#the lighting in this movie is atrocious

[rose-lily-hale]

[headknight-oh]

Has anyone drawn elphaba and Glinda in that pose with the one lesbian doin the other lesbians makeup while sitting on her lap?

[comeinwiththerainbow]

Those new promo photos for the Wicked movie 😶

[reginaphalange2403]

Nah fr💀

[caesarclowningaround]

*puts on a dangerous fortune... again*

[enhypencores]

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Ni-ki X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Angst/ Fluff/ Hurt-comfort

Word Count: 4K+

Warning: suggestive, slightly angsty

Synopsis: relentless schedule and physical distance from his girlfriend has already strained his nerves. But when Ni-ki finally reunites with you after a long month, he is met with useless nagging instead of affection, pushing him over the edge. The harsh words he utters in the heat of the moment may cause severe consequences.

Or

where a childish argument sparks up your silent treatment and a clingy—jealous ni-ki will do anything for your forgiveness.

idol niki x culinary student y/n

The room, seemingly more like the inside of a coffin, dwells in darkness and reeks of ancient pizza, boxes scattered on the dust-covered floor as evidence. You can barely walk without stepping against something grimy and viscous trickling down your bare feet as if protesting against your invasion.

It’s not like you want to proceed inside this filthy den where the air is thick with the stench of rotting food but unfortunate for you, you happen to have a boyfriend who lives in this atrocious environment. Your eyes catch the faint light of his small device in the bleak darkness, and you sigh in frustration as you finally manage to make it to his bed after dodging lumps of dirt, food and empty cola bottles.

He’s rolled over on his stomach with his back to you, a Nintendo switch in his grasp as he’s fully immersed in the game, vigorously pressing his thumb on the buttons.

Your heart almost softens at the sight, but you’re soon reminded of your surroundings as you feel the wetness pooling at the edge of his bed. Your fists clench in frustration, and you reach out to grab his blanket, flinging it off.

Brows knitting up, he turns, preparing to spew insults, assuming Jake has returned to steal more of his clothes. His jaw clenches shut, eyes widening in disbelief as he sees beautiful eyes blink down at him. He almost knocks himself off the bed, blinking in a daze. His lips curve up, a familiar warmth grazing his previously scowling expression.

“Baby?” Ni-ki rasps. Contrasting from his sharp gaze, his gentle tone which he only uses to address you, sparks butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t notice the scowl contorting your features— maybe too excited about seeing you after a distraught month as he sits up on his knees and yanks you down in his arms. Your chest tingles at the familiar warmth as his scent washes over you.

Despite the absolute disaster of a room, Ni-ki smells of soap and faint cologne, his damp hair brushing against your cheeks as he holds you tight against his chest. You know he only applies hygienic efforts to himself and not his surroundings.

You want to melt into his embrace and cling to his frame, but the surrounding wreckage snaps you out of it. You push at his shoulders, forcing him away to stand upright.

Now, even the darkness doesn’t hide the absolute disappointment written across your features as you stare down at him. “I come to see you, thinking, finally, I’ll spend one free night with my boyfriend watching a movie, but you’re here snacking and playing video games,” you pointedly accuse, your gaze narrowed in anger.

Ni-ki winces, used to your gentle and sweet tone. Uncomfortable, he straightens up, and you hear his scapula release a crack as if crying in relief. Your anger flares up more at the sound.

“Have you hibernated since the tour? Jungwon and Sunoo said they haven’t even seen you in days and they literally live here.” You fold your arms over your chest, aggravated.

Ni-ki breathes harder through his nose as he stands up, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. Yellow streaks gleam in the brown moss of hair, his gaze running over your face in silence. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, and the urge to drown you in hugs and kisses overrides your infuriated words.

“I missed you— come’re.” He tries to tug you close, but you block his embrace, turning away and trudging through the mess to flicker the lights on.

The abrupt flash of fluorescents makes Ni-ki squint, his lips pressing together and jaw tightening. You settle your eyes on Ni-ki.

Dressed in a grey hoodie and sweatpants, he appears incredibly frail and thin, jawline contorting as he watches you with narrowed eyes. You can’t help but grimace as you notice the eye bags weighing down his face.

Your gaze softens. He looks unhealthily thin and pale. Suddenly, you want to cook him his favourite yakitori, rice, miso soup and teriyaki sashimi.

Truthfully, you loved cooking for your boyfriend. Despite being tired after training, you always made sure to feed him since he called it the best Japanese cuisine, sprinkling in a ‘better than my mother but don’t tell her’ which always made you laugh.

As soon as his vision accommodates, he feels his heart stutter. You’re a sight for sore eyes, bangs falling against your fluttering lashes, plump lips downturned, and brows arched pointedly. Even when you’re irritated, you’re the prettiest.

Ni-ki begins to approach you, making sure to steer clear of the cans of energy drinks loitering on the floor.

“Stay where you are,” you huff as your gaze roams the expanse.

Now, you can clearly see the pizza boxes, tissues and ketchup packs scattered on the floor; clothes and baseball caps that should’ve been in the laundry basket ages ago balled up in the corner of his room; PlayStation wires hanging down the television trailing across the centre, looping over the listless cola bottles.

“Ni-ki, this room is a disaster. Clean it up,” you command, your voice firm and unwavering.

His smile falters, fists clenching as he feels fury bubble up his throat.

After getting done with the hectic tour, Enhypen is finally awarded a break from activities— a two-week long break before he is pulled back into long practice sessions which last till night passes into dawn, till his muscles cry out in torment, till his body craves nothing but the softness of your curves. But of course, you had a job— much like him, and despite his desire to get you to himself, he knows you are a social butterfly, and your heart belongs in the culinary world. He hates this capitalist society and despises your company and his own for overworking you both.

Late-night calls and once-a-week encounters are his only getaway from the draining schedule.

But even these once-a-week encounters when he can recharge are now infected with your anger.

“Can’t you at least greet me with a kiss like a nice girlfriend before turning into my mother?” He snaps, glaring daggers as he watches you grab a few of his jackets from the floor to fold.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to pick up more of his clothes, folding them keenly before setting them on the edge of his bedding.

“I’m heading out to cook. Clean this place up,” you ignore his tantrums, speaking firmly before shifting away to leave.

As he watches you turn away, he feels his blood pressure rise, head pounding in disbelief at the sheer audacity of your actions.

You come to him after what seems like forever, and still, your love for him is less than your love for the arts. He’s certain even if you reunited with him after years, you’d prioritise your passions and leave him to master some fucking expensive caviar recipe you learned from a Russian chef in culinary school.

“Y/N, get back here right now,” he speaks through gritted teeth, and you pause in your tracks, taken aback by the sudden bitterness.

Chest heaving, he approaches you, heat pumping through his pale skin, painting his face red.

Closer than ever, he towers over you, making you feel so small. His eyes are narrower, sharp as a blade, cutting through you as he stares down. For a moment, you think he’ll knock you to the ground, but you see him shake his head, waves of fury coursing through his frame.

“Do you ever fucking miss me?” He utters with so much venom that he shakes with the bitterness of it.

You wince. Your lips part in horror. You want to say something, but the words have dissolved on your tongue.

He waits for a moment and then cracks a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, running fingers through his strands in a frenzy. “Of course, you don’t. Ten days or ten months, why would you care?” He sarcastically rasps. His words reverberate against the walls and slice through you.

Pure rage fuels through your veins, and you edge closer. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I finished up all my training to hurry to you, but I see you holed up in this stinky dorm room playing video games—” You choke up.

“Don’t show up then!” He shrieks with resolution, eyes widening purposefully. He turns away and kicks at the pile of bottles blocking his path, unleashing his wrath on the inanimate objects. “Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!”

The room immediately goes eerily silent.

Except Ni-ki hears the shill thumping of a pulse above his ear, indicating an incoming migraine. His body feels like it’ll burst with how tumultuously the anger and frustration bubble inside his blood. He can feel the heat shoot through his arteries and collect at the back of his pupils. Distressed, he shuts his eyes and rubs a hand down his face as the ache begins to pound within his entire head.

And then, the walls mock him, reverberating the words spewed out of his mouth just a second ago. Like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice over his head, his breath hitches with realisation. He whips around, intending to fall to his knees and kiss your feet for forgiveness.

His jaw tightens.

He meets your absence.

In a fit of rage, he didn’t see your face crumble, lips tremble; he didn’t hear the sniffle and shuffling as you walked out— away from him.

He can count the times he’s unleashed his anger upon you on a single hand. Usually, he holds back, knowing that whatever was to come out in a fit of rage was absolute bullshit.

“Don’t show up then!”

“Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!” 

He groans, fisting his hair in disbelief. How dare he use such words towards you? Ni-ki fumes and curses himself. He begins to frantically pace when he stumbles against the empty boxes and cans piling up. Suddenly, he feels the urge to throw himself off the Han River.

Of fucking course, you’re right.

It looks like a bunch of apes ransacked his room, dirt and clothes scattered with food and soft drinks spilt on the grimy floor. This isn’t liveable. How did he spend weeks cooped up in this nightmare— he’ll never know.

Ni-ki determinedly leans over and collects the clothing items, hanging his jackets on the rack while folding his shirts and jerseys to keep in a neat pile. He grabs a pack of tissues, dampens them from the bathroom sink and uses it to scrub off the dried juices from the floor.

While gathering the pizza boxes and tissues, he discovers Jake’s long-lost tie under his bed. He grabs the vacuum cleaner from his storage closet, plugs it in and runs it over the remaining crumbs and dust. The machine’s groaning only further riles up his migraine, pinching the nerves in torment; however, Ni-ki is determined to make this place spotless— worthy of your presence.

Two heads poke out from behind the door, lured by the blaring sounds of the machine. Sunoo’s eyes widen, and Jake’s jaw drops at the sight.

“Do you see what I see?” Jake whispers, scared the fantasy would shatter if he spoke any louder, staring in a daze, watching as the younger boy lay on his stomach to push the vacuum under the bed till it scraped the other end.

“Nishimura Ri-ki cleaning? I see it,” Sunoo confirms, blinking rapidly.

“Hell, this must be the end of the world,” another surprised voice joins the duo, and Jake and Sunoo look up, confused at the third intrusion. Heeseung stands towering behind Sunoo’s head, peaking inside with wonder.

Ni-ki simply ignores them, extra concerned with scrubbing the place clean to quickly find his way to you. Gradually, the lair becomes a civilised room with breathable air. Ni-ki lights up your favourite vanilla-scented candles and inhales deeply, observing the expanse.

Primarily, his room was pretty sleek with a tenebrous elegancy, grey curtains, light-toned carpet and a chic black couch custom-made from Japan, all chosen to his liking. The side table carries some figurines and a pile of his favourite manga collections. In the second drawer, he likes to store hair ties, skincare products, and plushies so he can convince you to have a sleepover every time you visit. Even his wardrobe lingers with your presence. Once, when Ni-ki caught Jake wearing a hoodie that still smelled of you, he pounced on him and ripped it off the petrified Australian. From then on, Ni-ki forbade any member from touching his things. For extra precaution, he still separated specific items you liked, sparing a section to all his hoodies you wore.

Ni-ki runs a hand over his messy hair, patting down his pants and hoodie for any dust before heading out of his room.

The hallway is now perturbingly empty, and the adjacent doors to his room are shut. Ni-ki hastens inside Sunoo’s room, usually finding you seated and binging shows. Instead, he discovers Sunoo on his PC, watching some romantic anime. He dashes off and checks Jake and Heeseung’s room, but you’re nowhere to be found.

A surge of panic courses through him, thinking you’ve really left. He hastens down the hallway, stopping to check the guest bathroom (also empty) and dashing down the stairs.

As he hurries down the last step, his frantic gaze roams the expanse before pausing at the open kitchen. He freezes, his foot hanging over the previous step. His heart swells with relief.

Thank fuck, you’re exactly where you belong—right before his eyes.

With denim sleeves rolled up and hair clipped in a messy bun, you’re immersed in stirring the pot, looking absolutely ethereal in your element. Ni-ki’s breath stutters as he admires you in your own little world.

When you stepped into a kitchen, no amount of distractions could shift your focus. It was one of the things he loved about you: putting a little of your heart into everything you do. But it was also something he disliked about you. If everything in the world takes a little of your heart, what’s left for him?

He gulps down the burning sensation, reminding himself of his earlier stupidity. He kicked you out of his room.

God, he wants to smack himself so badly.

Carefully, Ni-ki takes calculated steps towards the kitchen. And like he predicts, you don’t notice, too consumed by whatever was in the pan. He sneaks up from behind and stands beside you, purposefully brushing his shoulder with yours to make you wary of his presence.

You freeze and spare him a glance. And then he notices the immediate grimace and frown weighing down your beautiful face. His heart drops further into his stomach as you look away, attending to your recipe.

He nibbles on his lower lip. He suddenly feels nervous. His palms itch, and his chest tightens with discomfort. His gaze lingers on your face, yearning for your attention. He internally begs for you to speak— shout— maybe even curse him out. You don’t do any such thing.

Instead, you wash the rice and toss some diced green vegetables in the pan with chicken bits, stir-frying it together. He leans forward, sniffing the steaming chicken, gulping down the tightness in his throat.

He finds his voice. “Teriyaki stir fry— for me?” He tries to sound optimistic, but his voice is weak with tension. His pretence is crystal clear.

Silence. Pin drop- deafening silence. It’s supposed to be good for his migraine, but your silence just makes the throbbing sensation concentrate even more, so much so that he feels a gruesome pain stir up in his neck.

His frustration mounts as he sees you turn away to wash the dirty dishes in the sink.

The silence begins to kill him. Agitated, he grabs at your shoulders, whirling you in his arms. You gasp as your palms flatten against his chest to steady yourself.

You glance up with wide eyes, and his gaze immediately softens. “Say something,” he urges, browns of his eyes drained with yearning.

His touch on your arms sends pleasurable ripples down your body, but you don’t make it known. Instead, you offer him a cold, obstinate expression, your mouth sealed shut in stubborn rage.

He feels pathetic as you look at him with steely eyes before pushing away and returning to wash the dishes. His gaze narrows in frustration. His fists tighten as a horrifying thought plagues his mind: the thought that you’ll give him the silent treatment till his last day in Korea, and he has to fly out before he gets to fix this.

Just the thought of leaving you makes him lose it.

Distressed, he bites his lip and fists his hair.

Think. Think. Think.

He spots the searing chicken, and suddenly, everything plays out before him. He envisions you coming to him with the food. You’ll have to talk to him when you give him his lunch.

He restrains a smile and waits for you to get done, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter, watching you intently.

Soon, you return to the stove and empty the pan on a clean plate. You scoop the rice from the cooker and serve it with sophisticated chef-like precision. You have a knack for presenting any dish—even something as simple as instant ramen—as if it belongs in a Michelin-star restaurant.

His mouth waters as he stares at the heat simmer. He can already taste the juices in his mouth. And then he patiently waits.

Your gaze roams the living room as you hold up the tray. His bashful smile widens as you approach him.

And then both his smile and heart drop when you walk past him towards the hallway— in the complete opposite fucking direction to his room. His jaw tightens as he rushes behind like a lost puppy, his confusion mounting as he sees you approach another room—Jungwon’s room.

The door is answered immediately as if he had been awaiting your arrival.

Jungwon’s smile widens, shaking the bangs out of his sight, his dimple peaking out charmingly. “I told you this wasn’t necessary, Y/N,” he chimes, but he stares at the scrumptious platter, licking his lips in excitement.

As you walked out of Ni-ki’s dorm, wiping tears from your eyes, you bumped heads with Jungwon, who instantly noticed how upset you appeared. He knew you were the most in your element whenever you cooked, so he brought up how badly he craved your stir fry. And that was all it took for you to work your magic.

God, Ni-ki was so lucky.

If Jungwon had a girlfriend as caring and talented in the kitchen, he’d probably lose his mind and devour everything you cooked like a ravenous beast.

“You said you were hungry, so I thought I’d cook you your favourite.” You give him an adorable smile, handing him the warm tray.

“Thank you, our lovely master chef!” Jungwon compliments, and you giggle softly at the nickname.

The sound makes Ni-ki sick. Your breathtaking smile directed towards someone who isn’t him makes him nauseous. The plate carrying flavours you created for someone else to devour makes him burn with resentment. The food that took so much effort to make intended for another member and not your fucking boyfriend makes Ni-ki violent. He’s never hated the sight of your food before today.

As you walk away, ignoring his presence, he hears a dull ringing in his ear. The bubbling frustration and anger have started to take a toll on his body.

It was questionable how ten hours of practice, sleepless nights and continuous shows didn’t make him this ill. But you have the power to bring him to his knees.

Jungwon notices Ni-ki standing motionless by the wall and meets his eyes with confusion.

Worst fucking mistake ever.

Predatory eyes, murderous—poisoning black holes stare him down. It doesn’t help that Ni-ki’s taller, and Jungwon shrinks, his mouth drying up in voiceless horror. Ni-ki steps forward, and Jungwon gulps, suddenly forgetting that he’s older.

Ni-ki grabs the chicken and stuffs it in his mouth. The threatening glare is enough for Jungwon to shut his mouth before Ni-ki marches away.

When Jungwon recovers, he notices only bits of capsicum and onion with plain rice remain.

Fucking Nishimura Ri-ki downed all the steaming chicken in one bite.

Jungwon withholds a groan and slams his door shut.

Meanwhile, you’re back in the living room, answering a phone call from a friend, fretting over the recent assignment. While you’re explaining it to her, you notice a towering presence behind you, his familiar cologne invading your senses even before you can turn to inspect the intrusion.

You ignore his presence, clarifying the assignment’s nuances. You assume he’ll tire out and leave to his room— the one he kicked you out of— eventually, but your breath gets caught in your throat when he grabs your wrist, jerking you close.

Your words morph into a screech of horror as Ni-ki effortlessly hoists you up on his shoulder. You’re upside down, screaming and throwing a tantrum as the phone escapes your grasp, a shrill scream of defiance leaving your mouth. You try kicking him, but he takes determined steps towards the hallway.

In a frantic haze, you catch sight of Sunoo and Jake standing in their doorway, peering to inspect the commotion. You scream for help, and for a second, you think Sunoo’s about to jump in to save your ass, but as if he’s seen a ghost— he freezes in his tracks. His fearful gaze lingers on Ni-ki, and he edges back inside, offering you nothing but an empathetic smile.

You want to curse the cowards out, but by the time you find your voice, you’re already inside Ni-ki’s room, and he’s locked the door shut. He takes you to his bed, then gently sits you on the bedding.

With your blood boiling, you can’t even meet his eyes. You attempt to reach the door, but he clenches your wrist and pulls you back. Consumed by violent rage, you punch his chest.

He takes it—without even a change to his breathing and remains blocking your path like a wall.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

By the fifth one, your fist hurts. You look up in distress.

Finally. He breathes.

You finally spare him a glance.

He feels the burden on his chest lighten, his tense frame easing as you finally spare him your complete attention— unfavourable attention but better than feeling like the discrete air that passes by.

“Give me any bruise you want, curse me out— I beg you, just don’t do this to me,” he’s stuttering, his voice low and brittle as he tries to suppress his fears.

Whenever Ni-ki sulks, his small eyes go round, and his lips pucker unintentionally. You almost falter at the sight, but his earlier words itch your insides, and you rip your wrist from his grasp in resentment.

“I would rather be anywhere else than in your fucking room.” He winces at the cruel tone, his eyes flashing with hurt as you attempt to walk off. Panic-stricken, he pushes down on your shoulders until you’re dropping onto the sheets.

Immediately, he drops to his knees and grabs your hand, pressing his lips to the back in soft kisses.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, and you feel his lips quiver against your skin. He trails kisses around until he’s peppering them in your palms.

“I’m a fucking moron— I’m sorry,” he chokes up and presses his entire face inside the warmth of your hands. You feel dampness.

Your heart throbs in torment.

“This is your room before it’s mine,” he mumbles and kisses your palms repeatedly. “You were just being your caring self—helping me get my shit together. I— I missed you so badly this month. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since the day I left,” his voice cracks.

Unknowingly, you’re also crying. You realise when wetness trails down your cheeks, and you tremble as emotions overwhelm you.

You lean down and caress his hair. “I missed you too, Riki.”

He feels a tug in his heart when you call him his real name, his chest suddenly tightening as he recalls just how terribly he missed you. And then how awfully he treated you.

He looks up with watery eyes, hair falling against his vision, and his insides shrivel in defeat. He hates your tears. Realising he’s made you cry over his stupidity, he wants to throw himself off the roof. A burning ache pools within his chest.

He releases a groan, wiping at your tears persistently.

“I’m sorry too,” you cry, and he wishes he could really burn himself alive.

“Why the fuck are you apologising?” His eyes burn with restrained anger.

He wishes you’d scold him and call it a day like any normal fucking girlfriend. But you’re his girl, insanely warm and disgustingly understanding—to him, always.

“I know I should’ve wrapped you in my arms before lashing out about how dirty the room is,” you admit, your lips pressing together with guilt. He’s watching you with confused anger as if he wants to refuse everything that escapes your mouth, but you eagerly complete your words.

“I just hate how badly overworked you are. I hate not seeing you for months. And I hate how you can’t be a normal nineteen-year-old like me. I know you aren’t some careless guy throwing a tantrum. You’re struggling to breathe in this rigorous world of stardom where one slip-up means the end of your career, where you cannot be anything less than perfect.”

As you talk about his struggles, he feels a tighter knot begin to clog his throat. Discomfort ceases his chest, and his eyes burn. His chest heaves with unspent tension.

You sniff and wipe at your cheeks. “And I guess walking into this room reminded me of your struggles. And then, I noticed how thin you’ve become— and wanted to cook you some—”

He gets off his knees, pouncing on top of you, his mouth clashing against yours in a passionate kiss. You tumble back with his body pressing down in desperate urgency.

Your breath is caught in your throat, lips frantically trying to match his intensity. His kiss dries your mouth; it’s so demanding and urgent like he’s getting to breathe air after ages. His tongue invades and intertwines with yours, sucking vehemently on your tongue for your taste. You’re a moaning, panting mess as his hands hold down your waist. He squeezes you in his hold, pushing his tongue deeper into your mouth like a depraved man.

You push at his neck defeatedly once you feel oxygen run out. He groans into your mouth, indicating his displeasure, but relents when your nails dig into his neck, forming painful crescents.

His face hovers over yours, heavy breath lingering against your gasping mouth. Impatiently, he stares into your eyes like he wants to transfer some of his energy and resilience to your body so you can let him kiss you however badly he wants. Magically, even his migraine has started to dispel— and his chest feels lighter. He also wants to smile and laugh like a lunatic and kiss you till your mouth bleeds.

The tension in your frame thickens as he rubs his nose against yours, still eyeing your heaving, flushed frame in yearning.

Warmth colours your cheeks, dried tears blinking along your lashes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He drags his nose against your cheek and drops a noisy kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“But whatever it is, it doesn’t excuse feeding hyung before me.”

You’re confused and ready to argue, but he’s already latched his mouth onto yours, attempting to make up for all the past time. After all, he still needs to put his hands everywhere and remind you of his touch, sulk because you cooked for Jungwon, plead for ramen with tofu to stuff himself full, convince you to sleep over and feed him all night.

[lou-struck]

At the Top

Keigo Takami/ Hawks x reader

W.C~ 2k

~ Your date at the Fair turns from a questionable experience to a full-blown disaster when you and your online date get stranded at the top of the Ferris Wheel.

With the fair in town, you thought that spending the afternoon eating ridiculously sounding fair food, playing games, and riding the rides sounded like a picture-perfect first-date idea. But that's the problem with being a romantic.

You tend to get your hopes up…

"So… Are you having a good time so far?" the man sitting across from you asks for the 9th time this evening. The two of you had matched on a dating app a few weeks ago, and after many late nights of texting that filled your stomach with butterflies and heart with hope, you finally took the step and asked if he would like to actually go out.

But the evening has been less than ideal. Your date, although good-looking, clearly has some serious baggage from his last relationship that even your 'I can fix him' mindset wants to turn away from. 

He has refused to go on ride after ride after ride with you, claiming that he and his friends rode all of them last year and thought they were just a waste of time. And he turned his nose up at any of the mouthwateringly atrocious fair food you wanted to try out and dragged you to the only place on the fairgrounds that sold smoothie bowls, which may be delicious, but they are something you could eat any other day whilst cheddar cheese flavored ice cream is not.

You try to hide your frown as you spin the deep purple, soupy concoction with your spoon as you stare across at your dark haired date and tell him what you think is a convincing lie, "Yes, I'm having a great time. Thank you for the acai bowl."

"Don't mention it," he chuckles, wiping his berry-dusted chin with his sleeve. "I'm glad I was able to find us something in this place that was organic. All that deep-fried garbage they sell at the other stalls is repulsing."

"Maybe," you say, stirring your bowl even more, really not wanting to engage in any kind of debate with this guy. You take a bite of your bowl, and while it is good, you hate that it costs the same as half a tank of gas. 

Luckily, your date paid for that. 

Just getting up and leaving is always an option, but there is still hope that things can turn around, or at least you'll have a decent bad date story to tell your friends when the night is over.

"How about we go on the Ferris wheel?" he says at last, boredly scraping the button of his paper bowl with his spoon. 

"Really?" you say, thankful that you are finally able to go on one freaking ride on this date. Maybe you were being too critical of your date…

"Why not?" he says, "I didn't go on that one yet."

oh…

~

When you like someone, the idea of being wedged together on the Ferris wheel is something straight out of a romance movie, But when the already little spark of attraction you are feeling for your date has been drowned and smothered by the murky waters of his overflowing ego, the act is tortuous. 

Despite the little legroom in your pod, your date has decided to take up most of it with his wide stance; his obvious manspreading gets more and more stifling as you rise slowly into the air. The multicolored light bulbs of the wheel flicker, and you wonder briefly if that is normal.

It's getting a bit cold up here, isn't it?" he asks with a sly smile. It's honestly not cold at all; in fact, the warm air is kinda stuffy. Before you can say anything, his arm slings over your shoulder, and you dig your nails into your palm; it doesn't feel right; you know how you feel when you are attracted to someone, and this is not it.

The flash of a camera phone catches your attention and you blink away the spots in your vision. 

"Oh, that's perfect," he chuckles, looking at the selfie he just took of the both of you. "I'll send it to you and we can set it for our lock screens."

"Don't you think it's a little soon for that?" you ask, now wondering what kinda psycho you are trapped on this ride with.

"Hey, when you know you know Baby Cakes," he says with an almost hallmark channel level of confidence as he looks at the photo with a delusional smile. "Oh, we look great. I gotta send this photo to my Mom; she is gonna love you."

"Oh… how nice," you say dryly. You feel sick… in that moment, you decide that when you touch down on solid ground, you are going to get the hell out of dodge and take a cab home and leave this guy in the dust.  

The ride reaches its peak, and you sigh; at least you only have a few minutes left of this tortuous experience.  

"Hey, have you ever kissed someone at the top of a Ferris wheel before?" he asks, leaning in close. 

"Not really my thing," you say, scooting as far away from him as you can. But in the little car, you can't really go far. 

"Oh come on, don't be so shy, y/n, I don't ~" he starts to say when the ride suddenly jolts to a stop. Your little pod rocking back and forth."

"What was that?" he asks, getting a bit out of your bubble to look around. His lack of proximity makes you sigh in relief before realizing that you are stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel with this dude. 

Hopefully he doesn't try anything…

"Oh my god, oh my god, we're gonna die," he says, completely freaking out. "This is all your fault, y/n." He glares at you with tears streaming down your face as snot pours from his nose as he rocks the cart back and forth. 

You are speechless and have no idea what to do at this moment. All you can hope is that your date won't pee himself next to you in this little pod. 

You look down at the pavement; at least if you fall, you won't have to deal with this guy anymore…

Suddenly, a red feather whizzes by your face. You follow it with your eyes. Turning your head, you come face-to-face with the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

Bright golden eyes staring into yours warmly from behind a yellow visor. Crimson wings beat softly in the air. "Hey there, you look like you could use a hand."

"H-hawks." Your date says addressing the pro hero. "Thank God you're here. Please get me down."

"No problem, folks, I'll get you down; it looks like that machine down there is a little jammed, so you'll have to bear with me." His feathers harden as they whittle away at the steel safety harness that keeps you trapped in the air. 

"Now, don't move, all right? I had to cut the beam to get you guys out of here, so hang tight in those seat belts." He looks at you and holds out a hand. "how about I start with you? Wanna get back on solid ground?"

You smile. "So badly." His hand has a pleasant warmth through it, but right before a hero can gently take you out of your seat. The bench starts to swing rapidly.

"No!" your date screams, unbuckling his seatbelt. "don't take them, take me." he stands and lunges towards the Pro Hero, only to be halted in the air by a cluster of feathers latching to his clothing. 

His arm pushes you off balance, and you slip, letting out a yelp as you wonder if this is the end. Frightfully, you imagine yourself becoming one with the pavement below, the worst end to the worst date of your life. 

Strong arms are quick to grab you, and you are pulled into the safety of the winged hero's chest. "Don't worry, I gotcha," he says softly; the world beneath you makes your head spin. "Hey… Don't look down, you're safe. What's your name?" 

The unwavering care in his voice calms you, and you answer. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the feathers bringing your date down to the ground and setting him on the pavement with an unceremonious plop.

"Serves him right," you mutter, "This has been the worst first date of my life."

"Don't tell me there's gonna be a second." He jokes as his feathers start to free the other passengers, setting them on the ground; he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and winks, "Just between you and me, I think you can do way better than that guy."

Your cheeks heat under the hero's surprisingly flirty banter, and you realize that you are still nestled comfortably in his arms, high above the ground. But instead of feeling worried, you feel strangely comfortable. Your stomach seems to flutter as you are brought down to earth. 

"There you go," he says gently, placing you on solid ground. Although you are safe and sound, you can't help but feel a little disappointed that your short time with the Pro hero has to end so soon. 

"Thank you for helping me out up there," you say, remembering your manners. 

"It was my pleasure," he says; his golden gaze flickers from you to behind you and narrows. "Hey, I hope I'm not crossing a line or anything, but it looks like you may need a bit more saving." He gestures over to your still-sniveling date, who doesn't seem to notice you at all. 

"Ugh, where were you three hours ago?" you chuckle dryly. 

Your little comment sends him into a fit of laughter so hard he has to remove his visor to wipe tears from his eyes. "Sorry, I guess that saving your life was the best I could do."

"And you call yourself a hero," you shake your head and fight the smile on your lips. 

"Can I make it up to you?" he asks earnestly. "My patrol ends in a few, so I could take you home or somewhere else, maybe grab some food."

Your brain shorts out for a moment as you are shocked by this unexpected turn of events. 

Is he flirting with you?

This is Hawks, one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, and he is offering to take you to get food.

"It seems like you are going above and beyond the call of duty," you comment, watching as he tucks his wings to his back. 

"Well, it just seems right," he says honestly. "You look like you need a better day, and I'm starving. So what do you say? Wanna use me as a good old-fashioned rebound?"

The corners of your lips turn upward. "I would."

"Perfect, then let me work my magic, and we can get out of here." he smiles, the toothy grin looking much more natural than the ones you see plastered on the magazine covers. He turns and walks over to a sidekick in an elastic red suit. "Hey, this one is a bit shaken up, so I'm gonna help them home; you got everything handled over here, right?"

They nod, and he turns on a dime, walking over to you with a poorly concealed pep in his step. "Are you ready to go?" 

You nod eagerly. And motions for you to hang on tight to him. Although just a few minutes ago, you were disgusted at the idea of even brushing knuckles with your previous date, being in the arms of the hero is comfortable. 

He launches the two of you into the air, and the wind tickles your face. Leaving your sniveling date in the dust. 

"So where to first?" he yells above the breeze. 

"There's a really good fried chicken food truck near my place if you want to try it out?" you say after a bit of thought. 

His gaze fills with affection, and his laughter rises with his wings. "Oh, I think we are gonna get along just fine."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @anjodedesgostoeerros @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear

[churipu]

FIRST EVER REQUEST. WOOHOO!!

Id like to request jjk men with a reader that has atrociously long hair, like super duper long hair please.

(eg. do some get mad becuz the hair is everywhere. Do some help you make your hair)

I hope your taking care of yourself and staying healthy and hydrated <3 mwah mwah

JJK MEN + PARTNER WHO HAS LONG HAIR

featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, choso kamo x reader

warnings. cursing (toji)

note. hi nonnieee, congrats on your first request mwah mwah. as a person who used to have ATROCIOUSLY long hair — some people weren't happy, including me (which is why i decided to chop it off >:() and nonnie baby, i hope you're also taking care of yourself <33 also, i'm gonna be closing the requests as of now while i try to finish the other requests, and it will be opened back if everything is done! thank you.

GOJO SATORU. loves your hair, no questions asked. he loves playing with your hair if you both are just chilling in the house, the male always tries to look up easy hairstyles to do for beginners — which never ends up good.

gojo once got your hair stuck in a brush because he was too focused in watching the tutorial, and he contemplated chopping your hair off. but you threatened him, and so he spent approximately one and a half hour to untangle your hair.

after that day, he never tried a new hairstyle in fear of doing something wrong again. but he still and does play with your hair, twirling it around his slender fingers and caressing it — sometimes he helps you with drying your hair after a shower, and he helps on your hair care routine.

"so i just put the tonic on? how much should i put? four dose of pipettes?" he asks you, looking at the small pipette in confusion.

"baby, no— just four squeezes are enough." you informed, a bit worried about your hair now; but the male did extremely well, even giving your scalp a quick massage.

"did i do good? can i do it again next time, please please?" he asks you, pulling you into his chest, "it's fun, i'm like your personal hairdresser."

you rolled your eyes, "sure, sure. free of charge, right?"

the male rolled his eyes, "of course not, there's a price to it. i get a kiss after, one for the tonic, one for the massage. deal?" he proposed, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips.

"i like that deal. deal."

TOJI FUSHIGURO. he hates it. on certain occasions — absolutely despises your hair when you're both cuddling, it gets into his face, his eyes, his mouth, everywhere where he doesn't want it to be. but out of that, he's perfectly fine with it.

"ah, fuck— doll, 'm going to cut your hair one of these days and make it look like an accident," he groans out, gently brushing your hair aside as your back was pressed onto his chest.

"cut my hair, and i'll cut this relationship short."

toji chuckles, pressing a light kiss on the area between your neck and shoulder, "you're mean," he mumbles into your skin.

as much as he said he'd cut it (as a joke), he'd find your hair really fun to play with sometimes; and his fingers would reach out to the edges of your hair, playing with it while his eyes are focused elsewhere. during movie nights, he'd be unaware of his lingering fingers in your hair as he watches; you didn't mind though, letting his hand just roam in your hair until the movie ends.

the male looks intrigued by your hair care routine, toji would always be there to watch you put care into your hair. sometimes offering to do it, and when he messes up he asks you to take over because he was scared of ruining your beautiful hair.

"ah, shit. i can't do it baby, you take over." he mutters out in annoyance, sliding the hair tonic over to you after failing to pump in the right amount of liquid into the pipette from his strong grip.

the male looks up hairstyles and sends the link to you, asking: "can you try this hairstyle, wanna see you in it." and is never disappointed with the result.

he makes himself the small spoon so your hair wouldn't get in his face — not that he's complaining, he likes being held by you.

"what're you doing, toji?" you asked in confusion, seeing the male curled up in bed.

"being the small spoon," he mumbles out.

and from then on, he is now the small spoon (he loves it, but would never admit it, telling you that it's just because of your hair).

CHOSO KAMO. he is the best at doing hairstyles, especially pig tails. choso is so delicate with your hair, treating every strand like they're his own. and he was the first one to offer to do your hair when he sees you slightly struggling with trying out a new hairstyle.

he would be independent to look up new hairstyles and come to you, asking if he could try doing your hair.

"hi y/n," he appears behind the bedroom door, peeking slightly with a small smile, "can i do your hair?"

when you tell him yes, he gets so happy and skips on the bed. telling you to sit down in front of him while he follows the tutorial patiently — and when he's done, he's always giddy to hear your reaction to his work. such a cutie.

"cho, this looks really pretty, thank you," you kissed his forehead, and the male shyly smiles at you.

choso sees you putting on a lot of things on your hair after a shower and he began looking up hair care routines on the internet, how to do them step by step, remembering everything so he could be the one doing your hair care routine for you.

"baby, baby! i wanna do your hair care routine," he tells you, tugging your hand with a smile on his face.

you, of course, let him. trusting him with it — and choso delivers perfectly, doing the steps you usually do with the right amount of things. it makes him really happy when you tell him thank you and awarded him with a kiss or two.

choso loves and adores your hair, he treats it like his own.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[vixnarts]

Sorry that I haven’t been posting on Tumblr. I’m not active on here because the platform isn’t my favorite. But since I’m hated by the dragon artist community in the HTTYD fandom on Instagram. I’m going to post my drawing here. I’ll come back to posting more of the creepypasta proxy x supernatural AU soon. Now without further ado, let’s start off with my opinions on both Httyd movies.

HEADS UP: if you do not like these opinions about the third movie, please do not attack me or anyone else that agrees. I will block (depending on the comment) or delete the negative comments.

Toothless (THW): There were so many things with this movie that pissed me off, starting off with Toothless himself. He stood out like a sore thumb. His design is atrocious with the squished eyes and the eyebrows. The few things that were good were the Deathgrippers and when Toothless was angry. That’s it. Also the light fury was shit and she looked like a condom. Anyways, Toothless was butchered so bad in this movie. He was a slobbery horny fuck and made out with his own shadow. He was disgusting to the Light fury (Thanks for smacking him in that scene when Toothless was being a creep doing those tropical bird dances). Now with his markings, they’re vaguely there. When he’s flying you can kinda see em but not really. Aside from the deathgrippers and Toothless’s angered expressions, the entire movie was shit. And DO NOT get me started with the light fury and those ugly ass looking night light things. I preferred the old storyboard where Toothless was reunited with a pack of night furies and Drago returned. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Side note: I also liked the soundtrack of this movie. With this atrocious movie, it’s like DreamWorks took away all Toothless mysterious aspects and made him act like a rubbery mutt (no offense to dogs, dogs are way smarter than what DreamWorks did to Toothless)

HTTYD (2010): Oh boy, I loved this movie since childhood. The animation, the dragons actually looked intimidating, and my favorite of all Toothless. I loved him, his design especially. He actually scared me as a kid while watching this on DVD. Toothless in the first film was by far the best (as well as HTTYD2 Toothless, tho I like the first movie better) he was sassy, protective of hiccup even when Astrid was gonna attack. What I loved about Toothless’s design was his tiger shark leopard print markings and that he acted like a cat. I loved the way he moved in flight and walking. Another thing on what I loved about Toothless was that he was actually mysterious and unknown. No one never knew about his species it was all unknown. It would’ve been cool if DreamWorks added the concept light furies in the movie. That would be dope.

[arttsuka]

I wanted to talk about Toothless and how his design and personality changed for the worst throughout the 3 animated movies (I won't be tackling any of the shows because I haven't watched them)

In the first movie he's at his best. His design is actually amazing, from the overall model structure to the patterns on his skin (which are visible in every shot, especially the ones taking place during the day, without ruining the 'illusion' of his black skin. It actually feels like it's resembling a panther aka black leopard in which the fur patterns are still visible). His face has a more aerodynamic shape, more sharp, a big curve.

His snarky but intelligent personality was really fitting for him. And we got to see more of it as the movie was progressing and he was getting more comfortable with humans.

In the second movie the patterns on his skin are still mostly there, way less prominent but still visible. His face got squashed down (a problem which only because stronger in the 3rd movie) but as a whole he still looks presentable, kinda. His posture changed too (but I'm too lazy to find evidence, you'll have to take my word for it).

I remember not having a problem with his personality in the second movie which is why I was surprised to see that this was only half true. He acts more domesticated, that's to be expected, but only around humans? When he interacts with other dragons it's like he's a completely different character, closer to what he became in httyd 3 than 1. He's still quite intelligent and more used to human equipment and people in general. In the first part of the film (especially this scene with Hiccup) he acts like how I'd imagine he should be in the 3rd movie, here it should have been a 'middle' ground, not 100% domesticated but not movie 1 feral either.

In the third movie he suffered the worst. Gone are the patterns on his skin, he's solid black now. His face got weirder too.

His personality got reduced to this stupid, slobbering 'dog'. His pupils are always dilated and his tongue almost constantly out. He acts unintelligent and he doesn't have that snarky personality he had in the first and even the second movie. He's basically a different character altogether. (That scene where he tries to 'woo' the light fury is embarrassing at best and shows exactly what's wrong with his character now).

They did it to make him more 'likable' to younger audiences + to make a good visual contrast to the light fury (who has an undercooked personality AND awful design as well), which is weird because they gave the light fury patterns on her wings?

The light fury looks like a beluga whale in the worst way possible. She has almost nothing going on visually to the point it doesn't even make sense. Her skin looks fragile, she's so weirdly smooth for no reason. It would legit be better if they took a night fury model and painted it white.

They gave her a 'cat' personality and took it away from Toothless (why couldn't both be 'cats'?). Also she's the 'girl' character, her only purpose is to be the romantic interest. She adds nothing to the film.

No comment in the live action design. Just ugly. Atrocious even.

Also something else that's been bothering me from the live action remake is this scene.

They've basically recreated every scene exactly as it was in the original so far (which is a bad thing) but the slight hesitation Toothless showed before touching Hiccups hand was the one thing they chose not to include? (I know the scene wasn't meant to have that in the beginning and it was an error in animation which they decided to keep because it gave the scene more personality so, why not include it in the live action?)

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

No Nut November - Kirk

A/n: I have decided I'm focusing on unfinished series' first and I will deal with requests later because holy fuck I have a lot and I am ✨overwhelmed✨ so bear with me 🥹

Warnings: Smut, semipublic sex?, oral (m receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Intro

It was barely a week into you staying with Metallica and the guys were all struggling. Kirk was having an especially hard time, partially because you were going after him first.

Kirk was the youngest, the calmest... honestly, he just seemed like an easy target.

He never acted on his thoughts, not that you knew of anyway, but you could see the cracks in his jokes, how he rarely made eye contact with you, left his eyes on you a second or two longer than he should've.

You were making yourself a little midnight snack in the dark, hoping that would keep people asleep since you hadn't felt like dressing up or anything. Also, your midnight snack was utterly atrocious, as is the way with the best of them, and you didn't need people coming in on that.

However, the light flicked on and you turned to see Kirk staring at you wide eyed. Shorts that weren't quite long enough and no shirt, just your bra because it was fucking hot this time of year.

"Hi." You said simply, just to break the awkward silence. Kirk's attention snapped up to your eyes and he smiled at you, crooked teeth and all.

"Hi." He replied, trying to keep his tone normal. "What are you doing?" He asked, coming closer to you.

"Making a snack." You said, continuing to work on your food.

"In the dark?" You chewed your cheek before shrugging.

"Dark doesn't scare me." You said, then you thought for a moment. "Does it scare you?"

"What?" He asked, giving you a look like he was more scared you'd genuinely think that of him. "No, of course not, why would I be scared of the dark?"

You shrugged and sucked your teeth. "I don't know, you watch a lot of horror movies, you might've thought I was some kind of demon."

"Oh, totally." He said with a soft laughter. "You know, I thought you were actually Freddie Kreuger out to get me."

"Right, right, so you came to get me first?" You asked, brow raised at him.

Kirk's mouth opened to say something but he cut himself off. "What the hell are you making?" He asked, changing the subject.

You explained your midnight snack of choice, by that time Kirk got hungry and since you were talking about horror movies he suggested you watched one with him right then. Perfect conditions, middle of the night, everyone sleeping, and you had snacks. Really, there wasn't much too it.

He set up a movie while you got to work on popcorn.

When you came over to him he was all set up on the couch with a blanket and everything. There was tons of space, the whole rest of the couch and other chairs, hell, you could've sat on the floor if you wanted. But you had a plan, and you were going to stick to it.

You sat right beside Kirk, curling up to him. Hesitantly, he returned your little act of affection and held you to his side, squeezing you gently whenever something even remotely scary happened.

You weren't too focused on the movie, you were more interested in what you could get kirk to do. You started rubbing your hand up and down his thigh, listening to his breath hitching and catching his small glimpses down to you.

He didn't stop you from pushing his shorts down and palming his hard-on through his boxers. Soft moans left him, lips parted and eyes looking dazed at the feeling.

You pushed the blanket off of the both of you and slipped off of the couch and onto your knees in front of him. Kirk looked around frantically. "We-we can't. What if-" He was cut off by a moan, which he covered by slapping a hand over his mouth.

You were pulling his shorts and boxers down, his cock springing free and hitting his abdomen, already red and leaky with pre-cum. "Don't worry," you said, trailing a finger up his length, "no one's coming down. The lights are off, they won't even notice us."

"What about the movie?" He mumbled. You glanced over you shoulder at the movie still playing.

"Then they'll notice you." You said with a shrug. He didn't look too convinced but he definitely relaxed when you took him into your mouth. He didn't care of someone came and saw you, he barely cared enough to cover his mouth as your head bobbed up and down on him, slurping, sucking and licking on him.

He spread his legs further and his hand went to the back of your head, guiding you on him, not that you needed it. His hips bucked up, pushing him deeper into your throat.

You felt him pulsing, veins on your tongue, tip hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes watered and drool dripped out the corners of your mouth. You kept your eyes on him, watching him carefully and taking mental snapshots of his expressions.

You heard noises coming from upstairs, Kirk did as well. "Stop, we have to-to stop." He said, voice breathless. Despite his words he kept pushing you back down, keeping himself in you. "Someone's gonna- fuck-!" He squeaked, holding a hand over his mouth tighter.

His body seemed to flare up, weakly trying to push you away while simultaneously holding you in place, hot cum spurting down your throat.

You pulled the blanket over you and Kirk pulled a few pillows over in a feeble attempt to cover you before the lights flicked on showed Lars standing by the stairs, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Fuck are you doing?" He grumbled, accent painfully strong with sleep.

"Watching the, uh..." Kirk stammered, pointing to the TV which still had the horror movie going.

Lars stared at him, there was no way he didn't notice the strange lump on Kirk's lap but he didn't bring it up and just nodded. "Go to sleep, weirdo." He grumbled, turning the lights back off and heading back upstairs.

You waited to here the door to Lars's room close before pushing the blanket off of you once more, finally pulling away from Kirk and wiping your mouth.

You stood and pushed your shorts and soaked panties down before sitting next to kirk. "My turn~" You said, grinning widely. How could he say no?

[the-oblivious-writer]

Tara Carpenter: Headcanons

Headcanons

Note: Random Tara hcs that've been running through my mind

I feel like she's a picky eater - like "orders chicken fingers and french fries at fancy restaurants" picky eater

Steals Borrows Sam's clothes

Has knee problems. Even before gf she had shitty knees but gf certaintly didn't help

She walks with a little limp that's a result of Amber's attacks

Hated gym. She constantly tried to get out of it by bringing up her asthma or saying she was on her period/pmsing

Always begged Sam to let her ride in the shopping cart whenever they went grocery shopping (still does)

She's a funny/flirty drunk and grows clingy

She could zone out for hours on an object, observing it in all its glory

She has allergies (Sam's been epi-pen trained for as long as Tara's been alive)

Tried weed once. Instant regret.

Eats youtube essays UP

Short attention span. Can't watch a tiktok longer than 2 seconds without someone playing subway surfers on the other side

If something genuinely interests her, she's gonna know a shit-load about it (ex: sharks or lizards)

Addicted to energy drinks and coffee - really anything with caffeine she's downing

Texts like she's sending you a ransom note

Hates her birthday, hates Christmas, tolerates Halloween

Puts hot sauce on everything. Ketchup used to be the thing she put on everything, but as she says to Sam and her friends, she's matured since then

Two left feet, terrible coordination

Farsighted. Can't see for shit without being at least 10 feet away. She's stubborn about it too. Whenever Sam confronts her about it, she brushes it off as nothing before walking into a wall

Laughs at the most unserious things/during inappropriate moments

Spongebob lover, they're the same person idc

Complains about Sam's snoring even though she's just as loud a snorer - if not louder

Puts ketchup in her mac n' cheese and calls it a delicacy. Since she was left to take care of herself - her Sam and sperm doner being gone and Christina off at business trips - she learned to do with what she had You know when Janine (abott elementary) mixed peanut butter with her ramen? Or when Jake (brooklyn nine nine) called a spoon full of mayo with nuts sprinkled on top a snack? Yeah. Tara.

When Sam first had a chance to see the atrocious meals Tara put together, she started teaching Tara how to cook basic, and proper, meals. At least she's trying to

Tara gets a little too excited when she's put on chopping duty

Sleeps with a night light (those ladybug ones have her name written all over it)

'Lilo and Stich' is her comfort movie, this isn't up for debate. She feels connected to the movie on another level, and every time she watches it she ends up in tears

-----------

A/N: I feel strongly about the last one

[risuola]

OPEN YOUR MOUTH FOR ME — F. READER x NANAMI KENTO, who joined you for a simple mission during the Halloween night

You liked to joke that Nanami is always overdressed for the occasion. His suits were always crisp and perfectly tailored, showing the unmatched confidence with their color – light beige fabric in combination with dark blue button-up perfectly accentuated his mature features and blonde hair. Your work colleague knows how to dress to impress, and the grown-up apparition matched his character perfectly. Both were cold and calculated, so once, you decided to greet him in the hotel room a little underdressed.

cw: smut, lingerie + suit, blindfold, oral (m. receiving) face fucking/deepthroating, reader discretion is advised — 3,1k words

masterlist

If there was ever a person who’s overdressed for every occasion, who always looks composed and perfectly prepared, who always has suits perfectly crisp and tailored – it would be Nanami Kento.

Your friend since high school, your former classmate, your now work colleague and one of the closest people to you. Your bond with him is unbreakable, many horrible experiences you shared over a decade of being sorcerers, despite him leaving for a little while but besides what’s bad, you have so many great memories with him, it’s hard to describe. So many movie nights, every each of them quickly turning into late hours of just talking, drinking wine and enjoying the time together; so many casual walks, so many bakery visits and tests. He was your number one guinea pig when it came to your amateur baking hobby – he tried everything you made, gave you his honest opinion, sometimes too brutal, but you loved him for that. There was no bullshit when it came to Nanami, he always spoke his mind and you valued his opinion above everyone else’s. He’s a great friend.

That being said, there was always a lot of bickering between you two, and the way he’s always suited up, with that atrocious tie is your main weapon of choice when it comes to pushing his buttons – even though he looks perfectly fine, and he knows it. There’s no denying that Nanami Kento is a man created to wear suits. His fit, muscular frame fills in this kind of clothes perfectly and it also fitted his character. Calm, collected, always composed and on the field – effective enough to never stain the light beige fabric of one of his favorite numbers. It showed how confident in his skill he is and if someone makes him take his tie off and loosen up the dark blue shirt, you always pitied them. When the yellowish, spotted tie comes off, you know Nanami means business.

Even though you often made fun of the way Kento’s suited up even to go and grab groceries, you couldn’t say you don’t enjoy the view. You’re friends, but you’re not oblivious to how attractive he is – tall and broad, with his light blonde hair swooped back, his strong features and cheekbones sharp enough, you were sure, to cut a finger once touched. Not much of that skinny emo boy from ten years ago was now left in him and you’d say he had a great glow up. He aged like a fine wine and sometimes you caught yourself wishing to have a taste. To cross the line of friendship and explore more of him. Sometimes, during those long late hours, in the silence of the nights when it’s only you and him chatting quietly, you wondered how would he react if you just caressed his thigh. How would he react if you kissed his neck or slipped your hand over the very inviting bulge in his pants? Would he flinch away? Told you to stop? Maybe his composure would snap, and he’d taken you on the couch? You’d lie if you say you never fantasized about being fucked by him. You don’t need him to be your boyfriend, you don’t need commitment, you just wished he’d let you have a friendly taste of him.

The night of Halloween was never really your favorite – not because you’re that no- fun, but because during that night, many curses were let loose, balancing between crowds and some people couldn’t even notice what hurt them. Chaos was integral part of 31st of October and although you didn’t like it, you learned to accept it. That year you and Nanami got paired up to check on one little place on the outskirts of Tokyo – it was a simple mission, you quickly had it done and you couldn’t be more grateful to have him as a partner. You were meant to stay in the hotel for the night, just in case something happened, but ultimately, around 9pm you were already finished with the job.

That night you decided to test your luck. Worst case scenario, it will be just a little awkward and quickly forgotten. Best case – you’d achieve what you want. With that in mind, you couldn’t be happier when Nanami told you that he’s gonna go and quickly check things outside once more, just to make sure, reassuring you that you can stay in the room because he’ll be right back. Giving him a nod on that, you told him you’ll take a quick shower and that’s when he left.

Cold, October air cooled Nanami’s thoughts a little. The job was easy, there was nothing for him to check on, but he just needed a quick breather to calm his nerves before the night you two were meant to spend together. It wasn’t the first time, you had countless sleepovers, you shared beds previously, you hugged and held hands many times, but somehow, for a little while now, Kento couldn’t really keep his cool next to you. He had always found you attractive – you were just perfect in every aspect he could think of. Maybe except the baking, but even that you improved a lot recently. You were the only woman he had such close contact since high school and, of course, there were his other female friends, like Shoko, Utahime or Mei Mei, but you, being his classmate – he felt the most comfortable with you. He loved your character; so light and cheerful and yet mature and calm. Nothing soothed him more than those movie nights with you. The ones that always turned into hours of chats about everything, with the film playing in the background. And in his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman he’s seen. Your figure got him salivating; so many nights he spent fucking his hand with the picture of you in front of his mind, it was almost embarrassing to think of a friend that way. But he couldn’t help himself and deep down, he was thankful for the way his body was able to keep composure with you close to him.

He had no idea how he’ll survive another night in one bed with you – it’s been quite some time since you shared one bed. For few years now, even if you were on a job together, you usually had different rooms or at least separate beds. He wouldn’t count those nights when you fall asleep on his shoulder, fully clothed on the couch as sleeping together. He couldn’t tell how many times he wished to just have you. For once. To see how you taste, how you feel. To make you feel good. Would that make things awkward between you two afterwards? He couldn’t tell. You were always fully honest with yourselves. Well, almost, because if he was to be completely straightforward with you, he’d tell you already that he dreams of you bouncing on his dick.

“Oh, fucking hell, get it together, Kento,” he muttered to himself, looking up at the clear sky through the soft cloud of steam that came from his mouth – evidence of temperature now being much lower at nights than it used to be in the last few months. The harsh moonlight nearly blinded him and he exhaled deeply, silently wishing that instead of this boring mission he’d get something more involving. Maybe patrolling Shibuya on one of the busiest nights during the year would have him occupied enough to not wonder how your pussy would feel around his cock. Could you even take him? Would you cry? Would you enjoy it? Fuck, he was really doomed.

Coming to terms with his cursed fate, he visited nearest convenience store, grabbing few of your favorite sweets and a bottle of wine and headed back to the hotel. You were nowhere to be seen in the apartment but the quiet cacophony of hushed noises from the bathroom clearly indicated that you were still there, probably getting ready to bed, so Nanami made sure the doors are closed and put the alcohol into the fridge. His thoughts were still wondering somewhere between reality and a fantasy of you.

“You bought us some liquid courage?”, you joked from behind him, your voice soft and mentally he kicked himself for not noticing you sneaking up on him, because when he turned out, the sight caught him off guard.

You were there, smelling divine with the slightly fruity note of the shower gel you used. Your hair was dry mostly, just barely dampened at the ends but what made him forget how to breathe properly was what you were wearing. Or rather what you were not wearing. You stood there, heightened on your tippytoes and barefoot, dressed only in a set of lingerie – it was blood-red in color, made entirely of thin, soft looking lace and leaving not much to imagination in a way it hugged your breasts; the see-through pattern made your nipples just teasingly noticeable. There was a thin, golden necklace hanging on your neck, drawing attention between your breasts where little letters K and H were hanging – your way of having both of your former classmates always next to your heart, but now he couldn’t focus on the shiny accessory when it was situated in the little valley between the swell of your chest. When Nanami looked a little lower, his eyes sliding down the curves of your body right to where the little, equally thin panties were resting against your hips, he swallowed thickly. The view went straight to his dick and it felt straining already.

“Should I look away?”, he asked, his voice cracking just barely at the beginning of the sentence, but his voice was now an octave lower, and you found it incredibly attractive. The question he asked was experimental, he needed to know if you wanted him to look at you or you just, for some reason, forgot the clothes from your backpack and came to get them.

“I’d wish you to not,” you replied, gently placing your hands over his chest and pushing him few steps back, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Once you took his glasses off and made your way to the little table to safely put them there, you gave Nanami a chance to see the back of what little you were wearing, and he nearly moaned at the sight of the tiny thong.

“Is that your Halloween costume?”, he asked, noticing little devil-like tail that you had attached to the waist band of your panties. It’s only now that he realized there are two little horns on your head as well.

“It is Halloween after all,” you chuckled, getting back to him. “I figured you have enough tricks with Gojo, but I might have a treat for you.”

Kento sat down on the edge of the bed, pushed back by your hands and you found a place between his legs, slowly brushing your fingers through his hair. There was a certain amount of hesitation when he allowed his palms to rest on the sides of your thighs, the feeling of your soft skin sent electrical impulses from his fingertips to his member, making it more uncomfortable than it was just moments before.

“Oh my god, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, burying his nose into your stomach, peppering soft kisses over your flesh and immediately intoxicating himself with the subtle, sweet scent of you, the warmth of your flesh, the taste.

“So, you accept me as your Halloween treat?” You asked lightly, scratching at his scalp before he pulled away from your belly.

“If you are a treat, I might start liking that day.” He declared, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you over his thighs. You straddled him and immediately found his lips, hungry to finally taste him. Your nearly naked form and red lace contrasted heavily with the complete suit he still had on, the cotton fabric rested comfortably against your thighs as you fought with him for dominance in the kiss. Nanami’s large hands wandered over your shapes, examining your frame and sending shivers down your spine. His palms were cold against your skin, or maybe it was you who were burning with anticipation already, but the cool feeling made you gasp into his mouth.

Your hips rolled against his crotch; you could clearly feel his strangled erection fighting for any space inside his dress pants, the light beige cage trapping him almost painfully and you smiled into the kiss as he groaned lowly at the contact. Not faltering from his mouth, you began slowly grinding your clothed core against his dick, the size of his bulge made you more wet than you thought you’d be at this point and you were sure that if that takes any longer, you’ll leave a sticky patch over his trousers.

“Can I taste you?”, you asked, barely pulling away from the kiss; your lips still brushing against his as you panted out the words. “I really want to taste you, Kento.”

Nanami wasn’t the type to receive, he was rather the giver. He found pleasure in making others feel it, but who he was to say no, when you asked so nicely. Stealing one more kiss, he let go of your hips, allowing you to move down from his lap and he watched how you slowly dropped to your knees in front of him. He took few mental pictures of the sight, you really looked breathtaking like this, with your eyes half-lidded, your lips swollen and parted, glistening from saliva and panting softly for air. There was also some kind of unreasonable satisfaction to have you on your knees, dressed so scandalously whilst he had the perfectly tailored, business suit on.

“God, you’re bigger than I thought,” you muttered once his pants were opened and with a pull on his underwear, you let his cock spring free. His hard length bounced against his stomach, the tip angry and leaking, eager to be caressed and Kento purred when your hand wrapped around his girth, giving him few experimental pumps.

The way you looked at him from between his legs made him feel, like he could cum just from the sight of your eyes, so to spare himself the embarrassment, he grabbed his tie and with upmost expertise, covered your eyes with it. The sudden loss of vison made you gasp quietly, but there was no protest from you.

“Open your mouth for me,” he ordered and you were quick to comply, leaning in and giving his length few long licks. Your tongue followed the swollen vein on the underside of his cock and each stroke you finished with a soft suck on the tip. Hungry for more, you finally took him into your mouth, enveloping him with the warmth of your throat and you began to move – at first slowly, up and down, feeling his girth and using your hand where you couldn’t reach.

Nanami placed his large hand on top of your head, smoothing over your hair as you picked up the pace. The way your tongue danced around him, as you worked it intensely against his dick made him groan lowly – a sound that went straight in between your legs, the best kind of praise to what you were doing. You couldn’t see him, so what you were feeling and hearing filled you with satisfaction and you noted to yourself, that his already sexy voice sounds even hotter when he’s all worked up. You rarely ever heard Kento growl, he wasn’t usually angry or worn out enough to show anyone that side of him.

“Just like that, such a good girl,” he praised and you could feel him growing in your mouth, throbbing and flexing as you were sucking him like it was your job. But you were curious, so eager to know what he’s capable of, what he really wants because you struggled to believe he’s always so composed. Even now, as he was panting from pleasure you were giving him, you could tell he still held back, kept himself gentle and aware not to hurt you. You wanted him to let loose.

“Use me,” you pleaded, pulling him out of your mouth with a soft pop.

“I will hurt you,” he replied breathily, the top of his knuckles softly smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I will let you know if it’s too much,” you reassured. “I’ll tap your thigh if I can’t take it.”

There was no need to repeat it. Despite initial doubts, Nanami trusted you – a testimony to a decade you spent together. He knew you well enough to know you will indeed let him know if something’s wrong. You were not the type to please at the cost of your own health, so he wasn’t worrying that much when he collected all your hair into a ponytail, throwing the headband with devil horns away.

“Open,” his tone was demanding, way less friendly and much more harsh and the second after his words reached your ears, your jaw dropped down. You worked with him once his dick was back in your mouth, adjusting to the tempo he forced upon you. The tip of him time after time was hitting your throat, the salty precum spread all over your palate and you focused on breathing through your nose instead of gasping through lips.

You knew Nanami was close, you could feel his thighs tensing on your sides and you could tell by the way his grip on your hair tightened. The stinging pull on your follicles caused you to moan quietly, the vibration of your vocal cords reverberated onto his length and he groaned from above you. You teased him playfully with your teeth, grazing them alongside his dick and earning yourself a punishment – he pushed your head down onto himself, his tip deep down your throat and you whined incoherently, causing him to twitch right there. In no time, he was cumming, still forcing your head up and down his cock, abusing your pharynx with every thrust.

His seed was spilling through the corners of your mouth and once he let you off his member, his fingers were quick to catch the white drops from your chin and push them back into your mouth. Nanami scoffed slightly at the eagerness with which you sucked on his fingers and so it didn’t surprise him when even though he came already, you were quickly back on his dick, licking him clean and purring.

Nanami would let you play a little more if not for the desperate need to feel your pussy. Hence why in a matter of seconds, you were on the bed, flat on your back whilst he crawled above you, already toying with the waistband of your lacey panties.

“Now it’s my turn.”

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day ten ❆ ugly sweaters

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

you and ghost bet on who can wear their ugly holiday sweater the longest. it's only a matter of time before one of you gets too desperate to keep it on. 2.7k

❆ pairing: ghost x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; slight possessive ghost; impatient ghost; oral sex [f receiving]; fingering; piv sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); creampie

For such an intimidating and serious man, Simon was an absolute sucker for the cheesiness that came with the holidays. From the terrible movies to the cliché romantic gestures, he was more excited than one would think when it came to holiday celebrations. But, this year, he seemed interested in a particularly terrible aspect of the holiday season: ugly sweaters.

And the ones he got for the two of you certainly were ugly. Bright, obnoxious patterns that clashed, tinsel sewn in along the front, and small bulbs that actually lit up at the press of a button. They were, decidedly, terrible. And that’s exactly why he got them.

Although, he had intended for it to be something cute between the two of you. Wearing them around in the comfort of your home just to bask in the cheesiness together. What he hadn’t intended was your insistence on wearing the sweaters to a friend’s party. You thought it was the perfect opportunity to show up donning something atrocious, especially with such a big, intimidating guy like Simon. But he was hesitant, and you could tell. The man had somewhat of a reputation to uphold, after all. 

It took some convincing, but he came around to the idea. It might’ve got him some attention, which he wasn’t always a fan of, but it would be fun—and what were the holidays without a little cheer? But, to make things a little more fun, you decide to make it a bet—10 quid to whoever could stomach sitting in a sweater longer. That got him (and his competitive spirit) interested.

And, thankfully, the party was going well. Your friends were huge fans of the absurdly ugly sweaters the two of you wore. Even the people you didn’t know made a point to comment on the tinsel or lights that adorned the fabric. You loved the attention, loved seeing everyone laugh or brighten up when you showed off the terrible sweater. 

Simon was less enthusiastic. He liked the comedy of it all, particularly with your friends. But he wasn’t fond of the attention you seemed to garner from some friends-of-friends—a few guys you weren’t familiar with—who made it known how attractive they thought you were…even with the sweater. You didn’t think much of it when they complimented you, but nothing got past your boyfriend’s eagle eye. 

He sought you out like a dog, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close against his chest. It surprised you at first, especially when he held you like a vice. Slunk in the corner of the room like he didn’t want anyone else to see the two of you. 

Tension radiated off of him in thick waves, plainly evident by the way stood. “You alright?” You ask him, a hand on his chest in an attempt to ease whatever had him worked up.

There’s a beat of silence and a sigh before he responds. “Yeah,” is all he says, tight-lipped and sharp. You didn’t believe it for a second. “Jus’ want you close.”

He emphasizes the point by pulling you closer, if it were even possible. You were pressed up against his chest, his firm grip around your body keeping you in place. And when you squirm to try and get comfortable, that’s when you feel a familiar firmness pressing against your hip. 

“Are…are you hard?” You whisper the words softly for both his sake and yours. 

“You’re surprised?” He grumbles back. No wonder he was so tense.

“Seriously? This disgusting sweater,” you gesture to the tinsel-lined fabric on your torso, “and I still got you hard?”

“Well, those other guys really seemed to like it.”

Oh, so that’s what it was about. A few guys that were probably tipsy laughing about your absurd choice of dress. Granted, they were a little…personal about their compliments, but it didn’t take much for Simon to get possessive over you. The wrong guy could look at you and he’d feel the need to shove his tongue down your throat just to make a point. 

You roll your eyes at him, at the audacity to get worked up over something so minor. “Simon—”

“Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

Definitely not what you expected to come out of his mouth. But maybe he wanted the privacy. And you wouldn’t argue that he needed a few minutes to himself to calm down. 

“Past the kitchen, down the hall, I think,” you shrug, pointing in said direction.

“Show me.”

Christ. You roll your eyes again, taking his heavy hand in yours and dragging him behind you. Slinking past people and trying not to draw any attention to yourselves, you sidle down the hall until you reach the bathroom. You give Simon a look, something that said ‘hurry up and do what you have to do’, but then his hand is gripping yours tighter and he’s pulling you into the bathroom with him.

You could barely get a breath in before your back hit the wall. Simon’s body cages you in place, pressing his weight against you as his mouth finds yours in a sloppy kiss. The way his hands run over you is hurried and desperate, grabbing whatever parts of you he can to pull you closer. The bulge of his cock presses into your hip each time he tugs, grinding against you with each roll of his hips.

“Christ, Simon,” you manage to slide your mouth away long enough to catch your breath. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“‘Cause you’re hot,” his mouth trails down to your jaw, “and you’re mine,” a sharp nip of his teeth on your neck, “and I can’t wait til we get home to fuck you.”

One of his hands slides under the hem of your sweater, fingers splaying over your stomach before sliding upwards. Rough fingertips trace the line of your waist, dipping into your bra to grope your chest. His impatience extends to your clothing, trying to tug the sweater up and off your body, until you press a hand to his chest.

“Nuh-uh…” You pull your sweater back down and playfully swat his hands. “The bet. Remember?”

Simon audibly grumbles at that. He pulls his hands away from your torso, moving to grab your hips. “That’s fine,” he sighs. “Don’t gotta take it off yet.”

Then he’s dropping to his knees and tugging your pants down your body. His mouth trails kisses over the front of your panties before licking a fat stripe over your clit through the fabric. Impatience gets the better of him again, nearly tearing through the flimsy garment as he pulls it down your legs and exposes you to his hungry gaze. 

And ‘hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him. When he got between your legs, he moved like he was starving for you. Burying his face in your cunt, lapping and sucking like your slick was the only thing he lived off of, holding your hips in place so you can’t buck away from his mouth. It was intense right from the start. 

“Si…Jesus, baby…” Your head falls back against the wall, hips arching into his mouth just to chase the wet friction of his tongue. “We’re really doing this here?”

You feel him hum a ‘mm-hmm’ into your cunt that vibrates through you. His fingers dig into your hips keeping you pinned to the wall, nearly aching in their intensity. His tongue runs flat over your clit, circling in perfect strokes, before running down to prod at your hole. His face is buried in between your legs like he doesn’t want to let himself breathe; he’s more concerned with letting you grind against his nose than keeping himself conscious.

You almost wanted to damn him for being so good with his mouth. It was a struggle to keep yourself quiet enough to not get caught, covering your mouth with your hand just to stifle the moans that slipped past your lips. He wasn’t doing a great job at keeping quiet either—he was groaning into your cunt with every other wet suck and lap of his tongue. Looking down to see him knelt between your legs was always a sight you loved to see, even now with that horrendous sweater on his body, and it rocked you to your core seeing those brown eyes staring up at you. He could devour you with his eyes just as well as his mouth.

In fact, you’re so distracted by his eyes boring into you that you don’t notice his hand slipping between your legs until you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. It was already hard to keep quiet, but when two thick digits slide into your cunt, it was near impossible to stop yourself from crying out. A shaky gasp and you’re whimpering out for him, reaching down to thread your fingers through Simon’s hair. The sharp tug only makes him groan as he focuses his mouth on your clit. 

He barely gets in a few thrusts of his fingers before you start to tremble. The dual sensation sends sparks through you, pumping thick in your veins. “Fuck, Si, ‘m not…you’re gonna make me cum…”

“Good,” he mutters against your cunt. “Want you to soak my fuckin’ face.”

The thought was filthy—the possibility of him smelling like you around all those people—but, God, did it make you shiver. Your slick walls fluttered around his fingers, clit throbbing against his tongue, and with one last focused curl of his fingers, you were struggling to keep yourself upright as your orgasm pulsed through you. Your knees felt weak as you rocked your hips into his mouth, grinding his digits deep inside you. The thought of someone hearing your panting moans was the last thing on your mind as Simon focused on drawing out every last drop of your slick cum.

You were still quivering when he pulled back, licking his lips of your cum as he stood tall in front of you. His heavy hands find your hips, pulling you flush against his body. The taste of your cunt floods your tongue when he seeks you out for more sloppy, hungry kisses. Your hand moves to run over the thick outline of his cock, squeezing him through his jeans, feeling his responding groan against your lips.

He wastes no time freeing himself, so desperate and hurried he seems like he could rip the leather of his belt in half if he were any more needy. He’s guiding his cock to your hand almost as soon as he fishes it out, rolling his hips to grind into your palm. You grant him a few steady strokes just to hear him moan into your mouth. It doesn’t last longe before his impatience gets the better of him once again.

A strong arm hoists one of your legs in the air with a force that nearly makes you topple over. Then his cock is running through the slick coating your cunt, the head spreading you open before sliding deep inside. The stretch nearly takes your breath away, the angle of his cock hitting something soft in your core. Trying to muffle each other’s sounds by kissing and nipping at each other’s lips incessantly, swallowing his grunts while he forces breathy pants from your lungs. 

Your back hits the wall on each deep and hard thrust, pinned against the hard surface by Simon’s weight pressing into you. His cock fills you completely, the head kissing your deepest parts on each downstroke, your slick walls hugging him tight as you quiver. Your hands dig into the rough fabric of the sweater over his shoulders as you try to ground yourself amidst the sensations. 

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby, I just couldn’t fuckin’ wait,” he pants against your mouth, voice strained with the need to be quiet. 

“I know, Si. S’okay.” You reassure him between the moans forced out of your mouth. Your hands cup his cheeks as you rest your forehead against his. “You like the sweater, then?”

He smiles at that. “I like you.” A sharp thrust makes you tighten around him, drawing a gruff sound from his throat. “Want everyone here to know that. That you’re mine.”

His movements turn rough and snappy, hard and quick thrusts that turn your moans staccato. You have to bite your lip for any hope of keeping yourself quiet. He holds you tight, rough fingertips pressing bruisingly into your skin, while he ravages you with need. 

Sweat beads on his brow over his red, flushed skin. He’s panting into your mouth, straining with the effort of holding back. The heat and friction is almost suffocatingly intense as it completely floods your senses. 

“Christ, it’s hot…” he grumbles, his hips starting to slow. He leans back slightly, hands falling off of you to move to the hem of his sweater. He pulls it off in one swift movement, throwing it to the floor without a care in the world, before latching his hands back onto your body. 

You seek out his chest with your own hands, feeling the hot flush of his skin. The sinewy muscles in his body flex with each movement as he fucks you. Fingertips trace the scars that litter his skin in gentle strokes, almost reverent in the way you touch him. All it did was remind you why you loved seeing him bare—the implications of trust behind it. 

Though now it was all shrouded in a layer of lust and arousal that made your head spin. You couldn’t think straight as he bullied his cock into you with deep strokes. All that mattered was the way he felt, the way he held you tighter when he couldn’t last any longer. 

“Give it to me, Si,” you pant encouragingly between his forceful movements. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath splaying over your skin. “Always.” He practically growls the word. 

Simon doesn’t hold himself back, slamming into you with another set of those sharp and rough thrusts that take your breath away. Grunts and moans and whimpers and every sound in between falls freely without any care for who might hear it. He pushes you against the wall with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt as his cock begins to twitch. You can feel him throbbing with each pump of cum that spills inside you.

His hips rock in shallow thrusts while he rides out the last of the sensation. His bruising grip loosens on your body, and he gently sets your leg down as the two of you catch your breath. You swallow thickly, hands coming up to rest on his cheeks as you guide his head away from your neck. He looks fucked out—pupils blown under heavy eyelids, sweaty and flushed, panting for air. You can’t help but smile at the sight.

“You lose.”

Still catching his breath, Simon gives you a confused look. “What?”

“The bet,” you remind him. You tap a finger against his bare chest for emphasis, “you took your sweater off. You lose.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel like a loss.”

No, it didn’t. The only loss he felt was when he slid out of you, pulling back so the two of you could get dressed. You were suddenly thankful that he dragged you to the bathroom; the mirror could help you at least attempt to look like you hadn’t just been fucked against the wall. You only hope your friends won’t question where you and your boyfriend disappeared to, or you might not get invited back next year.

Watching Simon shrug his sweater back on, you could tell he’d grown to dislike it. The uncomfortable fabric and obnoxious tinsel and lights didn’t make it a fun thing to wear—especially when he was still sweaty. You could tell he’d probably lose his mind if he had to wear it for another hour.

“You owe me ten quid,” you remind him. You hadn’t actually expected any payment since neither of you took the bet very seriously, but it was fun to remind him that you won.

“I give you a lot more than ten quid when we’re back home.”

To that, you had no doubt. And the impatience still buzzing off of him made it apparent that going home was going to happen sooner rather than later. You weren’t complaining. The party was fun, but you’re sure your friends would understand. 

Who knew ugly sweaters could be so damn hot?

[miraclewoozi]

NETFLIX AND-- ? - c.hs

you try everything in your power to try and help your workaholic boyfriend unwind on his night off. you quickly find out that vernon doesn’t know how to just do nothing.

pair; vernon x fem reader. genre; domestic smut. MINORS DNI. wc; 2.3k (short n sweet <3) note; saw a prompt while i was scrolling through some things and it had me feeling feelings. experiencing experiences. apparently i am soft needy for him today. barely proof read. smut tags utc. xoxo

smut tags; soft!dom/service top vernon but he’s also a fucking tease. fingering (f rec). sort of edging, more of a continued stop/start. squirting. implied that vernon has a praise kink (shock horror). let me know if i've forgotten any.<3

in your defence, you started out with perfectly innocent intentions. 

vernon works himself too hard. you wish he wouldn’t, but he does — it’s a fact, and even though he’ll always shake his head and deny it, you know it’s true. self care, to him, is working. it’s in the fulfilment from a job well done. it’s the clap on a shoulder from a higher-up that recognises how hard he’s been slaving away at his computer screen. it’s in getting results, and he doesn’t get results if he doesn’t do. if he doesn’t maintain. if he doesn’t nigh-on exhaust himself for the sake of the company he’s employed by.

so, you’ve made a plan. on friday, in the few hours he’ll have free between finishing work and settling down to sleep, you’re going to do whatever you can to look after him.

it starts with dinner. heartfelt, home-cooked food. he drops his bag by the front door and his entire face turns so soft he thinks it might melt clean off him. the aromas from the kitchen hit him and he floats across the apartment like a cartoon, all the way to where you’re stood waiting for him, a sort of dopey grin spreading across every single one of his features. 

“that smells so good,” he whines, putting his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. when you ask how his day went, he says he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care. because he’s home now, and because loves you so much — he doesn’t want to think about anything else.

he clings to you until the food is ready and laid out on the dining table, only pulling himself away when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to be able to have his dinner sitting in your lap.

you eat together with the lights slightly dimmed, a few candles illuminating the table. you talk, a little, but the quiet that surrounds the bubbles of conversation is just as comfortable, so neither of you are bothered when your minds are more focused on the food in front of you than conversing with each other. after, he helps you clear the dishes and stack them over by the sink: you’ll deal with them later on. 

your hand finds his, then, fingers intertwining, and vernon lets himself be dragged all the way to your bedroom. he changes out of his work clothes, tosses them into the laundry basket, and slips into an old, worn, stained and atrociously ugly pair of sweatpants instead. he bypasses a shirt at your instruction and lies face-down with his head nestled between the pillows. 

with one of his own playlists already filling the air around you, you straddle over his hips and start to massage your way up his back. your hands smooth over his skin, thumbs working at a couple of tight spots that have him gasping and grunting, threading his fingers through his own hair to try and keep still. it hurts a bit, but it’s a good kind of pain. so, he lets you work your magic on him; vernon feels all soft and loose, a bit like a deflated balloon animal, by the time you sit up enough for him to be able to roll over between your legs and face you again.

“i thought we could watch a movie tonight, too,” you say quietly, just barely audible over the soft r&b tune in the background. your fingertips tickle up and down his sides as you speak; he sighs at the softness of your touch. “anything you want.”

“what’s all this in aid of, exactly?” he asks, quirking up an eyebrow. his voice is deep and kind of  rough-edged. the way you like it most.

you laugh, quietly, and bend low to kiss the corner of his mouth, caging him in with your forearms either side of his head. “just… because i love you.”

his hands snake up your body to rest against your cheeks and he holds you in place for a second longer. one of the many, many things you love about vernon is the way he kisses you. every time, like it’s the first time. (a symptom of being a closeted rom-com enthusiast, perhaps?) but each press of his lips to yours is always so infused with passion: even the small ones, like this. with his eyes closed, his nose pressed to your cheek, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a shy smile. there’s adoration in every single moment. 

you roll off him when he lets go of you and sit up against the headboard, letting him go through the motions of choosing something for you to watch. a few minutes (and no less than three coin tosses to make the decision) later, you open an arm out for him at the sound of the movie starting, and he curls up into your side. his head rests peacefully on your shoulder, one of his legs hooked over one of yours, your arm snaked around his back. you settle into each other’s embrace in a way that you’ve not had time to do in a long while, matching hums of tranquillity vibrating in both of your throats.

the grand budapest hotel has only been playing for about twenty minutes when you feel him start to move slightly, the tips of his fingers gliding slowly across the hem of your t-shirt. you don’t make anything of it at first, because vernon has always had slightly restless hands, no matter what he’s doing. this is very normal for him. he’s probably just mindlessly feeling the fabric beneath his touch as he watches one of his favourite movies.

another few minutes pass and you feel his nails drag against the bare skin of your tummy. you raise an eyebrow and look at him, but his eyes are trained on the tv, even if one side of his mouth is lifted up in a sly kind of smile.

“what are you doing, babe?” you ask him. he lifts his head from its place on your shoulder and shrugs.

“nothing.”

“mhm, sure you aren’t.”

his hand moves down, then. down, towards your shorts. down, to where his palm wraps around your thigh, half resting on the material of your clothes and half sitting on your bare leg. his fingers make small, light, circular movements against your skin and he nudges your other thigh over slightly with the knee he settled between your legs earlier, effectively spreading you open for him. just a little.

just enough.

“vernon,” you chuckle, but you don’t make any attempt to move your legs back together. “come on, relax. watch your movie.”

“i am,” he says matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the screen. “wish i could say the same for you, though.”

“you’re terrible,” you sigh. 

“mm. no, i’m not.”

he creeps further and further up your thigh, until his hand has slipped completely under your loose fitting sleep shorts and he’s effectively pulling them to one side. a breath catches in your throat and you accidentally arch a little as you feel him brush over your underwear.

“watch the movie,” he says, a little more sternly, and you swallow thickly but settle down more comfortably again. if this is how he chooses to decompress… who are you to stop him, really?

but he knows you too well. knows your body like it’s his own. knows exactly how to make you tick without making you jump his bones and take control. his thumb starts to trace small circles over your covered clit, eliciting quiet gasps from your mouth, but every time you react – what he deems to be – a little too much, he stops. removes the pressure. leaves you to squirm.

“vernon,” you sigh after the third time, agitated but needy and squaring your jaw at his teasing. your panties are soaked by now and you need to feel more of him, but your boyfriend seems to be more than happy to work you up on his own terms. how long will he keep going like this for? there’s at least an hour left of the film; surely he won’t make you wait that long?

“focus, baby.”

or maybe, he will.

his lips find home at the base of your neck and he presses a series of small kisses to your skin, returning his thumb to your panties and rubbing you through them a little harder, pressing the fabric into your heat, smirking at the way your arousal seeps through them and coats his fingertips. your breaths start to pick up again, and you do everything you can to stop him from noticing, but he’s maybe a little too caught up sucking the sweet spot behind your ear to notice how fast your heart is beating from the way he touches you.

so when he drags your underwear out of the way and slides an elegant finger through your folds, you really don’t think you can be blamed for the fact that an unstifled moan leaves your lips.

vernon disagrees, though. because of course he fucking does.

“baby,” he challenges you, his finger just millimetres away from your clit when he stops moving it. “come on. you wanted to help me unwind tonight, didn’t you? that’s what all this was. you were being good to me.”

you nod at him, and he kisses your neck again.

“then watch.”

keeping your mouth tightly shut and fighting against the noises that your body so desperately wants you to make, you let him continue. you let him trace your arousal over your clit, let him dip his finger lower and press just enough inside you that your walls flutter around it. you let him work deeper, and add a second, and try your best not to clamp your legs around his poor wrist when he brushes against the sweet-spot inside you the way that only he knows how.

“s’that feel good, baby?” he asks you.

your eyes are all but glazed over and you don’t think you really know what’s going on in the movie anymore. you can’t remember the names of the characters. is there even a plot? or is it all just pretty, symmetrical imagery now? who the hell is the person that just showed up – surely you haven’t seen him, yet? fuck, you’re completely, hopelessly lost in his fingers and the way they’re buried inside your pussy. every reaction you want to give, you can’t, and it’s so difficult. 

but you nod at him anyway, because the least you can do is tell him he’s doing a good job. he likes to hear that sort of thing. 

and if there’s any dialogue in the grand budapest hotel, you don’t have a damn clue what’s being said. his fingers move faster inside you and the heel of his hand puts enough pressure on your clit that all of your muscles are tight in an attempt to do what he’s asked. the only sounds in your ears are the smacking of his lips on your throat and the lewd noises that come from the way your pussy sucks his digits in deeper. 

you feel like a little toy, wound up to high heaven. waiting, waiting, waiting to be released. waiting to fall into oblivion.

“vernon,” you gasp eventually, silently begging that he won’t stop, that he won’t leave you hanging when you’re so close to the edge.

thankfully, he doesn’t.

“mhm?” he curls his fingers again, a little harder, making you buck up into his hand. whatever game he was playing, he seems to be moving past it now. maybe he wants you to come as much as you do.

“close,” you strain. he nods, slowly, positioning his wrist differently so that he can lay his thumb over your clit instead. the much more deliberate pressure has you seconds away from seeing stars.

“m’gonna ask you about this movie tomorrow, you know,” he chuckles, but he doesn’t slow. he fucks his fingers into you over and over, bringing you closer and closer, and when your toes curl, when you grip his wrist with one hand, when your head falls back against the headboard –

euphoria rushes through you. wetness gushes from you. you feel your pussy contract around his fingers, hugging them tight even though your release tries to expel them; he lets you ride the high out, lets you make a mess on his hand as your hips roll down to meet him, a series of whines and moans falling from your lips. his own continue their gentle caress of your neck. you’re in bliss.

he pulls his fingers from you when you tug at his wrist to tell him to do so, lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean of your arousal and your release. you close your eyes when he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and his (granted, still kind of sticky) hand comes up to cup your face. 

adoration in every moment. like it’s the first.

“don’t bother asking me about it,” you tell him as he pulls away, bumping your nose against his and hearing, from the quiet wet smacking sound they make, how his lips grow into a smile. “i don’t know anything that happened.”

“this is the fourth time i’ve tried to get you to watch this movie, y/n,” he chuckles. 

“and this is the fourth time we’ve ended up here. what, does tilda swinton in that ugly wig really do it for you or something?”

“shut up,” he snorts, ever so gently pushing your cheek to move your head away from him. “no-one ever said you had to give into me that easily.”

“oh, you shut up,” you huff, closing your thighs and feeling how your shorts and panties cling to you uncomfortably, only half covering you after he failed to put them back properly. “i was supposed to be helping you chill out. it’s not my fault that you can’t go five minutes without getting handsy.”

“it’s absolutely your fault,” he challenges, getting to his knees and facing you. you can see his cock tenting his sweatpants now and you’d be lying to say that it doesn’t stir something in the depths of your stomach. “you know i can’t resist you in those shorts.”

“you’re so stupid,” you grin, opening your legs up for him to settle between, and he moves over straight away.

“yeah, well,” he chuckles, reaching down to pull your t-shirt up off your head. “you happen to love my kind of stupid.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all greatly appreciated!<3

[anantaru]

cw. [ex]plicit, fem! reader, alcohol mentions, toxic lol, modern au & college au, frat boy xiao

a/n. this came to me in a dream lmao

frat boy xiao, and no one else, he was the one who made your legs almost give up on you the moment his hypnotic eyes meet yours while when he averts himself from your direction again, there was a terrible, existential emptiness riveting in your soul, a ceaseless and unending openness.

until now you felt that way, but you are living in reality and this wasn't your conventional, exaggerated rom con experience from an atrocious netflix movie, still, for all that wishful fantasizing inside of you, the desire of meeting your pristine soulmate at a random, huge college frat party fenced by loud, ear-splitting music, the hustle and bustle of binge drinking and beer pong, strangers escaping to the bathroom to hook up with each other, was still somewhat comforting.

frat boy xiao who only calls you when he's bored, only fucks you when he feels like it, it's not like he was a soulless person, in his own ways he was caring about you but he also made it clear that he wasn't searching for anything more serious, he wanted to stay within the lane of occasionally hooking up with you— but when he does, when you let him touch you, it's the best feeling in the world, resembling a moment when you stand ankle-deep on the beach at night, you hear it, that is, you hear the world breathing or how the sound carries across the water.

frat boy xiao who keeps you a secret in front of his friends, he fears that they might make a move on you if he doesn't. you're his to play with— although he wouldn't say it with his chest, he rather shows you instead. you sigh and swallow when he first sinks into you, eyes darkened with lust when he pushes into your body. xiao grunts appreciatively, lazily draping your shirt up so it'll rest above your now exposed breasts, revealing your full, soft chest and his face smooths under the shadow of a single light flickering up the room.

you take a quick breath when he begins to move and pump his leaking cock in a leisure manner, not fastening any steps, xiao would always start slowly, making you accustomed to his large girth as if it was your first time to have sex with him. you stammer loudly, lacing your arms around his neck tight, "you're so good at this, xiao.." and purposefully make him flustered, cheeks glistening red, the slight embarrassment emerging was pinking his neck— the sort of pink that brings champagne roses to the imagination.

frat boy xiao who gazes at you bemusedly, seizing himself off you before swiftly flipping you on your stomach, not letting you take a breather, his hands sinking into the plush of your behind as he lines himself against your hole again. there was something so alluring to seeing your face pressed against his pillow, while knowing it will remember your scent and even when you leave afterwards, it'll still feel like you're next to him.

you cry out, rocking your hips back, your hands webbing into the bed sheets as xiao slopes his entire body against your figure— one hand placed on the bed frame so he wouldn't crush you with his weight while the other twisted and turned on your skin, fuck how much he loved fondling your body, and the grab on your hips was perfect to easily lurch you into his cock.

you can clearly witness his impatience growing by now, sensing how your hole splits and it burns a little, but it's tasteful enough and you try your unconditional best to keep your burning thighs apart for him, gasping with your head in the clouds, eyes fluttering shut as you bury your face back into the tear soaked pillow, your pulse soaring within his pounding beat on your slippy cunt.

frat boy xiao cannot get enough of you, but he also cannot commit to you, for a reason rather unknown— while you also refrain from asking him as to why, fearing that he might feel like being pushed into a corner, cowering of losing those certain moments that do bring you joy, it's the flustering perception he made you experience too, the hallmark of one who is true of heart, a genuine sweetness you were forever craving.

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