#HIS EYES ON HER LIPS. i am insane abt it. i made this food for myself. fangirling over my own work

[sotc]

doting affection 💓 Sharing the sketch below because I think it has a charm that doesn't translate into my finished work. :')

[comphersjost]

All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

-

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

-

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck.  He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

[rainywritingsx]

i saw you on a diff blog so i thought i would ask for a scenario of (kaminari, bakugou, kirishima) talking abt how fem!reader can be annoying sometimes & they overhear and their feelings are hurt so when they confront the boys teary-eyed, the boys make it up to them by letting them paint their nails and doing face masks! :D

Thank you so much for this request anon, I absolutely love the idea lmao. The 1-A girls should just do a whole skincare routine for the boys, imagine that lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I did my best trying to write everything as good as I could, and if it’s a bit out of character I’m sorry. Feel free to give me feedback! xxx

Kaminari Denki

He was just being an airhead like he’d often be and he did not even for a second realise that his girlfriend was actually in the room next door and that the door was wide open, so she was able to hear every part of the conversation he was having.

“She’s sweet and all, but she’s so annoying sometimes.” He complained to his friend, Ashido. She just nodded slowly, not really knowing what to say. Kaminari leaned backwards to lie down in his bed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Like I know we’re a couple but she always wants to do hang out with me after school and she always texts me.” He groaned which made his companion frown slightly. Sure, couples have their ups and downs and all but she didn’t think he should tell her this.

“Denki, I don’t think you should just say stuff like that..” she said to him.

Both of them had no idea that y/n could overhear every word of their conversation. So there she was, in her room, with tearful eyes as she tried to process the things her boyfriend had said about her, trying to understand his complaints.

Was she really that annoying? Why didn’t he tell her if she really was? Did he not trust her enough? Did he think she wouldn’t take it into consideration?

She stopped thinking when she heard her boyfriend say goodbye to Ashido. Maybe she should confront him about this... that would be the best thing to do, right? They could just talk it out. She slowly got up and took a deep, slow breath before walking to the room next door. The door was open so she didn’t even bother knocking.

“D-denki?” The blond haired boy smiled when he heard her voice, but soon his face changed into a frown upon seeing her teary eyes and pouting lips. He got up and walked over to you.

“Hey, what happened?” He asked, gently resting his hands on her waist. She told him about what she had heard and his eyes widened. Before she knew it, a billion apologies and hugs were thrown at her and she chuckled softly.

“You know I can be really stupid sometimes... will you forgive me? I’ll do anything!” He said. At first she just poured, but then her face changed into a small smirk.

“Anything?” She asked him sweetly, hiding her hands behind her back. He just nodded, making her giggle.

“I didn’t think you meant this.” He whined as he looked at his girlfriend’s concentrated face.

“Stop moving! You don’t want your nails to look ugly, do you?” She just said as she held his hand a little tighter.

“Just don’t tell my friends about this.” He mumbled, making y/n laugh softly.

“Its not that bad. Taking care of yourself is normal, soon your skin will shine even brighter like a cool hero!” She said as she finished painting his pinky finger.

“And?” She said as she showed him his fingers. Y/n had decided to paint them yellow and make small black lightning bolts to decorate them. The face mask he was wearing was a pickachu sheet mask (probably doesn’t exist but let’s pretend it does).

“You look lovely!” She said happily as she clasped her hands together and nodded in satisfaction. Kaminari just sighed softly.

“The sheet mask isn’t that bad actually.” He muttered, making her smile softly.

“So, am I forgiven now?” He asked his girlfriend. She pretended to think deeply for a while before looking back at him and nodding, a smile plastered on her face.

“Totally. But don’t you ever dare say stuff like that before talking to me. I want you to be honest with me.” He nodded softly.

“It was stupid and I didn’t even mean it. You know im an airhead.” She softly hit the back of his head.

“That doesn’t mean you can just say stuff like that.” She chuckled.

“I know I know, I’m sorry babe, it won’t happen again!” He smiled brightly, making y/n’s heart melt. Who could ever be angry at this sweet guy?

Bakugou Katsuki

Surprisingly to some people, Bakugo was often really nice to y/n, even in public. Yes, he still had his bad days sometimes but he had a super soft spot for her. Now this didn’t mean his personality took a whole turn but his gestures always clearly showed he cared about his girlfriend a lot.

But sadly, today was one of those bad days. He was talking to Kirishima and basically all he did was rant and complain about anything that was on his mind.

At one point, the subject he was ranting nonsense about was his girlfriend, and Kirishima just let him be since he knew he didn’t mean any of his words and she wouldn’t hear it, since she was hanging out with some of her friends.

Or that’s what they thought.

It turned out that some girls weren’t feeling well- uraraka had trained way too much yesterday and seemed like she could throw up any second, Yaoyorozu had tried making a meal which wasn’t exactly the best, so the girls decided to go to their own homes and meet up when everyone’s health was better.

So the two guys didn’t know that Mistuki let in y/n. At first she didn’t really know what they were talking about, but she could sense that her boyfriend was in a bad mood. She took off her shoes and hung her coat on the hanger and slowly walked up the stairs to his room. She froze however, when she heard her name slip past his name a few times, along with some big complaints.

Now she was aware that her boyfriend was a hothead, but that didn’t give him an excuse to be like that to her. Sure, he had days where he was just angry but he’d never ever insult his girlfriend. She slowly started tearing up but tried to stay strong by clenching her hands into fists.

At first she thought of just leaving him alone for now until Kirishima left, but she didn’t want to do that. A soft sigh escaped her lips before she knocked on their door. She didn’t even bother saying who it was and opened the door.

“Mom I told you-“ Bakugo stopped when he saw you standing in the doorway, eyes glossy with tears. He gasped softly and immediately put two and two together. Kirishima smiled at you awkwardly and slowly got up.

“I should go... uhm.. yeah... talk to you tomorrow Bakugo.” Before he left he quickly muttered something about his friend’s actions not being manly.

“Y/n..” was all he said. His girlfriend sighed softly and sat down in his bed, next to him. Panic took over him as he saw the first tear roll down your cheek.

“Okay okay don’t cry.” He said and sighed softly. “I didn’t mean it... i was just pissed today because of that half and half bastard...” he stopped when he didn’t hear you say a word. I’ll tell you what, we can do whatever you want to do alright?”

“Can it be anything?” She asked hopefully, and although Bakugo could sense that y/n was planning something he wouldn’t like at all, he nodded.

“I didn’t think you meant this.” Bakugo grumbled as you continued to apply pink nail polish on his thumbnail. You giggled and looked at him.

“You look lovely and the mask is good for your skin! Maybe I should also do your hair like Best Jeanist did..”

“WHAT?!” He exclaimed making y/n laugh loudly. After a small silence Bakugo spoke up.

“Are we good now?” She chuckled and nodded

“Yes but if you do shit like that again I swear to god I’ll kick your ass to Jupiter.” Bakugo smirked and nodded.

“I’d like to see you try.” He replied cockily, making her roll her eyes.

“I’m serious, Katsuki. Don’t do it again.” The girl said as she looked him dead in the eye. “Just talk to me next time instead of complaining to Kirishima.” He nodded and suddenly pulled her closer before kissing her deeply. Y/n knew Bakugo wasn’t the best with words and this was his way of apologising. Yes he had become a lot softer for her but there were still some things he should work at.

“You’re forgiven.” Y/n spoke softly when the blond haired guy pulled away. He smiled and then looked at her face in confusion before laughing loudly. The girl frowned at his reaction.

“What?” She put her hands on her face and then stopped when she realised part of the liquid of the face mask was on her face. She sighed softly and then grabbed the jar which contained the liquid and smirked at her boyfriend.

“Ah, I think you need some more. Or if it doesn’t work we should do it again...”

“WHAT?!”

Kirishima Eijiro

He had a long day at UA. He lost in a training battle, got a low score on his English test and he just wasn’t feeling great. His girlfriend, y/n, had noticed his mood but didn’t think too much of it, since Kirishima often had his bad days but got over it and kept his temper.

Today was different. He was talking to his friends during lunch and kept ranting about everything that happened that day. Little did they know his girlfriend was just walking by when he started talking about her.

As his friends all silently ate their food-bakugo hadn’t arrived yet, hence the silence, as the irritated redhead complained about anything, not even bothering to think about his words.

“-and don’t even get me started on y/n! That woman literally drives me insane! She’s so annoying, I want to feel like a man for once but that won’t happen if she continues babying me!” A soft frown appeared on y/n’s face as these words hit her like stone bricks. Was this really how he felt about her? Why didn’t Kirishima just tell her if it bothered him this much?

“Sometimes I don’t even know why I asked her out, ah... every second of the day she asks me how I am, if I’ve eaten, how this went how that went- it’s tiring!”

“I think it’s more tiring for her.” Ashido mumbled as she dragged her fork through her food, annoyed by her friend’s attitude.

As the conversation went on, y/n stood in silence, reflecting on everything she did and how she acted around her boyfriend. Was it that bad?

But why didn’t he tell her? If he was all about being manly, he should’ve manned up and told her right?

She needed answers because this wasn’t like him at all. This wasn’t the kirishima she knew. So she took a deep breath and put her plate down on the table where he was sitting. The force caused a loud sound which made Kirishima whip his head around. He was about to go off when he saw his lover’s tearful eyes piercing into his own.

“Y-y/n...” she didn’t utter a word as she suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him with her to a more private place. She did not want to cause a scene in the middle of the school.

“What was that for?” She said in a shaky voice. Kirishima sighed softly, looking down in shame. He knew exactly what she meant by ‘that’ and he felt bad. Seeing her made him realise how dumb his words are. He was just being an idiot and didn’t think about his words.

“I’m sorry.. it’s just- I had a horrible day and I took it out on everything and everyone, b-but I know that it isn’t an excuse for it.” She huffed and crossed her arms against her chest, eyebrows furrowed in anger as her lips were formed in a small pout. Usually he’d find her adorable but knowing that she was angry, Kirishima decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Okay, will this make up for it? We can do whatever you want for the whole day and I won’t complain, I promise. I don’t care what it is, even if it’s not manly I’ll do it.”

“Okay, lets go to my house after school.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Just do as I say.” She said before turning around and leaving. Kirishima chuckled as he shook his head.

Okay, when Kirishima told y/n they could do anything, he didn’t think they’d do this.

“You okay babe?” Y/n asked her boyfriend teasingly as she continued to decorate her boyfriend’s white nails with pink flowers. He was about to talk when she stopped him.

“Don’t talk. You aren’t supposed to talk with this face mask on, or it won’t work!” She said as she held up a finger against his lips. He sighed and poured childishly, making y/n giggle softly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this unmanly thing.” She chuckled and tried to hold in her laugh when she saw his facial expression relax immediately.

“But you know, if I made these flowers red you’d look good with them. And a real man has great skin.” She teased, meaning it as a joke but Kirishima actually agreed, which he showed by nodding. He then looked at her with puppy dog eyes as if to ask if he was forgiven. She smiled and pecked his lips quickly.

“Of course you are. But if you ever talk like that about me again I will not hesitate to tell everyone about this.” Kirishima nodded quickly at this before y/n continued decorating her boyfriend’s nails. He’d never admit it, but he actually quite liked this. The face mask was nice and the nails wouldn’t be too bad if they were more masculine colours. But of course he would never say that to y/n, or she wouldn’t leave him alone. He was just glad that his girlfriend forgave him, because losing her was one of the last things he wanted.

[itsteaveetime]

An AU where the Wonka kids aren't completely messed up from the tour and go on to live decent and somewhat fulfilling lives.

[Prompt meme: drop a prompt in my inbox, get a one-shot/drabble]

((Thanks for this prompt, anon!  Sorry it took so long.))

He can feel someone’s eyes on him.  The man seated next to him is giving him a very long look.  And this isn’t really that kind of bar.

“Didn’t you used to be Mike Teavee?” The man asks, shaking his finger like someone has tried and failed to pull a fast one on him.

It’s going to be one of those conversations.

Mike Teavee turns on his stool and gives the man a close-lipped but not unfriendly smile.

“I like to think I still am,” the twenty-seven year old says.

The man laughs, like they always do, and it only grates a little.

“Man, that Wonka contest,” the man says, shaking his head, and Mike lets him go on, because that’s all people really want, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the time.  “I spent an entire month’s allowance on Wonka bars.  Can you imagine doing something like that now?”

“Not really,” Mike replies, chuckling politely, even though he never spent a single penny in the first place.

“Still,” the man says, pointing at him again.  “You got to see inside.  You lived the dream.” 

“I definitely lived it,” Mike agrees.  “It was a trip.”

“Lucky sonuvagun,” the man says.  “Oh, and hey, my little nephew?  He loves your games.”

By which, Mike has learned over the years, the man means: he has no nephew and is speaking of himself, but is too embarrassed to admit he still games in his thirties.

“Lemme buy you drink,” the man offers.

Mike waves him off.

“Thanks, I don’t drink,” he says.  And then, because he can feel the question of why he is in a bar at all start to form in the man’s mind.  “I’m here meeting some friends.  But: it’s always great to hear people are enjoying my stuff.  I gotta go; nice meeting you though.”

He gives the man a firm but distinctly final handshake, and moves toward a back corner where he has spotted her lurking.

“I think you did not even roll your eyes at this one,” she says, her Russian accent slightly more muted than it was at twelve.  “I am impressed.”

“Prozac,” Mike insists.

Veruca laughs, and it doesn’t grate at all.  The slender young woman is wrapped in a scarf he thinks might be longer than she is tall, a slouchy sweater, leggings, and well-worn over-sized boots.  This seems to be one of the default uniforms of all off-duty ballerinas (and some models).  Her blond hair is pulled up into a tidy bun.  His own hair, by comparison, is a spiked quiff that is a mess by design.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells her.

“Hug me, you idiot,” she demands flatly.

He does.  When he pulls back, a meaty hand lands on his shoulder.  He turns to face its owner.

Augustus Gloop looms over him.  Augustus Gloop looms over almost everyone.  A growth spurt at fifteen that Mike cannot help but envy eventually left the German six feet and six inches tall.  It thinned him out somewhat as well, and although he will never not be big-boned, Gloop is no longer as wide as he is high.  He retains soft edges, a rounded stomach, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a warm friendly face.

“Hallo Michael.”

Like Mike, Augustus has long since lost his high pitched prepubescent voice, but he has retained more of his German accent than Veruca has.  He has also retained his blond hair, but it no longer looks like it was placed under a bowl to be cut.  In a flannel shirt and hoodie that his mother did not knit for once, Gloop looks pretty cool.

Mike lets the German envelop him in a nearly rib crushing bear hug that momentarily lifts him off his feet.  Once released, he goes immediately for Gus’ messenger bag, crouching down, because Gus wears the bag low on his hip, and running a hand over the soft leather.

“This is one of yours, right?” Mike asks.

The German nods.

“Goat leather.  Mother had gotten more orders for them, so she had sent me more hides.”

Sewing, apparently, runs in Gloops’ blood as much as sausages do.

“I have made a batch,” Augustus continues, “and that same shop downtown will take them.  But also there is a crafting fair that maybe I will go to if I have the days off at the restaurant to-…”

“Shut up and take my money,” Mike says.

Augustus laughs.

“Michael, you know I never charge you.  In black, you will want it?” Gus guesses correctly, because Mike remains somewhat predictable about certain things, and Mike is already imagining studding the strap of such a glorious beast as Gloop embraces Veruca somewhat more gently.

“Do we wait for her?” the blond woman asks, more or less rhetorically.

Mike shakes his head.

“We all know she’s gonna be late,” he says.

They head through a door and down a flight of stairs few people know about.  A girl at the bottom recognizes Gus from restaurant circles and ushers them into an intimate space where they take a seat in a comfortable booth with privacy curtains.  Gus is only still a rising star on the chef’s circuit, but it’s funny how small New York actually is.

It’s funny, how they all ended up in New York, at least, for the time being.

(It’s funny that they are here at all.)

Well.  Not that funny.  Each of them walked out of Wonka’s factory exactly as they walked in.  It was their parents who were altered (although also: not physically).  

No magic spells, no potions: just as the Candy Man promised, but one thing Wonka certainly was, was an illusionist.  And he had seen immediately who needed to be shown the error of their ways, and few things are as motivating to a parent as the idea of their child in peril.

“I was barely in the chocolate,” Augustus had been the first to explain, the first time they all reunited.  “I fell through a bottom.  I was not in a pipe at all.  It was, I think, a doll to look like me.  The falling in was still startling.”

“Yeah, the bloating was not fun,” Violet had said.  “But those Oompa guys gave me some antacid and it went away.  I got no idea what my dad thought was me that exploded, or what he medically thinks is inside of people, but, uh, thanks for groovin’ on a bop while y’all thought I was dying.”

“Also doll,” Veruca had told them.  “How could I call for my pappa with my head removed?“

“…V.R.,” Mike had reluctantly admitted.  “I thought I seriously got shrunk and teleported inside the internet, but then it went black and I was just down a trap door with a V.R. headset on.  I was kinda bummed, honestly.  But on the plus side: I did get a eight inch remote control replica of myself.  That was pretty awesome.”

And they had all watched as their parents had reacted to their apparent untimely demises.  Had realized the peril their parenting (or lack their of) had placed their children in.

(It had taken Mike slightly longer to realize that his mother had not really been happy about the idea of him being shrunk; that the idea of seeing something like that done to her son and not being able to do anything about it had actually driven his mother temporarily insane, which is probably the strongest and most negative reaction it is possible to have.  But he had gotten there.)

After the factory, things had been…different.  

None of them had been punished (because none of them had been truly to blame), but all of their parents had certainly changed their tunes.

And somehow it hadn’t been so difficult to get used to after all.

They sit around a table now, well adjusted young men and women.  Or: woman, at the moment.

Augustus Gloop has been making a steady name for himself as a gourmet chef.  He is working under a celebrity at the moment, producing the epic tasting menu’s the Swiss establishment is known for, but he has headed his own pop-up’s and food carts to great success and reviews.

Veruca Salt is currently a soloist at ABT, after training and dancing at the Bolshoi and the Vaganova.  They have all seen her perform: she is generous with her comp tickets.  She is also undeniably talented.  There have been rumors circling that she may be promoted to principal next season.

Mike Teavee designs video games.  Because of course he does.  Immensely popular games that require strategy, and critical thinking as much as hand-eye coordination.  Some of them have won awards for serving educational purposes.  These games, along with several well-received apps have left him unexpectedly wealthy.  His first apartment is in San Francisco, but he likes the vibe and the weather in New York so much so that he has a residence in the city as well. 

And Violet Beauregard is always late.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She says, breathlessly, as she joins them.  “A thing.  But you all know.  I don’t even gotta tell you.”  

Violet is a celebrity hair and make-up artist.  She made her name on YouTube, but she’s as legitimately trained as Veruca and Augustus are.  She’s in high demand from both companies and clients.

She frowns at Mike’s hair.

“What happened to the blue?” She pouts.

Mike runs his hand carefully over his ‘do.  

“It faded really fast and I didn’t wanna rebleach,” he explains.  “It’s fine.”

“I know you’re punk rock as all hell, but seriously: let me do it,” Violet insists.  “I will do it in yo’ bathroom sink for the sake of your authenticity if I gotta.”

He eventually agrees.

“Your mothers are having the good time,” Veruca says, with a smirk.

Both Mike and Augustus freeze, because it is their mothers she is talking about.  Mrs. Teavee and Mrs. Gloop have long since struck up an unexpected single lady friendship and enjoy taking vacations together.  They are currently on an Italian river cruise making the most of Italy, Italian food, and Italian men in a photograph that is burned in both Mike and Gus’ mind that neither of them are sure they were meant to receive and both are afraid to ask about.

“Yes,” Augustus says, smiling a little more rigidly than usual.  “…jah.”  

“Did she drop a new post on Instagram?” Violet asks Veruca.

“I will never get over the fact that you follow my mom on Instagram,” Mike says.

In her retirement, Ethel has joined Instagram.  Instagram is very about her retro aesthetic.  She has been interviewed for ‘Racked’.

“She is crushing it,” Violet tells him.  “Did you teach her hashtags?”

He maybe guided her in her hashtagging.

“Annnnnnyway,” Mike says, changing the subject and turning towards Veruca.  “How’s what’s-his-face?”

“We do not speak his name,” Veruca hisses.  “Ballerinos!  все мужчины сосать.  All men!”

She looks pointedly at Gus and Mike, who know better than to argue with her.

“Yeah, speaking of,” Violet says.  “No more 3am Teavee specials?”

“What is this?” Gus asks.

“I kept getting these late night texts from him, and I’m all jazzed because I think Teavee’s got some serious tea for me that can NOT wait and instead I get bull.  What was the last one?” Violet asks, while scrolling through her phone.  She stops and reads:

“‘Treasures in disguise as monsters’.  What in the Dungeons and Dragons is that supposed to mean?”

Mike has buried his face in his hands, but he’s laughing behind them.

“It was the Ambien again, I swear,” he swears.  “I got off it.  At least I didn’t buy any more non-refundable plane tickets to Shanghai.”

“That was fun, though,” Augustus points out.

“Yeah, it was,” Mike admits.

Off of Paxil, it turns out Mike likes to eat.  Like, a lot.  And still has the metabolism to mostly deal with it.  Gus had been very willing to join him on a tasting trip through Shanghai, lest the tickets go to waste.  The trip had left both with fond memories of Ci Fan Tuan, and You Dunzi, as well as up a pants size, but that’s what vacations in your twenties are for.

Gus, Violet, and Veruca order and then sip cocktails.  Mike sticks to ginger ale and truffle fries.  He has never had a problem with alcohol, because he has never let himself have one, and he knows himself (and his family history) well enough to know that he too easily could. 

Things are too good to wreck like that, you know?

He checks his phone.

“Hey, it’s time,” he says.

The others put their drinks aside, and Mike…unfolds his phone.  The palm sized device becomes twice its size, then three, until it is a twenty-inch tablet with an extendable stand that Mike places in the middle of the table, and then taps on.

An app connects.  A screen pops up.  A hand reaches through the screen.  They all help Charlie Bucket until he is sitting in the booth with them.

Bucket is thin, for a chocolatier.  He is only a little taller than Mike, who is short.  He has the same boyish grin he had back when he and his family had nothing.

Mike refolds his device, until it looks like just a phone again.  He spends the rest of the evening wedged comfortably between Gus and Violet.  Plans are vaguely made for another trip like Shanghai, and more concretely for a sort of pub crawl that consists of, instead of drinking, eating dollar slices of pizza until they have located the best one.  Veruca refuses to take part, but will still come along.  Charlie cannot make it: he has a factory to run, but they promise to send him a winning slice.

It’s just one of many good days in a more than decent life.

[whoisjinhwan]

100 reasons to love yuta

that smile™

did i mention he invented smiling??? Amazing

his PERFECT smile its by far the best smile ive EVER seen in my life. not to be dramatic but yutas smile has cured any sickness i have ever head and have yet to have not to be dramatic but every time i see yuta smile and get that twinkle in his eye my heart grows three times in size not to be dra

his boldness. hes very straightforward its so refreshing

the way his eyes get so wide when hes surprised or enthusiastic im SOFT

HIS BEAUTIFUL BIG CHOCOLATE BROWN CAT LIKE EYES !

his lips i… gtg. theyre perfectly heart shaped

his insane versatility. give him a fuckign Clown Concept complete with hair and makeup, he’ll pull it off. no printer just fax

hes so witty despite not being 100% fluent in korean its amazing bc these comments just roll off his tongue

his charisma…. God Tier. he puts it out there that hes That guy

he moved to korea from japan and learned korean so fast that he gave taeil an identity crisis wow

yuta saying OKAY OKAY all the time thats the Nakamotto™

all (2) of his lines in firetruck

his hair is so luscious if sm ever tries to cut it i will personally Go Off

how does he look so good in yellow?????? he really did That

middle part!yuta

his medium/high pitched speaking voice? yes

HIS SINGING. his voice is so soft and sweet what an angel. i always have to prepare myself before his parts in songs so that i dont get a stroke bc his voice flows like liquid gold its so entrancing and addicting that got long and gross really fast in conclusion : give him more lines!!!!!!!!!

cherry bomb yuta focus ver. truly a smash hit legend deal with it

hes so dual hes like the human embodiment of sin but hes so GOOD. honestly how does he do That

the way he loves skinship it KILLS ME hes always holding someones hand, has his arm around their shoulder, etc.

hes highkey a sweetheart have u seen the way he takes care of his members?? how hes always right there next to them, comforting them, just overall being super sensitive

how he acts with the younger members

his friendship with hansol

taeyong said he makes all the other members feel confident :)))

yuta saying “good job” and praising winwin 25/8

accidentally holding taeils hand

when ice cream was found yuta gave winwin the first bite

yuta ft sword protecting taeyong while he barbecues

cooking assistant!yuta

how hard he tries to include all the members during interviews

hes so precious he named winwin winko im ugly sobbing

SAVAGE YUTA!!! yuta doesnt fuck around he knows whats up this boi rlly roasted his own company for not giving him enough lines King Of Being Petty he roasts better than this oven im about to stuff myself into

his love for his heritage. he always mentions japan in his interviews like “im from japan, can I speak japanese, back in osaka…”

nct life in osaka : tourguide!yuta wandering around his hometown with his members having the time of his life made me softer than it needed to

the famous takoyaki prank #fail it was tragic

yuta tightly holding taeyongs hand in the haunted house? cute !!

yuta trying to wink but actually just…. blinking? cute!!

yutas love for ferris wheels? cute !!

THAT cherry blossom pic. call moma i think theyre missing a masterpiece

i could listen to him speak japanese all day amsr whomst???

hes such a tease like its not an nct video unless yuta tries to flirt with the camera

@stylists stop giving him jackets!!! he doesnt WANT them

his rap in open the door, a religious experience

he grinded on a minion i think about this every single one of my waking hours How To Bleach Your Eyes

he has chicken breasts in his backpack?? what a frekkin weirdo…..

“we dont speak, thats alright” + that ONE HAND MOVE in 0 mile

his accent when he speaks english

his cute way of saying words he doesnt know how to pronounce

hes always given the hardest parts in choreo like the lifting parts in firetruck and he does it well even when hes hurt :((((

he way he talks. he has so many opinions like when he was on abnormal summit every time he spoke it was iconic, we love a woke king hes just. so Good With Words

he admires his dad more than anything in the world

his gaze/stare ohohohohoohoho my gosh!!!!!

this ?? boy ?? really ?? signed with sm as a vocalist, trained as a rapper, and now has the role of a dancer in nct 127? what is this talent, is he like… real?

his LAUGH! the way his shoulders rise and his eyes turn into crescents… wow

his airport fashion! looks after looks after looks after looks af

he is the single most Extra person ive ever seen with my own two eyes

that one time on nct life in paju when they were playing soccer and he… PUT THE BALL INSIDE HIS SHIRT TO SNEAK A GOAL??? i think abt this a lot

cant whistle for shit

he once said he doesnt smile in airport pics bc he wants to look cool?????????? a Whole Scorpio

clumsy!yuta opening a fridge and dropping a jar of spam on his foot

calling taeyong tsundere

“healing smile but I can do killing too”

“i dont cook but im a good cook”

cooking!yuta being confident that hes first place but then being eliminated

his cover of touch my body by sistar. Legendary

he played soccer for 11 years so he can singlehandedly murder everyone when it comes to sports its so Sexci

bUT he doesnt have the strength to do winwins morning exercises

he literally said his favorite destinations are rest stops because he can eat and relax

yuta in haarpers bazaar ended every other model on earth thats the Tea

when he wore that shirt with barack obama on it… thats Woke

his skin!!!!!!! always got that Glo. anastasia who??? becca whom?

he needs to wear muscle tees forever bc a r m s, im crying, can you hear my tears

YUTAS HANDS !!!!!!!! YUTA WITH HANDS!!!!!!!!! YUTA WITH VEINY HANDS!!!!!!!!!! THE HANDS OF YUTA

his fanservice he! really called us princesses and is always throwing up hearts this is an attack!

slytherin!yuta with a milk mustache in universal studios

supreme anime connoisseur 

his drawing vs haechans drawing??

hes Highkey gay for winwin

mountain man? manly man? Who Know

forgot his own groups name???? New Culture Technology headass….

when he wears earbuds at the airport and looks like hes in a kdrama like what is he listening to? asking the Real Questions

yuta + lemon, a Tragedy

skater!yuta

yuta playing ping pong in nct life and getting super hyped up for no reason at all

when he runs his fingers thru his hair. gravity? idk her.

his favorite accessories are earrings and he always wears the ones his fans gift him

all his reactions are a1 wow, god of cute expressions

yuta eating happily makes my heart so full like do you see those cheeeeks!!!!

cherry bomb era… hes really a whole meal i am well FED

HEADBAND!YUTA

his shoulders = yes

the way he gets so nervous when he has to give a speech in tokyo dialect bc hes from osaka

if he were to be reborn he said hed want to be a woman my heart is BURSTING

he gives good advice. i love how he turns his own experiences into life lessons i love my Wise Boyfriend

“what kind of food is not important, who youre eating with is important”

people give yuta so much shit bc of his chin but i love how confident he is with himself. “you guys saw my teasers right? i was sexy wasnt i?” “i dont look for the camera, the camera looks for me” its so heartwarming bc hes That guy and he k n o w s

he said his ideal type is someone who knows the word “pain” like hes so much more than the smiley playful persona he has on camera if u dont think that super scorpio hides a shit ton of feelings and insecurities get off my lawn

hardworking!! hes improved so much as a dancer and hes always trying his best to make ncts broadcasts entertaining it makes my heart blush i LOVE him

he, nakamoto yuta, the light of my whole life, exists. hes Out There, living. i love being blessed everyday imagine not loving yuta thats :/ not relatable