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should i eat first or shower first *has phone in couch time for another 3 hours due to choice procrastination, a behavioral phenomenon observed in pigeons and rats as well*

lookin' dolly i think i may go out tonight

tags: raf x reader, established relationship! domestic fluff, kissing his face to test kiss-proof lippies, raf is drunk on ur lips!

hiii this is my first fic here omg! i just needed this out of my brain omg i've been thinking about loopy raf... hazy and just thinking about getting kissed...

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“Raf, turn— here, let me—“

You pull his face closer and turn it slightly to the side where there’s a spot on his cheek that’s still clean of any marks.

Smooch.

You kiss him firmly there, leaving another set of lip shaped stain on his otherwise pristine fair skin.

“Hm, still leaves a mark…”

You let his face go, and you don’t note how quiet Rafayel had gotten. You rub your lips gently, using a soft cleansing wipe, and then grab another lip product from the box that Aunt Talia sent. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, from your seat on his lap, his arms wrapped in some way or another on your waist.

Aunt Talia has got a lot of PR packages from makeup brands, but there’s certain shades she doesn’t really wear. So she sends them to you, for you to pick whichever ones you liked. 

This particular product glides smoothly onto your lips. There’s a little bit of cherry fragrance although not strong, and the colour’s a bit too dark, but you can imagine a bolder makeup look that would compliment this colour.

Perhaps you can wear it to one of Rafayel’s banquet whenever. 

You grab Rafayel’s face again, and you finally notice his silence. His eyes are hazy and there’s a lazy smile on his face. He giggles as your fingers grip tighter on his cheeks, puckering his lips. Feeling mischievous, you eye him, “What are you smiling about?”

You don’t wait for his answer because it’s obvious why. So you only lean closer, and kiss him firm and square on the corner of his top lip, where there’s still a bit of pale skin instead of shades of pink or red. 

He giggles again, and it’s loopy, “Hehe. Wife, somft.”

You pull back and look at him dreamily, he’s a mess of lipstick stains, a stray lip shaped stain on his neck, and even on the mole on his chest, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Yeah?” You chirp with a lilt in your voice. It’s playful and not at all serious. Your fingers rub gently on his skin, and if Rafayel was a little more sober, he’d say he’s not purring.

But like this, he’s pliant and relaxed, his body basically melted like butter into the couch. He didn’t even consume any alcohol. Drunk and hazy solely from your kisses.

His hands squeeze your waist, once, and then twice, and you hum in contentment.

“This one also leaves a stain. When will we find one that’s kiss-proof?” You ask and you pretend you’re exasperated. Like it’s such a shame that there’s no kiss-proof lippie from the box from Aunt Talia.

“Ihopenoneofthemarekiss-proof.”

“What was that?” You ask with mirth. Now you’re both a mess of giggles.

He doesn’t answer and instead he grabs the lippie from your hand, and swipes it again onto your lip. He’s a little concentrated now, eyebrows furrowing and it’s so adorable, you have to hold yourself back from attacking him with your lips while he’s applying the lipstick.

Finally, he puts the lipstick away, and then he pulls your face closer to him, initiating the kiss first this time. But this kiss lasts longer than a few seconds, it’s not intended for a kiss-proof test, but instead it’s a passionate push and pull of your lips, to pour his fondness into you in one of the ways he knew how.

You let yourself fall into it, closing your eyes and humming into his mouth. You tilt your head a little and pull yourself closer to him, straddling him, his hips between the plush of your thighs. His hands roam under your shirt, mapping your skin. His touches are warm, just like his breaths against your lips each time he dives in for another kiss.

Pulling away, breathless, you gaze into his eyes again. Still loopy and hazy. Perhaps you are too now.

“You look drunk.” You offhandedly mention it, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair on the back of his neck. He chuckles, but it’s breathy and his fingers squeeze the skin of your waist. 

“I’m drunk on your kisses, my sweet darling. The strongest liquor can’t compare to these addicting lips.” His hand comes up to cup your face then, thumb grazing on your lip, and then the pad of his finger swipes the product off your lips, smudging it to the side of your lip.

“We still haven’t found a kiss-proof lipstick. If we don’t find one, then I think you’ll have my kiss marks more times than not when we’re out for your public appearances…”

“Promise?” He smirks and it’s one of the times you will not admit it gets your heart palpitating. Even if Rafayel flirts like this more often these days, you don’t seem to be able to get used to it. Rafayel probably doesn’t want you to either.

Thus, the only logical response is to playfully punch his chest.

“Ow! Cutie!” He pretends it hurts and pays you back by tickling your sides.

Falling back against his soft couch, he falls forward with you, his fingers still attacking your ticklish spots. Perhaps the kiss-proof lipstick test will have to wait some other day.

Starting a collection

Who would win: Person who has auditory processing issues vs. somebody who doesn't know basic vocabulary and explains everything with twice as many words as necessary with 50% less precision.

If you were to drown in the river today by tomorrow morning you’d wash up at my front door. Why the river washed you here I could only speculate, only you’d know the truth.

Some are delivered softly, kindly, cradled like a mother about to surrender her child to a home she knows she cannot supply herself.

Some come battered and bruised, thrown to the rocks by a current that couldn’t wait to be rid of such a burden. Most I find in the early morning when the water has slowed to a still.

Each morning I wake to find dead strangers in the water, on my porch, in my marigolds. I’ve grown accustomed to this decay, gentler in the wake of glassy eyes and cold hands. However they find me, all are a gift and all will find rest in my home. I realize now I should have said more to you, about the day the river gave you to me.

How I imagine the Subnautica development team

okay it’s come to my attention that absolutely NONE OF YOU know ANYTHING about how cutie marks work. let me say this simply. a cutie mark isn’t a job being assigned, it’s a special TALENT OR SKILL that the pony enjoys. Most of the time it has a directly transferable job for that skill, like if you enjoy baking and are super good at it WOW! baker. If you are really good at writing and telling stories, author. However, there are some cutie marks that could go multiple ways.

twilight sparkle has exceptional magic ability, so she became a scholar, but she could really do anything that required a good magic skill. same with rainbow dash, her weather controlling job isn’t directly linked to her cutie mark, but it does fit the bill for the job.

i was posed the question of what would a murderer pony’s cutie mark be and wouldn’t everyone know. NO. if somehow murder were to be a special skill, the cutie mark might be something like a knife or a shovel. other ponies might just assume you’re good a cooking or gardening. now with cutie marks like apple jacks, their family has a ‘green thumb’ kind of deal so obviously the cutie mark would be hereditary.

so, the reason i made this post. walter white pony’s cutie mark would NOT be blue crystals. it would be a CHEMISTRY FLASK.

losing my shit over this

A friend has once again brought it to my attention that it is unusual to have an intact chronological memory of life prior to age 12 and you know what’s weird to ME is that the rest of yall forgot how to sing the clean-up song

A couple of freehand filler patches 🧷🦷