#but my brain had the thought so i’m sharing it

[itneverendshere]

saw that jj is readers neighbor. and i see rafe absolutely hating him, until he realizes that you take care of him like he’s your baby brother, especially when things get a little rough at his house

omg yesssss! it's kinda funny that he's beefing with a teenager. thank you for the request! 🩵🫂 alsojj never met milo before bc he only showed up after the kid was already sleeping, cause luke had a tendency to get rowdier at night 😣.

you're on your own kid - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

There’s no way in hell JJ Maybank is sitting on your couch while you’re cooking away. 

Rafe swears he’s lost his mind. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought when he was out on the boat earlier because what he’s seeing doesn’t make any sense.

There’s no way JJ is sitting there, his legs propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place. Like he belongs here. In your place. Your sister's place.

For a second, he thinks he’s gotta be dreaming. But nope, it’s real. The smell of whatever you’re cooking from the kitchen hits him in the face, and JJ’s laughter echoes through the living room.

This is your house, your space, and somehow JJ’s sitting there like he’s been here a thousand times before. He’s gotta say something.

Rafe clears his throat, trying to keep his voice normal but it comes out tight, strained. “What the hell’s Maybank doing here?”

You don’t even look up from the stove, just wave a hand in his direction, like it’s no big deal.

Like he’s no big deal. “Relax, baby. He’s just having dinner.”

“Dinner?” Rafe practically chokes on the word.

JJ catches the look on his face and smirks, leaning back further into the couch cushions.

“What, never seen a guy eat before, Cameron?”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dinner? At your place? Since when are you and Maybank this close?”

His eyes narrow on JJ, sprawled out on the couch like he’s got nowhere better to be. The guy’s even wearing his boots, dirt probably all over your cushions, and Rafe’s practically grinding his teeth at the sight.

JJ just smirks, because of course he does. “Jealous or somethin’, Cameron? Didn’t think you’d care.”

But then you walk over with a plate and set it down in front of JJ, and Rafe watches in shock as you ruffle his hair, so casually it’s like second nature to you.

Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

JJ’s eating like it’s the first meal he’s had in days, and Rafe’s brain is still trying to catch up with what the hell is happening here.

You and JJ? Since when? Rafe’s stomach twists at the thought, because why would you even care about a guy like JJ? 

The guy’s got that scruffy look, bruises on his knuckles and faint ones on his arms. Rafe’s seen it before, the evidence of fights and bad nights. He knows what goes on at JJ’s house. He’s heard the stories. The arguments that spill out onto the streets late at night, the way JJ disappears for a while and comes back worse than before.

And then it hits him.

You’re not just letting him crash here.

You’re taking care of him. Looking out for him in ways that nobody else does, making sure he doesn’t completely spiral with a father like Luke Maybank.

JJ speaks up, grinning with his mouth full of food. “Her food’s so good, you gotta try it.”

“I’m her boyfriend, you think I haven’t tried her cooking?”

He’s being ridiculous, knows he’s not really jealous of a seventeen-year-old. It’s not that he’s threatened by JJ—hell no. It’s more that...he doesn’t like sharing you. Even if it’s just dinner.

He’s proud of you, though. Always has been. That big heart of yours, helping out some kid who clearly needs it.

Rafe crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Since when did my girl become a goddamn soup kitchen?” The words come out harsher than he means them to, but you just glance over your shoulder and roll your eyes.

You know him too well by now.

“Baby, it’s just dinner. JJ’s had a rough day.”

“Yeah, well, so have I,” Rafe mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t push it. He can’t really. 

He knows the guys has been through it, and yeah, his dad’s a piece of work. But that doesn’t make it easier to see him sitting here, all cozy in the life Rafe’s tried to build with you. Yeah, maybe you fucking spoiled him because know the mere thought of another guy being in your space makes his blood boil. 

JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Chill, Cameron. You’re acting like I’m movin’ in or something.”

He remembers being that kid—lost, angry, with no place to feel safe. JJ might be annoying as fuck, a walking nightmare to be around, but Rafe can’t hate him for that. Not really.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable,” Rafe mutters. He looks at you, softening. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, y'know that?”

“I thought you loved that about me?” You tease, turning back to the stove.

“’Course I do.” Rafe crosses the room, sitting on the arm of the couch, close enough to you but still keeping an eye on JJ. He watches as you stir something on the stove, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Yeah, he gets annoyed, but fuck if he doesn’t love you for exactly this. You just have a way of making people feel safe, even the ones that don’t deserve it—or maybe need it most.

JJ leans back, letting out a satisfied groan. "God, that was good. She ever cook like this for you, Cameron?"

Rafe shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, maybe when you’re not eating all my food."

JJ just laughs, completely unfazed. “You’re lucky, man.”

Rafe doesn't answer, just stares at him, half of him wanting to tell him to get out and the other half knowing how good it must feel for the kid to have a moment where he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Rafe’s been there—different situation, same lost feeling. He looks at you again, knowing it’s you that pulled him out of that place. And now here you are, doing the same thing for JJ.

With a sigh, he slides off the couch and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You know you’re too good for him, right?”

You laugh, leaning back into him. “For him? Or for you?”

Rafe presses a kiss to your shoulder, smiling despite himself. “Both. Definitely both.”

His lips linger there for another second before JJ’s speaking again, “Alright, y’all don’t have to be disgusting while I’m sitting here trying to digest. Seriously, have some respect. I’m a guest.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he can’t help but laugh under his breath, his forehead dropping against your back. “You gotta be kidding me.” He sighs dramatically, loosening his grip on you and stepping back, but he’s still got that smirk. “You hear that, baby? We’re offending the guest. Can’t have that.”

JJ rolls his eyes so hard Rafe’s sure he’s gonna get stuck that way. “Yeah, you two keep it up, and I’m gonna lose this amazing meal you just made. Not trying to see all that lovey-dovey shit.”

Rafe leans against the counter, arms crossed, shaking his head. “You know, most people would be grateful for a free dinner.”

You toss a dish towel at JJ, which he dodges with a snicker. “You’re welcome to leave, you know.”

“Nah, nah,” JJ says quickly, stuffing the bread in his mouth. “I’m good right here.”  He stretches out again, clearly getting way too comfortable. “But if y’all could just tone down the romance while I’m around, that’d be great.”

Rafe’s still grinning, even though part of him wants to wipe that smirk right off JJ’s face. “You jealous, Maybank?”

JJ gives an exaggerated shrug. “Nah. I got my priorities straight.”

“Yeah? Like what? Getting on my last fucking nerve?” Rafe shoots back.

JJ lifts his hands in surrender, still grinning like a kid who knows exactly how make him lose his temper. “Hey, I’m just saying. Don’t go making me regret this free meal, alright?”

He glances over at you, and you’re shaking your head, smiling like this whole thing is the most entertaining show you’ve seen all week.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Rafe mutters, still eyeing JJ. “This is a one-time thing.”

JJ chuckles, unfazed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just remember, I’m your girl’s favorite.” He flashes you a wink, and Rafe’s this close to tossing the bread basket at his head and tossing him out on the street.

JJ’s annoying, no doubt, but he understand, or at least he's trying to, that you’re doing it for a reason—helping the kid out, making sure he’s got a safe place for at least one night. And no matter how much he pisses him off, Rafe respects that. For your sake.

“You keep running your mouth and you’re both sleeping porch.”

Rafe turns to you, offended, “The fuck did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did,” you say, shaking your head. “Always making things competitive.”

Rafe scoffs, standing a little straighter.

“Competitive? Baby, I’m just protecting what’s mine.” He throws a glance at JJ, who’s still lounging on the couch like he owns the place.

“Man, protectin’ what?” JJ pipes up, laughing through his words. “I’m just here for the food and the show.” He gestures between the two of you. “Y’all could make a fortune if you charged admission. People love drama.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky they’re not charging you rent at this point.”

He’s about to tell him to shove off the couch and leave, but the front door swings open. Monica walks in arms full of grocery bags. Little Milo is trailing behind her, clutching a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and a juice box in the other. The moment he sees Rafe, his face lights up.

“Uncle Rafey!” Milo yells, charging toward him with all the energy of a four-year-old hyped up on apple juice.

He bends down and scoops Milo up, setting him on his hip. “Hey kid. What’s up?”

Milo grins and holds up his juice box. “I got juice!”

Rafe chuckles, “Juice, huh? Sounds like a big day.”

Meanwhile, Monica’s busy setting the groceries on the counter, glancing at JJ sprawled out on the couch. She shoots Rafe a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Looks like we have an extra child in the house today.”

JJ, clearly not catching the jab, raises a hand. “Hey, Monica. I’m just keeping the couch warm.”

Milo tugs on Rafe’s shirt, completely oblivious to the grown-up talk. “Uncle Rafe, can I have a cookie?”

“Maybe after dinner, bud,” Rafe says, setting him down gently. “Go help your mom, okay?”

Milo pouts for a second but quickly gets distracted by the sight of JJ. He stares at him curiously, tilting his head. “Who’s that?”

JJ leans over the back of the couch, grinning. “I’m JJ. You can call me… your favorite new friend.”

Milo looks at him like he’s deciding if JJ is cool or just weird. After a second, he grins back. “Okay, JJ. Can I sit with you?”

“Sure, kid. Hop on up.”

Rafe watches as Milo clambers onto the couch next to JJ, giggling when JJ pretends to steal his dinosaur. It’s almost funny—if he wasn’t so good at making himself at home.

Monica, catching the scene, sighs and shakes her head. “Great, now he’s corrupted Milo.”

Rafe crosses his arms, unable to suppress a smirk. “He’s already got enough bad influences in his life.”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yeah, starting with you.”

Rafe raises his hands in surrender, laughing. “Fair enough.”

You’re leaning against the counter, watching the whole scene unfold, and suddenly, it just hits you.

Rafe with Milo, the way he softens when your nephew runs up to him, lifting him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Milo’s giggles fill the room and then there’s Monica, half-smiling at Rafe’s attempts to wrangle Milo, even with JJ sprawled out on the couch, egging the kid on.

Your heart feels so full, you almost can’t stand it. It’s one of those moments where everything just… clicks. You try to keep it together, but there’s this warm feeling in your chest, and you blink back the unexpected tears. How could you feel anything but love for all of them in this moment? 

Rafe catches you staring, his eyes softening when he sees the look on your face. He raises an eyebrow, but he’s already smiling at you, “What’s that look for?”

You shake your head, grinning despite the lump in your throat. “Nothing. Just... you guys. It’s... a lot.”

JJ, ever the clown, groans from the couch, “Oh God, please don’t get all mushy now."

But you can’t help it. You step closer to Rafe, wrapping your arms around his waist, laying your head against his chest. “I just love you. All of you.”

Rafe chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head. “Love you too.”

Monica glances over with a knowing look, shaking her head. “Alright, enough of this sentimental stuff. You’re gonna make me cry, and I just got home.”

You stay wrapped in Rafe’s arms for a moment, just soaking in the warmth around you. Monica’s pulling plates from the cabinet, setting them on the table with her usual no-nonsense efficiency. JJ’s somehow got Milo giggling uncontrollably, making goofy faces and pretending to steal his dinosaur every few seconds. The kid’s losing it, practically bouncing off the couch in fits of laughter.

Rafe leans down, his lips close to your ear. “You’re okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile, nodding against his chest. “Yeah. Better than good, actually.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read every thought behind it. “You sure? You looked like you were about to cry a second ago.”

You laugh a little, wiping under your eye, even though the tears never really fell. “It’s just... this. All of this. It’s perfect, you know? I don’t know. It feels like family.”

“You really think so?” Rafe asks quietly.

You nod, feeling that same warmth flood your chest again. “Yeah, I do. I love it. I love us.”

He smiles, a little crooked but real, the kind of smile you don’t see too often, but when you do, it hits you in the heart. “I love us too.”

For a second, the noise around you fades, and it’s just you and Rafe, holding onto each other like you’re the only two people in the room.

Then, predictably, JJ ruins it. “Hey, lovebirds! Save that for later. You’re killing Milo’s vibe.”

You both turn to see JJ standing with his hands on his hips, looking dramatic as ever. Milo’s grinning, clutching his dinosaur to his chest like it’s his new best friend. 

“Yeah, stop kissin'!” Milo chimes in, giggling.

You rolls your eyes but pull away from Rafe with a chuckle. “Alright, alright. No more kissing.”

Monica smirks as she finishes setting the last plate. “Don’t worry, Milo. They’ll be gross later when you’re in bed.”

Rafe gives your sister a mock glare. “You’re hilarious.”

She pats him on the back, grinning. “It’s what I’m here for.”

[foodiegoogie]

request for james potter x sunshine gf? like yapper x yapper <3

note: thank u for requesting my sanny angel <3 i was so excited to write this when i got ur req hehe :P thanks 4 being so patient as well !! hope u like this :P

paint me a picture

james potter x fem!reader ✮ 2.2k cw/tags: established relationship, that ‘couple paints each other’ trend on tiktok, MOO DENG CAMEO, tooth-rutting fluff mayhaps? and a lil crack :>

If you were ever put in a situation where you’re stuck in a room full of complete strangers, chances are that you’d strike up a conversation with one, two, or a handful of people no matter how off-putting they might seem as a stranger. You had a knack for talking people’s ears off, your mouth running faster than your brain ever did—spewing word after word before you could even finish your train of thought. 

Frankly speaking, you were well-aware that your talkativeness came across as annoying to most people. It was a hard pill for you to swallow, because you really, really liked to talk to people. You thrived in sharing your interests and whatever it was that came to your mind with other people. But the pressure was immense, and society—cruel, so you had to make do and shut your mouth if you could handle it. 

When you met James, however, it was like one of those cliché moments in movies—the ones about destiny and fate and soulmates. Because who knew that you’d find your match in being a chatterbox in someone as charming, and lovely as him? 

James Potter, in all his bumbling, comical, and boyish glory, did not stray away from you from the very first sign that gave away your talkative nature. 

And it appeared that he wasn’t planning on ever doing so in the near future. 

“Oh, but have you seen the one of her biting that zookeeper’s leg? She’s so adorable– I can’t!” You gushed as you filled in the gaps of James’ uncolored ears—the James in your portrait, not your actual James—with brush strokes of warm, chocolate brown paint.

The real-life James who sat across from you chuckled softly at your enthusiasm. “I know, right? She’s a little troublemaker, that one. I’d steal her away if I could.”

“Me too, me too,” Your vehement agreement amuses your boyfriend. “Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have a hippo as a pet!”

James’ nose wrinkles, as if in distaste, at your statement. “Wouldn’t that be hard though? They’re always covered in mucus, and they’re always underwater. Hippos are a little high-maintenance if you really think about it.” 

“Respectfully, James, I never asked for your opinion.” 

James’ mouth hangs open in shock, his hand frozen as it holds a paintbrush in front of his own canvas of his portrait of you. 

“I can’t believe you’d say that to me,” He fakes a sob, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought we had something special, love.” 

You sigh, going along with his act. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Jamie. You know how I feel about pets.”

“So that’s just it, then? You’re leaving me for a hippopotamus?” James cracks his voice at the end of his lamenting, hand flying up to cover his mouth, suppressing his “sobs.”

It was getting admittedly hard for you to keep up the act, though. But you persevere.

“It’s nothing personal, James. I swear,” Your voice wavers at the end, the start of an uprising laughter in your throat.

“Do you, actually?” 

You count what seems to be like five seconds of you and your boyfriend just staring at each other. It was almost as if James was challenging you to break. Ironically, you were starting to think that you were going to. 

But then he beats you there as you watch his face split into a wide grin, his canines doing nothing to quell his boyish handsomeness. Your boy always looked good, but he looked especially nicer when he was happy, smiling. 

Laughing, too, most of all. James had the kind of laughter that sounded like a wind chime when a breeze passed by, making you feel light and floaty as if on a cloud. He also had the kind of laughter that you just couldn’t help but join in, and share the moment with him.

“Absolutely nothing,” was what he would say whenever you asked him what you wanted to do together. 

But if you asked him what you’d want to talk about? James would say, “Absolutely everything.”

“Now I can’t remember what I was supposed to do!” You exclaimed, your laughter dying down to soft, involuntary chuckles as the lighthearted air of James’ relentless quips lingers between you both. “If my portrait turns out wonky, I’m blaming you.”

James’ grin could only grow with pride. He always loved to make you laugh. “Hey, that’s not fair. I only asked if–”

“No, don’t start again!” You rushed to stop him, pursing your lips to contain yourself.

“I haven’t even said anything,” He beamed at you, unashamed of how cheeky he was being. 

“You were gonna!” 

Your boyfriend shakes his head resolutely, pushing his glasses up his nose with a careful finger. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Top ten things a liar would say.”

James scoffs, affronted. “Top ten things an unfair person would say.”

You tut, shaking your head disapprovingly. “You need to come up with your own comebacks, you know.”

“Well, hey– it’s not my fault I decided to date the loveliest, most creative, most swell girl ever in the entire world,” Your boyfriend reasons, his million-dollar smile ever present on his lips.

You feel your face grow warm by his words. Even after a year (and counting) of being with James romantically, you could never quite get used to his praising you. But that had been the deal—if you couldn’t get used to it, then he’d have to do it more often so that you would eventually get used to it.

So, you clear your throat, returning your attention back to the task at hand: painting a portrait of your boyfriend. James can see right through your feigned indifference, but mirrors your actions with his own painting. 

“‘Swell?’” You place the finishing touches of your painting of James on your canvas. There’s colours of red, brown, orange, yellow, and all its shades from the most subtle to the most vibrant. You’re not really a painter, you’re more of an appreciator of paintings. But you hoped that the message would get through to your boyfriend—to you, he was love and warmth personified. 

He shrugs in response, eyes glimmering with mirth as he works on his own portrait of you. You couldn’t help but wonder what he had drawn and painted of you. The anticipation was high. “Yeah, you’re swell.” 

“Where’d you get that from?” 

“Er,” James scratches behind his ear with his free hand. “Sirius.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I knew it.” 

Your boyfriend spares you a glance over his canvas, and you meet eyes with your smiles mirroring each other. James hears you snicker as you turn back to your painting, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen.

“Alright, I think… I’m done,” You lean back against your chair, observing your portrait of James with criticising eyes—though not necessarily criticising the muse of your painting, but rather the painting you’d done yourself. 

Real-life James from across you makes a humming sound. “I think… I am, too.” 

“So, who’s going first?��� The pair of you chorus, then laugh.

“Ladies first?” Your boyfriend asked.

You consider it for a moment, eyes never leaving your painting as you continue to observe it. You were afraid of mucking it up further than how messy it looked now to you, so you refrain from making any more adjustments. 

“Uh… no. I think it’s best if you go first,” A rueful smile graces your lips. 

James sighs, and you just know he’s downplaying his own efforts before the painting is even shown to you. “Alright, then. Here we–”

“—Also because I think we should save the best for last,” You rushed to say, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

Your boyfriend’s eyes go comically wide, and as you do your evil cackling, he scoffs indignantly. “I see how it is. Well, feast your eyes upon my greatest creation of all time–!”

James grabs his canvas by the sides with careful hands, then flips it around so the front of his painting is finally facing you. 

Behind the canvas, the artist—your boy—has his gaze fixed on your face, waiting for any sign of a reaction. In truth, he’d be devastated if you didn’t crack a smile or gasp! “This is amazing, James! I love you with my whole heart!” 

But he’s also aware that he wasn’t Van Gogh or Picasso, so he should be cutting himself some slack. But damn it all if he doesn’t get your stamp of approval on his painting of you—the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. 

Said “beautiful work of art he’s ever seen” now sits across from him, rendered speechless—which was out of the ordinary, so you had James worried. You did expect something “humble” to come out of his work, something worth placing in the Louvre museum that would rival the Mona Lisa, and something you’d both argue over like, “James, this is amazing!” and he’d respond, “Nah, I could do better.” 

Well, your expectations were met, but they had exceeded you by a lot. A lot, a lot. 

The background of the portrait is painted in a pastel, sky blue colour, adorned with symmetrically shaped clouds in white. And there’s that sun in the corner of the canvas, a smiley face drawn on it, too—a staple in a child’s painting. 

But it didn’t stop there; alongside the clouds were some painted flowers. There were daisies, your favourite. Tulips, also your favourite. There were little bees and butterflies and hearts all around, there was so much going on in the background of the painting that you didn’t know which to pay attention to.

Though you did know, realistically, which to pay attention to. It wasn’t in the birds and the bees painted haphazardly across the background—in the middle of the painting was a rather messier variant of you. You in your candid, cozy glory, donning your jumper. The curve of your jaw, the size of your eyes. James had managed to capture you in your likeness. You could see yourself in the painting. 

Most of all, however, you’re speechless of the fact he’d managed to capture you beautifully. Have you always looked like this to him? Is this what he sees every time he looks at you? Is this what he sees now as he looks at you?

“Erm, do you–“ James clears his throat, his fingers drumming against the sides of his canvas as he held it up in front of you. He was anxious because you still hadn’t shown any reaction whatsoever in the span of half a minute. “is it that bad?” 

A lighthearted jest. Probably to dissuade the brewing anxiety in his mind from your lack of a reaction. His leg was already starting to bounce restlessly from under the table. He’s thankful that you’re unable to see that, at least. 

“‘Bad?’” 

“Yes, ‘bad.’” A beat passes. “Is it?” 

You shake your head at once, having gathered your bearings after all. A smile slowly starts to make its way onto your face. “It’s not bad. Not at all, James, this is–“ 

James doesn’t know what to do now, if he’s being honest. He wishes you could just come out and say it in his face that he was a trash painter, and that his portrait belonged in the dumps. He’d rather that than wait in agony—

“It’s so nice,” You finally manage to say, your voice dripping with fondness for him. His heart skips a beat at the sight of your smile—all sweet and pretty and lovely, so lovely. So loving. 

“Really?” James gains a smidge of his confidence back with your reactions. “You like it?” 

“Like it? I love it!” You abandon your chair, rounding the table to tackle him into a hug, planting a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. “You made me look so pretty! Best boyfriend ever!” 

Said boyfriend feels like he could melt in your arms right now, but he returns your affections by tightening his own arms around your waist, pulling you down so that you sit on his lap. 

“‘Best boyfriend ever?’ Now that’s a title I can get behind,” He chuckles, grinning widely up at you as you did the same at him. Two birds of a feather, their love mirrored in one another’s eyes, and hearts. 

Long story short, when you show your portrait to James, he makes sure to let you know that he loves it. Absolutely, indubitably adores it. He declares that he’ll frame it and hang it up in his room. He’ll contact local historians to let them know that, “Hey, I think we’ve got another revolutionary artist in our time and it’s my girl.” 

(He also makes a few comments of how you “didn’t quite get his nose right” and how “his hair looked exaggerated in your painting” and that that was “hair-racist.” What?)

At the very end of your date night, the pair of you decide to paint another picture—a third to add to your collection—but this time around, it included the two of you, with a grubby look of a house beside you both, three other little people, some dogs here, some cats there, and then some. 

ty for reading \(￣︶￣*\)) likes, replies, n reblogs r always appreciated !! <3

[itsonlydana]

I saw you opened requests and thought if you were inspired could you do a little sequel to "I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You". I absolutely adore that story it is SO good!

Midnight Meetings in our Kitchen | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader👑

The night before the reopening of his restaurant, Thranduil is feeling antsy - you try your best to coax him back into bed.

warnings/tags: none

word count: 2,7k

an: This has taken me months to write and I apologize for the delay! My mind was just as frazzled as Thranduil's.

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

You woke up alone and to the faint metallic sound of pots clanking in the kitchen. The hand you blindly reach over to the other side of the bed comes in contact with a cold mattress and rumbled sheets, no residue warmth of the person that held you until you fell asleep nor any sign that he actually slept and not gotten back up immediately as soon as you had closed your eyes to his even breathing.

This is not the first time Thranduil snuck out of bed – in the weeks you now shared one it has become all the clearer how often he actually strayed through the apartment while you were deep in a slumber – but it is the first time he did it after he promised to stay. 

It would be easy to let the anger and frustration fester, let it grow either in a thoughtless fight or in weeks of unspoken feelings, and if this was anyone else you would holster these moments like munition. Keeping them close to your heart like ivy holding on to cracked walls. 

Thranduil however, is not anyone else. 

The blanket is pushed aside, your feet step into the slippers by the bedside and in passing of the desk by the door, you grab a cardigan to throw over your shorts and the top you slept in. The moment you open the bedroom door, the sounds from the kitchen grow louder. You quietly creep around the corner, passing by the room where you hardly ever sleep, and find your boyfriend in a familiar stance – leaning over the stove, a spoon in his hand and one in the mess of long hair bundled up in the nape of his neck, barely holding it together; your boyfriend as well as the spoon.

He doesn’t seem to realize you are there, your shoes did a good job silencing the steps, so it is no wonder Thranduil flinches as you wrap your arms around his stomach from behind and press your face against his back. He catches on quickly, snaps out of the murmuring of ingredients and a “Oh,” escapes him in a sigh. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?”

“No,” you mumble into the loose shirt. Thranduil is comfortably warm, not by nature – his hands are a blessing in the summer and he made it a sport to tickle you awake with his icey tips as soon as you spent the nights under mountains of blankets – but by the heated kitchen and the many pots boiling in front of him. Lips against the soft fabric, you continue: “But you said you wouldn’t do this. Not tonight, Thran.”

You feel his spine curve as Thranduil sacks into himself slightly, as he stops holding himself up on the counter and instead hugs your arms closer to his chest. His whole body rumbles at another sigh. “I know,” he is tired, his voice drips sleep more than he realizes, “I know, Darling. I will come to bed soon, let me just finish this recipe.”

You lurk past his right side into what you think is a pot of soup? 

“Do you plan on serving it later?” you ask and let your fingers trail over the bunched-up shirt, over the soft hairs on his lean stomach. 

“I’m not sure. It lacks something and I can’t figure out what exactly. Spices I used plenty, the broth is perfection and the vegetables have been in harmony every other time I thought of them.” – Thranduil is the only person in the world who you know can taste a dish without even cooking it, all that happens in his brain is a mysterium – “I need to find.. whatever it is that’s missing before I could serve it.”

“So, you will cook dozens of portions with a tiny thing changed?”

It is meant to be a joke though Thranduil nods. 

He could be unreadable and stubborn, especially these last few weeks. His restaurant ‘The Green Leaf’, is known as the best spot for fine-dining vegan food, praised high and above by the critics for excellent taste, extravagant and beyond thinking of known dishes taken to another level in ways you couldn’t even begin to fathom. Thranduil is precise, cutting dishes that fail his standards and not adding new ones till he reaches perfection only known to him. 

The turn to autumn brought not only harsher winds but it took one of Thranduil’s suppliers to sell out to ‘Oakenshields’, another star restaurant across the street and a thorn in Thranduil’s eyes ever since the press fueled heavy competition between two restaurants that are no were near the same category. They have close to nothing in common, except for two petty as fuck owners with their heads stuck that far up their arses, that they couldn’t see further than their rage. 

Thranduil, mature as he is, reacted to the news of his supplier changing sides – literally and metaphorically – as any normal person would, and decided on a night similar to this one, that he would change every meal that he had previously cooked with the ingredients of ‘the traitor’. Out with entrés made with apples, gone are the burgers simply because the cucumbers are no longer accessible. You realized quickly that going with the flow meant outings to farmer's markets testing fruits and vegetables, negotiating deals with you hanging on his arm, and new recipes he cooks for you to try. The work and effort of many nights waking up to find him in the kitchen all lead to tomorrow, the first day after the restaurant’s summer-closing and the presentation of a completely new constructed menu. 

To say Thranduil is spun tight is an understatement.

“Thranduil –” you sigh, your hot breath slightly wetting his shirt and your lips move against his spine. “This is nonsense and I don’t say this to be mean. You’ve been up the whole day, going through recipes you’ve been sure about and that you know by heart. Trying this won’t do no good; it will only exhaust you.” The tips of your fingers trail through the hair, higher up to lay a flat palm against the firm skin, feeling his intake of breath. You let your touch be gentle if he misunderstands your words. 

Communication between you had never been the problem – well, except for the obvious misunderstanding of the feelings you both had harbored for each other in complete ignorance that the other packaged them up in love languages such as cooking a meal or throwing out flowers of your dates – and you two had gotten even better at speaking your mind to avoid confrontations that could have been cleared up by a simple discussion at dinner or before going to bed. You never went to bed mad at each other, that is the rule you agreed on. You would talk it out and then make up. You have learned that Thranduil’s cold demeanor came on the second he felt vulnerable and alone which is exactly why you lean into the subject with your hands holding on to him.

“I get that this is important for you,” you continue and your knees nudge the muscles of his calves, “but you need sleep. Your greatest weapon is your brain, so, let it rest. I’m sure this will work out without a new dish.”

For a while, there is the boiling of water, the steam of carrots and celeriac drifting through the air. Thranduil’s hands continue to hold onto you, drawing figures onto your wrists to signal you that he did hear you and is thinking of an answer, not ignoring you. Then, he lets go with one hand. The stove clicks off, and the gas flame disappears, dipping the kitchen into more darkness now that the blue flickering light is gone. 

Other than that movement, Thranduil stands still. 

You opt for another lighthearted joke to break the tension that is obvious in his shoulders, the wings of them have the shirt stretched tighter at his hunch. You take the spoon out of his hands and fish in the soup, yes definitely soup, carefully balancing it around his stiff body and closing your lips around it.

“Mhmm, what excellent boiled potatoes,” you hum.

Thranduil's expression shifts ever so slightly, as if your words have finally pierced through the mental blockade, where he’s no doubt been sifting through countless possible events. An amused snort escapes him, his spine curving closer against you as he chuckles softly. “Did you have another Pride and Prejudice marathon this week?”

“What?” Your voice jumps an octave, betraying you instantly. “No! Of course not! Me? Nev–er. I don't even know that movie.” The words tumble out in a frantic cascade, and in the middle of your denial, Thranduil abruptly turns to face you, his sudden movement drawing a helpless grin from your lips.

One eyebrow arches in quiet amusement as he begins to crowd you against the kitchen island and leaves you to stare up at him. “If you didn’t watch it – and I certainly didn’t – how do you explain the ‘continue watching’ notification I saw at the restaurant?”

“Wow, uhm,” you fumble for an excuse, fingers toying with the strings of his silken pajama pants. “Maybe your brother decided to give my recommendations a shot?”

Thranduil lets out a scoff, his disbelief evident. “Las? When has he ever taken our advice on anything?”

True, his brother is going down the full teenager-who-listens-to-no-one-route like he’s doing a marathon but you are just as determined. Coyly you flutter your lashes up at Thranduil, pulling at the strings and twirling them around a finger. “Maybe that’s a sign of the universe, then. That you should stop banging pots and start bang– showing attention to your girlfriend.” 

Thranduil laughs so low in his throat, that you feel it swooshing straight into your stomach, the vibrato of his voice and the rasp of the few hours of sleep undoing every thought of getting him back to bed because this, Thranduil in just a loose shirt standing in the silver light of the moon in the middle of the kitchen and staring down at you might be the most attractive thing you have ever witnessed. 

His hands wander from your waist up to your shoulders, sliding up further to cup your neck in his large palms and gently tilt your chin up further. Your breath comes to a full stop, instead, your heart takes on the job of pulsing twice as fast at the gentle touch of his thumb moving over the underline of your jaw. The day you realized he cradles you just as gently as his favorite knives was surely one to process but now you lean into the lingering taps of his fingertips, the pad of his thumb pressing slightly into the plushness of your lower lip. 

Thranduil slots one leg between yours, casually and with an ease that you wouldn’t believed him to be able to when you first met him. “Have I recently told you how thankful I am that you’re you?” he asks and you shake your head slightly. His lips curve downward, as do his eyebrows. “I may have gotten lost in my work again, haven’t I?” 

You nod, never one to pour a lie into this intimacy. “But that’s fine. I know this is important to you. The restaurant opening and all can’t be easy.”

“That’s no reason to push away the one person that makes this journey bearable. You shouldn’t have to put up with my nightly disappearance out of bed simply because the restaurant is a large focus on my mind right now.” 

“It has become quite the habit of yours,” you agree quietly and slip one hand under his shirt again. 

There’s nothing sexual about the way you hold onto his waist, tracing the bones and muscles, all breathing softly and singing under your touch. Being this close to him grounds you the same way he needs physical touch as a reminder that he is still important in arguments and fights. That no matter how far apart your opinions are at that moment, your bond is still there. 

“I am truly sorry for this habit. I will work on it and I think once we have gotten through the worst of the press and critics I can rest easier but it’s nothing I can one hundred percent promise. The last time we closed for a month I slept barely after reopening.”

You tilt your head. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, everything you do makes me a better person already,” Thranduil says and leans down to finally catch your lips in a soft kiss into which you melt like butter on a hot pan. Every nerve ending is sizzling and burning, sighing as he holds your face close and kisses the breath out of you. “Or would you do me the favor and never watch your movie again?”

You laugh and bite down on his lip, “Never. Try something more realistic.”

He agrees with a huff of laughter, “Of course not,”  and pulls you back into another kiss. 

“Can we go back to bed?” you mumble against his lips. As much as you enjoy the loving kisses, the slow and languid draw of his tongue, the playful nip of his teeth in the lull of the night, his full body cornering you against the counter – oh, there’s this low sound of his throat again – but unlike Thranduil, you had a few hours of sleep already and you can feel the urge to hop back under the covers in the cold around your bare ankles.  

Thranduil’s head swirls around, seemingly taking in the state of the kitchen without the haze of a restless man dreaming of the perfect dish clouding his judgment and he raises a hand to tap against his lips, loudly exhaling. “Shit. I can’t leave this lying around and while it’s no good for the restaurant, I can’t just throw it out.”

You shrug your shoulders, sneaking past him to open the drawer meticulously sorted with plastic boxes. There are certainly enough of them to store the soups and their different varieties. Once Thranduil starts working on a new recipe, his tendency to fill the kitchen and run tests leaves its traces in the way you now look out for good lunchbox offers and Tupperware parties, always being mindful of having enough of them to stack up the freezer. Thranduil may be opposed to frozen food – and not only storebought, he would not eat something he didn’t cook fresh even if the whole idea of freezing food he cooked meant that it was still good and full of vitamins – but you don’t mind popping them into the microwave on a long day at work and relishing the soul food of your boyfriend weeks after he abandoned the thought of that particular version.

“We could pack them up and bring them around to the shelter tomorrow. Ah, wait, no. You have to be at the restaurant early for the deliveries. I can drop them off then, get home to change and still be there on time for the opening, oh! Thran–,” you are interrupted by the warm weight of Thranduil hugging you close from behind, surprising you the same way you had earlier, only that the height difference allows him to mouth a kiss into your neck. 

“I love you,” Thranduil says, digging his fingers into the wool of your cardigan. “All I’m doing is keeping you up at night and you’re still here, thinking about bringing the food to the shelter and my schedule. You’re brilliant, my love.”

The compliment goes through your heart like molten honey, sticking in all the slowly healing cracks that Thranduil mends each day he is there for you. The change from being roommates to best friends brings the risk of disrupting the carefully built balance yet Thranduil and you made it work and in times like this, standing in the darkness of your shared kitchen in the night before the re-opening of what Thranduil loves third-most in the world, every effort is worth the risk.

You smile, resting your head against his chest and looking up at him. His grey eyes are already on you, framed by long lashes and the strands of hair shining silver. “Love you too, most ardently,” you stand up on your tiptoes for a quick kiss upside down. “Soups can wait, let’s go to bed.”

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Less 📱☕️

Alexia Russo x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

summary :

You meet your online girlfriend "Less", only to discover she's secretly Alessia Russo, the famous footballer.

You sat in the café, sipping your drink, glancing nervously at the clock. Today was the day you were finally meeting her, the girl you had been talking to for months. She went by the name "Less" online, and you had hit it off from the start. It felt like you could talk to her about anything, and she had this charm that was impossible to resist.

But there was one thing that always nagged at you: Less never sent many personal photos. Sure, you had seen a few selfies here and there, but they were always casual, nothing overly revealing of her life. She claimed to be a private person, which you respected. After all, she made you feel safe enough to open up, and that was all that mattered, right?

You stared out the window, lost in thought when you heard the café door open. You turned instinctively, and your heart nearly stopped. Walking in was someone you never expected to see in a place like this.

Alessia Russo

You recognized her immediately. She was one of the brightest stars in women’s football, and you had seen her play countless times. But what was she doing here?

Before you could process the situation, she looked right at you, her eyes lighting up. She smiled, a smile you knew all too well. Your heart skipped a beat, confusion flooding your mind as Alessia Russo, the Alessia Russo, made her way toward your table.

“Y/N?” she asked softly, her voice familiar yet completely shocking.

You blinked, struggling to connect the dots. “Less?”

She grinned sheepishly, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Surprise.”

You sat there, speechless, your brain trying to catch up with what was happening. Less, the girl you had been talking to for months, your online girlfriend, the one who you thought was just a regular person, was Alessia Russo, one of the biggest football stars in the world.

“I... I don’t understand,” you stammered, your thoughts a jumbled mess. “You’re... you’re Alessia Russo?”

She shifted on her feet, a hint of nervousness in her expression. “Yeah, I know. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to see me as... well, as ‘Alessia Russo the footballer,’ you know? I wanted you to get to know me.”

You stared at her, still processing the fact that the Alessia Russo was standing in front of you, the girl you’d grown close to, the one you’d shared so many personal moments with. And now, she was telling you she had been hiding this huge part of her life.

“I wanted to meet you like this, in person, so I could explain,” Alessia continued, sitting down across from you. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t want my job or my career to change the way we talked.”

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, and it was hard to stay mad if you were even mad at all. Mostly, you were just shocked.

“So, all this time, you were hiding this?” you asked quietly, trying to make sense of it.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, I just didn’t want it to affect the way you saw me. I love football, but I wanted you to get to know Alessia, not ‘Russo.’”

You sat there, staring down at your coffee, feeling a mixture of emotions. It was hard to be angry, because in a way, you understood. Being Alessia Russo meant she had the world’s eyes on her. She didn’t get to live like a normal person most of the time, and she probably feared that once people knew who she was, everything changed.

“I get it, I think,” you said after a long pause. “It’s just... a lot to process. I didn’t think I’d be meeting a famous footballer today.”

Alessia chuckled softly, looking relieved that you weren’t storming off. “I’m still the same person you’ve been talking to for months, though. I still care about you the same way, and nothing’s changed in that department.”

You met her eyes, despite the shock, this was still the girl you had fallen for. The person who had made you laugh on long nights, who had listened when you needed to vent, who had shared parts of herself with you. That hadn’t changed.

“So... you’re not just some random girl who likes football,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

She laughed, her shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I guess not. I was going to tell you. I just wasn’t sure how.”

You leaned back in your chair, still processing everything but feeling a lot less overwhelmed. “It’s a bit crazy, but I guess I can’t be mad. You’re still my Less.”

Alessia’s smile grew wider, the tension finally easing between you two. “Exactly. And I’m really glad you came today. I’ve been wanting to see you in person for so long.”

Despite the whirlwind of emotions, you couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ve been wanting to see you too. Even if you did leave out one tiny detail.”

She laughed, looking at you with that soft, affectionate gaze you had come to know through your video calls. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You shook your head, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders. “You better. But... I think I can forgive you, Alessia or should I still call you Less?”

“Call me Less” she said, reaching across the table to take your hand.

You squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of her touch, and smiled softly.

[retroaria]

I want everyone to take a moment to appreciate 15yo dazai/chuuya vs. current day dazai/chuuya

this post is pure brain rot but if you’ll rejoice with me this once…

i got these off pinterest ^_^

LISTEN:

the face shape: they were so much more round and then suddenly they grew up and got the sharpest jawlines god has ever created.

the eyes: they had such soft almost innocent eyes and now they’ve got these evil freakin peepers

the hair: dazai looked like a wet dog and still looks like a wet dog (not that i’m complaining). but CHUUYA SIR??? he’s so diva Idk how else to say it. the old style was cute yeah but the growth frames his face so well he looks like a poet i love him.

they both matured so beautifully this animation is so good

I also wanted to bring this up because I feel like so many other anime have these time jumps and the characters have very little notable differences in their appearance or they look completely different like actual babies.

Of course the amount of time between makes a difference, for Dazai and Chuuya it’s 6-7 years give or take.

They look their proposed ages in both designs, but their individual flare and style remains unchanged. The contrast is just perfect.

I know it might not be anything to write home about and other animations have done just as well in this situation but I just needed to share my thoughts!

anyways that’s all have a wonderful day tumblr goers and stay safe 💋❤️ -aria

[luckydicekirby]

would love any director's commentary you may have on The Only True Thing if slightly older fics are on the table here bc lowkey it changed my brain chemistry forever. I read it on a whim like four years ago at 1 in the morning and ever since then I've been hooked on making all my fav pairings miserable for no reason. this sounds like sarcasm but I'm being completely sincere the schadenfreude is exquisite

okay first of all I’m SO glad to hear this because making your favs miserable is I think one of the most rewarding activities on this earth so I’m really glad I could help share that joy. thanks also to sylvain for just making it so easy. anyway, here’s some assorted thoughts, hopefully some of which are edifying!

(the only true thing for reference for anyone playing along at home.)

this fic affectionately named the darkling au due to this tweet which I feel like I should put in a hall of fame someday. anyway this entire thread showcases the origin of this fic which was me catie and lily bullying each other on twitter about sylvix, a pastime left behind in 2019 which i really miss.

the thing that really first made me Crazy Cuckoo about sylvain is his B support with Byleth--I'm obsessed with that moment where he very coldly threatens to kill you and then laughs it off, and that was pretty much the jumping off point for Sylvain's characterization in this au--what if he was like that all the time? answer: it would be bad, but also pretty sexy!

One thing I miss about writing for fe3h is the hero’s relics were sooo nice as like. shortcut symbolism. the lance of ruin comes preloaded for you! It’s familial cycles of violence! Easy! and there's a mechanic for it breaking ALSO preloaded into the game mechanics! I wrote like three versions of the ending and the lance getting busted moved around a bit--it originally happened a little earlier.

For a while when I was still femblempilled I was idly thinking about two sequels to this—a sylvain pov sequel about the war, which would have been fun but also Yikes, and then epistolary dorothea/ingrid ideological divorce fic. sorry to dorothea and ingrid who really get the short end of the stick in this universe.

oh there's a playlist. I can’t claim to have put a ton of thought into it it’s just all my fav bad ya boyfriend songs <3 actually dead girl walking reprise is like. yeah that's the fic.

ANYWAY. I feel like a lot of my commentary on this has been washed away by the sea (the passage of time) so a few extras. I apparently wrote like 400 words of sylvain POV of the training yard scene also? Last edited September 26th 2019, here you go:

Felix has always been smaller him, ever since they were kids. Still is these days, to Sylvain’s delight. He wondered about it plenty, these past two years--maybe Felix had a growth spurt. Maybe he caught up to Dimitri. Maybe Sylvain would meet him at the monastery and they’d see eye to eye. Of course they don’t. Felix is a head shorter than him, and he’ll never see things the way Sylvain does. Still. Sylvain thought about it. He’s had a lot of time to think about Felix since the last time he saw him, since Felix ran away. Still a crybaby at heart, no matter how sure he was he’d grown out of it. Not much has changed, Sylvain figures. Felix might have everyone else fooled with that delightfully sharp-edged exterior of his--a pretty decent feint, Sylvian should know--but Felix can’t hide from him. Sylvain sees him down to the bone. The two of them are a matched set: liars at heart.  Like right now. Felix is trying so hard not to cry, his back to the wall of the training yard, his grip tight around the wood of his training sword like he’s actually going to use it. Sylvain hopes he will. He hasn’t gotten to see Felix fight yet, really fight. He bets he’s gotten better. He bets he’s elegant and controlled—maybe less so with Sylvain, and wouldn’t that be nice? That’s how it goes sometimes, when Sylvain dreams about their last day together. Felix’s sword at his throat, biting and cold, ending all this before it began. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Sylvain wouldn’t have had to spend such an awfully long time missing him.  He bets Felix could make him hurt. Nothing seems to do that anymore, except for thoughts of Felix, the ones he can never stop worrying at like a bruise.  Sylvain doesn’t want much these days, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard: he wants Felix in a way that aches, delirious and unstoppable. It doesn’t matter so much how. Felix is welcome to cut him open or kiss him quiet or anything in between. As long as he never stops looking at Sylvain like he is now, hateful and just on the edge of tears, so clearly focused on nothing else. As long as Sylvain can have that, the rest doesn’t matter.  That’s love, Sylvain figures; the cheerful facade he gives the girls is nothing. He forgets about a new one every week. But Felix? He’ll be dead someday, and Felix will still have a grip on his heart, as tight as he’s holding his sword and just as dangerous.

and what exists of the sylvain POV sequel I never wrote:

Felix looks like shit. Of course he’s also beautiful. He’s radiant, for all that his hair’s a mess and his face is drawn and he’s got the kind of dark circles that only come from weeks and weeks of exhaustion. He’s Felix, right? He can’t be anything else. “You look like shit,” Sylvain tells him, because honesty is what Felix thinks he wants from him. He hasn’t seen Felix in six moons, but that probably hasn’t changed. “What are you doing here?” Felix asks. His horse stamps her feet and shakes her head, moving uneasily under him. Felix has never been a good rider. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate his mare, and she doesn’t appreciate him. Sylvain wonders how long Felix has been making his way across Faerghus like this. He wonders if he stole the horse. It’s awful not to know. “Looking for you,” Sylvain says. “They say you’re searching for the king.” Felix never could stop himself from chasing ghosts. Sylvain hates that about him. It’s just as unfair as everything else: it’s the only reason Sylvain is still here, after all.  “I am. And you should be defending Gautier territory.” “Got a message from your father,” Sylvain lies. He slides off his horse, patting her flank. Felix, clumsily, does the same. “He wants you to come home.” That part’s probably true.  Felix scoffs. “My old man can send all the messages he wants. I’m going to find the boar.” He means it. Sylvain can see that he means it, in the flinty look in his eyes, the fold of his arms, the jut of his chin as he looks up at Sylvain. It’s the saddest thing Sylvain’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of shit. “Felix,” he says. He reaches out. He can never help it, not when Felix is like this, not when he believes. Felix doesn’t flinch from Sylvain’s hand on his cheek anymore. “Sweetheart. You know he’s dead.” “Don’t call me that,” Felix says. But when he swings himself back in the saddle and Sylvain does the same, he doesn’t tell Sylvain not to follow. That’s more than good enough. 

[little-eye-guy]

sat at my desk for a few mins, then decided to stretch my legs out and lean back, which of course upset the ulcers

WAIT the ulcers often get upset the moment i stand up did i trick them into thinking i stood up…?

[skeletonzimms]

confessing that i accidentally started the ‘did jack love kent’ debate because i really want to elaborate more. so here’s my original tweet that was in response to ngozi’s check please unpopular opinions post:

I’ve thought about this a lot and this is just a thesis statement of it all so here’s my justification.

i tweeted part of this too, but with jack’s intensity and the nature of his relationship with kent i just don’t believe that he wasn’t in love with him. they don’t call him jack 110% zimmermann for nothing, and a relationship/fwb/situationship whatever you want to call it with your best friend is not the kind of thing jack would be half into.

i do think though that jack believes what he told bitty. i think this post by @bittysthesis and her tags really hit the nail on the head. like jack knows that the way he felt with kent and the way he feels with bitty are different, and he knows he loves bitty, so he deducts that he didn’t love kent. however, i think he was in love with kent, just in a very different way. jack loved kent in a very desperate and nervous way. jack knew they were never going to have a sustainable relationship. even if jack never od’d he knew that they wouldn’t be able to continue what they were doing on separate teams, and the competition of being the number one pick polluted any hopes of their relationship ever having a future. there was always an expiration date. it was a love doomed from the start, but a love nonetheless.

jack with bitty is such a strong juxtaposition to this, like obviously he has a much healthier and truly happy relationship with bitty. and i love the boy but he is not always the most in touch with his emotions (i mean it took look at his graduation) and so i don’t think it registers to him that what he felt with kent can be considered love, just a wildly different kind than what he has with bitty.

[xmcu-fietro]

anyone know any tips for hacking into that sweet adhd hyperfocused state of mind when you’re depressed and apathetic about life 🙃

[calico-kiwi]

every joel smallishbeans video i become more obsessed with joel smallishbeans

[futurecatlady97]

There’s gotta be a parallel universe where Suleman didn’t switch places with his mom on the submersible, lost both parents in the inevitable implosion, and proceeded to become a real-life Batman

[ectoplasmer]

Today in sociology we did an assignment where we had to read through statistics about marriage, reasons why people get married, divorce rates, views on how certain couples influence children, etc. and then we had questions at the end that had more to do with how *we* felt about marriage and what we thought about the other things brought up in the article and when I tell you it lowkey physically hurt to write out how I didn’t really care for marriage. good god

[trash-bin-ary]

The mental crisis yesterday somehow ended up making me understand my identity more,,, thanks crisis I guess

[rowarn]

soap x reader x simon

soap doesn't know how to make you cum on his cock so he asks his trusted lieutenant to teach him how.

sub!reader, dom!simon, switch?soap, getting fucked by soap in simon's lap, wet&messy, cumming untouched, size difference/kink, threesome, fat dick!soap, MDNI

<3 just some horny nonsense that was spinning in my brain!!!

When Simon found out that sweet Johnny was struggling with something personal and even as embarrassing as making you cum, Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain with an offer he never thought he would utter.

“I could help you out with that,” he had said, making Soap pause, mouth agape. Simon almost rescinded those words, brushing it off as a crude joke.

But then Soap spoke.

“Would you?” he asked, blue eyes glistening hopefully.

And Simon felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t make you cum, Soap had defended on the drive over to your shared flat. Soap was good with his tongue and his fingers, could make you squirt by just rubbing that sweet little spot inside your gooey cunt.

The problem was whenever Johnny got his cock in you, he just could never get it right. The pace was wrong, the angle was off, he went too deep – anything that he could do wrong, he would do wrong.

“It’s never been like this with other…partners,” Soap shyly whispered. Though it was dark in the truck, Simon knew his friend was blushing in embarrassment, “I-I don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong this time.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, Johnny,” Simon assured, shoving the door open the second Soap turned the engine off.

You and Soap lived on the top floor and the elevator ride up was stifling. Soap was fidgeting, clearly more than a little nervous about how this night was meant to go.

You and he had been together for a while – long enough to move in together. Simon wondered what finally made Soap reach out for help on this little problem after so long.

But Simon wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d wanted to get his fucking hands on you from the second you bounced into the room, radiant and so sweet in the way you shyly clung to Soap’s arm. You were precious and Simon’s not proud to admit he had gone home and tugged his cock fucking raw over the way you had batted your pretty lashes at him when you looked up at him – so much smaller than him.

He knew he would be a fucking wreck the second he had you within his grasp and fuck, he was right.

His hands were shaking as he held you in his lap, gripping your knees to keep you spread wide for Soap to slot his hips between them.

You were a sensitive little thing, Simon learned. You came so easily around Soaps fingers when he worked to stretch you open for him. If you came so easily then why the fuck couldn’t Johnny get you off from his cock?

You were trembling, wide eyes teary as you watched your boyfriend carefully work his cock into you. The stretch was always so good, always making your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt was so slick and sticky, eagerly swallowing every inch of Soap. So fucking messy. It made Simon's mouth fill with saliva at the sight of how wet you were, he wanted to taste you so badly.

Johnnys cock was fat, thick and heavy, no doubt burning your poor little cunt with how wide he had you stretched around him. You creamed around him, juices dribbling down his balls and wetting his sweatpants. You even dripped all over Simon who held you in his lap.

When Johnny started thrusting, Simon immediately understood why you couldn't seem to cum. Sure, it felt good, and you were moaning - twitching and gasping every time Soap sunk in and brushed against any sweet little spot inside. But Soaps rhythm and pace were inconsistent and he didn't seem to have any idea how to aim his cock to really hit those gooey spots that would have you falling over the edge into bliss.

Simon took a few moments to admire the scene unfolding right in his lap. You, creaming all over a cock that couldn't make you cum. Soap desperately humping your pretty cunt haphazardly and sloppily. He wasn't even bothering to touch your clit. Beneath his mask, Simon grinned.

It was so cute how Johnny went so stupid the second he got his cock wrapped up in a tight, hot pussy.

“Johnny…” Simon finally spoke, “Slow down.”

Immediately, Soap did as he was told. His pace slowed, careful rolls of his hips replacing the jackhammering.

“There's a good boy,” Simon praised, eyes darkening at the sight of Soap’s ears turning red, “Go nice ‘nd deep You gotta hit all those nice spots inside.”

Soap’s pretty, blue eyes were half-lidded as he watched you writhe and twitch in his Lieutenant’s arms. With every deep stroke, both of them could hear the sticky, wet noises of your pussy swallowing every inch.

One of Simon’s hands trailed down your thigh, inching down and down. Soap’s eyes followed every movement until his fingers finally found your hard little clit. Immediately, your cunt clamped down around Soap’s cock and the Scot moaned.

“You gotta touch this cute little clit,” Simon teased, “If you really wanna know how it feels to have a pretty cunt cum around you.”

Soap nonsensically nodded, blunt nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from fucking you like a madman again. He kept Simon’s words in mind - deep and slow. Aim for those little spots. He knows where they are, he knows where it feels good. Just don't think with his cock - that's all he had to do.

With Simon’s callused fingers swirling over your sticky clit and Soap’s fat cock stuffing you full just right, it came as no surprise when you finally came.

Soap wasn't able to stand how good it felt with how tight you were squeezing around him, pulsing through every wave of your orgasm. You were gushing, creaming sticky and wet all over him. Simon could feel you clit twitching under the pads of his fingers.

With a shout, Soap filled you up with his load, “Fuck!”

As the two of you came down, Simon’s big hands carefully stroked up and down your thighs until their trembling ceased.

“You know, Lt,” Soap panted, looking up at him through his lashes, “I think I could use a little more hands on training. How about you really show me how it's done.”

Even though Simon had quietly came in his own pants, his cock was chubbing up again at those words.

“I like the sound of that, Seargent.”

do not modify translate, or repost to other websites. reblogs welcome!

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ hot, hot summer !

in which you got the offer of a lifetime—takes place in 2006-2009 era! @mrrpmiao miao, you’re so responsible for the brain worm you’ve instilled in my mind🙂‍↕️

a part of gojo's love entries

summer is as hot as you are pretty.

it’s an undisputed fact to satoru. after all, he chose you. so of course you were the best. he supposed even strangers here would eventually come to realize it too… as it wasn’t the first time their kind had done so.

kamakura beach was packed in summer, and he stepped away a bit to get you shaved ice only to come back to this appalling sight.

“miss! ooh! you’re so gorgeous!”

this suspicious-looking middle-aged man—with goatee, long tied hair, wearing palm shirt and beach shorts—approached you so merrily as you were chilling under the parasol.

“ah thank you…?” you pasted a taut smile, totally clueless and spooked, hoping he would go on his way.

“i mean it! your body is so—wow!” the man gasped dramatically, appraising you from head to toe. “your bust—it’s perfect! you’d make a good cover girl, you know!”

you were wearing the bikini of the same brand inoue waka endorsed at satoru’s insistence, and true, it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

his sore eyes, specifically. not others.

satoru scowled, and he marched towards where you were. he would do his job as always—chasing away no-good men from you.

“hey you,” he barked. “what business do you have with my girl here?”

the bearded man regarded him with surprise, before he assessed him from top to bottom. “oh! you’re mr. boyfriend? whoa, you don’t look bad yourself!”

“if you’re trying to bother my—”

“no, no! you’ve got the wrong idea!” the man defended, raising both hands in surrender. “you see, i’m about to offer the pretty lady a gig as a gravure model!”

wha? you gaped. satoru blinked.

“m-me?” you stammered, flabbergasted, pointing at yourself. “uh, are you sure?”

“yes! 100% sure!” the agent man replied with stars in his eyes. “miss, with your assets, you’ll outshine even inoue waka or kaoru sakurako themselves!”

“really?!” you almost laughed. it was a strange compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

but next to you, satoru’s face darkened, his eyes obscured. his fists clenched around the paper bowl of shaved ice so hard it shook. the next thing you know—

“here, hold this.” he suddenly shoved the shaved ice to you, before he plucked his sandal off and—

“YOU!” satoru raised the flip-flop above his head, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to swing it at the man. “GET LOST YOU SLIMY BOZO!”

“—?! WAIT, YOUNG MAN!”

and then came the most disastrous scene before you: your boyfriend chased the agent with his sandal, throwing it at him that it bonked his head, then grabbed someone’s big-ass water gun without permission and continued the pursuit, determined to catch him.

. . .

“how could you?! why do you seem even remotely interested!?” satoru fierily questioned you after he was done cooking the gravure video agent, panting and sopping wet. in the end, the two of them got into a water gun fight that ended with him winning.

you turned to him, feigning an unimpressed expression. “he said i can outshine inoue waka. who wouldn’t want that chance?”

“you can’t!” he retorted almost immediately, aghast. “i mean, yeah you can! but no! no way! you can’t flaunt your body for everyone to see!”

“why?”

“you are mine!” he pouted hard, irked. “i don’t want to share you! you are for the consumption of my eyes only!”

his blatant response made you giddy, truthfully. and as if to stress his point, he suddenly pulled you to his chest from behind, wrapping both arms around you, making you squeal.

“satoru, you’re wet!”

“so? when i marry you someday, we’re going to share a lot of things together. wet is one of them.”

“does this mean you’d pick me over inoue waka?” you threw him a suggestive smile, looking up at him expectantly.

his face then turned pink, as he smooched you in the head. “you know the answer to that, dummy.”

who would have thought that he would really keep his promise and that you'd come to the same beach years later...?

[bratbby333]

choso kamo — the boy next door

synopsis you were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. but choso liked it that way. cw nsfw, stalking, somnophilia, voyeurism, overstimulation, dirty talk, cream pie wc 4.1k

author note i received three separate requests for pervy!choso, dom!choso, and boynextdoor!choso so i decided to combine them into one story to celebrate hitting 250 followers! eeek i love y'all so much, i hope this scratches the right itch in y'alls brains ♡ proofread and edited up by my favorite person in the known cosmos: @remlionheart *+:｡.｡ thank you for pushing me to finish this

Choso was a constant fixture in your life. For as long as you could remember, it was always you and him. His house neighbored yours and your families had become close over the past fifteen years. Your childhoods were intertwined, filled with joint pool parties, barbecues, and movie nights. The two of you even shared a babysitter when your parents would go out on double dates. You carpooled to school, played in the cul-de-sac until the streetlamps came on, snuck through each other's windows when your parents thought you were sleeping; inseparable. You guys even ended up at the same university after graduating high school. You were finally home for the summer and you couldn’t wait to spend time with your best friend, uninterrupted by the hecticness of college.

A brisk knock resonated through your home, the door answered by your mother. 

“Hey! It’s so nice to see you again,” Choso grinned, nodding gently as he stepped into your foyer. You perked up at the sound of his voice echoing through your house. It was difficult to see one another as much as you had wanted this semester; you both explored different hobbies and found separate friend groups while in college, but you always made sure to find the time. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, though; the stress of final exams kept the two of you apart. It had been far too long.

“How have you been, honey? How was your semester?” your mother chirped as she engulfed him in a quick embrace. The two of them shared genial words as they caught up with one another. They continued to chat before being interrupted by the heavy sounds of your excited feet thumping down the staircase. He turned to greet you, only to be entrapped in a bearhug, the momentum pushed his body into the wall behind him.

“Choso! Missed you so much,” you squealed, voice muffled as you buried your face into his chest. You breathed him in, the familiar scent of his cologne dancing through your nose. His cheek found the top of your head as his warm hands rubbed gentle circles into your back, rocking you side to side. Your mother smiled with adoration at the two of you. He squeezed you tight before he pulled away, peering down at you. You noticed a light dusting of pink that surfaced on his skin as you looked up at him, but chalked it up to the sweltered heat of summertime.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he replied before returning his gaze to your mother while still holding on to you. ”Exams were tough but I’m happy that it’s finally over,” he added.

His attention fell back to you as his hands rubbed against your arms, “But, I’m all yours for the summer!”

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You sat next to him on the floor, backs pressed against the foot of your bed. The two of you shared a pizza as a silly rom-com played on your TV. You took turns catching up on each other’s lives while the film faded into background noise. You felt renewed in his presence, the youthful glow of his features reminded you of how he was when he was younger. But your chest began to ache as you thought about how the time you spent with one another would become harder and harder to come by. The conversation lulled a bit, and you willed yourself to voice your concerns to Choso.

“Sometimes I wish we could go back to how things were,” you blurted, hands fidgeting with the pizza box. Choso quirked his eyebrow at the statement. You met his gaze, smiling softly, bringing your knees to your chest. You sighed deeply. Being away from him hurt more than you thought it would, and you never recognized how much you needed him until you saw less of him.

“I miss being a kid…I miss the way we were,” you continued, “Not a single care in the world. I feel like the older we get, the less we’ll see each other. I don’t want that, Cho,” you mumbled, reextending your legs. His heart thrummed at your earnest confession as he leaned forward and captured your hand in his.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere…I can promise you that, sweetheart,” he reassured, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. 

The conversation quieted, his words of consolation seemed to ease your mind enough for you to fixate on the screen. He watched you through his peripherals as you giggled at the corniness of the movie. Choso tried his hardest to follow along, but there you were, sat before him in a thin tank top and skimpy pajama shorts. He sent a silent “thank you” to the heavens; the record-high heatwave that plagued your city gifted him such a magnificent sight.

He side-eyed you, his vision tracing along your body. He took another bite of his pizza as he drank you in; dinner and a show. His vision followed every dip and curve of your almost fully exposed legs. He was thankful that you felt comfortable enough around him to dress how you pleased, but his dark heart wished you were sitting in just a thong, or better yet, fully nude. His eyes meandered north, hovering over the peaks of cleavage that your shirt didn’t cover. He swallowed thickly, nearly choking on his food when another giggle erupted from you, your breasts bouncing as you laughed.

He smiled inwardly, your fear of losing him warmed his heart. He wasn’t going anywhere. How else would he be able to see you like this; all nostalgic for him, the desperate expression on your face sent waves of arousal through his veins. His desire to know how you’d look splayed out underneath him rocketed through his body as he envisioned your fucked out face when he feathered hot, wet kisses along your neck and plunged two thick fingers deep inside you…how pretty you’d look just for him. What sounds would you make when his throbbing cock was fully enveloped in your gushy walls? Would you whimper and whine? Would you cry out for him? Rake your nails down his torso with your eyes blown wide? He so badly craved the answers to his searing questions.

Your laughter panged through his chest, snapping him out of his trance. You were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. But he liked it that way. You continued to sit so good for him, eyes casted toward the TV. If only you knew the innocent relationship you had manifested in that sweet little mind of yours was one-sided. For him, it was dirty–downright filthy and sinful. But you would never know that.

Blood rushed between his legs as he shifted on the floor. The movie had about twenty minutes left; he was trying to hold out until then. He was desperate for release, anxiously anticipating the thick load he would shoot out at the thought of you, though he would pretend that it was going inside of you, instead. Oh, how he wanted to breed you. How soft you’d look carrying his spawn. He shook his head as he cleared his throat, single handedly fighting off every demon known to man that was telling him to pounce on you. He couldn’t. It would ruin the close friendship that took years to curate. It would kick him off the pedestal you placed him so highly on, tarnish the clean-cut version of him in your parent’s mind. He battled with his own thoughts as he mindlessly stared at the TV. 

The end credits rolled and Choso stood abruptly.

“I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay? Gotta get some sleep,” he said, readjusting his pants. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your pretty face.

“I thought you were spending the night,” you pouted, before pushing yourself off the ground.

“I know…I’m sorry, sweetheart. But knowing us, we’d stay up all night watching TV and talking instead of actually sleeping,” he played off. The ache between his legs intensified at the thought of sharing a bed with you like you usually did when he slept over. But he can’t. Not tonight…not like this. Normally he was good about keeping his composure, but tonight was different. Your puppy dog eyes didn’t help, either. He so badly wanted to see those same eyes gaze up at him while his cock was shoved down your throat. His dick pulsated against the soft fabric of his shorts as he shadowed you toward your bedroom door, taking an internal note of how good your ass looked as your shorts rode up between your plush cheeks. He nearly lost it as you skipped down the stairs, your precious mounds bouncing in all the right places. You opened the front door for him, spreading your arms to hug him goodbye. He opted for a side hug, knowing damn well you would have been able to feel his hard on from the full-frontal contact. 

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You closed the door, pressing your back against it as you wondered what had gotten into Choso this evening. He was always up for a sleepover. You shoved your hurt down, embarrassed by your apparent clinginess. A shudder ran down your spine at the thought of your neediness pushing him away. Your warm body glided toward the fridge, throwing it open and basking in the cool air as you grabbed yourself a drink. You shook the shame from your mind as you shuffled back up the stairs. You peered out your window and into Choso's room; it was dark. He must’ve gone straight to bed. You opened the bay windows to your bedroom. The cool air danced through the panes, swirling around the confines of your dwelling. You inhaled deeply before stripping down, settling peacefully atop your sheets; it was far too warm to be under the covers.  

Choso surveyed you from the comforting shadows of his room. He did this frequently before the two of you had moved away, watching you get ready for bed with a firm grip on his shaft. 

“That’s it, pretty…take it all off f’me,” he muttered. His strokes sped up as he watched you undress, the moonlight that seeped into your room illuminated your heavenly body so perfectly. He huffed as he watched you retreat to your bed, his hand stilling around his cock. The thought of you wasn’t enough for him tonight. He needed you.

An hour or so passed before he ascended the tree that stood tall next to your window. His clammy hands gripped the railings that lined your small terrace as he heaved his body over, careful not to make a sound. He had done this many times before, whether his presence was expected or unbeknownst to you. He crept through the open window and entered your room, settling himself in the chair next to your bed. Your nude frame emanated the most ethereal energy, your bare chest rose and fell rhythmically, the soft gasps that fluttered from your parted lips sent blood straight to Choso’s groin. He palmed himself through his pants, leaning back a bit to shove them down his legs. His hand paced up and down his length agonizingly slow, before he stopped dead in his tracks as soft groans emerged from your throat.

“-oso,” was all that was audible. His blood ran cold as he leaned closer to your slumbered body, ears ringing in hopes to hear more. Was that–No…it couldn’t have been. You shifted a bit, another moan breaking through the silence of your room.

“Mmm…Choso,” you whimpered dreamily, one hand moving to rest just under your navel. His heart rate spiked. He watched as your hand traced lower, snaking its way to your precious cunt. You rubbed sleepy circles in your clit as your head lulled to the side, soft, sweet whimpers dancing from your parted lips. It was now or never. He pulled his shorts back up as he situated himself on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand against your shoulder. 

You stirred a bit after a few gentle shakes of your body, your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. Your body went rigid as your eyes focused on the outline of a person sitting before you, but the familiar smell of Choso met your nose and kept you from jumping out of your skin. You closed your eyes again, the hand that was playing with your wet cunt moved over your body to grab his hand, squeezing gently. Choso nearly broke down at the contact, the stickiness that he so badly needed graced his skin, numbing his brain. 

“Hey, Cho…y’scared me. Thought you weren’t sleeping over,” you murmured. Choso’s conscious worked overtime to keep his composure leveled as he exhaled deeply. 

“Seems like you needed me, though,” he chuckled. You hummed in response, your sleep-ridden mind not registering his comment. You began to doze off once again before panic rumbled through your body as you finally recollected the dream you were just immersed in. Then the realization hit. You shot upright, tearing your hand away from Choso as you grabbed for the covers, attempting to shield your naked body from him. You clicked on your bedside lamp, turning to Choso with your brows furrowed deeply. Your best friend just caught you in the middle of a wet dream. A dream about him. Embarrassment coupled with shame as you held the sheets tight against your body. You were thoroughly confused–what was he even doing here? How much did he hear? You wanted to protest, to plead your case, to interrogate him. A million questions buzzed around your brain, but his hand was quick to cover your mouth. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. It’s just me,” he soothed. He kicked his shoes off and kneeled beside you, hand still firm against your face. Your shoulders were tense, but you relaxed a bit at the baritone voice that fell from his lips.

“Did you have a nice dream?” His question seemed rhetorical. He felt your face flush underneath his palm as you nodded slowly. He removed his hand and you spoke up immediately.

“How’d you know I–”

“Was watching you sleep,” he shrugged. “I’ve wanted you for so long…figured it was a lost cause. But it seems the feelings are mutual, huh, sweetheart?” he cooed, his body loomed over yours as his palm brushed your face, cradling your cheek.

“You were tryin’ so hard to fight it…to pretend those dirty feelings for me didn’t exist…isn’t that right?” He mused. You glanced down at his crotch, the heavy bulge pressed firm against his thin shorts. You audibly gulped, your breath caught in your throat before meeting his eyes. You nodded at him again.

“Bet you dressed like that on purpose…such a tease,” he chastised, thumbing your cheek.

“Gotta make up for lost time, yeah?” He ripped the duvet off of you and moved so he was hovering over you, your body laid out underneath him, his arms placed on either side of your head. 

“Cho…I—we shouldn’t,” your voice wavered, suddenly unsure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders. “I don’t wanna lose you…don’t wanna ruin what we have,” you added, worry painted across your face, eyes fluttering back and forth between his. You were splayed out beneath him, fully nude, every dark secret of yours laid out in front of Choso. The hungry look in his eyes caused your arousal to drip onto the sheets beneath you. 

“Wanted this for years, pretty girl. I already told you I’m not goin’ anywhere,'' his head dipped down to lick a thick stripe down your neck. “You gonna let me take care of you now?” he questioned, lips pressed against your flesh, nipping at the sensitive skin. Your back arched immediately at the sensation. You moaned softly in response as you ran your hands up and down his toned back. 

“Tell me, pretty girl,” his fingers danced down your body, teasing the skin around your core. “Tell me you want me as much as I’ve wanted you,” he whispered in your ear. 

“W-want you…Cho. So bad…needed you for s-so long,” you begged, your brain fogged and voice airy while your hands clawed desperately at his back. He smirked at you as he sat back on his heels, tearing his clothes from his body. Your eyes dragged up and down the man you had grown up with. A part of you knew how you felt about him, knew how much you needed him. But you didn’t understand the full depth of that need until he was kneeled before you, perspiration glistening along his toned body as he repositioned, laying himself along the bed, his face settled right above your dripping cunt. The way he looked at you through his luscious, jet-black lashes set your pounding heart ablaze. 

You couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. All you could feel were the sharp aches in your core as he teasingly ran his fingers through your slit. He smiled against your thigh as he plunged his fingers in immediately. You gasped at the intrusion before succumbing to the pleasure as the pads of his fingers massaged your sweet spot.

There was a sense of urgency behind his movements; the lack of time he gave you to adjust to the stretch, the way he was thrusting so fervently into you and how hungrily he bit at your flesh–it was overwhelming. He pumped into you, tirelessly working to coax an orgasm out of you. The first of many. He tilted his head down to watch his fingers disappear inside of you. He used his other hand to rub your sensitive clit, before quickly replacing it with his tongue. He wanted to drink you in for as long as he could, your juices satiating the hungriest part of him.  

His eyes blew wide, “Fuck–you’re so sweet, pretty girl,” he breathed, lapping at your core. He needed more, needed you to fall apart on all of him–his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You were going to take everything he gave you. You cried out for him, your hips spasming against the bed. He grinned before latching back on to your clit, sucking harshly, working into you like it was his life’s mission to please you. And in his mind, it was. He was set on releasing a decade’s worth of pent-up frustration on your pretty little body.

“F-fuck Cho–ah!–I’m gonna…” your voice trailed off as your pussy clenched down on his fingers. He groaned at the tightness, tongue still swirling around your sensitive bud. A shudder ran down your spine as your orgasm ripped through your body. He continued to pump into you, suckling harshly against your clit before swirling around your entrance to ensure he drank up every drop. 

He knew he should wait and give you time to recover. But the way your body twitched and writhed for him ripped away the sense of gentleness and morality that he usually had. It was all too much. He wanted to ruin you, to punish you for holding out on him for so long. He needed to be balls deep, needed to mold you around his cock–he had waited years for this. He sat up abruptly, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist as he lined himself up with your soaked entrance. Your chest heaved and your eyelids grew heavy while your body worked through the comedown. He pushed into you, fully sheathing himself inside your pulsating walls. Your eyes widened while your hands pushed against his abdomen. 

“Wait, Cho–”

“S’okay, sweet girl. I got you…focus on me,” he soothed, his pelvis flush against you as he took a hold of your wrists, pushing them over your head and pressing them against the headboard. He found an unrelenting tempo in you. You body spasmed and squirmed at his pace, jolting each time his thick cock brushed against your still sensitive g-spot. He was stuffed so deep inside of you, savoring the way your messy pussy sucked him in. He released your hands and leaned back, finding his bearings on your hip bones, pulling you toward him to meet his thrusts. Grunts rumbled from deep in his chest as he felt you clench around him. He looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, the squelching sounds and labored moans that filled the room made him choke.

“Nasty fuckin’ girl…you’re lovin’ this aren’t ya?” he teased. You couldn’t fathom a response. Your body had passed the point of overstimulation as his brutal pace pulled another earth-shattering orgasm from your wrecked body, painting his abdomen with your squirt. He dropped his head back, animalistic sounds flying past his lips as the warm spray splattered onto his skin. He pulled out of you before shoving right back in. You cried out, body trying to squirm out of grasp.

“C-can’t…s’too much,” you sobbed out. You meant it, it was too much. But the pleasure that clawed its way through your trembling frame was unreal; addictive, even. He simultaneously numbed your body and made you feel every sensation in the known universe. 

“Uh uh…almost done, pretty–stay right there,” he growled, “Just give me one more.” He wanted to live in this moment forever. Every stolen glance, dirty thought, and shameful ejaculation to the thought of you was nothing compared to the way your pretty little pussy clenched around him. He had ached over the mere thought of you for years and his body brimmed with arousal at his darkest dreams coming to fruition. And though he wanted to paint your sloppy walls with his thick seed, the wanton desire for you overpowered his need for release.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull as your shaking hands searched for any part of him to hold on to. You were a panting mess, fat tears running down your face. And it was all for him. He was drunk on the way your fucked out face lazily looked up at him as you fell apart on his cock. He made quick work of burning that image on the inside of his eyelids.

“Doin’ so good. Stay with me, sweetheart,” he grunted, his hips slamming into you. It was so sloppy now…so nasty. He fucked into you with feverish passion, and your body shook as the coils in your tummy crept up once again. 

“C’mon…just one more. Know you can do it,” he urged, his aching cock absolutely obliterating you. His fingertips gripped your flesh so tightly, he prayed it would bruise. He hoped his mark would be left on you, an aching reminder that you belonged to him. You always had. He fucked into you, his tip kissing your cervix so perfectly. You cried out, clenching down on him again, your third orgasm crashing through you in a blinding haze. 

“S-shit…so good. God–you’re fuckin’ milking me,” he growled out as he twitched inside, swears and praises cascaded from his parted lips as he chased his own release. It only took a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered against you and he finished deep inside, pumping you full of his cum. He remained sheathed within your walls, his palms running up and down your dazed out frame.

He leaned down, catching your lips in a needy, wet kiss. You were stunned into silence, your body cemented to the bed, convinced that you had lucidly dreamed this entire ordeal. You winced at the ache of Choso finally pulling out, missing the deep stretch of his cock as he leaned over to scour your drawers for a rag to clean you up. He feathered gentle kisses after each pass of the cloth. He laid by your side and you curled into him immediately, his arms snaking around your fragile body. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whispered, breath shaking. He smiled before kissing the top of your head. “But I’m so happy it did,” you added, pressing yourself deeper into his side as his fingers brushed along your skin, soothing you toward a deep, satisfying slumber. Choso reveled in the dream-like trance he found himself in. His heart soared at his achievement that was years in the making, his body crossing the line that divided reality with heaven. He finally got you, and he was never, ever letting you go.

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

author notes: thank you so so so much for 250 followers...i literally cannot believe it. if i could remove a piece of my heart and send it to y'all i would

my inbox is open and i'm always working thru my requests, feel free to send your suggestions here ☾

every like, comment, and reblog makes me sob uncontrollably...your support means the world to me xx

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