this come to him in a vision!!!!

[recurring-polynya]

lol. LMAO, even.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kinktober: guns

words: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, gun kink, p in v sex, unprotected bc dont be fcking dumb!, hand kink as well kind of, f receiving oral and handjob, blowjob, being fucked by the gun (silencer), mild degradation but also praise, mentions of drug dealing, somehow still soft rafe idk yall im unable to write rafe being anything but a softie

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks

your eyes widen at the glint of black metal in the low lighting, watching the way rafe works the rag over the piece. you control your gasp when you realize what it is that you’re holding, but you can’t help but take a step back in shock. 

you stumble, not realizing how close you were to the hallway table that decorates your home. rafe looks up at the noise, his eyes meeting yours. you can’t tell what emotion crosses his face. he simply sets the handgun down on the coffee table, still partially disassembled.

“rafe-” you begin, but you don’t have the words to finish as he stands up, stalking over to you, his usually comforting figure suddenly imposing when shrouded in the darkness of night.

“baby.” rafe says softly, taking your face in his large hands. “what are you doing awake?” “i-i heard you come in, and i waited for you to come lay down and when you didn’t i came to check on you.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but in the silence of your house, rafe hears you clear as day. he stands still, and you take the moment to apologize, “i’m sorry.”

rafe lets out a deep breath, his face reading the guilt of your apology. “it’s okay.” he presses his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he holds you to him. it takes you a beat, but you wrap your arms around his waist in a tight embrace.

“come here.” rafe says after a moment, sliding his hand down your back and leading you into the living room instead of hiding in the hallway. you take cautious steps, eyes on the disassembled gun on the table. 

“sit down.” rafe keeps his voice gentle, but it’s a command, not a request. you sit down on the couch, and rafe slides next to you. he gives you a moment to look at the pieces of metal on the table. 

you know why rafe has a gun. he tries to keep that part of his life silent, but you know he helps run the drug scene on the islands of the outer banks. you’ve never been exposed to the violent nature of what he does but you’ve helped him count money and sort packages. he protects you when it comes to the actual sale, you haven’t even met one of his clients, at least not that you know of.

“it’s okay rafe, i knew you had a gun.” you say. you’ve seen him discreetly tuck it into his waistband when you’ve been out, and did not fail to notice the way he keeps it on his bedside table when he thinks it’s too dark for you to see at night.

“but you haven’t really seen it before baby.” rafe picks up what looks to be the frame of the gun, and he turns it over, showing you all the different sides before placing it on your lap. he gives a nod of your head and you pick it up, surprised that the disassembled part is still so heavy.

“should i- should i learn how to…?” you ask, not having the heart to tell him that you want to, because if anything happens to rafe, you want to be able to protect him as well, even though he doesn’t need it.

“if you want to, i’ll teach you.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, taking the metal back out of your hand. he begins to explain the different pieces of the gun and what they do as he reassembles it. your eyes track the movements of his hands, his slender fingers moving each part into place. you bite your lip and press your thighs together, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by rafe.

“are you turned on, princess?” he asks, no judgment in his voice, rather fascination from how you, his sweet girlfriend, can be so turned on by his gun as he sets it back down on the table.

“no!” you squeal, which just gives you away even more. “pants off.” rafe commands, and you know better than to go against him. you stand up off the couch for a millisecond to shove your pants down to your ankles then sit back down, keeping your thighs locked closed together.

“that is not what i meant, and you know it.” rafe commands, placing his hands on your waist and twisting you so you’re facing him. “if you’re not going to be good, i’m just going to have to do this myself.” he guides you backwards so you’re laying your head against the arm of the couch. he takes one ankle and slides it off the edge of the cushion while moving the other one to rest against the back of the couch, spreading you open wide.

“are you still going to deny being turned on?” he asks, eyes on your underwear sticking to your pussy, wet patch clearly visible.

you smartly decide to stay quiet, and rafe gives a little hum of approval at your choice to no longer continue to deny, knowing the amounts of pleasure he can bring you as he pushes his thumb over where he knows your clit is, not wasting any time as he rubs it over the material.

you let out a moan, back arching off the couch as he touches you. all tiredness you previously felt from suddenly waking up in the middle of the night is going.

rafe smiles down at you, seeing his girl so easily and quickly thrown into pleasure just with one of his fingers. he moves faster, watching the wet patch grow even bigger. he drags his thumb down, pressing against the spot until his thumb presses slightly into your hole, the fabric of your underwear still acting as a barrier.

“n-no, let me take them off, please.” you beg, but it doesn’t dissuade from doing exactly what you expected, gripping your underwear with both hands and literally tearing them straight down the center like the material was tissue paper. 

you grumble something about liking that pair, and rafe calms you by pressing a kiss to your knee that’s hooked over the side of the couch. “i’ll buy you another pair.”

he kisses down your thigh, occasionally nipping at your skin until he reaches your cunt, taking a deep inhale of your scent before sticking his tongue out, lapping at your slickness as he gathers it all onto his tongue.

you try your best to keep your hips still, thighs already burning slightly from being spread so wide. you moan rafes name as his tongue slides up away from your hole and over your clit, flicking repeatedly over the sensitive bud before pulling back far too early.

you watch as rafe picks the gun up off the table, making your eyes go wide.

“my sweet princess, turned on by my gun.” he turns it over in his hand, and you don’t fail to notice that he’s left several parts on the table, probably whatever interior mechanism that makes it actually fire so his toying with it remains safe.

“who would have known that the innocent good girl i first starting dating would turn into such a slut?” he grabs the silencer off the table, slotting it onto the end of the gun. your eyes watch in fascination at his movements.

“my own personal whore. you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” rafe questions, running the tip of the silencer against your thigh, slowly dragging it closer to your center.

“you’d even let me fuck you with my gun.” his words make you gasp, coupled by the smooth metal of the silencer coming into contact with your dripping folds. it’s so cold that you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body.

rafe continues to move the silencer against you, partly to tease, partly to get it covered in your juices. “you’re gonna let me, right princess?”

rafe looks to you as you silently nod, worried if you open your mouth you’ll start to beg, beg for him to put the gun inside of you. rafe presses it against your hole, and your eyes widen at how big it feels, like two of his fingers are trying to enter you, but you’re slick enough that when you take a breath to relax, he’s able to push in, breaking the ring of your hole.

“fuck!” you whine, rafe not giving you any time to get used to the sensation as he continues pushing it inside of you, until the entire silencer is buried in your pussy, the barrel of the gun far too large to fit inside.

“just breathe.” rafe mumbles softly, wanting to continue but not wanting to hurt you. you follow his instructions, sliding your eyes closed as you get used to the foreign object.

when rafe can tell your body has calmed down, he pulls the gun out slightly, watching the way your wetness sticks to the metal before pushing it back inside of your body.

you lift your hips slightly to give some reprieve to your thigh muscles, as well as give rafe a better angle as he moves quicker, starting to thrust the gun against you.

his thumb comes back to your clit, now able to touch your bare skin and the pad of his finger feels burning hot compared to the coldness spreading from within you. rafe presses his thumb against you, keeping the intensity constant instead of rubbing. 

“there you go.” rafe smirks, “my good fucking slut.” 

his praise makes you glow, especially as your high starts to build from the way the silencer is pressing inside of you. the dirtiness of the action just pushes you even farther.

“gonna-” you warn, when suddenly rafes thumb is off your clit, the silencer halting all movement, lodged deep inside of you. 

“you ask permission to cum, slut.” rafe tells you, deciding to push you even harder.

“please, let me cum.” you beg, hands fisting the material of the couch.

“no.” rafe simply says, moving the gun again. “no, because my girl isn’t going to cum for some piece of metal. you’re going to wait until i’m done having my fun and then cum on my cock, understood?” “y-yes.” you nod, flopping your head against the couch as it repeatedly presses inside of you, your clit pulsating at the need to release everything you have inside.

“please.” you sob, feeling tears slide down your cheeks, unable to hold back your impending orgasm much longer.

rafe pulls the gun out of your, making your cry out, missing the sensation instantly. “no, no, rafe please.” you beg.

“shush!” he says, delivering a slap to your inner thigh. “if you were patient at all you’d realize i’m going to fuck you now.” you sit up, blinking your eyes open in the low lighting as rafe tugs his shirt over his head. you take the moment to unbutton your pajama top as you watch him stand, unbuttoning and sliding off his jeans and underwear at the same time.

your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, unable to control yourself as you sit up, giving your legs a reprieve from the stretch as you take him into your mouth, sucking the head of rafes cock as your eyes roll back in your head, tasting the saltiness of his precum against your tongue.

“can’t resist, can you?” rafe laughs, knowing how much of an oral fixation you have.

you hum around his cock, bobbing your head but not taking him anywhere near fully into your mouth, enjoying playing with the head of his cock with your tongue.

you kitten lick at his tip repetitively, waiting for rafe to inevitably pull you off to fuck you. he lets you have your fun for a bit longer before tapping the back of your head. 

you pull off with a satisfied smile, laying back and resuming the same position on the couch, spreading your cunt wide to show him that you’ve gotten even wetter from sucking him off.

“my pretty slut.” rafe smiles, kneeling on the couch between your legs. he grabs a throw pillow that was discarded onto the floor at some point, shoving it under your hips to raise your cunt up to the perfect angle to fuck.

rafe rubs his cock against you before jutting his hips forward, sinking fully into you in one fluid motion. you let out a curse, boobs bouncing as he immediately starts up a rhythm.

your cunt clenches tightly around him, rafes moans coming to match your own as he moves within you, feeling your tight walls, remembering that his gun was just where his cock currently is. 

he picks the gun up off the table, still gleaming with your slick. he sticks his tongue out, licking up the side. “you taste so good.” he moans, keeping his free hand on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts.

“want to taste yourself?” he asks, but doesn’t even give you a moment to respond before pressing the silencer against your tongue, mouth already open from moaning.

you wrap your lips around the metal, indeed tasting yourself on it. you suck at the gun, keeping your eyes on rafe as you do.

rafe moans, feeling his cock swell inside of you. he would keep fucking you all night, but he can’t hold himself back any longer as he moves faster, plunging as deep inside of you as he possibly can.

“fuck, please let me cum!” you cry out, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit, your fingers not feeling as good as rafes, but doing the job.

“wait for me.” is all rafe can gasp out, watching you immediately take the gun back into your mouth after asking.

rafe lasts a few more hard thrusts before he’s releasing inside of you, and you follow quickly, rubbing yourself to completion as you feel your cunt flooding with cum.

rafe continues to gently thrust throughout your orgasms, both coming down together as he sets the gun back on the table. he collapses forward, his naked body pressing against your bare one.

“god, you really are the most perfect slut.” rafe mumbles, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he slowly pulls out, knowing his cum is going to leak all over the decorative pillow you’re sat on, liking the idea of ruining another piece of furniture from his insatiable need for you.

“love you.” you whisper, tilting your head to the side to give his hair a kiss.

rafe leans up, pressing his lips against yours in a fierce kiss, saying the words for him.

“why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me, sweetheart?” he asks, sitting up and giving you a hand to help you sit as well, your body burning as the exhaustion sets back in. “i’ll be up in a minute, i have to clean my gun again because someone got it all dirty.”

[an-internet-introvert]

Countdown to October 19th (10/19)

So Long London Apartment

[justablognothingweirdhere]

Genuinely insane how American Housewife had an entire plot line dedicated to Cooper wanting to tell his girlfriend that he loved her and Oliver not wanting him to, only for the resolution to be both Cooper and Oliver losing their girlfriends and saying “I love you” to each other instead and after all that they’re still not canon.

[bakutenshi]

they’re just friends y’all 🙄

[britcision]

Excuse me while I lose my shit about these panels

He’s just. SO FUCKING ADORABLE

Mithrun’s fucking FACE. Baby ass annoyed fucking pouty bitch. Grabs hand >(

Immediately gives up. “Well this is my life now being held by a man”

And I mean he might be struggling here but let’s look at that hand placement. He’s holding the outside of Kabru’s arm. There is No Fucking Chance of him pulling Kabru’s arm away from that grip. It’s not happening.

He couldn’t peel a hand back, he’s not getting a bicep, he’s holding on for support so they don’t fall over

Also. HIS FACE. Jfc the wet cat has been mildly inconvenienced, jail for dungeon for 1000 years

Now that second hand, the one on the forearm, almost has a chance in hell at being effective… except he’s not even fucking gripping the arm

His fingers are curled over the top of it. Useless. Worthless grip. Not even trying

Look at this fucking noodle man

He’s resigned himself to his fate, he is Being Held, and lemme tell you as a wrestly bitch he coulda probably slipped the hold by going full noodle and dropping to the floor and taking out Kabru’s legs

If Kabru can’t get a hand in his armpit in time there is nothing in that grip that would hold him upright except crushing power, I’ve slipped that hold and I even have tiddies to impede me

Touch starved Mithrun? Delicious possibility

But honestly I’ll pretend to give a fuck about why later it’s just ridiculously cute and is bigger and cuter in vol 8 of the manga which you should buy for this and other Canary related scenes including Cithis And Kabru Do Literally The Same Smiley Bullshit And He Would Hate This Knowledge

[oblivionsdream]

What is a reason that has made y’all DNF a book IMMEDIATELY?

[roses-and-revolutions]

DP x DC Prompt

This, but it's because their flight home was canceled due to Gotham's airport being destroyed. And they didn't want to drive all the way back.

The reason it all started was because Tucker was really bored and was getting a bit frustrated when he couldn't get past one of WE's many firewalls. He had already skimmed through everything else and concluded that Gotham's Brucie Wayne was a literal angel sent from heaven to one the worst cities in the world because he committed a crime so horrific that not even God could look him in his pretty little face anymore and that firewall proved it!

So to cool his head off, he decided to hack into a bank. Banks were pretty easy, right? Almost anyone could do it with just enough knowledge and the proper equipment. What he DIDN'T expect was just how EASY it was to do so. Laughably so, to the point it made him cry.

Did Gotham's rouges or Gothamites in general not like money? Not even the small-time rouges? Because he KNEW those operations that they try to pull off cost money. Shit tons!

So when his laughter became so disturbing that his friends and even his frenemies got concerned, all he had to do was show them what he found out. Which sent them spiraling into laughter as well. Like, c'mon, even Amity Park's bank was more secure than that and they only had fucking GHOST CRIME!

As the tears began to dry, and the laughter turned to giggles, one of the girls suggested something.

Star: Why don't we, like, rob it or something?

The hotel room went silent and Star started to fidget. Then she started to ramble.

Star: I mean like, we don't have to. It was kind of a joke anyway, since their security's so bad ya know, and I'm pretty sure we're gonna be here for a while and-

Dani: Star, baby, sweetie, honey. Why are you justifying yourself when we were all probably thinking the same thing, right?

Nod and hums of agreement filled the girl with relief.

Wes: Besides it's not a class trip unless we cause some trouble right?

They all then pilled into the bed and around Tucker as his finger flew across the keyboard.

Tucker: So, where are we hitting up first?

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

face the mirror you can’t see. stand up straighter. square your shoulders (grit your teeth through the discomfort of it and hope they are not visibly uneven.) force a smile (not too wide, keep your cracked lips closed). say,

still the face of someone not to fuck with?

the pause feels so heavy, so deep deep deep.

you look like you’re eighty pounds soaking wet, he says.

in your mind’s eye you see yourself, dull brown eyes and clean-shaven and tired but not hollow. you were doing better than you had in months. you were wearing a suit that does not exist anymore because it was too bloody and shredded to keep. that is what you look like, still, when you try to conjure up an image of it. still so clear in your mind, untouched, perfectly preserved.

you try to change the picture. you paint your skin in bruises and scars, hollow out the spaces between your ribs, cut off the pieces that you will not find if you reach for them. color in your eyes the daisy yellow of a crayon box. forget the old picture. that man is gone. that man is dead.

you try to forget. you try to forget. you try to forget.

…

you don’t know what you look like.

you’re not sure you ever will again.

[artbyblastweave]

Hero-fy Killer Croc.

He's already sitting solidly at the anti-villain/anti-hero mark these days, and a couple of times in independent continuities where they aren't at risk of another writer deciding they need a big scaley jobber or yet another Hannibal Lector pastiche, they've gone all the way with it. You should read Batman: Earth One, by Geoff Johns and Gary Frank, where Croc is an early ally of Batman and a founding member of the Outsiders.

It's emblematic of the situation where honestly, the majority of Batman's rogues would make good superheroes if they chose to go that route, because part of what sticking around as a memorable Batman rogue has come to entail is that you mirror him in some way, act as a foil. Nobody's tripping over themselves to write redemption arcs for everyone in Superman's rogue's gallery, or Wonder Woman's, or Green Lanterns, but most of the memorable Bat-villains lend themselves to that approach.

[ratatatastic]

somehow the nightclub is not a nightclub and has turned into a wedding reception, all are invited

Club E11even | 6.27.24 (x)

[daylesspax]

Hehe, more doodles of old traumatized men, with color! Pls ignore my bad grammar when labeling these geezers hehe… 😅 Also still changed around the prompt but generally the same idea

Neither of them are okay