#are you always so forward?!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 24 - Modern AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 23, word count 937

Sirius gripped his coffee as though it were a lifeline. It was the biggest, strongest coffee he could find, watered down with copious amounts of milk. He took little sips as he logged into his computer at work, brought up his list of tasks for the day and slowly began muddling his way through. 

He’d gone out last night with James, against his better judgement, not that it took much persuasion on James’s part. All he had to do was bat his hazels at him, and Sirius was putty in his hands. 

He’d been having a great time, downing drinks, shaking his arse to the vintage jukebox and then woken up in some fit lad’s bed, hence the massive coffee and the mind-numbing hangover. He’d crept quietly out of the little flat and stumbled his way down the harsh concrete steps that smelled like weed, piss and, for some bizarre reason, hairspray. Sirius had rushed home, hopped in the shower, changed his clothes and hurried to the coffee shop on the corner. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. He put it out of his mind, reasoning that he’d never see him again anyway. 

It took an age for the little digital clock on his computer screen to blink to 12:00 and signal lunchtime. 

Feeling the need for greasy food, he went to pull out his mobile to order a McDonald’s when he realised he didn’t have it. He checked all his pockets and his bag. It wasn’t there. The panic had just set in that it had been stolen at the bar last night when his computer alerted him to a new email on his personal account. 

‘Hi, erm, I guess Sirius. Sorry, I didn’t get your name last night 😬.

So anyway, I have your phone. You must have left it here when you snuck out this morning. (You are not sneaky, by the way! Like an elephant in size nines!) But yeah, anytime you want to come by and get it is fine. I’ll be in all day. Crap, I hope you get this email, or I’ve just got myself a new phone. It’s actually a big upgrade to mine. On second thoughts, it’s mine now, mwahaha 😈!

Thanks 

Remus Lupin.’

Sirius stared at the words for a few minutes, taking them in, before picking up the work phone from his desk and phoning himself. 

“Hello?” A voice on the other end answered. “Hi, I’m not Sirius. He left his phone at mine last night.”

“Hi, Remus. It’s me. Sirius.” He added in case he hadn’t realised.

Well, I guessed when you used my name. I highly doubt anyone in your phone book knows who I am. Especially ginger toss pot number 1. There’s more than one ginger toss pot?” Remus snickered. 

“Wait, how do you know that, and how did you get my email address? Have you hacked into my phone?!” He felt outraged. How had he even gotten in, though? It was password-protected.

“Sirius, 6969 is not a strong password. Plus, I could see where you’d jabbed at the screen to unlock it. You really need to clean your phone.” Remus went on. 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He paused for a second, trying to rein in the snarkiness. “I don’t finish work until 5. Is it alright to come over after that?”

“Sure,” Remus answered. “I’ll be in.” 

“Great, thanks.” Sirius forced a smile on his face so Remus could hear his sincerity.

“Who’s Specky Dick Nuts?  Because they’ve been blowing up your phone all morning before I woke up and found it. They seem to have stopped now, though.”

“Oh, that’s my best mate James. Oh shit, if he’s gone quiet, he’s probably tracking my phone. Er, be prepared. He probably thinks I need rescuing.” There was a loud thudding on the other end of the line. 

“Er, I think your friend might be here,” Remus whispered into the phone. 

“Put me on speaker so I can talk to him.” He heard the faint click as he was put on speaker and the sound of Remus unlocking the four locks on his door. 

“Hi, you must be James,” Remus said. 

“Where is he?!” James’s voice was stern and full of concern. 

“James, mate. I’m fine. I’m at work. I just forgot to pick up my phone this morning. This is Remus, by the way. He kindly let me know he had it.” He prayed that was enough to call off the Potter inquisition. 

“Oh, cool. Hi, Remus.” 

“Hi, James.” 

“Sorry, I thought you were some lunatic. And you were keeping him prisoner.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. Happens all the time.” The phone line was filled with laughter, and Sirius had to hold his receiver away from his head.

“Hey, James, can you take my phone, seeing as you’re there?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Remus.” He managed to say before James hung him up. He felt oddly dejected for some reason but brushed it off. 

When he came back from lunch, he found a new email, this time from Remus’s actual address.     

‘Can I take you out on a date?’ 

It said. Sirius felt a surge of joy and so replied.  

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Dinner? Movie? Massive shagathon?’ 

Sirius choked on his own spit at Remus’s reply. He coughed as he typed back.  

‘Jesus, Remus. Are you always so forward?’

‘What can I say? You made an impression 😉.’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

And that was how Sirius found himself for the second morning in a row in Remus Lupin’s bed. But this time, he didn’t sneak out.

[coffeebanana]

Sorry if some of these overlap a little/if I left out something obvious kajbdsjkd I tried my best haha. And that's why there's an "other" option!

[multicolour-ink]

Ok but I NEED TO TALK ABOUT MY TWO FAVOURITE FRAMES FROM THE BROS HUG

After the first hug, Mario immediately goes to gently cup and pull Luigi's face towards him. He needs to take in that his brother is right here. He needs to make sure that he's not hurt.

And stars help Bowser if Luigi was!

THE FOREHEAD TOUCH

Oh stars the forehead touch. So much meaning in this one moment ❤💚

Now, forehead touches can have various meanings in many cultures; but in general, touching ones forehead to another person's is a way to get across love, soothe anxiety, and can be seen as a protective gesture.

And that's exactly what's happening here. The Bros are grounding themselves in the moment. And look at the way their eyes meet! In various cultures as well, the eyes are believed to be windows to the soul. The Bros are not just communicating through their physical affection - they are healing each other's hearts.

And given what they have been through, they need it 💗

In this one moment, the Bros can forget about the terror and danger around them.

In this one moment, they are able to focus on the one thing that matters the most to them.

- - -

Also a side note: Luigi doesn't say a word during this exchange (not counting after, when he makes the bear comment 😁). And some will probably think "Oh man that sucks!", but honestly it says a lot about these characters. Luigi chooses to remain silent, because he knows that if he attempted to speak in that moment, he would burst into tears and be unable to stop💧

[areyoudoingthis]

I am SO grateful that ed and stede exist as characters exactly as they are. I'm so grateful for these two men who are traumatized and messed up and struggle to even like themselves, who are terrible at communicating, who make enough mistakes between the two of them to fill an entire ocean. I am so grateful to watch them struggle and be seen and be loved and reach out for the things they want and are maybe starting to believe that they deserve. I'm so grateful that the show lets them fall in love and get together exactly as they are, that it doesn't say they need to wait until they've become some unattainably perfect version of themselves before they have permission to have that. i am so grateful for ofmd

[quincywillows]

like i remember the vitriol that came out when the mere PREMISE for ballad of songbirds and snakes came out bc it was “about the villain” and wasn’t instead a novella of one of the many cute likeable faves of the masses. i remember how fast people were to tear down the book before it even came out (and still do now). and it’s like look, i get it, suzanne created so many interesting characters that it would be incredible to learn more about and get more content for. but her choosing to write about snow for a prequel isn’t like Romanticizing The Villain or whatever bullshit y’all are claiming as hot takes on twitter -- ballad fits right into the common themes and tone of the series in that its not a romanticization but a reflection on how snow became what we know him as in the original series. both in how he already had some less than charming or healthy traits (just like katniss does -- suzanne is always clear that people are not inherently good nor evil and parallels were drawn between how snow and katniss view the world and think strategically, etc, from the second book), but also in how society and the choices of the greater community in panem created snow. like ballad is a really interesting piece of lore and history and worldbuilding for an already rich and elaborate setting that suzanne created, allowing us to see how that world even came to be and the kind of toxic impact it had on the people surviving in it while still pointing out that those people are human and that everyone has humanity and yet can still cause unfathomable harm to one another based on circumstance and need to survive and pressures of all kinds and like i have lost the plot here now but suzanne is one of the best authors of our time who actually gives a shit about creating layered, nuanced characters and worlds rather than black and white good and evil and unfortunately the hyperpolarization of our hot takes social media culture nowadays just can’t handle her anymore. suzanne im so sorry we don’t deserve your storytelling. anyway i’ll be seated for this movie y’all can skip and keep giving lukewarm takes on twitter to make urself seem so smart for hating a book you probably didnt even actually read

[kkoct-ik]

oh yeah! piece i did for the @lifefanworkexch :] i had so much fun tysm for running the event

[cowboysmp3]

phoenix’s little profile picture is genuinely my fav picture of him ever

polite

[tofixtheshadows]

I see a lot of people headcanoning that Marcille and Kabru will become friends postcanon over a shared love of gossip, but to me the biggest thing they have in common is that they're both deeply concerned with the inequality between the races.

I think before anything else, as the two people closest to the throne, they'll probably end up banding together over their shared desire to fix the divide between the races. Marcille has to give up on her dream of magically changing humanity, but she can help Laios achieve it Kabru's way, through political and social change.

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN | 230611• S-CLASS / INKIGAYO

[melonmortis]

House and Cass sketches + Benny Wip

[randomcollection-o-stuff]

I Am so glad that my first time reading Dracula is through Dracula Daily and Re:Dracula. It is so immersive reading along with Mr. Harker, whose voice actor is incredible btw, all of them are!!!! Cannot recommend it enough

[wasjustred]

ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?” 

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking  your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine. 

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you. 

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek.  You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room. 

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk. 

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat. 

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––” 

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

[nicollekidman]

tashiart can only ever be Exactly What They Are, patricktashi is the comfort and possibility of pretending like you're both still teenagers, patrickart is sandbox love that actually never died, patricktashiart past present and future all together baby

[dizzybizz]

finally got around to finishing a sketch from last year 🎉🎉🎉

aug '22 -> mar '23 -> oct '23

[freyyzu]

SEE YOU AGAIN SOON

it's finally the day of your depature, and you decide to leave baxter with one last memory to hold onto until you can see each other again.

a/n; i'm so head over heels in love with this monochrome man i feel like my heart's gonna burst. thank you so much for the amazing game and loving memories, gb patch i'm going to treasure Our Life always

“Is this everything?” You’ve heard that question no less than three times now since leaving Baxter’s apartment. Once, when he closed the door, twice, when you exited the car, and now for a third time as you’re at the station waiting for the train to arrive.

“I should hope so, otherwise one of my belongings is lost within the depths of your apartment now,” you tease good heartedly.

“Hm,” his concerned frown is quickly replaced by a grin. “Maybe I should hope you did leave something behind, then. It would give me an excuse to bring it to you.”

The both of you share a hearty laugh at that. You hadn’t even been parted yet, but here he was already thinking of making his way back to you.

Well, you did agree to have him come over soon after the hectic rush-planning that was Jude and Scott’s wedding, and the five days that you had spent here wasn’t enough to make up for the five years of no contact. There was going to be a lot to catch up on, and a part of you hoped that you’d always have something to catch up on with each other. That there was always going to be something new to learn about one another—together.

“We’ll call,” you reassure him. His shoulders visibly untense at your words, a softer smile adorning his lips. “And text, the days before you arrive will be over before we both know it.”

Baxter reaches out to take your hand, no pauses, no falters. “Then I look forward to that day with bated breath.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges, and despite him being the one who took hold of your hand first you decide to turn it around on him—literally. Flipping your clasped hands, you bring it up to your lips in a gentle kiss, his bright, brown eyes following the motion as goosebumps chill their way down his arm.

“Why don’t we take a picture together?”

The sudden question catches him off-guard. “A picture?”

“The frame on your desk was empty last time I saw it, right?”

“Ah,” he looks abashed at that. Even though you had gifted him a picture frame, Baxter had never been able to actually use it for its intended purpose. “You noticed that as well, huh?”

You swallow the words at how it’s a bit difficult not to notice something like that. “What do you say?”

There was simply never a moment precious enough in his life to capture in time until you showed up again, and since your arrival every day felt special enough to be caught in the moment. Now with that offer laid bare in front of him, there was no way he was going to let it go. “I’d say that’s a great idea.”

Setting your bags on the nearest chair, Baxter pulls out his phone and you shimmy closer to his side, his arm reaching out to wrap around your waist almost instinctively. It felt a bit embarrassing, using the selfie function of his phone; he couldn’t remember the last time he ever did if ever.

Though far past his embarrassment was the joy of being able to see your face every day whenever he so wished, even if you weren’t there in person.

The shutter goes off, and at the same time he feels a soft press into his cheek.

The motion catches him by surprise, the only word able to leave the tip of his tongue being, “huh?” followed by your chuckles.

His eyes glance down at his phone, the picture displaying all its glory to you and him. He sports a startled look, the tips of his ears forming the faintest red and of course you’re leaning in, your lips pressed against his cheek with a smile.

“It looks good,” you comment cheerfully, either not noticing or feigning ignorance to the way his entire face has lit up in a bright, strawberry red. “Don’t you think?”

“I-” he catches the same tint of red dusting the edge of your cheeks. No doubt that action had been a spur of the moment decision on your part, rather than a well-thoughtout plan, though at this point he can’t say he’s surprised—if the last-minute party plannings were anything to go by.

An affectionate sigh leaves him, and he leans in, following the bubbling warmth in his chest, hand gently cradling your cheek as he pulls you into a kiss. A proper one, where both of your lips touch and your eyes flutter close, blocking the entire world around you.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers playing with the ends of his hair, and he nearly melts at the tender motion of your hands. Baxter’s spent the last five days wondering how he could be so lucky. To reunite with his ideal, the person he fell for, the one he loved—loves—from all those years ago and how even after a long five years you still haven’t forgotten, haven’t given up on him.

“Baxter?” Every part of you, from the color of your eyes, to your kind, patient personality, to your hands that treat him like he’s glass, to your voice that calls his name with so much warmth.

At one point, the kiss had broken and he bumped his forehead with yours. He couldn’t tell you not to leave, even when every fiber of his being wished for you to just stay by his side, and so he swallows those words. This is enough for now, these five days, the next five years. You’ll make it work.

“I love you.” From this close of proximity, the breath that follow his words flutter your eyelashes. His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, but his thumb begins to rub timidly along your skin, as if afraid you’ll back off if he did any more.

Your eyes gloss over at those three simple words. He was really going to make it hard to leave wasn’t he? Even though you were the one who had been trying to keep it together this entire time. “I love you, too,” you whisper, leaning in for another kiss.

If time stopped there, neither of you would have minded, but it doesn’t, and soon the ring of the train bells force both of you to pull away.

“I should get going,” you mutter with less resolve than before.

“I’ll walk with you to the doors.” Baxter picks up half of your bags again, motioning towards your ride with his head. He looks just as, if not more, insulted than you at the interruption.

“Thank you.”

The walk was short and quiet, there were a million and one things you could have said, but chose not to. They could wait until you met up again. And everyone knows that there was no one more patient than you around here. You’ve waited this long, you could wait a little more.

“I’ll see you in a bit?” Baxter passes your bags over to you. It’s unsure of exactly how long ‘a bit’ actually refers to, but you’ll get your answer eventually.

“Definitely,” you reply. “I’ll see you again soon, Baxter.”

He leans in for the last time, and you’re almost sure he was going to kiss your lips again, but he falters at the last second and moves upwards to press his lips against your forehead instead.

“I feel like if I kiss you now I’d never stop,” he chuckles in jest, though you can hear the full sincerity in those words. “I’ll see you again soon, darling.”

‘Darling’ that was a pet name you’d have to get used to unless you fear for your poor heart exploding.

You give him one last kiss of your own, also on the forehead—he hums contently at the action—before pulling back; the train doors beginning to close.

And when the train finally takes off, and your waves weren’t within sight anymore, Baxter finds himself crumpling to the floor in a heap.

It’s a question he’s asked himself multiple times, more times than you’d call appropriate, but was he allowed to be this happy? A hand goes up to his forehead where your lips had just been, and he allows himself to bask in the feeling.

‘It’s alright.’ He was allowed to be this happy.

A ping from his phone pulls him out of his thoughts, and he grumbles at the interruption. He pulls out the device with a less-than-appropriate mumble though stops completely when he sees who it’s from.

[ could you send me that picture, please?

i’d like to have a memory of us as well. ]

[ Of course. ]

Comes his instantaneous response.

He sends you the photo immediately, and his eyes linger on it for just as long as it takes for you to reply back.

[ thanks! i’ll treasure it ]

Yeah, he is allowed to be this happy.

With you.

And he hopes with his entire heart that you feel the same.

[ As will I. ]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

DUDE, HOLD UP. IT'S ONLY 12-ISH DAYS UNTIL THE NEXT WELCOME HOME UPDATE.