#its the little soft things..........

[puppyeared]

doodles of my fav sillies

anton belongs to @poicyss

[skitskatdacat63]

these made me have a mental breakdown at 3 am tbh

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wormie wormie wormie wormi-

[buqbite]

I like to imagine that her gentleness is genuine

[hitlikehammers]

intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass  ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

divider credit here

[rainymoodlet]

a lot of y’all have been commenting on baby boy’s glow-up 🥹 here seen with his favorite rescue horse and best gal, charger 🏜️

[waterfallofspace]

don't know how to format this post so welcome to waterfall is craving things and she doesn't know if it's more h-rny or lonely so enjoy a little snippet of what is playing on loop in my mind~

Person A: tshhieew!

Person B: Bless you, poor little thing~

Person A: I'm- eshh'iew! tschh- kngt'shhew! I'm not little!

Person B: Even if you aren't, your sneezes sure are~

Person A, blushing: No they're- eh'tnshiew! aeshh'iee!

Person B, with a smirk: What a poor, sneezy little thing~

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tom & B'Elanna give off closeted gay vibes in that I think if you asked them to describe their ideal woman and man they would respectively describe a swimsuit model (bonus: who's Not Like Other Girls) and the lead in some sort of romantic novel. Nothing even close to a real person. The most generic you can get about straight romantic and sexual attraction.

[fuckingstupidbracket]

like a regular bin, not even recycled or anything

[mooncheese3]

[chaos-mybeloved]

Just a soft Rafe Cameron drabble

“Why are you being nice, Rafe Cameron?” you ask. He is currently on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk picking up the books he made you drop. You had bumped into a firm chest on your way out of the bookstore and you had lost your grip; the contents of your recent purchase spreading out on the ground. Rafe had taken one look down at you and suddenly he was mumbling out apologies and dropping to one knee. He had all your books back in the bag before you could even think to bend down and grab them yourself. 

“What do you mean? I’m always nice,” he replies. You raise an eyebrow at him but take the bag from his outstretched hand nonetheless. “Well,” he continues, “I’m always nice to you.”

You want to laugh because it's true. Everyone on this island has been on the receiving end of Rafe Cameron’s temper before, but never you. Maybe being neighbours for your entire life afforded you some privileges no one else has. 

“You’re right, thank you, Rafe,” you smile at him. He ducks his head, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. You can see the blush spreading across his cheeks but you choose to ignore it.  You move to step around him but he grabs your arm. You stop, waiting, but he just stares at you.

“Rafe?”

“Shit, sorry, uhh, I just wanted to apologize for missing your birthday last weekend. The boys wanted an excuse to drink and then Barry came over and it turned into this big thing and—”

“Rafe,” you interrupt, “you don’t owe me an explanation. I didn’t even think you remembered my birthday.”

“We used to always spend it together, remember?” 

Of course, you remember. How could you forget beach days with Rafe on your birthday, the only time he ever surfed with you? Or trips to the mainland just for that one ice cream parlour you mentioned you liked? Most of the jewelry you’re wearing right now came from a birthday gift from Rafe. You could never forget. 

“I remember, but that was a long time ago. We’re not really those kids anymore, are we?” 

“Shit, yea, yea, you’re right. But—” he lets out a sharp breath “—what if I want to be those kids again?” 

You sigh, “Rafe.”

“Come on, I gave you space and time like you said you needed. Just give me a chance. I can be good. I know, okay, I know you’ve heard the rumours and stuff about me but I’m not really like that. You know me.”  He steps closer until you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. You remember when the two of you were the same height. Sometimes, you want to go back to those days. The days when he wasn’t Rafe Cameron, kook prince. Days when he was just a boy and you were just a girl. 

“Fine,  just one date.”

[puppyeared]

modern au ft @crow-cap's oc sailor <3

the wood markings on xins face were inspired by @zah-likes-tea's art of them hehe

[prapais]

pai and his voice @ his brother: 😡📈 pai and his voice @ sky: 🥺📉

[peachym00]

one year later

Pete has some thoughts about his relationship with Vegas, one year since it began.

A bright light in the early morning awakens Pete.

Neither of them remembered to close the curtains before they went to sleep. The sheer netting over the windows does nothing to block out the sunbeam filtering over them. And so, at 05:57 in the morning, the sunrise pours in, waking Pete from his restful slumber.

Somehow Vegas never seemed to be affected.

Pete wrenches his eyelids open, squinting at the brightness whilst Vegas snores happily. It was a weekly argument for them, but it didn’t stop it from repeatedly happening.

Though on this morning, as he sighed through his usual routine of willing himself to get out of bed to close the stupid curtains, Pete felt different. As he opened his eyes, though tired and capable of hours more sleep, he didn’t feel the same urgency to close them again.

Pete stretched his body, the tingle of his muscles loosening, shooting all the way down to his toes. He was laid out flat, and he turned to find Vegas on his side facing him. His back was to the window, which would explain how he was still asleep, though Pete knew this didn’t actually matter, he could shine a torch directly in Vegas’s face, and if he was sleeping deep enough, he would not wake up.

Pete couldn’t help but stare at how relaxed Vegas looked. It had taken a long time for Vegas to show any kind of tranquillity, and even now, it was still a work in progress. For both of them, if he’s being honest.

Their journey so far had not been easy, and its continuation wouldn’t pretend to be. There would always be room for sadness and crippling bouts of anger in-between all the tenderness that their relationship holds. It was incandescent, in a way, almost too bright and too hot, like a phenomenon too inexplainable to anyone willing to listen.

When things were tough, and life was harsh, Pete would often wonder what it would be like if he’d chosen a different path. What it would be like if he hadn’t accepted the job as a main family bodyguard and if every choice he’d made so far hadn’t led him to where he was today. But imagining a world where Vegas wasn’t the very being that kept him tethered to the ground was impossible. Because even though the red strings of fate had only allowed their lives to be intertwined for such a short amount of time, it felt as if they’d been together for years, centuries even. And thinking of a life where Vegas did not hold him close was unimaginably lonely.

And perhaps that was the most terrifying thing he’d ever faced; to be so devoted to someone that it would kill you to lose them.

Sometimes it felt like Pete was walking through a dream and that nothing in his life was real. Vegas would do something mundane, like drool on Pete’s shoulder after falling asleep through Iron Man 3, and it would be so wholly human, so normal, that it would feel like Pete was making it up.

Their entire lives had been anything but ordinary, from their childhoods to their careers; nothing about how they’d lived could be considered normal. This was why Pete struggled to accept that this was something his life had become. To think that he was allowed the simple pleasure of a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on when he was sad, and lips that would kiss him simply because they wanted to was something that, at times, Pete struggled to accept.

Choice wasn’t something he was used to. But choosing to spend the rest of his life with Vegas was something he would never regret.

And even now, as he chose to admire the sunlight sweeping over Vegas’s slowly waking form instead of getting out of bed, Pete couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Vegas had been growing his hair out, and it fell across his forehead in dark strands. His hand was underneath his pillow as his other reached out towards Pete as if Vegas was making sure he stayed close, even as they slept. He looked at this man in his bed, and his breath was taken away because this was his. Vegas and his heart, soul, and very being belonged to Pete, as Pete’s heart, soul, and very being belonged to Vegas.

Nobody in the world but Pete got to have this, this exact moment, with this exact man, in this exact life.

And it was divine.

“It’s fucking bright in here,” Vegas grumbled, his voice croaking, squinting his eyes open as he grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled him close.

“It wouldn’t be if you closed the curtains last night,” Pete muttered, pressing himself to Vegas as close as physically possible, hiding a smile into his sternum as he imagined Vegas rolling his eyes.

“Why is it only my fault? You could have done it,” Vegas’s lips pressed to his temple, and Pete felt like he was glowing with happiness. “Oh wait, no, you couldn’t; your legs were shaking so much after I–”

Pete punched him in the arm. “So you admit it is your fault I woke up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning when I could still be peacefully knocked out.”

Instead of answering, he felt Vegas smile against his temple, and Pete closed his eyes, using Vegas’s neck to block out the light from the window.

“Go back to sleep,” Vegas whispered, holding him tighter, stroking his hand up and down Pete’s back.

Pete did not need to be told twice.

Then when Pete wakes up again, the bed is empty, but their room is blissfully dark.

And it may have only been one year since the cataclysmic start of their relationship, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s a mere blip in their timeline. Their journey will be long and hard and riddled with obstacles, but it will also be full of warm tenderness, bright laughter, and a love that will last a lifetime.

And that, for Pete, is everything.

[thatonebipotato]

more of this goober. i am SO inconsistent with and bad at drawing Teekl LMAO

[tragicotps]

"We must help her, Asriel." "For Lyra."