#rpf

[vaperarmand]

“I auditioned for — it was the play, subUrbia, and the playwright was there — Bogosian — and there’s a part where the character, Buff, has to mime giving a blowjob, and uh, I got the part that day — no don’t — stop — mime, I said. But he goes, you know what it was? It was the blowjob. I said, oh, why, did none of the actors drop to their knees and do it? He said, ‘no, you were the only one that cupped the balls.’ Always cup the balls, you know what I’m saying?”

[roysreader]

How many fics have you worked on since January? 16

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? I wrote RPF! Albeit in a weird alternate universe way

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.) Still Succession

How many fandoms did you write for this year? Including crossovers, 6

What ships captured your heart? I got more into KenStewy

What characters captured your heart? Nessarose and Glinda

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year? One Day and, including crossovers, 4 other fandoms

What fic meant the most to you to write? Unbirthday

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on? Bootleg Ross

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing? How to Save a Life

What fic was the most difficult to write? If He Had a Hundred Years, I had to work out the logistics of Logan faking his death

What fic was the easiest to write? The Picture of Romulus Roy just flowed

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year? Shortest Then I’ll Follow You Into the Dark, Longest Things Roman and Gerri Have Argued About

What were your go-to writing songs? See this ask

What was the hardest fic to title? The Party’s Over, I searched for apocalypse lyrics then went with a simple title

What's your favorite title of the year? When We Were Siamese

Share your favorite opening line “Roman goes to therapy for the first time at the age of 13” from I’m In Here

Share your favorite ending line The last line of The Party’s Over

Share your favorite piece of dialogue From Dramaturgically Speaking: “I miss Kendall,” someone calls out as he signs her playbill. He smiles wryly. “Oh, I don’t.”

Share your funniest line From If He Had a Hundred Years: “It’s true,” says Kendall, while Shiv just glares. “Your Uncle Logan, he’s not dead.” “Oh.” Greg looks completely bewildered. “I mean, I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story? I enjoyed writing RPF more than I thought I would, which led to a second chapter

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand? Word counter, never by hand

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year? My first fic of the year, I Think I’m Lost Without You, was very satisfying to write (the balcony scene)

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic? I don’t think so, maybe I should?

How did you recharge between fics? By reading my bookmarks

Did you create fanworks other than fic? No

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!) None

If this were an awards show, who would you thank? All the writers who have inspired me

What's left on your to-do list for 2024? Finish the Succession/Friends crossover

What would you like to write next year? Maybe something Wicked

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[icallhimjoey]

https://www.tumblr.com/icallhimjoey/769345688851103744/i-asked-for-pyjama-vibe-joe-and-forgot-about-his

Ohhh can we get a soft pyjama and glasses Joey? Like him wearing the combo for the first time because it’s a new relationship and we looooove it. Or us stealing the shirt after freaky time. Or idek! The possibilities!

soft pyjama and glasses joey, at your service Wordcount: 2.1K

---

Not A Wink

“Wait, can you… wait here. Wait, no. Just. Yea… wait here and, also, um... yea, maybe... maybe close your eyes a second…” you pushed Joe away from your closed bedroom door, two hands to his chest.

Joe took hold of both of them as he laughed, easily letting you push him back, stepping backwards down the hall.

“What are you hiding in there that I can’t see?”

You were having a hard time hiding your own smile.

“No, nothing, I just… I’ve got to just check something, quickly. Just in case. Wait here.”

You were the cutest girl he’d ever met. Joe couldn’t quite believe he was allowed into the home of the cutest girl he’d ever met.

“Close your eyes.” You insisted, and Joe couldn’t help laugh more, his arms stretching as you walked back to your bedroom, touching until you were out of reach.

“I can’t see anything from here!”

“Close your eyes!”

Joe gave you a deadpan stare, shoulders dropping, but joy never leaving his face. When you waited by the door, hand on the handle, and looked at him in silence for a moment, he rolled his eyes and finally complied.

“It’ll just be a second,” you said, your smile evident in your voice.

Joe heard a door open, then soft footsteps, some light shuffling, and then silence. He wondered if he was going to be able to tell what needed a last minute wipe down. As if he was going to care about a crease in your bedsheets. You should see his bedroom…

“Okay, ready. You can open your eyes.”

Joe’d been a good boy and had really kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to you stood in your doorway, both hands behind your back, biting down on your bottom lip as you smiled.

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

Joe got to see your bedroom exactly as you wanted it to look every day, but how you never managed to leave it. With everything in its place, no dirty laundry on the floor, no clothes on the clothes-chair, no half-empty mugs on the bedside table and, most importantly, the bed made.

You never made your bed. You’d do it once when you changed the sheets, and then left a rumpled mess behind when you rushed out of bed after sleeping through your alarm each morning.

“Wow,” Joe said, overdoing it a tad, just to fuck with you. “This looks like a hotel room.”

It didn’t. Not really.

“Thanks.” You smiled, ignoring his humorous tone and taking the compliment as if he’d really meant it. When you looked at him, you saw how his gaze had landed on where you slept in your bed. He pointed a finger as he raised his eyebrows.

“Is this from where you send me voice notes every night?” Joe took a step forward, his eyes on you as his index finger still pointed at your pillow.

You nodded, teeth digging into your lip. It was impossible to lose your smile.

“This is…” Joe started, looking at your bed for a moment, scanning the sheets and trying to picture you in that spot. No make-up, pyjamas on. Face in your pillow, phone in hand. In a short while, he wasn’t going to have to imagine that anymore. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it?” Joe mused, turning his face to see you stood in your doorway still.

“Why?” you asked, watching on as Joe sat down on top of the covers, acting like he just took a seat on a throne which made you giggle. “You’re making it strange.”

“It’s like I’m visiting a famous landmark.”

You grinned as you watched him sensibly bounce on your mattress a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

“It is like visiting a famous landmark.” You joked, and then quickly added. “Don’t leave a Google review though, I move around a lot in my sleep and I couldn’t bear the negative feedback.”

Joe laughed as he got back up, couldn’t help his arms reaching out to grab hold of you as your face beamed with pride at making Joe laugh like that. You bit your lips so hard, you nearly drew blood.

For a moment you just stood like that. Close. Holding each other, faces just inches removed, twin smiles about to burst. You weren’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

“Did you um,” you cast your eyes down to his button-down shirt. To his jeans. “Did you bring a more comfortable outfit?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I brought my pyjamas?”

“Were you planning on watching a film in jeans?”

Ha, he thought. A film. If he’d got the chance, he’d be watching you more than he’d be watching any film this evening. His eyes tended to stick to you with too much ease.

Like right now.

“Or is this a no-bottoms sort of evening?” you challenged light-heartedly.

Joe’s eyes scanned your face a moment as he grinned.

“I brought pyjamas.” He then said, leaning down a little in hopes of sneaking a kiss.

You let him sneak one without any fuss. Warm lips of a warm smile to warm lips of a warm smile.

“In your overnight bag?” you teased, having made a big deal of the backpack he’d walked in with earlier, before dinner.

“In my overnight bag.” Joe didn’t mind how the simple fact that he brought some things over was somehow entertainment he was providing you with. It was either that, or the bad puns he’d make, and a giggle at a pair of soft pyajama bottoms didn’t feel quite as embarrassing as an awkward joke would likely make him feel.

Joe was told to change whilst you made your way into the bathroom to take your make-up off.

You felt real butterflies about the prospect of having Joe over properly for the first time ever. This was the first time you had made plans that extended to the next morning. This was going to be more than just some raunchy touching in your living room before he’d leave just before or just after midnight to go sleep in his own bed.

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

Brush your teeth in your bathroom before you’d crawl into bed together.

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

You swiped a cotton round over your eyes and heard Joe move around in your flat. Just him existing on his own in your space made your stomach flip. Halfway through your facial cleanse, Joe suddenly appeared behind you, and for a moment, you smiled at each other in the mirror. He was still in his button down, but his jeans had been replaced with a pair of faded black joggers. For a moment you thought maybe he had a question about something, but before you could even ask, he stepped forward and casually placed a dark blue toiletry bag next to the sink.

So domestic.

You refrained from opening it and having a peek inside as you finished up in the bathroom, hair tied up, face clean and bare. You made your way back to your bedroom to change into your own pyjamas and found evidence of Joe left behind. His charger in the socket on the side of the bed where he’d be sleeping. His backpack to the side. His clothes semi folded in a messy pile on the dresser.

Looking at all of Joe’s things in your bedroom with the background noise of him pottering about in your kitchen made you smile so much, you wondered when your cheeks were going to grow sore.

So domestic.

“What do you want to drink?” he called across your flat, and earlier, when Joe had offered you a drink in your own home, it had solely been to make you laugh. This time, it didn’t feel so much like a joke as it felt like he genuinely wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a drink so you wouldn’t have to get it yourself. A simple sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to make you feel the way it did.

There were so many things about the beginnings of a new relationship that you didn’t like.

The risk of letting a new person into your life wasn’t lost on you. Letting someone in too quick, too soon. Revealing too much of yourself too quick, too soon. The vulnerability that opened you up to the possiblity to get hurt...

Scary stuff.

But the excitement of it all? The constant uncontrollable smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. The butterflies wreaking havoc inside of your stomach. Giggly breathlessness that turned nerves into excitement. The way all of it could make you feel lightheaded in the good way?

Fucking gold.

With your body in a soft cosy outfit, you found Joe in your kitchen wearing an outfit not unlike your own. For a fraction of a second, the nervous thought of Joe getting to see you in your factory settings crossed your mind.

But then you saw his glasses.

Joe hadn’t yet worn his glasses in front of you, and stood here in your living area now, in a cream-coloured cotton long-sleeved shirt, you couldn’t help the way that made your eyebrows pinch together.

How could a man look sexy and adorable at the same time?

“Glass of–... uh oh,” Joe turned around holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, but stopped mid-sentece when he saw your expression. “Sorry, was I not meant to–”

“No, no!” you cut him off, and tried your very best to keep the laugh that bubbled up inside. “No, that’s– yes. Yes. That’s fine, yea. I would love a glass, thanks.”

Joe frowned a little in confusion, eyes narrowing, but his smile unwavering.

“It’s just,” you hestitated telling him. Thought maybe he wouldn’t appreciate what you considered to be a genuine compliment.

“Just... a bottle of wine that you were saving for a special occassion that I wasn’t meant to open?” Joe made a face, and it was becoming a little bit embarrassing at how easily he had you in stitches. “Or what?”

“No,” you laughed, and Joe couldn’t help the slight muddled huff of laughter that escaped his nose. This really wasn’t helping the cute allegations. “No, it’s just that,” you tried again, grabbing two glasses from a cabinet and placing them down in front of Joe. “You look...”

Before you finished that sentence, you let your eyes dance over him. The flash of selfconsiousness across his face only endeared him more to you.

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, but you definitely didn’t think the comment was going to make Joe blush so fiercely. Hadn’t anticipated him turning slightly shy as he put the bottle down, dropped his head to his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut whilst an arm reached to pull you in.

“Sorry,” you said through a giggle as you got trapped into a tight hug.

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

“I think it’s the glasses,” you gladly accepted the firmly pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“You think?” Joe pulled back a little and adjusted them on his nose as he looked at you through the lenses.

“Yea, I do.” You smiled, peering up at him, hoping that if you smiled and looked at his lips for long enough, he’d get the hint.

He did get the hint, but didn’t give you what you were asking for before he got both his hands on your face, both thumbs on your cheeks, both pinkies hooking your jaw.

“Guess I’ll keep them on then.” Joe managed to say through a kiss, and he said it like he’d be doing you a favour.

Which, he would be, actually. But he was joking, so you laughed against his mouth, and the giggle made Joe want to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. Squeeze your bodies together until they weren’t able to ever unstick again.

There was an open bottle of wine on the counter next to you, a TV waiting for someone to press play on its remote, and a bed eager for two bodies to occupy it all the way until the morning.

But Joe was kissing a cute girl in her kitchen, glasses bumping into her nose, and felt no rush to move out of the hold you had on him.

Cutest girl in the world.

Yea, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

---

The Taglist

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @dailyobsession

@eddies-puppet, @elvendria, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee

@ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @gri959, @hazelenys, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@overthinking-raccoon, @pepperstories, @pinchofhoney, @readergf, @royale1803

@sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47

@take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea

@xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

Add yourself

[antimonyandthyme]

for anon who talked about carlos gnawing hoodies

“And he was red,” Oscar continued, almost red in the face himself with all the effort he was making. “He had speckled paws. Did you know that virtually all Australian cattle dogs have a white marking of some sort on their forehead?”

Carlos was starting to take pity on Oscar. “I do not know that, no.”

It was a concession, a peace offering. Carlos could count on one hand the number of times he’d admitted to anyone, I do not know. Oscar only looked more panicked, which was not the intended reaction.

“He would nip, as cattle dogs tend to do, you know? Whenever I got close, he’d nip at my heels like he was trying to herd me. It never hurt because he had excellent bite inhibition, he never broke skin. He was gentle. But he got into so much trouble, because strangers always thought he was going for them.” Oscar stopped rambling abruptly, and stared at some spot on the ground. “They nearly had him put down, once.”

Carlos fingered the collar of Oscar’s hoodie, very slightly damp from where he just had it in between his teeth. The orange could never be averse to him, not like the red, now. And it always smelled so unobtrusive, because Oscar did not believe in Febreeze. It was warm, warmer than the ones he owned.

There was no point in trying to hide in Oscar’s clothes, and he fought the useless itch to hedgehog his way back into the couch. This was a lot of words for Oscar. Carlos turned them over and over in his head until a comparison crystallized, with edges sharp enough to cut him clean.

“It’s a bad habit, I know,” Carlos said, confident he did not sound too wounded.

“No,” Oscar said with such vehemence that Carlos nearly flinched. “That’s not what I meant, no.”

They met each other’s eyes, and that seemed to spur Oscar into action. He launched himself up, clambered over the innocent throw pillow situated equidistant between them. As clumsy as Carlos had ever seen him. Or as Oscar had ever allowed Carlos to see him. Carlos felt like he was floundering two steps behind as Oscar grabbed his shoulders with an urgency he didn’t understand.

“I don’t know why I said all that,” Oscar said, shaking Carlos a little. “Ignore it, ignore it please. I was being stupid.”

“Okay,” Carlos said. His hands found Oscar’s wrists, soothing even though he did not yet know what for.

“No, not okay,” Oscar said. “That was mean.”

“I know you weren’t trying to be,” Carlos said. It was a fair deduction, with how distressed Oscar was looking. “And anyway,” he shrugged. “It is a bad habit.”

“I like you doing that,” Oscar said, stubborn. On a good day he could give Carlos a run for his money. “Better my clothes than your skin.”

Ah. Carlos’s chest contracted weakly. “Another bad habit,” he said quietly.

Oscar squeezed his shoulders tighter. “Almost as bad as drying clothes in an oven.”

“There is nothing as bad as that,” Carlos said. “You are comparing a habit with a crime, Oscar.”

Oscar huffed, meeting Carlos’s shaky smile with his own. Practicing unfurling in Oscar’s presence was getting easier by the day. Soon it’d be no effort at all.

“I like you in my clothes,” Oscar mumbled. So he was practicing too. “I like you wearing them and I like you warm in them and I like you—”

“Biting them?” Carlos suggested.

“Shut up. I don’t know why. My brain to mouth filter doesn’t work with you.”

“So you decided to compare me to a dog,” Carlos said. It made sense in some way. Oscar’s thought-processes could get as convoluted as Carlos’s. “That had to be put down.”

Oscar glanced at him, almost fearful, before he realized Carlos could barely hide his teasing grin.

“Stop,” thwack, Oscar thumped at Carlos’s chest, “making,” thwack, “me,” thwack, “feel,” thwack, “bad.”

Carlous couldn’t stop the cackle escaping him, earning him another thwack.

“And he didn’t get put down, okay? He’s doing fine.”

“Is he,” Carlos asked of the wayward dog.

Oscar stilled, and then, very deliberately, lowered himself fully into Carlos’s lap. The heat from Oscar’s hoodie and the heat from Oscar’s body, flush against his, and the heat from looking up at Oscar from this angle, was making it very hard to concentrate. There were only so many allegories he could conjure up before he started thinking himself in dizzying circles.

Oscar trailed the knuckle of his index finger down Carlos’s cheek, slowly enough that Carlos could measure the space between one heartbeat and the next. A nudge against his lips, and Carlos parted his mouth obediently. Oscar inserted his finger like it belonged there, key into a lock. The first knuckle, then the second, past the yielding gate of Carlos’s bared teeth.

Nothing touched. Carlos’s throat fluttered in anticipation, made some embarrassing, pleading noise. Encouragement, direction, anything. Please, please. Oscar waited him out, patient.

For Carlos to close his teeth, secure them around Oscar’s knuckle. Press down, intent clearer than any imprint he could ever leave. The pressure there but not too much. He held Oscar’s finger between his teeth, knowing full well he could hurt, knowing full well he could never. He held it there for as long as Oscar wanted, until he lost track of the time.

“Easy,” Oscar said, stroking Carlos’s burning cheek, and Carlos let go on command.

Around Oscar’s knuckle weaved a red mark that sat perfectly like a ring. Oscar stared at it as if he were trying to commit the indent to memory. Carlos’s breath eased from a rattle to a hum, his brain thankfully wiped clean of metaphors.

“Think he is,” Oscar said, flexing his fingers experimentally. His other hand still on Carlos's cheek, an anchor. “Yeah.”

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 15)

summary: hugh leaves for the world press tour for deadpool & wolverine - leaving you back in new york. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+ mdni), phone sex, hugh is away for the tour so how else are they gonna relieve themselves??? lol, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.6k a/n: sorry for the delay on this everyone. anyway, i actually enjoyed writing this chapter so much. these two are literally so in love and i hope i captured that 🥺 stay tuned, y'all. angst is right around the corner... as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

You’re standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around Hugh’s midsection as your cheek rests against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat quiets your mind and his hand continues to rub your back. 

“Gonna miss you,” you whisper. 

Hugh nods in agreement, kissing the crown of your head. “I’m gonna miss you too, baby. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Slowly, you pull away to look up at him. He brings a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your jawline. “You’d think after being together for a year we’d get tired of each other,” you tease. 

“We could be together for ten years and I won’t ever get tired of you,” he chuckles. 

You smile to yourself and stand on your toes to peck his lips. Hugh cups the side of your neck and presses his lips firmly against yours. His arm snakes around your waist instead and holds you close to him as his lips move slowly. He’s going to be gone for over a month to do this world press tour for the movie; part of him is anxious to leave you here, knowing that Jack could reach out to you while he’s gone. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut briefly. “I love you, baby.” 

You move your hands to card your fingers through his hair, hearing him let out a contented sigh. You gently kiss the tip of his nose before you pull away, eyes gazing up at him. “I love you too.” 

“I don’t wanna go,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just wanna stay here with you.” 

“I know,” you smile, reaching for his hand. “But once you’re done with the tour, we’ll have all the time in the world… until you get busy again,” you tease. 

“Can never be too busy for you,” he says honestly. “I’ll call you. I’ll text you. I’ll FaceTime you. It’ll feel like I never left.” 

“Good,” you smile. “Have a safe trip, baby.” 

He nods and wraps his arms around you once more, face burying into the crook of your neck. Hugh lets out a quiet sigh and then pulls back to look down at you, hand coming up to your cheek. “And you call me if anything happens, okay?”

“Of course,” you turn your head and kiss the inside of his wrist before he begins walking towards the front door. You follow closely behind, leaning against the doorframe once he opens the door and sees a car waiting for him.. 

“Love you, baby.” He leans in once more and pecks your lips. “I’ll call you when I land.” 

“Take lots of pictures,” you smile. 

“Never as good as yours.” He winks and then walks towards the car. Just as he’s about to get in, he looks at you once more and sends a kiss your way. 

—-

Hugh sends you a text that they’re about to take off and when he sees your reply, he smiles to himself and sets his phone aside. His mind drifts momentarily; he didn’t think that this last year would have turned out the way it did. He certainly didn’t think he would find someone like you nor did he think he would be so deeply in love after his divorce with an equally amazing woman. 

He didn’t know what he did in this life to deserve another chance at love, but he knows that he’d do anything for you. Ryan gently taps him in the shoulder, taking him out of his thoughts as the other man grins in his direction. 

“You doing okay?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah. Excited for this tour.” 

“You know, she could have come with you.” 

He chuckles. “I know, but she’s got some upcoming shoots. She’s been busy since we got back. Caught her a few times asleep at her computer, still editing.” 

Ryan smiles. “She loves what she does, that’s always a good thing and the pictures she’s shown us so far from set have been amazing. I’m glad she was there to capture those special moments.” 

“Yeah, she’s– she’s amazing.” 

“You know,” Ryan chuckles. “It’s been a year since you both got together and you’re still so…” he shrugs. “Head over heels in love with her, man.” 

“I really am,” Hugh answers immediately. 

“And things are okay after…” Ryan begins, implying that the conversation is beginning to shift on the topic of Jack.

“Considering everything that’s happened, I think things are better.” Hugh nods. “He hasn’t tried to reach out to her, which I’m grateful for because I don’t know what I’d do if he did.”

“Knew that there’s some anger hidden in there somewhere,” Ryan chuckles. 

“I just–” he sighs. “I don’t ever want her to feel like she isn’t safe, you know?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Hugh.” Ryan shrugs. “She’s got you.”

Hugh bites his lower lip and then looks over at Ryan. “Can I be honest with you?” 

“Always.”

“I can’t–” Hugh sighs, a small smile lining his lips. “I think I want her forever.” 

Ryan chuckles, reaching over to clasp a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

“We’ve only been together for a year, Ryan. Isn’t that–” he shrugs. “Too soon to know?” 

“Has anything ever been slow for you?” Ryan teases. “You never take things for granted. For the time that I’ve known you, you’ve always gone after what you wanted. How is this any different?” 

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” 

“Oh, trust me. She does.” 

Hugh chuckles. “You just know everything, don’t you?” 

Ryan sighs dramatically. “What can I say? I’m just an endless source of wisdom.” 

Hugh laughs to himself and shakes his head, turning his gaze back out to the small window of the plane. He hears his phone chime and he takes it in his hand, swiping the new message from you and immediately smiling to himself. It’s a picture of you in the kitchen, making breakfast for the morning. You’re smiling, eyes filled with so much love and happiness that Hugh wishes he can just be there with you. 

Ryan looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Thank god it’s just a picture of her cooking. Can you imagine if I had looked over your shoulder and saw a different kind of picture?” 

Hugh shakes his head, gently nudging the other man. “And why are you looking over my shoulder in the first place?” 

“I’m bored and was curious.” 

“Oh, we’re gonna have the greatest time on tour,” Hugh laughs. 

—

When Hugh and Ryan finally get to the hotel, Hugh quickly sets his luggage near the bed before he dials your number. He had been so eager to hear your voice, sending you text messages not being enough to fulfill his need to talk to you. It rings twice before you finally pick up and immediately, Hugh feels a sudden sense of relief wash over him.

“Hi, baby,” he smiles, falling back on the bed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” you answer. “You at the hotel now?” 

“Yeah, wanted to hear your voice so badly.” 

He hears you let out a quiet giggle and he shuts his eyes, trying to imagine you right here with him. “How was the flight?” 

“Long,” he answers. “Missed you a lot.”

“How are we ever going to get through this next month?” you tease. 

Hugh chuckles to himself, keeping the phone pressed against his ear. “I don’t know. I’m already suffering without you.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” you laugh. “You get to explore the world, baby. Have fun.”

“Wish you were here to explore it with,” Hugh answers. “It’s hard to have fun when all I want to do is be right there with you, back home.” 

“This place does feel very lonely without you,” you say. “I’m glad I’ve been busy, though, or else I wouldn’t know what to do with my time.” 

Hugh chuckles. “You could come here, for one.”

“You won’t get anything done.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing. You’d be a nice distraction.”

“Oh, a distraction, huh?” 

Hugh smiles to himself. “Yeah. After a long day of press, I can come back to the hotel room and you’d be there. Waiting for me.”

“Ah, so that’s all this is, huh?” you laugh quietly. 

“Oh yeah, thought we established that?” Hugh teases. 

“Ha ha,” you smile to yourself. “You’re funny.” 

“I love you,” Hugh says. “Missed your voice. Your laugh.” 

“I love you too,” you reply. “Missed you, Hugh.” 

“You in bed already?” Hugh asks.

“Yeah, was a long day of editing. Giving my eyes a rest.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re not spending all night editing,” Hugh says softly. “I’m not there to wake you up from your desk and take you back to the bed.” 

“I know,” you answer. “I’m trying to act more responsible now that you’re gone.”

“Ah, so you’re telling me that you like being picked up from your desk and taken back to bed, is that it?”

“Oh, of course,” you answer instantly. “Nothing gets me going than a strong man.” 

You both erupt into a fit of laughter. Behind closed eyes, Hugh can imagine you so clearly. The sound of your laughter fills his ears, a warmth blooming in his chest. He wonders if you would feel the same way he does – wanting to be with you forever. He hasn't had to have that conversation with you yet and he isn’t sure if it’d scare you away, but Hugh is so sure about his feelings for you. 

“I miss you so much, baby,” he finally says after your laughter dies down. “Wish you were here with me.”

“Me too,” you answer. “This bed is very lonely without you.”

“You sleeping in my shirt tonight?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. “Or are you wearing just a tank top and panties like most nights?” 

“What if I told you I’m wearing nothing?” you answer. 

Hugh can hear movement on the other end of the line, followed by a very quiet whimper that escapes your lips. He clears his throat, feeling his length stir from beneath his shorts. “Are you wearing nothing, baby?” 

He hears his phone vibrate and pulls the phone away from his ear to look down at the message. He furrows a brow in confusion and opens the text from you, his eyes widening at the sight of the picture you just sent. “Fuck me,” he growls. He saves the picture to his phone and stares at it for another second longer before he brings the phone back to his ear. “You really are wearing nothing.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” you ask. 

“Never,” Hugh whispers, pushing his shorts down to relieve pressure against his hardening length. “Need you bad, baby.” 

“Yeah?” You turn the call into FaceTime and Hugh is quick to answer it, his other hand wrapped around the base of his length. 

“Are you–” you whisper, biting your lower lip. “Touching yourself, Hugh?”

Hugh nods and then sits up on the bed, resting against the headboard as he positions the phone so that you can see him clearly. He looks down at the phone, seeing you do the same and when he sees your bare frame come into view with your hand already between your legs, Hugh lets out a quiet groan. 

“Fuck, baby,” Hugh groans. “Talk to me…” he strokes himself at the sight of you, your head tilted back just slightly as you move your fingers slowly in and out of you. 

“It’s not the same,” you whimper. “Need your fingers, need your co–” 

“Fuck,” Hugh bites his lower lip and moves his hand away from his length to spit into the palm of his hand before he strokes himself once more. He’s already leaking at the tip, his eyes never leaving you as he watches you move your fingers in and out of your heat. “You look so good, baby. Doin’ so well. Tell me what you need…”

“Need you,” you moan loudly. “Need to feel you,” your eyes flutter as you bring your free hand to cup your breast. 

Hugh’s strokes pick up in speed, the sight of you pleasuring yourself at the thought of him bringing him closer and closer to his own peak. “Yeah? Your fingers not doin’ enough, hm?” 

“N–No…” you moan. “Imagining your fingers, your c–cock and– Oh, Hugh…”

Hugh groans, watching as you kick the blanket off to the side. He watches you part your legs for him and he can see you glistening, can see your fingers move in and out of you so clearly. Your back arches off the bed and he wishes nothing more than to be there with you, face deep between your legs. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” Hugh groans. “Wish I could fill you up right now,” he says, seeing your eyes open and widen at the sight of him stroking himself. “Wish I could feel your tightness wrap around me– fuck, you always feel so good wrapped around me, baby.” His own eyes begin to flutter, but he can see your fingers move quickly, can sense that you’re close. “You’re always such a good girl for me,” he groans. 

You moan loudly, curling your fingers within your own depths as you watch him stroke every inch of his throbbing length. “Fuck, Hugh…”

“Come for me, baby,” Hugh growls. “Fucking come for me, imagine me deep inside of you, fucking you until–”

“Hugh!” you scream, back arching off the bed once more as pleasure surges through your veins. You’re breathing heavily and your body is trembling. When you pull your fingers out of you, you can see it slick with your wetness.

“Fuck, baby,” Hugh groans, the tightness building and building in the pit of his stomach. He thrusts up into his hand, white spurts of his own come landing on the pit of his stomach and he moans, eyes fluttering. “Fuck…” 

You let out a quiet giggle, biting your lower lip as you stare at him, watching him slow his own strokes. “Wish I could lick that all up,” you tell him.

Hugh looks over at you from the phone and smirks. “You minx.” 

“You love it.”

“I do,” he smiles. “And I love you.”

“We should– We should do that again.”

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” 

You nod. “I like the real thing even better, but it’ll do until you get back.”

Hugh chuckles and grabs his phone with his clean hand, standing from the bed to walk into the bathroom to clean himself up. “This might sound a bit… weird, but you think we can stay on the phone?” 

You smile to yourself. “Want to fall asleep like this?” 

Hugh nods, turning on the faucet in the sink to wash his hands. “I mean, it’s day time over here but I do have the rest of the day to catch up on sleep and I just– I really miss you.” 

“I’m happy to fall asleep like this,” you answer. “And I really miss you too, Hugh. It’s actually quite concerning.” 

Hugh chuckles and dries his hands on a nearby towel before he walks back into the main room. He removes his shirt and pulls on his boxers before he climbs back into bed. “Concerning? How so?” 

“I just–” you bite your lower lip and turn to lie on your side as you stare at him through the phone. “I don’t know. I love you, a lot, and now that you’re not here with me, I just…” you sigh. “I just haven’t felt like this. Ever.” 

Hugh smiles to himself. “I love you, baby,” he repeats. “You’re really something else, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just me,” you shrug. 

“And you’re by far the best person I know,” he smiles. “Now, go and get some rest.”

You nod, eyes falling shut as you tuck an arm underneath your pillow. “Love you, Hugh.”

“Love you too, baby. So fucking much.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss @keerygal

[minceraftyuri]

gempearl rpf style. as a treat.

[burnforyou]

DREAMING OF YOU - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! pure fluff, mutual pining, a bit more than friends. he's a good man savannah! wrote this while I was sleep deprived so... enjoy! 1.4k words

the door shuts with a tight click and a high squeak. a cold draft enters the room. you craned your neck to look at the door, expecting your flatmate. instead, Luigi was standing in your doorway looking straight at you. you shot up from the couch.

"Luigi?" all of the air in your lungs was lost as you stared at him.

"hey?" he tried, his voice coming out hoarse. you ran around the couch and jumped into his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck. his arms wrapped around your waist, his cold hands sending a shiver over your whole body. he pulls you into him more and your heels begin to leave the ground.

this is where i'm meant to be, forever, you both think.

"you're here," you whisper into his neck, bringing your head up to look at him. you're still in utter disbelief that this is real, that he is real. you cradle his head in your hands purely to feel him, his face as cold as ice. you can tell he hasn't shaved in a period of time, which is very unlike him, as his stubble prickles your palms. his nose has a rosy hue, one that reminds you of Rudolph. his eyes open and he studies your face.

"where have you been?" you ask breathfully. you're out of breath as if you just ran a marathon.

"I had a family emergency in- out of the country, I had to leave immediately and didn't really have time to talk to anyone. 'm sorry." he apologizes shamefully.

"hey, you don't need to apologize. I understand. I'm just glad you're here now." you smile slightly and search his dark eyes for answers.

you both cannot tear your hands or eyes off of each other, his hands running up and down your back and arms like he’s sculpting you out of clay with his bare hands. you hold him as if he's your military husband returning from war, when in reality, he was only gone for a week. but it felt like war being apart from him for however many days, you could never handle being apart for any longer than that, or ever again.

he takes his hand off your back and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. your stomach flips at his icy, careful touch. he leaves his hand on your cheek and caresses your skin. he leans into you and his eyes flicker between your lips and eyes. your cheeks flush under his hand and a smile graces his face.

he's so unsure, so hesitant. all he wants to do is kiss you. all he wants to do is be yours, to have you be his. but he doesn't know if you want him the same way. he doesn't know that you dream of him the same way he dreams of you. your lips: your familiar, loving, lips.

little does he know, you feel the same way about him. you've always wanted your kids to have his eyes and nose.

"you're cold," you squeak out. his head jerks back. he looks away from you, embarrassed he even thought for even a second he had the honor of kissing you.

"I am cold." he says, his voice coarse.

"um, you can give me your coat," you awkwardly look down, stepping back from him. he takes off his backpack and drops it on the floor by the door with a thud. "do you want soup? I have tomato basil, vegetable, uh- I think mushroom, or if you don't want soup, I can make us chili, or ramen, or whatever you wa-"

"y/n, I'll eat whatever you make. make whatever you want and i'll eat it." he interrupts your rambling. you snap your head up to look at him, his dark eyes already looking at you.

"is Mac and cheese okay?" you squeak, your skin flushing with embarrassment. he nods and you rush to your small kitchen to start boiling the water, forgetting about his coat. you pour the water into the pot and focus on your breathing,

in,

and then out,

which doesn't seem to work because he's still got you all worked up. all hot and bothered.

on the other side of the wall, Luigi leans against the door and closes his eyes. he was so close to all hes wanted.

it's fine, he tells himself. we have all the time in the world.

when he finally finds the courage to face you again, he pushes off the wall and follows the familiar plan of your apartment to your kitchen. he leans on the island and watches you stir the pot. a couple minutes later you're sitting beside each other, basking in comfortable silence. he's simply just happy that he can be home with you again.

"if you don't mind me asking, um, what happened? with your family?"

"oh, my great uncle died and we had to sort out his will, for his land and money and stuff. we were close when I was growing up, but I haven't seen him in years. it just really hasn't set in yet, that I'm really never gonna see him again."

"I'm so sorry," you put your hand on his bicep. he blinks tiredly and gives you a tip-lipped smile in response. you notice dark eye bags developing beneath his eyes.

"when was the last time you slept?" you ask him. your care floods his heart with love.

"i'm not sure." he answers honestly.

"lu! you need to get to bed! you can sleep in my room tonight," you say, picking up your empty dishes before realizing what you said. "I'll take the couch," you add.

the idea of sleeping in your bed fills him with joy, almost a child-like giddiness. but he knows better.

"no, I'm not doing that. I'll sleep on the couch, it's no big deal." he slides off the chair and watches you in the kitchen. you place the dishes in the sink and turn around to look at him.

"not with those back problems you're not."

"I'd never make a woman sleep on a couch," he argues back.

"and I'd never make a man with back problems sleep on my hard couch that I picked up on the side of the street." you say, putting your hand on your hip.

"I can Uber home," he tries, even though he truly doesn't want to.

"no, you can't." you say stubbornly. you're not letting him go home. you don't even want to let him out of your eyesight for fucks sake.

"can't we just sleep in my bed together?" you blurt out before realizing the implications. your faces both grow red with embarrassment. you look down at your nails and bite the spot on your cuticle you've been picking at. he shivered at the thought of sleeping in a bed together. not just any bed, your bed.

"well, I'm going to bed," you begin walking to your room. "you can join me if you want."

you leave the decision in his hands. once you reach your bathroom, you lean on the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. is this real? you ask yourself. you quickly go through the motions of getting ready for bed, suppressing any thoughts of Luigi. any thoughts of sleeping in the same bed of Luigi. any thoughts of laying next to him as he sleeps and him pulling you flush into him as he sleeps, your backside molding into his front perfectly.

him wearing only boxers and you in a thin t-shirt, little to nothing keeping your skin apart.

fuck!

cold water splashing on your face pulls the wild thoughts out of your mind. your push it all away, walk to bed, and pull the covers over you.

a little while later, you feel the blanket pull and the bed dip. you blink your eyes open slowly and your met with luigi's dark brown eyes staring tiredly into your own, also struggling to stay open.

"Luigi," you croak, your mind not fully awake. you reach out for him and he shuffles closer to you. his skin is still cold to the touch. you pull his head into your chest and entwine your fingers in his curls. you share your heat with him under the blanket.

"are you cold now?" you ask, delirious with sleep.

"no," he replies simply, at a loss for words as you massage his scalp with your finger nails.

luigi picks his head up and stares deeply into your eyes, noticing speckles of color he's never noticed before. I'll never get tired of this sight, he thinks.

"I don't deserve you." he breathes out, his voice so deep with honesty.

"shhhh" you whisper, pushing his head back down onto your chest. your hand returns to massaging his curly hair. he sighs and shuts his eyes, dreaming of you.

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!A/N! wrote this bc I wanted to portray him in a slightly better light than creep (lol) but I ended up loving it and now I cant stop having fluffy thoughts about him. send fluffy (or not) requests!

!TAGS!

@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @bricapallen16 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n

[burdenandacrop]

˗ˏˋ ❝ fickle flame. ❞ ˎˊ˗

submission from 🎂 ! loosely based on the song 'never there' by CAKE ! i love this band so much so the fact i'm writing my second fic based on one of their songs ... consider my autistic brain pleased.

summary : you're busy to say the least, and with that fact; comes along schlatt who is aching for even a minute of your time. scrapping for pieces of you, saying things he probably shouldn't, and yearning incredulously without shame.

⋮ ⌗ ┆established relationship, masturbation, fem reader, he is just really pitiful in this one. like extremely.

the night only seemed to grow colder, not in the sense of temperature though. just with how melancholy was filling into schlatt's mind by the minute, laying on his bed and struck with the annoying sensation that kept coming over him. he missed you terribly, but every single day it was 'i have a meeting', 'overtime', or 'i have an event i have to go to.' never an instance where you could crawl into his arms, something that wished so desperately for. he knows you say you love him, that you'd take the time to show him too. it just felt like a lie to him, he could only deal with so many short calls. dry text messages laced with boredom, as he analyzed every little word that you wrote. wondering, is this where it was going wrong? was he the problem? could he just be incredibly clingy and childish about this matter? was he obsessive? no common sense seemed to hit him though.

it was an absolute bore to work every day and when you were off, having to sport yourself for these extravagant events and doll yourself up to please the company and the guests. hell, you were at one right now. your fingers ready to press so hard into the champagne glass that it shattered. not worth it to make a scene though, just have to stand awkwardly in your dress as the overworked violinist played. they really got to pay that guy more. you sigh and look up to the ceiling, wondering if there was any sort of release from this hell. then suddenly, you feel a vibration from your purse. looking around to see if your boss was anywhere to be found before you just pull out your phone, thankfully he wasn't. you scour through your purse and pull out your phone. seeing a notifications from schlatt.

schlatt ♥︎ : Are you still there?

you sighed as you read it, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you pondered on what to say. part of the experience of being in a such corporate position, meant you practically had no time to yourself. no time to even tend to a relationship, which did make you feel guilty at times. part of you even wanted to call off the relationship due to the clashing schedules, but you knew you could never do that to him. he had been getting progressively worse with his clingy nature, but in a sense, it was warranted.

you : yeah, stuck here til midnight.

you could see how he immediately read it, the little bubbles going across his incoming text message. you had a worrying feeling that your text was only going to upset him further, but you had to tell him. his bubbles kept going away and then coming back, an endless cycle of clearing out his texts and trying again. eventually after a minute, he finally texted back.

schlatt ♥︎ : Come over after?

schlatt ♥︎ : Please?

you sighed at his texts, knowing damn well you didn't feel like making the drive to his house so late. you just didn't want to say it in such a mean manner, you knew you'd be seen as a bitch anyway you put it. there's still a sense in trying.

you : it's like a 30 min drive baby.

he stared at the text and felt his body become so much heavier, falling against the covers once again. it was this same conversation, over and over. his insistence on getting you to get closer, but alas; it seemed to always fail. no matter how hard he tried to explain how badly he wanted you. how he would lay countless nights staring up at his ceiling wishing the warmness on his chest from his cats was you. he felt like such a big baby, on how terribly he was attached to the slight bit of your attention. like a dog looking in from the sliding glass doors begging it's owners to let it in as he watched the owner laugh and enjoy everything. he was so happy that you were successful, how you could go these luxurious events where money wasn't an issue, but he had a deep sense of want. just wishing he could just keep you to himself.

you : [ image attached ]

he felt his chest get hotter as he eyed the photo, he hated how beautiful you looked in it. how your sequin dress shined from the lights, how utterly delicious you looked in the warm dull light. he couldn't stop his eyes from lingering on how low the neckline went down on your dress. everyone got to see you like that. except him. just the sheer thought of how everyone could just gawk at your body, see in person just how delightful your face was. he almost wanted to reach into the screen, just so he could feel your soft skin. it just wasn't fair.

schlatt ♥︎ : Beautiful.

he knew if he said anymore, that wouldn't be appropriate to be reading in such a setting. rest assured, if he could; he'd be writing novels on how he wanted to bask in your presence and how terribly he ached to do so. you softly grinned at his text message, it was short but sweet. you could tell he was hiding something of a sort, but you honestly didn't have the time to indulge into it. instead, just sending another picture of yourself. one with a higher angle, showing off a better look of the dress with a wide smile painted on your face. maybe that would ease some of his sorrows.

he let out an audible groan when he saw the picture, clicking on it to get a clearer view. zooming into your face, shaking his head as he took in just how gorgeous you looked. it was so unfair, so cruel. chewing on his bottom lip in frustration before zooming down to the dress, god your curves in it. he could even see the little crease between your stomach and your thighs. unbashfully, one of his favorite parts of your body. as he continued to look at every detail of the picture, he could feel his sweats getting progressively tighter. closing his eyes and sighing as he realized, great. that's exactly what he needed on a night like this. looking down to his waistband and pulling up the edge of his sweats to look at how quickly he got excited. what was it about you?

schlatt ♥︎ : I don't have anything appropriate to say.

you softly giggled as you read the message, shaking your head and pondering on what your next course of action should be. your thumbs clicking on the keyboard to type away another message, biting down on your tongue with the excitement growing in your stomach. right before you could hit send, you heard the gruff voice of your boss speak, "[y/n], our guests." he sighed out. making you immediately shut off your phone and stuff it back into your purse with a fabricated smile. relieved when your boss just nodded and went back to talking with other colleagues.

he saw how you left him on read, only making him yearn for you more. sighing as he looked back to the tent you created in his sweats, guess there was only one thing he could do. he looked back to the text wall between the two of you, looking at the picture of you once again. groaning as he clicked on it again, his gaze transfixed on how your eyes looked. awfully cruel to send a picture of you when your eyes were obviously bedroom eyes, maybe just to tease him. it had to be that. his eyes trailing back down to the deep v neck of your dress, begging to see what it looked like underneath. wondering if you were wearing a matching set, what color was it, was it laced? he knew his internal monologue was making him sound like a loser, but he needed it. he slowly moved his hand under his waistband as he kept his eyes on the photo, whimpering softly as he grasped his hands around his shaft.

his breathing hitching as he kept his eyes on how your curves looked, his hand going up and down as he imagined it being yours instead. thinking back to the past nights where you would ride him until he felt like passing out, his eyes fluttering open as he tried to keep his eyes focused on the photo. he could feel every wave of heat traveling up and down his stomach, his head flailing back as he kept his pacing. god he wished you could just come over tonight. instead of being at that stupid event. looking so gorgeous and showing off to everyone except him. a thought rose in his head, he was already in the process of losing his mind so why not add a little bit more to the fire. he began typing with his right hand, which wasn't helping with his focus.

schlatt ♥︎ : Youre nvere there

schlatt ♥︎ : Rhe things Id do if you were here

schlatt ♥︎ : Fuck just plehase comeb over

schlatt ♥︎ : I will literally pay for uour uber right now

as you were walking to the bar, smiling at your colleagues as you passed them. you kept feeling the buzzing in your purse, the sinking feeling hitting your chest as you knew deep down it was him. you chose to ignore them for now, in hopes that your boss would mingle somewhere not visible to you. you groaned and made your way to the bar finally, tipping your head as you grabbed another glass of champagne. smiling at the bartender before turning around and taking a sharp sip of it. you needed this desperately right now, you obviously didn't want to be plastered but you needed a little something to take the edge off.

schlatt ♥︎ : Send your address i am prdering the iber right now

schlatt ♥︎ : Its onnthe way .please

the insistent buzzing in your purse was racking against your brain more and more. you sighed before looking around to see if your boss was anywhere to be seen, sadly he was right in the corner. you groan and stomp your way over to the bathroom, trying to not look pissed as you walked. you looked left and right to find the bathroom doors, growing more irritated as the crowd of people seemed to thicken. a few colleagues waving at you, causing you to lose your timing and make small talk. biting the bullet and smiling as you approached them to talk, but you had to make it short. you absolutely needed to.

schlatt ♥︎ : Its tenminutes away baby ppease answer

schlatt ♥︎ : Im tired of waitijg fornyou i need you

schlatt ♥︎ : Im fuckijg aching overbhere

you nodded and played along with your colleagues opening chat, twirling around your glass of champagne with a smile. you tried your best to keep your poker face as you could keep feeling the buzzes in your purse. the worry settling into your system further, what the hell could be happening? you knew you should've just set it on silent and called it a night. you smoothly pull yourself out of the conversation and wave goodbye to the group, dipping into the dim lit hallway aching to find the damn bathroom. it had to be here somewhere, then thankfully you could see it at the end of the hall. the doors practically beckoning you. you basically sprint to the bathroom and check to see if anyone was around to see you. thankfully not. you pull yourself into the bathroom and let out a much needed sigh. finally being able to pull out your phone from your purse and your screen showing nine unread messages. all of which were from schlatt. your eyes widen as you read all of them, seeing the mention of an uber. and right as you were about to type back, try to protest in any way.

schlatt ♥︎ : It's there waiting

fuck. you tapped your heels against the floor, leaning against the wall to think of whatever you could do. you couldn't just tell him to cancel it. then again, wasn't that the right answer? you couldn't just leave this event. or could you? maybe this is what you needed, some adrenaline filled experience aside from your boring busy pallet. you sigh and look back to the screen, wondering on what the hell you were supposed to do.

you : ok im walking out now

schlatt ♥︎ : God I love you

you sigh with a smile as you stuff away your phone back into your purse, walking out of the bathroom and eyeing the exit doors. shaking your head as you looked back to the crowd, thinking to yourself if this was a smart decision.

oh, who gives a shit.

author's note : TEEHEE. i loved this request so bad. i apologize if you didn't want it to be lemon-y, i will make up for that with the next CAKE fic you requested anon <3 i just hope you enjoyed :> 🎂

[melancholicstation]

YOU TASTE LIKE THE FOURTH OF JULY! - jack schlossberg raya one-shot date.

summary: you join raya as a half-joke but what you find on there—or should you say who you find on there is anything but a laughing matter: none other than jack schlossberg himself.

warnings: drinking, light petting and kisses, innocent touches, yearning desperate man alert...

words: 1,778

Currently, it was an unassuming 4:30pm in the city that never sleeps and what were you doing with your precious time this afternoon? writing emails you'd been procrastinating? calling your grandma who you haven't spoken to in weeks? no, of course not. You were doom-scrolling TikTok for the past few hours.

However the doom-scroll wasn't for nothing, through it you'd identified a common thread running throughout your algorithm: videos upon videos of various young woman who'd taken a break from shilling their amazon shop links to share niche internet personalities—and on the rare occasion actual b-tier celebrity men dating profiles through shaky screen-caps on a dating app called 'Raya'.

According to Google.com 'Raya' was "a private, membership based community for people all over the world to connect and collaborate." Private membership you thought, how overly and unbelievably pretentious. However, and if anyone asked you would deny, you weren't completely turned off by a tinge of pomp and circumstance, in small batches at least.

The first couple videos you scrolled mindlessly, fast forwarding through the video to see if any of your favourite a24 actors had been making the rounds on the dating app: no takers yet.

That was until you saw him. At around the 24 second mark of the video you saw the dating profile of the only grandson of JFK, and the full-time internet heartthrob littering the pages of teenage girls Pinterest accounts—Jack Schlossberg. Now that stopped you in your tracks.

Not many men could get you to perform such a silly act as to pay $24.99 a month for a fucking dating app but alas here you were punching in the details of your black card and hitting purchase. You rationalised this undeniably delusional act by telling yourself that you'd see what all the fuss was about for a month and promptly revoke your subscription once the month was over. Currently, the date was the 1st of September, perfect. By 30th you'd definitely be bored by the app, as you were with all the other apps you've tried before, and it would be forgotten about as a frivolous but harmless expense of $24.99.

After setting up your profile you'd chosen a mix of photos: one sporty photo you'd taken at Wimbledon which does completely misrepresent your true nature of detesting all things involved in tennis—bar the outfits, a photo of you on your ex-boyfriend's motorcycle but potential swipers on your profile didn't need to know that specific detail, and a couple photos of you at a gala you attended as a plus one with a greek prince. Snobby, but as they say if the shoe fits walk in it.

Now sure, was it a carbon copy of your bumble profile... Yes but was that a crime? The prompts were as stupid as the membership price tag so you treated them as such.

Like a prompt that read "I disagree when people say that I'm..."

To which you replied, "the problem."

And another prompt that read "Favourite self-care ritual"

To which you replied, "praying on my cousins downfall"

Snarky replies that most definitely did not come off the best to possible dating prospects but hey you didn't quite care—mostly because you weren't thinking that you'd be earnestly engaging in a real romantic sense with anyone you'd find. You were simply doing this for scientific research purpose, and maybe to make fun of mens profiles over two or three dirty martini's at Harry Cipriani with a few of your girlfriends.

After completing your profile and after swiping through a few profiles recommended to you—and finding no luck with any of the men you saw so far you'd effectively abandoned the app for a couple of hours. That was until it so rudely interrupted your evening with a notification.

You'd went on with your day with relative peace and managed to intercept your part-time career of couch-rotting watching the first season of girls on HBO to go down to your local grocer on Canal St. Opting to get yourself an iced expresso latte with raw stevia and pumpkin milk, with a with a slice of buckwheat cake as an impromptu choice-anxiety driven decision.

Fumbling inside your bag for the keys to your apartment your phone starts to buzz, not an abnormal appearances as your mother has a penchant for incessant checkups now that you're living on your own for the first time, but it doesn't end with 1 or 2 buzzers. It keeps going for around 4 buzzers. Frustrated, you finally get into your apartment shuffling off your jacket and setting aside the fresh coffee, and baked good and angrily swipe up on your phone ready to be annoyed at whatever notification you find.

But instead you're absolutely and irrevocably gobsmacked at what you find:

"You've matched with Jack Schlossberg, 31. Click here to start a conversation"

You click on the notification, and are surprised to see a message has already been sent...

"We already have something in common! I too love plotting the downfall of my cousin as well and think i'm never the problem."

"2 for 2 is a good start" you reply back trying to maintain a normal level of interest mixed with a cool detachment needed to move through dating app conversations.

"We could find a couple more similarities over drinks tonight, if you're free?"

Very forward of him which you definitely didn't expect coming from a man with the internet persona he'd created over the last year. Admittedly you hadn't followed him or shown much interest past nodding emphatically when shown a post of him being hailed as the "internet's baby girl" by one of your girlfriends, but something about his assertiveness endeared him to you.

And before you knew it you were accepting his invitation of drinks at Socialista at 7pm.

Fast forward a couple hours, and you were fixing your lipstick in the back of the Uber before it unceremoniously dropped you off outside the cocktail lounge: the exterior of the bar painted an unassuming shade of charcoal paint.

Pushing open the door to the lounge you're met with the sweet yet severely overrated aromas of baccarat rouge 540 and santal 33. Dressed in a simple skirt and top set with a pair of strappy sandals in black you scan the refined interior of the lounge: green walls, crushed red velvet furnishings, and aged brass fixtures as far as the eye can see, but no sight of Jack yet. You find a two seater booth and sit down calling over a waiter, dressed so elegantly you might just assume it's Thom Browne and considering that its Socialista it very might well be.

You decide on a bourbon old fashioned and as you take your first sip your eyes fixate on the man entering the lounge. And it's none other than Jack himself wearing a long sleeve sable button-up, black slacks, and a nylon sneaker with wool socks.

The first couple of minutes were the typical awkward dance of a first date but after just a short 30 minutes you guys started to get hit a stride and happen to have very good chemistry—defying the common and frequent horror stories experienced on first dates. You guys bond over difficult familial relationship, though you can't imagine having it all play out on the public stage.

As the hour progresses from 7pm to 8 and from 8 to 9 you get cosier and cosier, and by 9:21 your knees rest on each others while you intently listen to his ramblings on why he much prefers cocktail lounges to restaurants,

"-And you end up having to wait for some guy-and then tell him what you want to eat. I mean it's a draconian concept!"

He says it with such magnetism and charisma that you'd think he was talking about something evoking passion, and not the flawed system of the restaurant industry, but you gather that's what draws him to people—that's what, against your better judgement, draws him to you.

You stay for another hour, but you both get up to leave at the chagrin of the staff who looked increasingly more agitated as the minutes ticked by, grateful that you guys took the hint to leave the lounge. Once you do, you both step out on the street.

The end of the date was, by far, the most awkward part of the date for you, it has always been this dance around skirting around a conversation in which you try to assert if the other wants to continue the night, or never wants to see you again in their life.

I couldn't really tell which side Jack was sitting on, despite our conversations and all around great date. However that was made clear to me seconds later

"Tell me if I'm a weirdo and I'll drop it immediately—you'll never have to see me again, but is it okay if I kiss you?"

Despite the touches on the arm and the innocent, light knee rubbing that occurred during the date you found yourself taken back at the earnest desire he presented to you in just that sentence alone. To his comment you emphatically nod with an embarrassingly enthusiastic "Yes", feeling the culmination of the tension and since desire that had steeped and brewed over the course of the night.

The kiss was, as cheesy, 90s erotica as it may sound, was electric and all-consuming. You swore you got so in the moment that you had to remind yourself to take breaths in between—and by the sound of Jack's breathing he might've had to as well.

You both stop after a while, suddenly aware of the possible bystanders who could be looking on, but you both maintain sharp eye contact with each other. Similarly, he continues to hold your forearm—lightly stroking it between his fingers with a quiet intimacy you hadn't quite ever experienced with a man you've known for less than 12 hours.

Without your knowledge you let out a small yawn, to which Jack loudly chuckles under his breath,

"I really bore you out that bad, huh?"

Embarrassed you bow your head, focusing on the graffitied pavement,

"Not at all—I just have a raging caffeine addiction and it's about the time i'd normally have a fix"

"Well not to sound presumptuous-"

"You definitely will, but I'm liking you so i'll allow you to go on anyway."

"I do have a pretty great coffee machine in my apartment if I do say so myself?" To which he proposes the undercover invitation as more of a question and less of a demand which you subtly appreciate.

"Lead the way"

taglist: @carly-rae-jean @h-l-vlovesvintage @inocennture @monturi @hisamericanmuse @passhun4w-blog @vile-harlot @bluelancergirl @jackiesgirl @fortheloveofjos @itgirlvirgo @starsprangledgirl @malkavared @remotewatch @salvatoresablondie @kimcrystal123 @vampyiricris @scaredlamb @dulcegal @strryhaze @chiliscrazylife @joansiesbeloved @beloved-angel

note: for this universe forget raya has a waiting list… i forgot that while writing this

[loulou-land]

My very small contribution to louliver 😌 can’t believe I live here now.

[gabberpopsexclusive]

I need Joost to masturbate me with his fucking fingers, PLEASE

thats unbelievably real anon

i dont know why his hands are so sexy either, maybe its the size of them?? or the tattoos? (his tattoos are so hot as ive said)

he fingers you so well, hitting so deep inside of you his fingers are the perfect length to hit your g-spot and make you feel amazing

if hes feeling mean maybe he'll overstim you with just his fingers, making you cum at LEAST three times

+ thinkin about him making you lick his fingers clean after he overstimulates you, or him licking his fingers clean of you, talking about how amazing you taste and how good you did for him

aftercare is real nice after this, just him being sweet and telling you how well you did to him while he rests his head in your neck

awwe hes so cute isnt he

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

haha. im back from the dead

send me things <3

[cjlouwho]

consider: louliver mpreg 😌

If it’s Oliver: absolute terror while pregnant. Whines about everything. Has Lou make him homemade ice cream every single night and it never tastes right (although he eats the whole container). Craves meat the whole time and is pissed about it. Is convinced the baby is trying to murder him from the inside and blames Lou for it. Makes Lou give him back rubs every morning.

If it’s Lou: loves how his skin is glowing. You wanna see how high he can still jump while 8 months pregnant? Walks around naked a lot. Wears a shirt with Oliver’s face on it that says “he did it.” Can he watch the baby come out?? The mucus plug sounds fun! He takes a picture of it when it comes out and that’s the only post we get to see from his pregnancy.

[kingofthering]

ROSQUEZ | NE ME QUITTE PAS

do not leave me / we must forget / everything can be forgotten / already running away / forget the time / the misunderstandings / and lost time / to know how / to forget these hours / which sometimes killed / through thrown whys / the heart of happiness / do not leave me

[rpfshippingpolls]

⚠️ DON’T START DISCOURSE ABOUT RPF IN THE NOTES!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO SO ⚠️

Do you ship it?

Reason:

“There's so much to list so ig their overall dynamic, the fact that George wrote and produced songs JUST for Ringo to sing, and that Ringo would take George to chemotherapy (and tell him he loved him first thing after every session)”

Submitted by @ringosbitch

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

the maid of amsterdam: dovquez [g]

@dovquezdecember + charcoal

The mermaid in the fish tank has a perfectly pleasant expression despite it being a remarkably shitty fish tank—except for his eyes, charcoal black and charcoal dull, huge, unblinking.

A shark’s eyes. And a shark isn't trying to be malicious when it bites, it just wants to figure out if you’re food.

Andrea swallows. “Ah, good afternoon. You’re Marc, right?”

Marc, estimated to be 11 ft long, still unweighted as all approach attempts have culminated in conflict, found off the coast of Castelldefels by Rossi and his crew God knows when and God knows why.

The mermaids nods once. He appraises Andrea cooly, with the artful boredom of executives and government officials when presented with his research pitches. It should go into his notes—enough understanding of human interaction to regulate emotional response.

Christ, alright. Very comforting.

“I’m Andrea Dovizioso,” he says. The next words stick to his throat like algae—does a mermaid know the ISPRA? Should he explain it? Tell him he’s a protected species these days?

Andrea sighs, rubbing his face. The mermaid—Marc—raises his eyebrows, snorts, bubbles spilling from his pink, almost harmless mouth. He has to reckon with the fact that he’s being made fun of by a creature he isn’t sure knows anything about comedic timing.

Typical Valentino—making trouble and shoving them on his hands.

“I’m here to help you,” is what he settles on.

Marc’s tail swishes, an odd jolt of movement. It’s too cramped in his tank for it to wave and ripple, so it ends up trapped tight against the glass, its tip dangling out. Like this, Andrea can see his scales, pearly white and orange, over five feet of them. They’ve grown dull, loose in some spots.

He smooths out a frown before it can carve itself on his face, chews on the insides of his cheeks instead. Is Marc sick?

But he manages to surge up anyway, until his torso is out and his tail is in. His gills flutter, and he finally, finally blinks.

“You are.”

Marc speaks in clumps, the syllables strained—like he’s reading out words in a language he doesn’t recognize. It isn’t a question, not quite, but he tilts his head to the side, exaggerated, too low, expectant. His overgrown curls flopping over his forehead are disarming.

Andrea taps his fingers against his thigh, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. Marc keeps staring at him with those eyes, bottomless, flinty. The stark letters of his files flash black in his mind—ambush hunter, mesocarnivore. Opportunistic, clever, cruel, whatever else Valentino wrote on him.

“Yes, we’re trying to get you back home,” he speaks carefully, slowly. Marc mouths along the words, frowns. “Not now, but soon. I hope.”

“Soon,” Marc echoes.

His mouth wobbles, and his whole expression spasms. It isn’t a flinch, goes over quicker than one. Andrea spots the misery in the sudden weight on his shoulders, how he hunches over himself. Still, he can’t get a hand around it. Marc’s expression becomes smooth like sea glass again—remarkably, immaculately empty. It might as well not have happened.

The humanity of that face—the sudden wide-eyed hope—settles on his stomach like lead. Makes Andrea feel like he should be back on ethics classes, bent over a Philosophy book.

It makes him way too aware of how many generations of species ago humans abandoned the sea.

Andrea huffs. Makes himself focus on the problem at hand—the small security tank, and the wildlife trafficking charges Valentino will face, and the reputation of his new charge.

“Are you going to try and bite my arm off?” He raises a single, pointed eyebrow. Marc shrugs, opaque. “Break my legs? Drown me?”

Only Valentino could get close to him—his pool, or his tank. Only Valentino, until one day Marc wrapped his tail around his waist and dragged him under. It took four minutes and thirty-two seconds for people to wrench him from that hold. Wet, incoherent, trying to cough out his lungs.

Andrea saw the video. They were talking before, Valentino very close to the pool’s edge, Marc swishing and almost writhing, kicking up waves. The pixelated security cams couldn’t get more than that, and the blur of white and orange that followed.

Marc makes a face at him. Then said tail snaps up.

Andrea watches its lazy arc in fucking disbelief and doesn’t even flinch when something hits his shoes. The water is lukewarm, thick with brine. His socks are drenched.

He’ll have to do laundry again tonight. Great.

“Right,” he deadpans, “it’ll be nice working with you.”

Marc smiles—tries to, at least. Andrea isn’t sure if he can or wants to or knows how to. It’s more a show of teeth than sincere, each of them white and wicked. If he pushed, he could cut his fingers on their fine points.

“I wanted to get your face.”