#Toothpaste For Dinner

[technofeudalism]

toothpaste for dinner 09/20/17: call your senator

[cosmicyellow]

I cannot believe I have been on the internet since 2008 and in the current year of 2024 I have only JUST discovered. the Ambien Walrus. oh my god.

Credit: Toothpaste For Dinner (2007)!!!!!!!!!!!

[jesseract]

Me, extremely jet lagged after not having slept at all last night: I'm going to take two ambien and go to bed at like 8 tonight

Me: Hey, do you remember that comic that had all those ambien walrus strips?

My coworker: ...no, that sounds like an American thing

(In case anyone is curious: behold the ambien walrus)

[polaroidblog]

(source)

[birdmenmanga]

I just don't think you should be able to lose water when you sleep I think it's very inhumane. what do you mean I crossed the fatigue threshold for dehydration while sleeping so even though I wasn't tired anymore after my nap I still couldn't wake up because I was dehydrated. lol

[blizzard-of-ozz]

Boy dinner <3

[sbnkalny]

Id rather have longer weekends than long breaks from school, i can already imagine the confusion my taste buds would face if i mixed up taco-flavored toothpaste with my regular TACOS for dinner!

aakcult

[hurtspideyparker]

YES the Thunderbolts have a fantastic team as family dynamic, yes they are living in Avengers tower, yes history is repeating itself and 2012 tower fics are so back. BUT!

instead of "Alexei eating poptarts" or "Yelena in the vents", we must come up with new headcanons and make history

Bob always does normal domestic chores, often getting in the way of important missions and spy business. "All I'm saying is Bucky is our best sniper" "It would be a much quieter assassination if I just slipped into the condo and cut his—" "Hey sorry guys, anyone have laundry? I'm doing a load"

Yelena and her guinea pig always eat meals together at the dining table. Everyone has their Chinese food or barbeque, meanwhile the rodent is loudly munching on a salad right beside them

Bucky is the mom and always keeps them on track. "Ava you have a dentist appointment in the morning, and bring Bob so they can add him to the insurance. Lena how was therapy? Alexei, I said no vodka until dinner"

Alexei is always coming up with new promotional ideas for the team. Cartoon tv show, cereal, toothpaste flavour...every day he thinks he's come up with the next big thing. Whenever they actually get put into production (Wheaties) he collects and saves it, and won't let anyone use a different product. (He threw out Yelena's frosted flakes and it took both Bucky and John to get her to stop attacking him)

Ava likes to phase and sneak attack her teammates at random. She claims it's for training but really she just thinks it's funny hearing them scream

John gets blamed for everything, even if it isn't his fault. Especially if it isn't his fault: "who ate the last bagel?" "John." "Where's my hair straightener?" "John had it." "Whose turn is it to unload the dishwasher?" "Johnnnn"

[joelsrose]

was just thinking about how old as fuck bf Joel would have you in bed by 9pm and had to write it 😭😭 all fluff xx

It’s 8:42 when he flicks off the living room lamp with a sigh, the whole house dipping into that familiar, sleepy hush. You’re already brushing your teeth, barefoot in his flannel that hangs loose and low, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you lean over the sink. He watches you from the hallway like he always does, arms crossed, eyes soft, like he still can’t believe you’re here—his—night after night.

By 8:56, you’re both under the covers. Clean sheets. Fresh pajamas. His arm is warm around your waist and the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze in. The town outside is quiet. Your limbs are tangled, skin on skin, and he smells like cedarwood and peppermint toothpaste and the kind of comfort you never thought you’d get to keep.

You glance at the clock. 8:59.

“You made me boring,” you whisper, smiling into his chest. “I used to be wild. Fun. The last one to leave the party.”

Joel’s voice is low, sleep-soft. “You’re still fun. You’re just tired now.”

“Because I’m in bed at nine. You’ve aged me.”

He snorts, the sound muffled by your hair. “You’re the one who yawned through dinner.”

“You were the one talking about home insulation and firewood like it was the highlight of your week.”

He chuckles again, hand smoothing down your back beneath the blanket. “That’s ‘cause it was.”

You bite back a laugh, snuggling closer, cheek pressed to his chest. You can hear his heartbeat—steady, warm, yours. His other hand cups the back of your head like he needs to keep you there, needs to hold on even in sleep.

“You like our little life?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter now, almost shy.

You blink up at him, and the look on his face is so open, so tender, it makes your breath catch. That furrow between his brows, the one he always wears like a shield, is gone. He looks… safe. Happy. Home.

“I love our little life,” you whisper. “I’d go to bed at 7 if it meant doing it with you.”

He smiles. Really smiles. The kind that starts in his eyes, slow and crooked and completely devastating.

And then he leans in, presses the softest kiss to your lips, like a thank-you. Like a goodnight. Like a promise.

By 9:01, you’re both asleep.

Wrapped in each other.

Wrapped in peace.

[someonemorelikemyself]

.

[p1girlfriend]

off limits – LN4

content warning: tension, sneaking around, forbidden feelings, Danny being very brother-coded, implied spice pairing: Lando Norris x Ricciardo!Sister!reader

“I’m serious,” Daniel said, pointing a half-eaten protein bar at you like it was a weapon. “No drivers.”

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “I work in PR, not the damn pit wall.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, dropping onto the couch next to you. “You’re too smart, too pretty, too you. And I’ve seen what this life does to relationships.”

“Like your own love life is thriving,” you muttered.

He ignored that. “Just promise me. No drivers.”

You smiled sweetly, fingers crossed behind your back. “Sure, Dan.”

But it was already too late.

Because two weeks ago, Lando had knocked on your hotel room door after media day — just to “borrow toothpaste.” And now? Now he was texting you under dinner tables. Now he was brushing past you in hospitality with his pinky grazing yours. Now he was waiting for you after team events, pulling you into quiet stairwells like he couldn’t breathe unless he was touching you.

And you couldn’t stop.

Even when you saw Daniel laughing with him over post-quali beers.

Even when Lando whispered, “He’d kill me if he knew.”

“Then don’t let him find out,” you whispered back.

The worst part? It wasn’t even just physical anymore. Not when Lando looked at you like you were his favorite place. Not when he said things like, “You make everything feel less insane.”

Not when he stayed after a shit race just to hold your hand in silence.

But of course, secrets don’t last in Formula 1.

It happened after Silverstone. You’d stayed behind, too obvious, too caught up in Lando’s grin as he pulled you into the back of the McLaren garage.

And Daniel saw.

You didn’t even hear him coming.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You flinched. Lando turned around fast, guilt all over his face. “Dan—”

“You?” Daniel pointed at him, furious. “And you? Jesus Christ. I said no drivers!”

“I’m not just a driver,” Lando said quietly, standing between you. “Not with her.”

And that was the moment it all changed.

Because even though Daniel stormed off that night, slammed doors and swore for a week straight… he didn’t tell you to end it.

He just sighed one morning, eyes tired, and muttered, “Just don’t let him fuck it up.”

You smiled. “I won’t.”

But Lando already knew that. Because when it came to you, he’d never risk losing.

©p1girlfriend

[sweetlovepascal]

love notes

pairings joel miller x sunshine!reader

summary soft little pieces of his heart as little love letters tucked into your every day. he never asks if you found them. you always do. and he always knows. he’s always there.

tags lots of fluff, quiet love notes, domestic moments, and joel being sweet. set in jackson, post-outbreak. established relationship, and lots of gentle, everyday affection. love in the little things. acts of service as love language, he loves you in silence, quiet love notes, post-it note romance. gets spicier.

masterlist dividers by: @uzmacchiato

you groan as you shuffle into the kitchen, sleep still clinging to your limbs. the coffee tin’s half empty, same as your energy.

you pop the lid and something flutters out. a folded scrap of paper, taped to the inside.

you unfold it, his handwriting unmistakable.

“hope this makes your morning a little better. like you always make mine.”

you lean against the counter, smiling into the quiet, coffee forgotten for just a moment. he grumbles from the other room.

“you find it?”

you call back, voice warm. “yeah. i did.”

“good,” he says. “was worried it’d fall into the grounds.”

it’s laundry day. again. you’re folding socks when one of yours feels heavier than usual. you tug at it—and out falls a tiny square of paper.

“you wear the warmest things but you’re still the one keepin’ this place cozy.”

you glance toward the door where he’s chopping firewood, sleeves rolled, hair a mess. he doesn’t see you watching—but he pauses like he feels it.

you slip the note into your back pocket. you’ll keep it. like you keep him.

you’re brushing your teeth when you spot it. a square of paper tucked into the edge of the mirror behind your toothbrush cup.

it wasn’t there this morning.

you pull it free, toothpaste foam threatening to spill from your mouth.

“every time you smile into this mirror, i fall in love again.”

you’re still holding the note when joel walks by, pauses in the doorway. he doesn’t say anything and just watches you smile.

you rinse and mutter, “you’re such a sap.”

you open the fridge after dinner, just to peek. one slice of pie is left, barely hanging on. there’s a sticky note taped right to the container.

“left you the last piece ’cause you always let me have the first.”

you turn around to find joel pretending to be very busy wiping down the table.

you hold up the pie. “you’re trying to make me cry over dessert?”

he shrugs. “worked?”

you kiss his cheek. “might’ve.”

it’s late. you’re tucking an extra blanket into the corner chair, the one by the window.

something crinkles beneath the cushion — and when you lift it, a folded note slides free.

“this is the spot where i first knew you felt like home.”

you sit there for a while, blanket draped across your lap, eyes misty.

joel finds you minutes later, leans on the doorframe.

“you remember?”

you nod. “i never forgot.”

he walks over and pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“me neither.”

you’re changing the sheets when you find it — a tiny folded note tucked deep in the pillowcase.

it must’ve been hiding there for a while.

“just in case you ever forget how much i love you."

your hands still. the quiet hum of the house fills the space where your breath used to be.

joel walks in, drying his hands on a dish towel. he sees you holding the note and stops in his tracks.

“you weren’t supposed to find that so soon,” he mumbles.

you smile, hugging the paper to your chest.

he walks over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad you did.”

it’s pouring outside. the kind of steady, peaceful rain that softens the world. you’re curled up on the couch, blanket tucked under your chin, mug of tea balanced in your hands.

inside the mug’s handle, a little square of folded paper.

“you make rainy days feel like sunshine.”

you blink, surprised. then glance toward the kitchen, where joel is drying dishes with a quiet smile on his face.

“you hid it in my mug?” you ask, grinning.

“figured you’d need something sweet before the tea cooled.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he taps your shoulder gently on his way past. “and you’re the light in this house.”

you wake up late, sun pouring through the curtains. joel’s not in bed but his warmth still lingers in the sheets.

on the nightstand is a note in his handwriting, folded neatly over a coaster.

“you talk in your sleep. last night you said my name like it was a prayer.”

you’re still holding the paper when he walks in with two mugs.

“you sleep okay?” he asks, gently.

you nod, eyes soft. “dreamed of you, i think.”

he hums. “guess we were dreamin’ the same thing.”

you’re getting ready for a short patrol, slipping your jacket on when something crunches in the pocket.

you dig around and pull out a folded napkin, wrapped around a crinkled note and two homemade granola bars.

“i packed the snacks you like. don’t tell ellie i stole hers.”

you laugh, pressing your lips together so it doesn’t escape too loud.

joel’s sitting on the steps, tying his boots. he glances up at you.

you lean down and kissed his lips.

“you’re sweet when you’re sneaky.”

you’re slipped into your coat for a walk, just to clear your head — the kind of quiet escape you’ve both learned to recognize in each other.

your fingers brush paper tucked in the pocket.

it’s small, folded once, his handwriting scratched a little messier than usual.

“you always know how to calm me down. even when i don’t say i need it.”

then you hear his footsteps behind you.

he doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself beside you. his thigh presses gently into yours. his hand finds yours.

it’s late, and you’re ready for bed.

a note.

folded once. the edges soft from fingers lingering too long. there’s a smudge of ink where his thumb probably pressed too hard.

you unfold it and read:

“i ain’t never been good at sayin’ things. but i hope you feel it anyway.”

it’s not long. it’s not fancy.

but it’s everything.

you slip quietly out of the room and find him in the kitchen, stirring sugar into a cup of tea.

he looks up, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. just studies your face, like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

you don’t say anything either. you walk right up, wrap your arms around him, and hold him like he’s something soft.

and fragile.

and home.

he exhales slowly into your hair, the tension in his shoulders easing. his arms come around you like they were always meant to.

he doesn’t ask if you read it. he doesn’t need to.

you felt it.

late autumn, jackson’s first snowfall.

you wake up to the hush that only snow brings. outside the window, the world is blanketed in fresh white.

you went into the kitchen, chilled but curious, and find a note stuck to the coffee tin with a magnet shaped like a crooked heart.

“happy first snow. i remembered you said it’s your favorite.”

you smile instantly, remembering how you once told joel, offhandedly, barely even thinking that the first snow always felt a little magical.

behind you, the door creaks and he steps inside, boots dusted white, cheeks pink from the cold.

you laugh and launch into his arms before he can shake the cold off.

your one-year anniversary.

you’re not expecting anything. you’d said no fuss. just a quiet day, maybe dinner if the power stays on.

but when you open the drawer, a piece of worn paper flutters out.

“one year ago today, you looked at me and smiled. i’m still not over it.”

your heart stutters.

joel walks in behind you. he’s trying not to smile.

“turn around, sweetheart. ”

a bouquet of fresh flowers.

you step forward and rest your forehead against his chest. “i love you, joel.”

he presses a kiss into your hair, voice low and rough. “i love you more.”

“had a bad dream. didn’t want to wake you. just needed to know you were real.”

found under your pillow after you noticed the sheets were rumpled more than usual.

you sleep in longer than usual. joel was gone when you woke, though the sheets were warm, the air still held the weight of him.

joel comes in moments later, mug in hand, eyes a little tired.

“i didn’t mean to wake you last night,” he says gently.

he sits beside you.

“didn’t want to ruin your sleep.”

“you’re never a ruin,” you whisper, and rest your head on his shoulder.

the sun is warm. you’re humming in the garden patch behind the house, talking to the squash vines like they’re old friends.

“you talk to the plants when you think no one’s listening. they like it. i do too.”

found tucked into your gardening gloves.

you blink, unfolding it carefully.

you glance toward the porch, and sure enough. joel’s sitting on the steps, arms resting on his knees, watching you with that crooked half-smile that never fully reaches his mouth unless he’s looking at you.

“you’re spying again,” you tease.

he shrugs. “i am, and proudly.”

you wrap the scarf around your neck on the first chilly morning of the season. something falls out and flutters to the floor.

a note, tucked between the folds.

“didn’t think i’d ever like autumn again. then you came with your damn scarves and apple pie.”

found folded inside the knit scarf you always wear once the leaves start turning.

you smile, heart thumping. he’s out front, sleeves rolled, cheeks pink from the wind.

you walk out, scarf tight, and toss an apple slice his way.

he catches it mid-air. “you find it?”

“yup,” you say, cheeks warm.

he smirks. “only for you.”

you didn’t make it to midnight. neither did he. you both nodded off tangled under a blanket and empty glasses nearby.

the next morning, you find the note slipped under your glass, a tiny smudge of ash on the corner.

“you're the first person i wanted to kiss 24/7. still do.”

found under your glass on new years morning.

you walk into the kitchen, where joel’s already making breakfast, hair sticking up at odd angles.

you say nothing, just wrap your arms around him from behind and press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“mornin’,”

“happy new year, miller.”

the sun’s out for the first time in weeks. you’re on your knees in the dirt, planting the tiny new shoots you bartered for at the last jackson market. you reach under the flower box to adjust its footing and feel paper brush your fingers.

“spring makes everything bloom. you make me soften.”

found under the porch flower box when you’re planting the first seeds of the year.

you glance up, heart doing that fluttery thing again.

joel’s watching you from the porch, arms crossed, trying not to look obvious.

you hold the note up like a trophy.

“i’m gonna start putting you in a flower box if you keep saying stuff like this.”

he chuckles. “least i’d get some sun.”

you catch him red-handed.

you’re pretending to look for the cinnamon, but really, you’re watching joel from the corner of your eye.

he’s in the living room. thinks you’re distracted. he pulls a note from his back pocket. worn and folded just like all the others and carefully tucks it into your current read on the side table.

you wait until he leaves the room. then you grab the book and open it to find:

“you caught me this time.”

you smile, heart full to the brim, and tiptoe into the hallway.

he’s already halfway up the stairs. you call out, “joel?”

he turns. you hold up the note.

“i think you’re due for a kiss.”

he raises a brow. “that so?”

you nod. “caught you fair and square.”

he smiles wide, just for you.

you press it to your chest, eyes warm. “you don’t have to hide them, you know.”

he shrugs. “kinda liked the hunt.”

you grin and slip your arms around his waist. “then next time, i’m leaving you a note.”

his eyebrows lift. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “but good luck finding mine.” you’re true to your word.

the next morning, joel is suspicious from the moment he wakes. his coffee is poured, breakfast warm on the table, but you’re suspiciously chipper.

grinning behind your mug like you know something he doesn’t.

because you do.

he pretends not to notice. you pretend you didn’t spend twenty minutes figuring out where to hide the note without him spotting you.

he checks his boots. his coat pockets. even lifts the lid of the sugar jar like maybe you got creative. nothing.

you say nothing. just kiss his cheek and remind him to be careful on patrol.

he kisses you back, lingers a second longer than usual.

when he came back, you found him hunched over the kitchen table, brow furrowed like he’s working a puzzle. he doesn’t even hear you walk in

“you looking for something?”

he glances up, caught again. “i might be.”

you hum, lean against the doorway, smug.

“maybe you just missed it.”

you step closer, brush a curl from his forehead. “want a hint?”

he tilts his chin, inviting. “hit me.”

you lean in and whisper against his ear. “page 237.”

and went outside.

you’d caught him rereading it late at night, the pages softened by time and thumbed-through affection.

he finds the note folded neatly at the page you marked, stuck between a paragraph about dust and distance.

"even when you’re quiet, i hear you. even when you’re gone, i feel you between my legs, in my chest, under my skin. you ruin me, and i want more. always.”

“jesus, baby…” he murmurs, almost to himself.

joel reads it twice. folds it once more, careful, and tucks it into his back pocket like it belongs there—like it always did.

by the time you walk into the room—barefoot and innocent like you didn’t just unravel him with one line. joel's still holding the note.

he looks up at you, eyes a little glossy, a little wide. stunned in that quiet joel kind of way. all softness and awe and love that has nowhere to go but into you.

“you tryna start something, sweetheart?”

you shrug, lazy and sweet. “maybe i’m just reminding you.”

his hand finds your waist. then your throat. gentle, possessive, reverent.

“remindin’ me of what?”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw, whispering the answer against his skin:

“that i'm yours and you're mine. always.”

joel groans low in his throat. you swear you feel it echo through your bones.

“you ever gonna stop leaving these?” he murmurs, voice thick with something softer than sleep.

“not unless you want me to.”

he shakes his head, gaze pinned to you like you hung the damn moon. “don’t you dare.”

"you too."

“come here,” he mutters, already walking you backward toward the bedroom. “you started it, baby. now you finish it.”

and you do.

with nothing but quiet gasps, loud moans, the sound of skin coated with sweat slapping and the rustle of worn sheets and the sound of joel loving you.

[luster-less]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ your body is his birthright

this man does not believe in personal space. if you’re in the room, he’s touching. doesn’t matter if he’s got a match in an hour—if he catches a glimpse of your bare thighs under one of his shirts, he’s already hard. you’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’s coming up behind you, lazy grin stretching across his smug face as he presses his cock right against your ass. “didn’t even know ya were awake, sweetheart,” he’ll say, voice still rough from sleep, and then he’s bending you over the sink like it’s nothing. just lifts the shirt, pulls your panties to the side, and slides in with a hiss through his teeth. he doesn’t give you a second to process—he’s already fucking you before your toothpaste hits the counter.

his mornings start with cum leaking down your thighs and his mouth on your neck, whispering “such a good girl f’me.” and if you try to resist? if you whine that you’re sore, or that you have work, or that maybe he should chill for like five seconds? he just growls a soft “nah, you don’t get to tell me no, not when you walk around this fuckin’ house leakin’ from the night before.”

miya atsumu believes in full access. free use isn’t even a kink to him—it’s how he shows affection. you sit on the couch to relax? he’s got your legs spread across his lap, hand already sliding up your inner thigh, fingers dipping into your soaked folds like he owns them (he does). you’re making dinner? he’s got you bent over the kitchen island, one hand gripping your throat and the other fucking you from behind so deep you forget your name. food burns on the stove because he’s got you gasping, drooling, eyes rolling back while he mutters filth in your ear: “you love this, don’tcha? love bein’ my little fucktoy. can’t go a day without my cock, huh?”

and don’t even think about saying no when you’re wearing something cute. short shorts? he’s dragging them down your legs and licking into you from behind while you try to hold yourself up on trembling knees. his favorite shirt on you with no bra? he’s sucking your nipples raw while grinding against your heat until he’s desperate enough to take you on the floor, the bed, the fucking hallway.

this man has a mouth like sin. he eats pussy like it’s a reward, like it’s holy, like he needs to be buried in you just to keep breathing. tongue everywhere—circling, sucking, dipping inside—his arms locked around your thighs while you squirm. he lives for the mess, for the taste of you dripping off his chin, for the way you beg him to stop when you’re already cumming again and again and again. but he never stops. he keeps going until you break.

and the filth he spews while inside you should be illegal. he’ll hold you down, cum spilling out of you from the last round, and say “bet ya love bein’ filled up, huh? you’re made for my cock. fuckin’ greedy little thing. can’t get enough, can ya?” every single time you finish, he’s praising you like you’ve given him the world. “atta girl. look at ya, takin’ it so good. let’s do it again.”

refractory period? he doesn’t know her. he’ll cum, take a breather, and slide right back in while you’re still twitching from the aftershocks. your legs are shaking? pretends he doesn’t see them. you’re crying? he kisses the tears away and fucks you deeper. he’ll pin you down, rub your clit until you scream, and thrust until you’re writhing, completely brainless beneath him.

he’s not satisfied until you’re crying, drooling, covered in his cum, and still begging for more—because you will. he makes sure of it. you’re addicted, ruined, owned. and atsumu? he’s proud of that. he’s cocky, sweaty, flushed, breathing hard while he watches you collapse and says, “fuck, ya look so pretty like that. think i’m ready for round five.”

[gojover]

“you’re late. you missed dinner.”

the mattress dips under satoru’s weight. a long sigh follows. he peels off his jacket and drops it on the floor, and you feel his hand brush against your thigh as he tries to settle without jostling you too much.

“didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, low.

“you always wake me,” you mumble sleepily, turning towards him.

he huffs out a laugh. “yeah?”

you hum in response, lifting a hand and feeling around until your fingers brush the side of his face. his hair is still damp at the ends, like maybe it had started raining on his way home. his hand slides over your hip and pulls you closer. 

“miss me?” he asks, turning his face into the pillow.

“always,” you answer. this time, you grope about blindly searching for his arm.

you think he smiles at that, though it’s hard to tell because of how dark it is. he smells like toothpaste and rain, and if you sniff really hard, you can probably smell his go-to perfume. when you press your face against his chest, you can feel the steady thud of his heart beneath his shirt.

“how were the kids today?” he asks quietly.

“megumi sulked,” you mumble into his shirt. “tsumiki made him soup.”

“of course she did.”

“and he actually ate it,” you say, nudging your knee against his thigh.

“she’s gonna put me out of a job.” his hand slides under your shirt, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your back. his breath ghosts over the top of your head. “i hope they’re sleeping well.”

“out like a light, both of them,” you respond. “you can kiss them goodnight tomorrow.”

“assuming megumi lets me within a one-metre radius of him and tsumiki.” he sounds half-asleep already. his mouth brushes your hairline, a faint, barely-there kiss.

you tilt your face towards him, your lips grazing his jaw. “you okay?”

“better now,” he says. you feel him shift closer. his mouth brushes the corner of yours, hesitant and soft, before pressing more fully into the curve of your lips.

it’s barely a kiss—more like a peck, really—but when you don’t pull away, he kisses you again. and again. soft and lazy, like he’s relearning the shape of your mouth. his nose bumps yours, and you feel him smile against your cheek.

“you’re tired.”

“so are you.”

“you should sleep.”

“after this.” his lips skim your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. “and maybe this.”

“satoru,” you mumble, laughing when his mouth finds the corner of yours again.

“mm,” he hums. his hand slides higher on your back, pulling you closer. “just one more.”

you let him kiss you again, before resting your cheek against his chest. his hand slips into your hair. you smile into his shirt when he kisses the top of your head again, almost like he can’t help it.

#44. tentative kisses given in the dark.

[sushirrrry]

clean || harry styles x you one-shot.

saw this picture, had to write something immediately — hot off the press, just for you hehe enjoy <3

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re brushing your teeth beside him again.

It’s not the first time that you've done that—far from it, but something about this particular night makes the moment feel worthy of being remembered.

Harry’s standing next to you in the tiny bathroom of your rental villa, his skin still golden from the sun and his hair wild with salt and humidity; his curls starting to emerge at the root from the exposure to the heat.

He’s got a toothbrush dangling from his lips, foam threatening to escape the corners of his mouth as he tries not to smile too much at himself in the mirror. You hold your phone up, capturing the scene out of instinct.

Click.

He playfully rolls his eyes when the shutter sound goes off.

“Hope you’re not sending that to anyone. That’s top-tier blackmail, that is.”

You glance at the screen. The photo’s perfect; he's photogenic in a way that you merely can't describe.

His perfectly fitting t-shirt is rumpled from where he threw it on after his shower, damp at the collar, and a little crooked on one side. The linen pants sitting around his hips are low and loose, and there’s something sweetly disheveled about all of it as you prepare for dinner together.

“I’ll sell it to the press,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face as you rinse your mouth.

He chuckles, swiping at a bit of toothpaste foam with the back of his hand from it, then leaning in just enough to nudge your arm. “Can’t take me anywhere.”

“You’re in your own house.”

“Exactly. Even worse.”

You both laugh, and it’s a warm sound. Familiar, the happiness that is bursting around the small, tiled bathroom. It smells like mint and coconut conditioner and leftover sea breeze, like the beach never really left your skin even though you rinsed it off.

The villa had been a last-minute decision—his idea, of course. He’d shown you the listing one rainy Thursday in London, scrolling through photos of wide windows, string lights, and hammocks that swung over white sand.

“Let’s disappear for a week,” he’d said, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “No work, no stress. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

You’d said yes because saying no to Harry was almost impossible. And now, four days in, your skin is freckled and your hair’s gone a bit wild and you haven’t worn real clothes since Tuesday. Only bikinis and linen shirts that you kept getting mixed with his in your pile of clothes that surrounded your suitcases.

He spits into the sink, grimacing dramatically— he was known for dramatics. "I think I got sand in my molars.”

You laugh, wiping your mouth with a towel. “Is that even possible?”

“Dunno. But everything tastes like sunscreen and fish and chips.”

You lean your hip against the counter, tilting your head as you watch him rinse. His profile’s soft in the low light; you notice that his nose is slightly sun-kissed, jaw shadowed with a bit of stubble from the lack of shaving the last few days.

There’s a tiny patch of peeling skin at the tip of his ear from where he’d missed with the sunscreen, and his forearm is still faintly striped from the crocheted bracelets he’d refused to take off in the water.

He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you murmur, pouting out your lip as you give him eyes that seem to gleam in his presence. “Just… you.”

That earns you a lopsided grin and a little shake of his head. The dimple expresses itself and makes you feel warmer than usual. He steps closer, resting his wet toothbrush on the side of the sink.

“You like me like this, don’t you?” he teases, voice low and teasing and full of cheekiness. “All brown and beachy. Bit feral.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re not feral.”

“I’m practically wild.” He leans in until his forehead brushes yours, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, hands pressed to your waist that practically burn. “You should see what happens when I run out of moisturizer��� I'm an animal.”

You snort, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed forehead to forehead, his breath warm and minty and his hands, a bit damp from rinsing. sliding over your hips in that easy, familiar way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head slightly. “Got all soft on me these last few days. Used to take you ages to relax.”

“You’re imagining that.” You press your hands to his chest, leaning back a bit in his arms.

Harry shakes his head. "I’m not. First day here you still checked your emails on the beach.”

“Once.” You argue.

“Twice.”

You roll your eyes, "Okay, twice.”

He grins in triumph, then brushes a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now look at you. Barefoot. Sun-drunk. Smiling in your sleep," Harry cocks his head, "All those cheeky bikini bottoms you're flaunting are really turning you into someone else."

You pull back a little to look at him properly. “That’s ‘cause I have good company.”

Harry’s smile softens at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, dramatic again, and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Gonna be hard to leave.”

“I know.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. The quiet isn’t heavy—it’s full, though. The kind of silence that stretches and wraps around you like warm sheets, thick with shared memories of late-night swims, sand between your toes, and early-morning pancakes eaten straight from the pan because neither of you could find a plate in the villa.

“I took a picture,” you say after a while.

“I know. Saw you.”

“Want me to send it to you?”

He perks up. “Only if you caption it with something flattering. Like, ‘my gorgeous man brushing his teeth with the grace of a tanned Grecian god.’”

“More like, ‘Bigfoot sighting.’”

He gasps, mock-hurt as he grasps at his chest. “Cruel. After everything I’ve done for you today—carried your beach tote, bought you three different kinds of ice cream, let you win at Uno—”

“You didn’t let me win.” You fight back, shaking your head.

Harry smirks, “I might’ve— could've played two Draw Fours in a row, but I spared you."

You both grin again, loving the ease of the moment. Then he grabs your phone, taps around, and pulls up the photo. His eyes linger on it longer than you expect.

“You really like it?” you ask, craning your neck to look.

He nods, smiling down at it. "Yeah. Looks like us.”

You step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. His skin is still warm from the shower, his muscles relaxed under your hold.

The familiarity of the muscles makes your stomach twist at all the time spent between the sheets this weekend alone .

“You make me feel like this could be easy,” you say quietly, wondering if he can hear you properly.

He twists slightly to glance at you. “What d’you mean?”

“Like all of it. Loving someone, living with someone. You make it feel… calm. I used to think I wasn’t the kind of person who could do that."

You didn't know you could be loved this way, which makes it harder for him to accept your self-doubt. But you start to see how easy it is, and everything becomes... different.

His expression shifts—soft, sincere. “That’s ‘cause no one’s done it right yet. ‘Til me.”

You chuckle, kissing between his shoulder blades. “So humble.”

He turns, arms slipping around you now, pressing you to his chest as he leans against the bathroom counter.

"I’m serious,” he says, kissing your hair. “Don’t care how messy it gets. I want all of it.”

“Even the part where I use your towel without asking and get it all wet?”

He groans, still smiling beneath it. “You do that again and I’ll break up with you on the spot.”

You grin into his shoulder. “That’s fair.”

Another beat of silence. This time, it’s him who breaks it.

“Stay,” he says.

You hum into his chest, knowing you're not moving for a moment.

“I am staying.”

There's a pause before you feel him shake his head.

“No, I mean… after. When we go back. Don’t go to your place. Just come to mine. Bring your stupid frog mug collection and your sexy little bathrobe and take over my bathroom counter with your serums and your tangled necklaces and just… stay.”

Your heart trips a little at his confession, your eyes leaning up to meet his.

“You mean that?” you whisper, a bit confused by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

He pulls back enough to look you in the eye, the cheeky grin faded into something gentler. “I do. I want all the days with you. All the brushing teeth and stealing towels and waking up tangled up and going to sleep to your snoring—”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure.” He bites his lip.

You kiss him before he can say more, pressing your smile into his mouth. And he kisses you back like he’s already won, like it was always going to be you.

Later, you’ll crawl into bed with your legs still cool from the evening walk on the beach to grab sharks teeth, and his arms pulling you close before you’ve even settled. You’ll fall asleep with the hum of ocean waves in the distance and his breath steady at the back of your neck as you lay tangled in between his tanned limbs and skin.

But for now, you stand in the bathroom, his toothpaste-smeared grin fading into something real, and think: this is it.

This is love. Sun-kissed with hints of mint and ocean breeze.

[heestoleurgirl]

nishimura riki 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ in which you underestimate how clingy your boyfriend actually is, he loves cuddling and kissing you sm :(

genre: FLUFF, fluff and more fluff pairing: bf!riki x fem!reader wc: 1.4k

masterlist 𖤐.ᐟ

it wasn't your first time sleeping over at riki's place. at this stage in your relationship it had become almost routine, you were able to walk around his apartment as if it were your own.

you were currently in the bathroom, just having finished showering. it wouldn't be unusual for you and riki to shower together, however he insisted on doing the dishes left over from dinner while you got the shower all to yourself.

the soft fabric of his shirt felt even better against your skin after you'd cleaned yourself. his smell immediately enveloped you, leaving your lips curled upwards in a smitten smile. why bring your own pjs when you could just wear his clothes? you hummed along to the faint song playing from your phone as you grabbed your toothbrush and got to work.

about a minute had passed, you were so immersed in brushing your teeth and listening to the music that you barely registered a pair of strong arms wrapping around your waist slowly. your head shot up, only to see riki's tall frame hugging you through the mirror. his face was lazily buried in the crook of your neck, leaving stubborn strands of his hair to tickle your skin.

જ⁀➴ more under the cut!

"ki, i'm busy" you murmured, the words muffled with the toothbrush and toothpaste still in your mouth. you had to lean a bit more forward to reach the sink, since riki had pulled you flush against his chest.

"don't care, missed you" he hummed against your soft skin quietly, he loved how amazing and fresh you smelled after the shower.

you laughed softly in return, you were gone for a maximum of 20 minutes, plus you'd already spent the whole day together. yes, you knew your boyfriend was clingy but somehow it never ceased to surprise you. was this the same man that acted cool and closed off around his friends? you rolled your eyes in endearment, and you knew he'd probably start complaining if he saw it. not like you minded it one bit, you thought his soft demeanour was absolutely adorable. (you don't tell him that, he hates being called cute)

riki tugged at your waist gently, urging you to hurry up without words. "c'mon, stop being impatient" you scoffed and smiled, though he was too busy to listen, distracting himself by kissing your shoulder and neck softly.

the toothbrush was discarded in favour of your skincare products. riki's ears perked up at the sound, finally drawing his attention to what you were doing. his face turned from hopeful to disappointed, were you seriously planning on making him wait even more by putting stupid stuff on your face? not on his watch.

you reached for the first product, but your hand never made it. you let out a surprised yelp as riki picked you up in one swift motion and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"riki!" you whined in protest, though you knew it was no use. you watched helplessly as he grabbed your phone and strolled out of the bathroom like it was the most normal thing ever. "i need to do my skincare! put me down." you tried sounding firm and strict, but failed comically.

"nah" his grip on your bare thighs was firm, before he practically threw you in his bed. riki didn't waste a second, he climbed in next to you and yanked you against his own body, knowing you might try to escape to finish your nightly routine.

his arms snaked around your waist once again, tight enough that there was no chance of you escaping from him, but also mindful not to hurt you. you groaned, feeling a little irritated that you wouldn't be able to finish your skincare. though it was impossible to stay mad when you looked down and saw your boyfriend cuddling you like you were a damn teddy bear. his long ass legs were now tangled with yours too.

"you're so annoying..." you murmured quietly, your voice lacking any real conviction. the words contrasted with your actions completely as you wrapped your arms around his neck and idly played with strands of his hair.

riki felt like he was in heaven. if it were up to him, you would never leave his bed ever again. he loved the way your small body fit perfectly against his, as if you were made just for him. your skin was soft and warm, making you his personal heater. he could feel every soft rise and fall of your chest, along with the faint sound of your heartbeat.

his hands began to wander mindlessly, slipping under your shirt (his shirt to be precise) to caress the bare skin there. you shivered slightly when you felt his feather light fingers trail down your spine, moving over the curve of your backside and stopping at your thighs to rub them gently.

your unfinished skincare was long forgotten now, all you could focus on was how good his touches felt. it was as if you could feel the love and care behind every single one, even when he was so tired and quiet. you thought your heart might burst from the amount of affection you had for him in this moment.

riki groaned softly when your fingers involuntary tightened in his hair. you removed your hands from his dark locks and cupped his face instead, gently pulling his face up so you could look at him. his messy bangs covered his eyes, but they seemed to be extra round right now as he looked up at you adoringly.

you were no expert on feelings but the look in his eyes made your stomach churn with a sudden rush of butterflies, you swore you could see hearts in his eyes. for a moment you were breathless, just staring at his pretty face.

he slowly inched closer, taking advantage of your distracted state to press his pink lips against yours gently. no matter how many times you kissed, it always made your heart race and your brain feel all fuzzy. his cheeks were warm and soft under your fingers, and time seemed to stop completely around you two.

you weren't sure how much time had passed as you were completely tangled against him, your lips moving each other leisurely. riki's hands wondered yet again, trying to caress and touch as much of your skin as he could, he absolutely adored every inch of you. every time you pulled away a bit for air, he would wait a second at most before diving right back in. the action made you smile against his lips, making your heart beat fast yet again.

minutes later, he pulled away and switched to pressing soft kisses across your face. your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, he didn't leave anything without a gentle smooch. you couldn't help the dumb smile that was plastered on your face, you closed your eyes and quietly let him do as he pleased. one of your hands detached from his cheek to once again stroke his hair.

riki opted to leaning back a little to appreciate your cute face, a faint blush visible on your cheeks. he poked your side lightly to get your attention, making you open and jokingly narrow your eyes at him. "what?"

"nothing. you look pretty." he smirked, hoping to see you become even more flustered, he loved having that effect on you. knowing you were just as affected by him as he was by you.

seeing his smirk, you decided to tease him a little. "i'm gonna go finish my skincare." you announced abruptly and shifted, moving out of his arms as if you were actually about to leave the bed. to nobody's surprise, riki immediately pushed himself up and tugged you right back against him.

"you're not going anywhere, don't even try to leave." he playfully glared at you and pulled you so you were laying under him, caged between his arms.

before you could tease him further, he laid directly on top of you, crushing you with his weight. you let out a groan/laugh and nudged his shoulder, but he wouldn't budge.

"ki! i can't breathe!" you whined, wriggling under him in an attempt to get him to move. unfortunately for you, riki made absolutely no effort to get off you.

"looks like you're having a seizure, i might need to give you mouth to mouth so you don't die." he smirked yet again, and leaned down to kiss you before you could protest or complain.

safe to say, you didn't do your skincare that night. though, feeling his lips against yours was a damn good alternative.