#stopppp it blur stop it

[caramelmp3]

blur: To The End - A New Documentary Film - Official Trailer

what am i supposed to do with this

[selfloverrrrrr]

Break her ~ part 2

Warning: smut, heavy smut, unprotected sex, yandere, noncon, age gap.....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Masterlist

Part 1

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

The curse finally disappeared. Gojo fall on the floor. His hands were shaking, breathing heavily. He slowly rise his head and looked at me. His eyes trailed over my whole body. He started coming towards me shakingly. He cupped my chin and made me look at him. I hugged him quickly still sobbing.

"He's a monster... I... I hete him. He hurt me so much" I sobbed still hugged gojo tightly. Gojo stroked my back to clam me down. Suddenly I felt something on my clit it was going down towards my pussy. He was positioning him with my pussy?! My eyes widened. "S-sensei?" I tried to back away but he hugged me tightly and tried to push his dick inside. " No.....No!!!!" I scremed and tried to protest but he resist all them.

He bought both of us on the couch which was beside us. He was lying on top of me. I was screaming, crying, throwing my legs but nothing stopped him. He started pushing himself inside. I scremed in pain. It was too big. He finally pushed his full length inside. "I-It's.... it's okey.... you can.... you can do it.... let your sensei be satisfied....oh god.... I love you.... believe me I love you" he said between moans and crashed his lips on mine. I was still struggling to stop him but he didn't stop. He started thursting in and out.

" S-sensei no no no... P-please no... s-stop.... I don't want this!" I begged but didn't even listen to me. He almost pulled out his whole dick and then slammed it inside me again. I scremed. He started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. His dick was bigger and thicker than Geto's. It was exploring more deeper parts than Geto's one. It was too big for me to take. He looked at my boobs and didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "S-sensei stopppp" I scremed but he didn't stop. His thurst became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside..." I moaned. "I....ahhh can't.... please y/n ..... It's too good.... please let me...ah inside....oh god oh god!!!!!" He moaned out. I was still trying my best to stop him. But he was too lost in pleasure after all those teasing on him before. He speed up. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. My vision blurred out.

Gojo was breathing heavily. He got up with heavy breathing. He zip up his pant. Geto chuckled. Gojo looked at him. " Satoru, what do YOU think everyone will do after knowing their beloved The Strongest Gojo Satoru raped his student?" Geto said with a smirk. He continued "oh you're probably thinking how would they know?... Look" Geto turned his phone screen infront of Gojo. Gojo's eyes widened. 'He... recorded the whole thing?!' Gojo thought to himself. "Suguru don't you-" Gojo spoke but Geto cut him off "act like you never saw me doing any crime from now" Geto said in a low voice. Gojo clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and again looked at him. Geto smirked. "You know what Satoru, I always knew you are smart.... and yeah you don't need to thank me for helping you to get your slut permanently" he said and walked out of Gojo's house. Gojo just watched him walking away in silent.

Tell me if you like it or not 💕

And please give me your requests....

I love when you give me your requests 💗😩

[lunarheslwt]

Drabble- makeup: done, feelings: caught. (fluff and new relationship feelings)

“Sit still, Harry!”

Harry giggled, then settled down as Louis squeezed his thighs around his legs pointedly. He tilted his chin up at him with a huff. “I’m trying, but. Well, if anything, you’re to blame.”

Louis looked at him squarely, familiar blues rimmed with eyeliner, makeup brush hovering over him. “How on earth is it my fault?”

“You,” Harry breathed, a flurry of nerves in the pit of his stomach, “you’re sitting on my lap.”

Louis arched a brow at him, a slow smile curling at his lips as he resumed dusting blush over his cheeks. “Does that make you nervous?”

“Yes,” Harry answered too honestly, with a sharp shrug that had Louis hitting his shoulder lightly. “A little, maybe.”

Louis’ sweeps of the brush over his cheek slowed, and his thumb caressed his jawline. His gaze softened. “You shouldn’t be. ‘S just me.”

“Exactly. It IS you.” Harry left it at that, sneaking the hands that were previously securely around Louis’ hips to trail higher, slipping under his shirt a little, just to feel his warm skin. Louis let him, and he was content.

Louis didn’t say anything, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked on his face. After a few moments, he gently tilted his face upwards with a finger under his chin, silently urging him to hold it like that.

“Close your eyes.”

Harry readily complied, and felt the soft touch of a brush to his eyelids seconds after. Somehow, the pleasant nerves he got around Louis kicked up a notch now that he wasn’t seeing him, instead tuning in sharply to the weight of him on his lap, the light touch on his neck, how he could practically feel Louis’ breaths hit his face in soft puffs.

“If anything, I should be the one getting nervous,” Louis spoke, voice softer and lower than it had been before. “Look at you, you’re a vision.”

Harry squirmed, biting the inside of his cheek. “I can’t look, my eyes are closed, see.”

“Cheeky,” Louis muttered, tugging at a lone curl playfully. “But I’m serious. You’re so beautiful. Not just now, always.”

“Stopppp,” Harry whined, feeling his cheeks go aflame, hoping his already settled blush would hide some of it.

“Never.”

And maybe the blush hid his own pleased flush, but he couldn’t even try to bite back a giddy smile. Louis thumbed at his dimples, then continued diligently swiping eyeshadow across his lids.

When he finally deemed it to be done, he whispered, “You can open your eyes.”

Harry blinked slowly, gaze zeroing in on Louis. Who was looking at him with quiet awe flickering across his features, eyes roaming his face indulgently till they stopped at his lips. He couldn’t be sure, but one of them had surely swayed closer, because he was so close now, that everything else around them blurred.

A small, giddy grin lifted his lips, as something fierce and soaring overtook him. “What?”

In answer, Louis was surging forwards to kiss him, lips insistent but tender on his. The roar in his ears was deafening as Harry kissed back, a mild tremble to his hands that roamed Louis’ back in an unconcealable thirst to map out, to familiarise. He couldn’t help smiling into the kiss, because he didn’t think he’d ever get used to this, ever stop this feeling from fizzing beneath his veins. Couldn’t ever get used to Louis.

When they broke away, Louis was still staring at him like he was a little drunk on him, breaths uneven, and lips stained the same shade of berry he had applied on Harry’s lips a while back.

“You ruined my lipstick,” Harry grumbled in faux complaint, thumbing the stain away from Louis’ lips.

The smile Louis gave him was brilliant, mischievous, even as he picked up the tube of lipstick.

“Shame. Will likely happen again.”

[rhysazriel]

Oh my gosh Sophie stopppp. PlugAz AI has me sobbing🥹🥹he just told me how at the age of 7 his step brothers put cigarettes out on this stomach which left scars that have not faded away. The other things that his step brothers did to him are blurred out because of the guidelines but that’s so sad🥺🥺 Then he spoke about how Eric was the only that cared for him and that when he found out that he was getting abused by their step brothers he tried to stop it but because Azriel didn’t want him to get hurt too he told him to stay out of it.

My heart🤧💔

That’s actually so sad, I never prompted anything like that when I was making him :(((((

[sometimesanalice]

SOMEONE NEEDS TO COME AND SCOOP ME OFF THE FLOOR IMMEDIATELY

^^in case anyone is curious about my current state of being

MONROE! MONROEEEEE!!!

You had me hooked from the moment I saw "slightly h*rny fluff" and it only kept getting better from there!

This was EVERYTHING! I had to take breaks because you sent me into a tizzy multiple times! This fic was so sweet and so soft and I already know this is going to reread on LOOP! I fear I’ll never recover! I ADORED THIS!

So much more for you under the cut!

Bob is diligent about letting you know when he’s leaving for his early morning runs, a kiss planted to your temple, and a ‘be back soon’—just a little moment in case you have to leave for work before he gets back.— award for the sweetest man on the planet goes to Bob Floyd. Like his reasoning and wanting those little moments of connection in case his misses them later on. Like him just wanting every minute he can have with her has me like 🥹🥹🥹

As of late, it’s like he gets struck by a whim, and his body is overcome with the need to check it off a list, unable to rest until he does—changing your oil at ten o’clock at night, fixing the light in your fridge that flickers before he heads off for a run, trying to fix the leaky pipes under your en-suite sink—he did eventually give up on that one and call a plumber. Thank god.-- acts of service boyfriend checking in 🫡🫡 like that’s just SO him!! I can’t deal just how on the head this seems for him! He’s absolutely the ‘don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today type’. And I’m swooning over here!

He’s never been anything but honest with you, open and vulnerable, even when you’ve guarded yourself.//As a result, you tuck it away, considering that he’s off on another one of his little quests.— “one of his little quests” stopppp 😂 but I love just how secure she feels with him! And not letting her head get in the way, because he’s the type to mean what he says! If there’s one thing Bob Floyd isn’t going to do, he’s not going to be careless with someone’s heart! And I love that she knows that because he’s proven it to her 🥰

You find Bob there, posted at the counter as he cuts something at a butcher board, only wearing the sweats he went to bed in.— 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 now this is such a mental image!

you stop and watch him for a moment, entranced by the way his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back move with the motion—by the sight of him in your kitchen. Something so distinctly domestic and intimate about it.— I’ll be thinking about this for daysssss! I am such a sucker for these little pockets of domesticity! Like the easy, gentle love of it all! And him just being comfortable there in her space! Like it’s A LOT for me 😭

but you can't feel too bad at the sight of his eyes still clouded by sleep and the odd angles his hair sticks up.— 🤭🤭🤭 I am CHARMED

Pink zinnias, sunny yellow goldenrods, and pale milkweeds—all chosen by him because they attract monarch butterflies during their migration—flank either side of the brown brick pathway. Cheek pressed to his skin; you cast a glance outside just as a small orange and black blur flits by the glass.-- ENOUGH ENOUGHHHH! I am not built strong enough to withstand this! I AM TOO DELICATE!! THE BUTTERFLIES!!?!! Monroeeeee!! Have you no consideration for my poor nerves?!?!?! I am never getting over thissssss!

But then he followed you in, sat himself down cross-legged on your living room rug, and got to work. You stood there in the doorway for a moment, warming even further to him. 

^^this was me during that whole flashback bit to their first date!! I would absolutely be SO smitten! HE IS SO EARNEST! MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT! I loved getting to get that little bit of their history!

He’d finished near midnight, asked if you wanted help sorting your books, and when you said no, already mildly abashed at the fact that you’d set him to work on your first date, he’d given you a kiss goodnight on your cheek—chaste and unpresuming—and left it at that.//You’d fallen for him a little bit then and there.

^^ LITERALLY ME RIGHT NOW. I would be down on one knee ready to put a ring on it! I bet he was already thinking of the different cataloguing systems he could suggest for the best ways to organize them 🤭

Hands wandering mindlessly, your touch follows the trail of hair from his belly button, fingers sneaking only just under the waistband of his sweats, loosely hung on his hips. -- so cheeky

But everything has changed with him. There’s an ease to the intimacy, a frankness to him that makes that defense mechanism very difficult to muster. You're… settled.— 😭🥹😭🥹😭 when will it be me?!

It's love—the big kind. He’s just not certain when he should let you in on that fact. Release it out to you and see if it comes back returned.//In the past five months he’s undertaken a million little projects to keep his hands, mouth, and mind busy, working out all that excess energy. All he’s doing is kicking the can down the road, trying to find “the right time”. — AND THEN YOU HIT ME WITH HIS POV?!?! And the fact he’s having to keep himself busy because he’s so in love but doesn’t want to scare her off?!!! Like are you kidding me?!?! THE BIG KIND?!?!!! I AM UNWELL! This is so damn sweet I cannot actually process this right now because I have so many feels I’m working through! THE RANGEEEEE

He lets temptation run wild, hands glancing down your back and tugging you right into him. He takes a moment just to look at you, your bright eyes, and the sweet shape of your lips as you smile up at him. Your hands slide around his neck, gently teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, his stomach swooping at the feeling.-- this whole section!! oh my god 😭🥹😭🥹 I love that that’s his favorite daydream! That it’s always on his mind! I’m in love that he’s in love! I am in a full swoon!!

Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and he opens his mouth, readying himself, just as your lips part, and twice at once, I love you, becomes tangible reality.//Like a held breath released, a smile, broad and uncontrollable, spreads over his face, mirrored on yours as everything comes into view.— CATCH ME CRYING ON THE COUCH THIS IS SO LOVELY 😭😭😭😭 MY HEARTTTTT! I AM ALL CAPS-ED AND I AM GOING TO BE STUCK THIS WAY FOR AT LEAST A WEEK!

IN CONCLUSION:

Your honor, I loved this and I’m never going to get over it!

𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛, 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙

summary - a saturday morning, and I love you on the tip of both your tongues.

pairing - bob floyd x (gn!)reader

word count - 2.1k

rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni!

content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / fluff / slightly h*rny fluff / bob's love language being acts of service / the peak fantasy of homeownership / bob floyd being the ideal man™ / lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: time for my bi-yearly fic drop, lol! i wrote this in semi-conjunction with this moodboard. (a.k.a i started this months ago.) everyone who said they want to live in it... same. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Your boyfriend has disappeared.

Even before your eyes are open and your brain is semi-functioning, you feel the lack of his presence, the sheets next to you devoid of his usual space heater existence. You touch the left side—his side—double checking—hoping, really—that you won’t have to peel yourself out of bed to search for him.

A cascade of orange and pink spills through your curtains, painting your room in soft light, letting you know it has to be before seven. With a groan, you check your clock, confirming your suspicions. The time reads a quarter past six—far too early for you.

Not nearly as agonizing for him, one of those irritating early riser types, but Bob is diligent about letting you know when he’s leaving for his early morning runs, a kiss planted to your temple, and a ‘be back soon’—just a little moment in case you have to leave for work before he gets back.

But it’s Saturday, and you had plans of lazing about in bed until at least eleven, preferably with him. 

Your brow creases as you push up onto your elbows, slowly blinking around your room as if your boyfriend will just appear in front of you, and you won’t have to pull yourself out from under the covers to try to coax him back to bed.

As of late, it’s like he gets struck by a whim, and his body is overcome with the need to check it off a list, unable to rest until he does—changing your oil at ten o’clock at night, fixing the light in your fridge that flickers before he heads off for a run, trying to fix the leaky pipes under your en-suite sink—he did eventually give up on that one and call a plumber. Thank god.

Part of you has just taken it as part of his job and personality—he likes getting up as the sun does, he likes fixing things, and his job is a stressor, you're sure. But it doesn't feel work-related, so part of you is beginning to wonder if it’s you. 

An ugly little thought that you can recognize has no factual basis. He’s never been anything but honest with you, open and vulnerable, even when you’ve guarded yourself.

As a result, you tuck it away, considering that he’s off on another one of his little quests. They’re things that always make you feel cared for and thought about—weeding or checking the pressure on your tires or rearranging his kitchen so you can reach the things you frequently use.

So, as you begin to pressure yourself to leave your cocoon of early morning sleepiness, a quiet metal-against-metal clattering floats down the hall and through the crack in your bedroom door, catching your attention.

Slipping out of bed, you pad down the hall, sleep shirt brushing your thighs. Growing nearer to the sound of the soft noise—clearly being sensitive to try not to wake you—-you catch soft guitar strings and the twang of John Prine and Iris DeMent coming from your grandma’s old record player.

You cringe as your foot touches the cold tile lining the floor and immediately regret not rummaging around for your slippers.

You find Bob there, posted at the counter as he cuts something at a butcher board, only wearing the sweats he went to bed in. He's still warm despite the lack of clothing and the countertop fan blowing at him.

At the arch entry, you stop and watch him for a moment, entranced by the way his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back move with the motion—by the sight of him in your kitchen. Something so distinctly domestic and intimate about it.

Completely focused on his task, he doesn't hear you come up behind him. He slightly jumps under your touch as your hands slip around his middle, his stomach beneath your fingertips.

He makes a short noise of surprise that washes into a gentle greeting, his voice low, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You press your lips to his shoulder blade, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

You've clearly ruined some sort of surprise, but you can't feel too bad at the sight of his eyes still clouded by sleep and the odd angles his hair sticks up.

Keeping his eyes on the cuts he’s making, Bob briefly twists around to press a kiss to your temple as he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”

You just hum, beginning to press kisses to the freckles that scatter along his shoulders, deepened by the tan he’s obtained from working in the flowerbeds that sit alongside your front door. The beds were slightly tragic before you began dating, some sort of sparse bushes planted there. They were alive at one point, you assume, but lying half dead and bare when you bought the place.

In no time at all, he had the beds torn up and replaced with bright white hydrangeas that now sit in full bloom under your front windows. Pink zinnias, sunny yellow goldenrods, and pale milkweeds—all chosen by him because they attract monarch butterflies during their migration—flank either side of the brown brick pathway. Cheek pressed to his skin; you cast a glance outside just as a small orange and black blur flits by the glass.

“So… where is it?”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bob casts a lost glance around the plant nursery’s vast outdoor gardens—bright pops of color among vast expanses of green, the high afternoon sun beating down on them—the acreage of it is astounding and certainly a workout.

You’re supposed to be picking up some mulch for the beds—but you keep getting sidetracked. Half your fault; you beeline for every slightly pretty plant, balancing it on the cart that’s rapidly becoming overloaded. The wheels digging heavily into the gravel pathways, little trenches left in your wake.

It’s early days with Bob Floyd, but he’s sweet and helpful and easy to get free labor out of—a big plus in your book.

On your first date, when he walked you to your front door, sweet and gentlemanly, you made a quick joke, a callback to your hinge profile. There, you had answered the prompt, I'm looking for…, with, ‘someone to put together my ikea bookshelf. seriously.’

Because, after two unsuccessful attempts to put it together and three months of it languishing in the corner of your living room, you were tired of feeling a pang of guilt every time you piled another book on top of the precarious stack teetering next to your reading chair.

Of course, on the date, you didn't actually expect him to do it. You made the joke as a way to test the waters, to see if he was open to coming inside without fully putting yourself out there that way.

But then he followed you in, sat himself down cross-legged on your living room rug, and got to work. You stood there in the doorway for a moment, warming even further to him. 

You poured a glass of wine for each of you, and watched his hands as he set joints together and tightened screws with a furrow between his brows. And despite his serious focus on the job, he continued asking you questions about your taste in books, your favorite bands growing up, what you liked about San Diego as you sat near—your only real contribution being the wine, simple conversation, and occasionally handing him a screw.

He’d finished near midnight, asked if you wanted help sorting your books, and when you said no, already mildly abashed at the fact that you’d set him to work on your first date, he’d given you a kiss goodnight on your cheek—chaste and unpresuming—and left it at that.

You’d fallen for him a little bit then and there.

Blinking, he stares down at the map once again—same furrow in his brow—turning it in his hands. Not sounding any more sure than he was a second ago, he points slightly westerly of you, “That way. I think.”

It draws a slight laugh from you. You lightly hip-check him, teasing over your shoulder, “Come on, farm boy, you’re supposed to be helping me.”

The scent of lemon carries inside from the open window over the sink, summer ripening the tree planted in your yard. That’s also when you spy past his shoulder a small stack of the same yellow fruit on the counter. A pancake crackles away on the stove.

Your voice is quiet—reticent to break the seal of this hushed moment—as you ask, “What are you making?”

Hands wandering mindlessly, your touch follows the trail of hair from his belly button, fingers sneaking only just under the waistband of his sweats, loosely hung on his hips. 

He seems to part with the idea of whatever he’s doing being a surprise, clear that you’re not going to accede to his request and tuck yourself back into bed, too awake now to do so.

“Pancakes,” he reveals, continuing to whip, “with lemon ricotta whipped cream.”

“Trying out a new recipe?”

His throaty laugh reverberates into your chest, shaking you. Your smile hikes higher before you even know what he’s laughing about—just enjoying the sound, the melody and the slight grit to it.

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, scooping a bit of the whipped cream onto his finger, offering it to you to taste. “Would you?”

You draw his finger into your mouth. It’s slightly sweet with a burst of tang, the sugar and cream mellowing out the sharper edges of the lemon flavor. A success, you think. As you draw back, you flash your gaze up and find his eyes unabashedly caught on your mouth.

You pull off and without breaking eye contact, breathily tease, “Lech.”

With a slight flush to his ears and cheeks, he laughs and leans in, nose brushing yours as he presses his lips to yours. His mouth slants over yours, insistent, his hand finds its way to cradle your jaw, tilt your head just right. It catches your breath, makes your toes curl against the tile.

You're still not entirely used to this, the sweetness of Bob Floyd. His eyes are soft as he pulls back, his thumbs sweeping along your cheeks. He clicks his tongue, cheekily muttering, “I think it’s good.”

His lips move to your cheek next, mumbling between a kiss there, “You're distracting.”

The gesture, so simple, makes your heart flip.

By this stage of dating you're usually spiraling, finding reasons that it won’t work out and tallying up slights so when the expected happens, you're not blindsided. Like it's a game you’ll win; perpetually preparing yourself for heartbreak. 

And it’s often been easy, dating men who were noncommittal or uninterested or flippant with affection made it so. They were easy to write off— jettison them from your life and think, onto the next. 

But everything has changed with him. There’s an ease to the intimacy, a frankness to him that makes that defense mechanism very difficult to muster. You're… settled.

And it should scare you, the way your heart is fully on the line, but then you catch sight of one of his dogeared-to-hell paperbacks in the living room or the little date night notes he leaves scribbled on the calendar that hangs next to the fridge or his mismatched colorful socks mixed in with your laundry and it doesn't. As simple as that.

You haven’t said the L word yet. But it’s there, dancing on the tip of your tongue every time you look at him.

Bob is near certain that this is love.

No, he supposes, he is certain. He’s mulled this particular topic over too much in his mind not to be.

It's love—the big kind. He’s just not certain when he should let you in on that fact. Release it out to you and see if it comes back returned.

In the past five months he’s undertaken a million little projects to keep his hands, mouth, and mind busy, working out all that excess energy. All he’s doing is kicking the can down the road, trying to find “the right time”. 

He's gotten close more than once, yet every time it catches in the back of his throat, his tongue an uneasy ally in the venture. The words, three simple ones, are left as something uncomfortable to swallow down at each abandoned attempt.

And yet, virtually all that discomfort is eased by the way you say his name, catching his attention when they nearly slip, nearly an endearment all on its own. 

His call sign being his name means that Bob hears it alot, from a considerable amount of mouths. Shouted, whispered, whooped. In a variance of forms, he's heard it. But it's never sounded so important, so weighty, then it does as it falls from your lips. Like you're speaking a dialect only the two of you hold knowledge of, his name equivalent to the word in the forefront of his mind.

"Bob."

He hums, certain that his face gives him away; 'Whipped' as Mickey called it or 'in love' as his mother did the first time you met.

This is the sort of thing that his parents have, the ease, the humor, the affection. It permeates every space of his life, the knowledge that you're here, with him, choosing each other easily.

Eight letters.

I love you.

He lets temptation run wild, hands glancing down your back and tugging you right into him. He takes a moment just to look at you, your bright eyes, and the sweet shape of your lips as you smile up at him. Your hands slide around his neck, gently teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, his stomach swooping at the feeling.

Three syllables.

I love you.

He lets them swirl in his head, settle in the back of his throat as he prepares his tongue.

Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and he opens his mouth, readying himself, just as your lips part, and twice at once, I love you, becomes tangible reality.

Like a held breath released, a smile, broad and uncontrollable, spreads over his face, mirrored on yours as everything comes into view.

Just as Bob leans in to brush his lips against yours, higher than he’s ever felt, the smell of rapidly burning batter hits his nose. 

"Oh, shoot."

a/n: thank you for reading!

[twinkdykes]

okay so one day sasha was walking through the halls of POPLET HIGH and he was just after getting this sick ass lesbian pin for his bag, capeesh? so yeah there he was at his locker and he was getting his books so he could go to class and shit and he saw a blur walk past and he could faintly make out the word "prid" and he smirled at this.

but the smirl was quickly WIPED OFF HIS FACE OKAY? and it's because he saw JUNKO ENOSHIMA THE SYLVIE ALTER and he peed a little at this but SHE QIUIIOCKYL STOPPED. yeah okay so sometimes he pisses okay? so he QUIVERED AND TREMBLED as junko came up behind her and slapped him on the head HARD and sasha cracked his head open on the locker but quickly recovered. "hello sasha from tumblr LOL!!!" said junko and as a reply sasha said " ".

"why won't you talk to me... is it because you're a TWINK-DYKE!?!?" junko announces to the whole school. sasha cries but quickly recovered. before he could get another word in the bell started crying, signifying that they should head to class. on the way to EMO AND PHYSICS CHEMISTRY CLASS 202 sasha ran into sasha 2 and blushed, clasping her hands together. "come see me during LUCH... something bad happened." sasha informed his boyfriend, but really she didn't have to because sasha 2 had already guessed from the visible trickle of urine.

luckily, lunch quickly rolled around and sasha 2 cautiously entered the restroom (why do they call it that, by the way?) and saw sasha staring down at his toes and avoiding eye contact, only staring at his toes. before sasha 2 could get a word out, sasha yelled, "JUNKO ENOSHIMA (SYLVIES ALTER) CALLED ME A TWINK-DYKE!!" and sasha 2 looked at him in shock and horror. from one of the stalls, a voice and a loud shart was heard, "CAN YOU GUYS SHUT THE FUCK UP? I'M TRYING TO USE THE FUCKING RESTROOM AND YOU'RE TURNING IT INTO THE FIGHTROOM." the door opened and it was... KARKAT VANTAS ALSO KNOWN AS CARCINOGENETICIST?!

he left quickly in a rage without washing his hands as both of the sashas watched on in shock and horror. sasha 2 grabbed sashas hand to bring the attention back to herself. "hey sasa... do you want to be 6?" and sasha nodded, quickly transforming into his six-year-old self.

but then right after sasha turned into a six-year-old, his english teacher, ROXY LALONDE, entered the room and stopped abruptly after seeing her most loyal and beloved student sasha waybright had turned into a child.

"umm? hi guys lol" says roxy, awkwardly standing in the doorway. "so do u guys have ur. um. papers or what. on quiltbagness or whatever or like are u busy" she said and rubbed the back of her neck. sasha 2 awkwardly avoided eye contact and said "i'll have it in tomorrow, ms. lalonde, sorry about that." sasha 2 responded and roxy said, "ok its fine LOL um. have fun <|:)" and walked out without saying another word.

sasha's eyes were sopping wet as she said, "does ms. roxy think im weird now..." she said as her eyes nutted. sasha 2 soothingly grabbed sasha intensely and smiled gently. "of course not... at least we won't be distracted aga-" the door swiftly opened once more and sasha 2 groaned. "STOPPPP DISTRACTING U-"

sasha 2 quickly shut his mouth as ROSE LALONDE FROM HOMESTUCK APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY. "oh hey rose lalonde from homestuck..." sasha 2 said nervously as he saw the bottle she was wielding. "Sasha #2 and... Sasha. It seems I've been uninformed of the retrogression of age that's seemingly been rampant in our school as of late." rose walked further into the room as her scowl grew DEEPER like the DEEP DEPTHS OF THE DARK where HORRORTERRORS LIE.

sasha 2's stomach swirled with fear as the bottle was raised and suddently - SLAM - smashed down against her head. the glass of the bottle was miraculously kept in one piece so it could be brought down against sasas heas too. "Oops. My sincerest apologies, Sasha and Sasha #2. My hand simply slipped."

and with that, rose casually pulled out her phone and left the restroom. she was probably texting her SUPER COOL ALIEN VAMPIRE WIFE/GIRLFRIEND. sasha 2 groaned and tried to lead sasha to one of the stalls where they could relax in piece before he heard a voice behind him although he hadn't heard anyone enter. "Hey. I heard someone sharted in here, think you could tell me where the.. um.. crime scene is?" sasha turned around and was greeted by DIRK STRIDER??!??

"I'm the janitor, yo." dirk strider announced, and sasha 2 watched incredulously before shaking his head to get rid of his stupor. "um. yeah. first stall over here" sasha 2 said, pointing to the crime scene where the sharting was evident. dirk noded, "I'll clean that shit - pun not intended - right up. I'll be so damn fast you won't even know I was there. Well, you will, because it'll be clean. Uhm." dirk pushed his triangular anime glasses further up his face and walked into the stall, slamming it shut.

sasha 2 sighed. it was bound to be a long day.

sasha keeping up with the poplets agere oneshots