#also bye

1. serotonin

2. good luck

3. motivation to study

hi i will have u know i am fUckiNG dyING HHEJHRBKGFHKJ I WONDER DO THEY MAKE THIS POSE PACK????? ???? asing foR a frieND?? anYwaysSYEWDRRyhcfjxdf

50 kiss prompts meme!

an accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose

“Gonna have to try harder than that, kiddo.” Although he is nearing out of breath he says it matter-of-factly, as if it is an undeniable, unalienable truth that they are both painfully aware of. Lips twitching with the hint of a barely subdued smirk he hunches, palms raised and beckoning, “Again. Come on-,” His pointer wags, beckoning, “Once more before supper.”

Months ago he would never have spared a passing thought to letting her off of her lead or binds. And he certainly would not have allowed her to spar with him in the sanctity of his quarters, but? Surprisingly or not she has come a long way in gaining his trust and he even considers drafting plans for a raid soon by her lead, only.

“Stop takin’ it easy on me,” Jacob can tell in the way she grips on briefly, testing before backing off that she is likely just as tired as he is so he nags, “Come on and hit me-” Although he is less annoyed by her these days he does feel the need to lay it on thick to receive the result he’s looking for, “Really hit me,” He knows she hates it and his lips curl around the length of her full name, “Joanna.”

Jacob watches her carefully, trying to measure her movements and mirroring the small, tight circle she’s holding between them. The record player goes silent between vinyl selections, the mechanical arm of the changer groaning. The only thing that truly exists for now in their tiny, circular world are the beads of sweat and dusty breathing accumulating between the two of them. 

When she does make her move he isn’t sure if she’s deliberately toying with him, or if he’s had the fortune of being faster than her on this occasion but he finds himself in possession of her formerly successively-swinging wrists. He scoffs, stunted and one-beat, tongue rolling against his cheek as he looks down on her, “Nice try Harvelle, but-”

He isn’t sure exactly what God or Gods he has managed to piss off in his lifetime, but cosmic timing seems to be perpetually against him and he curses the half-step he’s taken backwards, “Fucking!?” Before he can right himself on the ridged bottle neck he topples backwards and all six foot three of him careens towards the floor. Under a studious and nearly unbreakable grip he tugs his sparring partner along with him, cursing the ground before making contact, “Shit!”

The back of his head makes contact with the peeling laminate and the air rushes from his lungs, a gasping, sprawling victim of gravity and all of her chaotic cruelty. A dainty, warm set of lips press against his own and despite his wheezing lungs and steadfast grip and scrambling limbs he immediately falls as silent and as still as the grave. 

In an instant he feels alight, flip-flopping moods entirely and it is as if every single inch of his body - every vessel and every stupid, singing nerve - relies on him reaching out to complete the action more appropriately. But, unsure, a brow raises as he tries to decipher. 

Part of him feels less than worthy of something so gentle and carefree, but a bigger, hungrier part urges him along and his rigid frame softens as he reciprocates. At first his lips tremble, nervous of her reaction, but as unsteady moments pass his mouth becomes a silent prayer in motion - soft and begging; humble and reverent when she responds. Palms shift their attention to the soft round of her jaw, holding on as he desperately tries to sink in.