[ID: an illustration of a person watering plants serenely. The words ‘I’m tending to my memory garden, remembering the good and the bad’ is written across the top and the bottom. The watering can is labelled ‘thought juice’. The plant pots from left to right are labelled ‘old friends’, ‘my very first pet’ and ‘the day I got fired’. ]
today I used the phrase "breasting boobily" in casual real life conversation and everyone was shocked asking how I came up with that and I had to explain it. ive been at the devil's sacrament so long that I forgot he wasn't god
A gust of cold air rushes in as Luigi opens the front door, returning from his run. The sound of his sneakers hitting the hardwood fades as he walks into the dining room, finding you applying Mod Podge to seal an acrylic painting that's been taking over your evenings for weeks. He pauses, wanting to walk over and compliment the way the colors seem to pulse under the lamplight, to ask what exactly you were trying to capture this time. Impulsively, you want to ask about his run, to ask him if his new shoes improved his pace today. Instead, the two of you make prolonged eye contact, hovering in that silent mutual awareness, and briskly return to your respective tasks; the hypothetical interaction quickly dissipating.
Mid-shower, Luigi grabs your shampoo out of habit, the scent hitting him before he even opens the bottle. He holds it there for a second, realizing he hasn't been close to you in what feels like forever. The past few nights have been quiet in the worst way: you sleeping over at a friend's house or sleeping with him so far apart that the bed might as well be empty, your backs turned like separate islands. He rinses his hair a little too quickly, stepping out with a towel clung wearily around his waist. Fog blooming around him, he wipes the glass and simply stares at himself in front of the mirror. The thought of keeping his distance feels stupid, petty, even.
Changing into his pajamas, he wanders into the kitchen and grabs two La Croix. Using the fridge door as a partial cover, he leans back and inspects you, trying to decipher your mood. He takes your tongue pressing your top lip in concentration as a good sign, completely oblivious to his calculations. He opens both sparkling waters, offering one to you as a peace offering disguised as routine. You're receptive, taking a sip despite your dislike for the flavor. Taking a seat and resting his elbows on the dining table, he simply watches as you clean up your supplies.
“Did you eat?”
“Yup.”
A pause settles in the air.
“Do you want help?”
“No thanks.”
He slowly nods his head, looking around the room, fingers drumming the table like he’s trying to outpace the silence. Watching his awkwardness was borderline painful.
“Do you want to talk?” You ask, collecting your brushes.
“I shouldn’t have said half of what I did. I’m sorry.” It spills out as if it was torture to keep to himself.
“It's okay. I'm just,” you take a deep breath, crossing your arms. “I felt like a show pony. Like everything I do is performative. That hurts, Luigi.” You expressed your feelings just like you discussed with your friends at your sleepover. “And I’m sorry for picking a fight. That just really set me off.”
“I know, I know.” He says, taking a large sip of his drink. “I think I was just overwhelmed by how much went into it. I hate feeling like I’m trailing behind or not being helpful.”
“Next time, just say you’re overwhelmed. Don’t turn it into something ugly.”
He nods, eyes on the floor. “Okay.”
You push back your chair and stand, bringing your cups of paint water to the sink. He unintentionally follows, watching you rinse and dry your tools. As he steps behind you, you shut off the water, turning your body to face him.
“I know the toast I made was embarrassing. I’m sorry I did that to you.” You admit, pressing your forehead into his chest. He immediately pushes your shoulders back, forcing eye contact.
“Don't say that, it wasn't. I shouldn't have let them talk about you like that. I’ll be better.” He murmurs.
The two of you embrace in a large hug, Luigi pressing his nose into your hair.
“We should have talked it out sooner. I was sniffing your shampoo in the shower.” He breaks the silence, eliciting an earnest laugh from you.
Slowly, Luigi lifts your chin and kisses you, not dominating, but savoring every moment. Your hands travel up and under his shirt, feeling his warmth and wanting more. Suddenly, you're being lifted onto the counter as if you weigh nothing, Luigi taking his place between your legs like a puzzle piece. He gently holds your jaw, breaking the kiss to insert two fingers into your mouth. You happily take them, maintaining eye contact as you hold his wrist.
His fingers dive into your aching heat, thumb circling your clit. Lewd sounds filled the room as hurriedly slipped his fingers out and replaced it with his cock, setting a steady rhythm, constricted by the kitchen counter. Your familiar moans sound short and sweet, begging for more. Lifting you off the counter again, he sets you down, turning you to press your back into his chest. You arch into him as he slides his throbbing tip along your clit, plunging in to reset the previous rhythm. For support you grab his neck as he impatiently thuds into you, your moans combining with the sound of the drawers being hit. His free hand kneads your tits, adding more stimulation than you can handle.
“Lu, I’m almost there,”
“Come for me baby.”
The depth of his voice does it for you as the sensations inundate your core. Coming down from your high, you feel yourself coating him as he continues with his pace.
“Just give me a second babe,” You decide to lean forward and arch your back to give him better access, the view of your liquids mixing already doing most of the work. Luigi’s eyes squeeze shut, and with several grunts and groans you feel himself come inside you. He remains there intentionally, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.
Out of breath, he musters a steady, “I missed you.”
baratheonpilled
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
snowghoul
prguitarman
