#mush lamp

[zaharacrossing]

Still working on my front yard for spring but here's how it's coming along so far~ 🍄🌻

[mushiimune]

hi :') what are blink and mush's favorite and least favorite things about each other? & how do they make up after they fight/disagree/hurt the other person?

helo 👁️👁️ unrelated to your ask but Tumblr user sarahjacobs I love your art very much... .. ..

Blink loves being around Mush because he's sunshine, packed tight into a person (his good looks are a fortunate plus). The same trait that occasionally confounds him, he treasures. Maybe it's a side effect of being friends so long, or maybe Blink has been trained to relax at the sight of Mush's face, because he knows good things are to come. There are a lot of things in life Blink isn't sure about, but what he knows is that a world where Mush is unhappy is not one he ever wants to visit.

Mush appreciates all the little things in life enough for the both of them. He has hope, and holds it tight. Blink admires that. He wishes he were that optimistic.

Mush likes Blink most for how resilient he is. They see the world through different eyes, but from the very beginning, all it took was one look for Mush to know Blink was a fighter, in more ways than one. Blink could make a boring day exciting. He saw something he wanted, he went after it. Mush admires that a lot.

In his youth, Mush couldn't count the number of times he was told what he was, and where he was going to stay, no matter what he did to try and change his fate. He found the only thing he could control was himself, and the way he viewed the world. He grew up feeling small and helpless. Blink changed that.

The downside of Blink's determination is his hair-trigger temper. He tends to batter anybody who even vaguely pokes fun at him. In a second, his mood can change from docile to volatile, and Mush is often the one who has to calm him down, because nobody else cares to try.

It works, of course, because in a symphony of voices, Mush is the only one that Blink ever hears. Mush knows Blink cares about him, trusts him and his judgement more than anybody else. It's control, in a way—the thing Mush lacks. And it scares him. He doesn't trust himself. He doesn't have all the answers. Or much of any at all, as a matter of fact. Mush simply doesn't want Blink to get hurt.

And as for making up after a fight:

Mush is the type of guy who takes a couple days to think, and formulate a good response. Blink, on the other hand, is the same way with apologies that he is with most other things in life: hasty and flustered.

His relationship with Mush is the most important thing in Blink's life. The slightest hint of disturbance in their carefully crafted peace, and Blink can't think. He can't breathe, can't eat, can't sleep. He's tossing and turning, pacing around and dragging hands through his hair in a futile attempt to calm himself down. He'll say anything he needs in order to make Mush happy.

Unfortunately, Mush can tell when Blink is just saying what he wants to hear, and when he's truly being sincere. He'd much rather Blink be honest with him, and actually reflect, instead of spewing excuses and promises to change and be better.

When Blink knows he's wrong, or he's done something bad, he apologizes to Mush right away. Even if he doesn't particularly regret throwing a punch or two, what he does regret is making Mush upset.

When Mush does something wrong, he gets a bit sullen, but hides his face against Blink's shoulder and tells him he's sorry.

Mush is the only person in the world Blink's willing to work on himself for. At the end of the day, they always manage to make up within a day or two. They cannot live without each other for long.

[butteriish]

obsessed with the new junimo catalog <3

[pad-wubbo]

"fauvist octo/mush"

Krita + Infinite Painter.

Attempted to use shimmer brush, made chalky picture that looks like a Primal Scream cover. Not really Fauvist, but I think it looks like it.

CC-BY-SA 4.0

[emisluvr]

‎ 𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗨𝗗𝗘 ◜ ᯅ ◝ 𝗣.𝗦𝗛

박성훈 as your brat tamer bf ! ⭑ ── wc. 840 ୨ৎ mature drabble ✧ w. smut ( 18+ mdni! ) , degradation , rough sex , spanking , brat!reader , unprotected sex , manhandling , explicit language ✴︎ requested !

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟꒱ REBLOG FOR CUDDLES !

one small argument with sunghoon was all it took for your attitude to shift towards him for the entire day. whether it was rolling your eyes, giving one-word answers, or simply pushing his buttons on purpose, you weren’t having it with him.

and frankly, you didn’t care about the way you were acting at the moment.

the clock barely hits 10pm before the sky is pitch dark, the living room dimly lit with a warm-toned lamp. you were lazily laying on the couch, scrolling away on your phone.

you saw him walk from the bedroom towards you, but you didn’t even budge an eye. "what the fuck is wrong with you today?" he says, breaking the eerie silence as he stares down at you.

"nothing," you simply reply, eyes still glued to your phone. he runs a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed and frustrated. "at least talk to me properly," he demands, his tone firm as his gaze stays locked on you.

"maybe if you weren't such a pain in the ass, i would," you mutter under your breath, slowly getting up from the couch to retreat to your room, away from him.

the second you stand up, his hand grabs your jaw, his grip tight as he forces you to hold eye contact with him. "quit acting like a fucking brat," he sneers, letting go of your jaw.

"gosh, you're so dramatic. it’s not even that deep," you say, looking down at your feet to avoid his piercing gaze.

his patience snaps in half. that was his final straw with you. "not that deep, hm? alright then," he mocks, pushing you back onto the couch so you’re flat against the cushions.

"sunghoon—" you try to protest, but it's useless.

"shut up," he hisses, flipping your body over so you’re on your stomach, grabbing your hips and forcing you to arch your back for him. you don’t even try to fight back anymore. you knew you were about to get fucked until your mind went blank, and as much as you were mad at him—you wanted that.

he springs his flushed cock from his sweatpants before pulling your panties down, making them pool around your knees.

with no warning, he slides his cock inside your pussy, which had already become visibly wet. you gasp, the unusual and deliberate stretch feeling good but rushed, but you don’t even care.

his thrusts pick up quickly, becoming more synchronized as his hand lands a sharp slap to your ass every few moments, watching the way it recoils against his hips and turns red.

the sound of your squelching pussy meeting his cock fills the room, wetness dripping down your thighs as he fucks you harder, faster.

your cries are muffled by the pillow shoved into your face, unable to stay quiet as his cock stretches you so perfectly, hitting your deepest spots as he lands harsh smacks on your flesh.

"not so quiet now, huh? dumb fuckin' girl," he snarls, his free hand gripping your hip to help push your body down on his cock so his thrusts are in rhythm with yours.

all that escapes your mouth is a pathetic moan. "only good for taking my dick, huh? that’s it?" he mocks, his hand moving to tug your hair, pulling you up so he can hear you answer.

"m-mhmm.. fuck!" you scream, his cock dragging in and out of you faster to make you stammer. his hand releases your hair, your upper body falling back onto the cushions again as you feel yourself nearing your release.

"gosh, you sound pathetic," he breathes out, watching the way your body trembles under him as all you can do is moan, cry, and take his cock. your pussy tightens around him, the need to cum becoming more desperate with every thrust.

your eyes roll back, similar to how you rolled them earlier today, except this time it’s because you’re getting fucked dumb. your mind is nothing but mush now, hair all tousled, cheeks flushed—with a few dried tears on them.

meanwhile, his head is thrown back, his cock bullying your hole, making every moment count to make sure you knew your place. his eyes flicker down, watching his length disappear inside you with every thrust while your cum begins to seep out onto the cushions, painting it with your fluids.

the sound of his cock fucking you fills the room, the slick noises mixing with the stuttered moans escaping from your lips, and all he can do is grunt in satisfaction as you become a pathetic mess beneath him.

his pace slows, then eventually comes to an end. he pulls his cock out of you, spilling himself on your back. you feel the warm spurts on your skin, but you’re too fucked out to say anything, still struggling to control your breathing and come down from your high.

"next time, think twice before acting like a brat," he mutters, his body lowering to kiss the top of your head and lightly ruffling your hair.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[formulaonecrumbs]

can we get oscar older sister au? pleaseeee

little big moments

Oscar Piastri x older sister!reader

summary: oscar’s favourite person is his older sister.

warnings: hospitals, broken leg, implied dance injury.

A/N: projecting myself into reader cuz i’ve always wanted to be a ballerina :p enjoy my lovvvveeeee 🫶🫶🫶

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

8 & 13

the monsters don’t wait for the closet door to creak open or the thunder to roll in.

they crawl out from behind his eyelids—sharp-toothed and angry—chasing him down a hallway that doesn’t end, his legs heavy and too slow. his voice doesn’t work. he’s trying to scream but it’s like all the air in the world is gone.

then suddenly, he’s awake.

his chest is tight. his throat hurts. he’s not sure if he screamed or if it only happened in the dream. the shadows in his room don’t look right, even though he knows they’re just his race car poster and the chair with his hoodie on it. still, his heart’s thudding and his eyes are hot and—

he climbs out of bed.

his feet are cold on the wooden floor, but he tiptoes anyway. carefully. quietly. his door creaks when he opens it, and he pauses, breath caught. no one stirs.

reader’s room is at the end of the hall. he knows the number of steps by heart. twelve small ones. he doesn’t knock—he never knocks—and instead just presses the door open a crack and peeks in.

she’s still awake. the warm, soft yellow of her lamp is still on, and she’s lying on her stomach, writing in the little purple notebook she always keeps beside her bed. her hair’s up in a bun, messy and half-falling apart.

he hesitates in the doorway, and she looks up like she already knew he was coming.

“nightmare?” she asks, voice low and gentle.

he nods.

she doesn’t say anything else. just shifts over and lifts the blanket.

he scrambles up onto her bed, dragging his pillow with him. he lies on his side, facing the wall, and she presses her chest against his back. her arm comes around his middle, warm and steady.

for a while, it’s just the quiet hum of her lamp and the soft rhythm of her breathing.

“what happened this time?” she asks, fingers brushing his hair.

he shrugs. “dunno. running. screaming. couldn’t move.”

“was i there?”

“no.”

“should i have been?”

he nods.

she hugs him tighter, her hand finding his and squeezing it once.

“next time,” she whispers, “i’ll be there.”

it’s the kind of promise he’ll remember forever. not because she says it like it’s big, but because she says it like it’s already true. like she would’ve fought every monster with her bare hands if she’d known he needed her.

he breathes in slowly, and everything starts to settle. the shadows look softer now. smaller. quieter.

and eventually, with her heartbeat behind him and her arm wrapped around his middle, he falls back asleep.

10 & 15

oscar hates hospitals.

he hates the beeping, the weird smell, the dull grey walls that make it feel like everyone’s holding their breath. he especially hates the food—the tray they gave her yesterday had some green mush on it that looked like it belonged in a science lab, not a lunch.

but he hates seeing her here even more.

she’s in a private room, one with big windows and soft blankets their mum brought from home, but it still feels cold. she’s lying back against her pillows, leg in a cast and propped up, her eyes half-glazed from the pain meds.

she doesn’t smile much these days.

so he comes armed.

he knocks once before coming in, even though she tells him every time that he doesn’t have to. her head turns slowly when he enters, and he sees that flicker in her expression—the one that means she’s trying to look okay even when she’s not.

“hey,” she says softly, voice a little hoarse.

he doesn’t say anything back. just climbs up into the chair next to her bed, backpack thumping onto the floor. he unzips it carefully, glancing toward the hallway like he’s expecting a nurse to barge in and arrest him.

“you didn’t,” she murmurs, already smiling.

he grins and pulls out a crinkly packet of oreos. “of course i did.”

she lets out the tiniest laugh. “you’re gonna get in so much trouble.”

“worth it,” he says, and then pulls out the second thing—a tiny ziplock bag of gummy bears, the good ones, not the off-brand kind.

her eyes go soft. it’s the most he’s seen her smile all week.

“gourmet,” she teases, reaching out with both hands like it’s the most sacred offering.

“only the best,” he says, but his voice drops a little at the end.

she eats slowly, more from the exhaustion than anything else, but he stays quiet while she chews, kicking his heels against the chair legs. he keeps glancing at her cast. it’s so big. it looks heavy. and even though she hasn’t said it out loud, he knows—knows she’s scared. knows something’s different this time.

she finishes her oreo and leans her head back, turning to look at him. “thanks, oz.”

he shrugs, suddenly shy. “s’not a big deal.”

“it is to me.”

her voice wobbles just slightly at the end, and that’s what breaks him.

he scoots the chair closer and leans his head gently on the edge of her bed, near her hand. she brushes her fingers through his hair, soft and rhythmic, and he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask why her eyes are glassy or why her hand trembled when she reached for the snack.

he just stays there.

because she’s always been the strong one—the dancer, the graceful one, the calm in his chaos. and now she needs someone to be that for her.

so he’s going to be. even if it just means sneaking in gummy bears and sitting beside her until she falls asleep again.

when he leaves later, he hides the empty wrappers at the bottom of the bin, like a secret only the two of them will ever know.

THE END :>

[imhaechanshoe]

title: Take a break

pairing: Yeon Sieun x reader

warnings: fluff,smut,fingering(f!receiving),oral fixation(f!receiving),cuddling,aftercare.

In which, sieun is studying for a while and you get tired.

The soft tick of the wall clock was the only sound in the room aside from the faint scribbles of pens and the occasional turn of textbook pages.

You were over at Sieun’s place, studying for your upcoming midterms. Somehow, he’d managed to pull you into the abyss of notes and review guides for hours. It had been productive, sure, but your brain was now complete mush.

You glanced at the clock. 7:30 PM. You had been studying for almost four hours straight. Your eyelids drooped, and your highlighter had stopped moving some time ago.

Across the room, Sieun was still focused, pen tapping lightly on his notepad. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing his veiny forearms, and his black hair was slightly tousled from the way he kept running his fingers through it.

You exhaled quietly, stretched your arms with a yawn, and padded toward his bed.

“I’m just gonna… close my eyes for a second,” you mumbled.

“Go ahead,” Sieun said without looking up, his voice low and calm. “You’ve earned it.”

You smiled lazily before curling up on his bed, inhaling the faint scent of laundry detergent and him. Within minutes, you slipped into sleep.

9:42 PM.

You jolted awake to the dim room lit only by the desk lamp in the corner.

The weight of a blanket was over you — had he tucked you in?

Blinking away sleep, you looked toward the desk. Sieun was still there. Still scribbling. Still typing. Still frowning slightly, deep in focus.

“Sieun…” your voice cracked a little from sleep.

He glanced over, a slight smile tugging at his lips when he saw you awake. “Hey.”

“You’re still going?”

“Mhm.” He looked back at his notebook. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

You sat up, a pang of worry settling in your chest.

“Come to bed,” you murmured, sliding your legs over the edge of his mattress. “You’ve been at that for hours.”

“I’m fine. You go back to sleep.”

You shook your head, standing up and walking over to him. “Nope. You’re done for tonight.”

Sieun raised a brow. “I’ve still got—”

“Sieun.” You placed your hands gently on his shoulders and squeezed. “You can finish tomorrow. Just… come lay down with me. Please?”

His shoulders dropped a little, and you could tell he was tired — more than he’d admit.

You tugged at his hand until he stood up, letting you pull him toward the bed. He let out a soft sigh and kicked off his hoodie, then slid under the blankets with you.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered as you settled next to him.

“How?”

“You make me want to stop working.”

You grinned and curled into him, throwing a leg over his hip. His body was warm, and his hand automatically found your waist.

“You’re allowed to rest,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “You don’t always have to be strong. Not with me.”

Sieun closed his eyes for a moment. “…I know.”

Your faces were close in the dark. He watched you silently for a while, thumb brushing along your hip under the hem of your shirt.

“You always take care of me,” he murmured.

“So let me take care of you for once.”

His eyes flickered to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours — slow, warm, thoughtful. You kissed back just as softly, hands tracing the sides of his face. His fingers slipped under your shirt, exploring your skin gently, as if he didn’t want to rush anything.

“I missed this,” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His body pressed against yours, his thigh slotting between your legs.

“I want you, Sieun,” you breathed.

He paused for a beat, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Want you so bad.”

His lips returned to yours, deeper now. Hungrier. His hands moved up your shirt, pushing the fabric over your head. You gasped slightly as the cool air hit your bare skin, but his hands were warm, grounding you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your chest. You arched into him, letting out soft sounds as his mouth found your nipple, tongue flicking gently while his other hand roamed lower.

He slipped a hand into your shorts, fingers grazing your folds, already wet and needy.

“So wet already?” he teased softly.

You whined. “Don’t tease…”

“I’m not.” He smirked faintly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Two fingers dipped inside you slowly, curling in just the right spot as his thumb circled your clit. You moaned into his neck, gripping his shoulders.

“God, Sieun…”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, thrusting his fingers a little deeper, a little faster. Your thighs began to tremble, breath coming in short gasps.

“Gonna come,” you whimpered. “Please—”

He pressed his lips to yours again, swallowing your moans as your orgasm washed over you, hot and intense. Your body shook slightly, clinging to him.

But he didn’t stop.

“S-Sieun,” you gasped as his fingers kept moving, rubbing circles against your clit with maddening precision.

“One more,” he said softly. “Can you give me one more?”

You nodded quickly, too far gone to say no.

Your second orgasm hit even harder, leaving you breathless and spent in his arms. He pulled his fingers out slowly, licking them clean with a hum.

“You taste so sweet,” he said, kissing your lips again.

You reached for him, fingers brushing over the bulge in his sweatpants. “Want to make you feel good too…”

He caught your wrist gently and shook his head. “Next time. Tonight’s about you.”

You blinked, surprised. “But—”

“No buts,” he said, pulling you against his chest. “You needed rest. And you needed me. That’s enough.”

You smiled, heart warm as you buried your face in his neck. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as your breathing began to slow.

“Thank you,” you whispered sleepily.

“Always,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

[hoshifighting]

i love your college fling writings sm aaaa (*≧∀≦*)!! begging on hands and knees for college fling jun 🙏 esp if he’s a bit more on the dom side

college fling!jun

WARNINGS: smut, bio!genius jun, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, a little dom!jun, non-established relationship.

it’s a thursday afternoon, the sort of day where the mood smells like cheap cafeteria food and half-assed desperation, ‘cause exams are coming and no one knows shit. you’re slouched over your bio notes in the library, chewing the end of your pen like it owes you some kind of lamp genie, and then boom—in struts college fling!jun.

college fling!jun, who hates the college lockers so much he straight-up just carries all his books around like some kind of over-prepared, slightly chaotic mule. deadass, his backpack looks ready to burst, and you’re already side-eyeing it, wondering how many goddamn textbooks one man could possibly need.

“you okay there?” he plops down across from you, hair slightly messy, and there’s this little grin playing at his lips. why’s he gotta look so cute when you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown?

“nah, i’m actually about to file for emotional bankruptcy,” you mutter, flipping through your notes like the answers are gonna manifest themselves through sheer panic. “you done with the bio assignment?”

college fling!jun, shy-but-funny, lowkey-genius college fling!jun, tilts his head and smirks. “you need help?”

you blink. “you know bio?”

“do i know bio?” he scoffs, dragging your notebook closer like you personally insulted him. “sit back, y/n.”

next thing you know, he’s rattling off answers about cell division and DNA replication like he’s reading straight outta the textbook, except better, ‘cause he’s throwing in jokes about mitochondria being the “bad bitch” of the cell world. who even is this man?

college fling!jun, who spent half the semester cracking dumb jokes about your prof’s comb-over, suddenly explaining concepts better than the professor himself? unreal.

“wait, wait,” you interrupt, pointing at a diagram. “so, like, the nucleus is just… chilling in the middle, bossing everyone around?”

he grins, leaning in closer, and damn, his perfume smells too good for a guy who looks like he only owns three hoodies. “exactly. it’s like me at a group project—doesn’t do much, but still gets credit.”

“i hate you,” you snort, but you’re laughing anyway, and somehow your brain is actually clicking with the material.

college fling!jun, who makes studying feel like less of a slow, painful death.

later, as you’re packing up, he scratches the back of his neck, looking all shy again, and it’s such a whiplash from confident bio-genius jun that you almost laugh. “uh, so… you wanna grab coffee or something? you know, as a reward for surviving bio?”

you raise an eyebrow. “this isn’t you trying to weasel into my project group again, is it?”

“what? no,” he says, but he’s grinning, and you already know he’s lying.

college fling!jun, who probably would try to scam his way into your group, but makes it so damn endearing you’d let him anyway.

it’s late—like, stupid late. the kinda late where your brain feels like it’s melting into a puddle of useless mush. you and jun are on the floor of your dorm, the carpet rough under your knees, surrounded by markers, cut-out letters, and one very sad excuse for a poster board. everyone else dipped like two hours ago, muttering something about “early classes” and “not wanting to lose brain cells”—like, rude much? but jun stayed.

college fling!jun, who’s now sitting cross-legged with his sleeves pushed up, forearms all veiny as he’s meticulously lining up the title letters.

“you’re actually kinda good at this,” you say, crawling closer on your knees, one hand pushing your hair back as it flops into your face. you’re half-joking, but also… not? like, his focus is insane.

he glances up, smirking. “you doubted me?”

“uh, yeah?” you deadpan, sitting back on your heels. “you’re the guy who brought a backpack full of biology books to a history lecture. forgive me for not immediately trusting your poster skills.”

he snorts, shaking his head as he smooths down a corner of the title. “at least I came prepared.”

“prepared for what? a different class?”

“y/n,” he says, tone mock-serious as he leans back on his hands, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

that shuts you up for a second. the compliment—casual, like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a roast session—has you blinking. you recover quick, though, because if college fling!jun is good at anything, it’s teasing, and you’re not about to let him have the upper hand.

“yeah, yeah,” you say, waving him off as you grab a marker and doodle a little star in the corner of the poster. “you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you make a move yet. scared?”

his eyes flick to yours, and there’s this little glint in them that makes your stomach flip. “scared? of you?”

“yes, actually.”

he laughs, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s considering something, weighing it. you’re close—closer than you realized, kneeling in front of him while he’s still sitting, one hand resting casually on his thigh.

“come here,” he says.

you tilt your head. “why?”

he leans forward, just a little, until you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “because I said so.”

there’s a challenge in his tone, and you’re not one to back down. so, you shuffle closer, knees brushing against his as you sit back on your heels again. “happy now?”

he hums, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “getting there.”

“jun,” you start joking, half-something-else-entirely, but before you can finish, his hand slides up to cup your jaw, fingers warm against your skin as he leans in and kisses you.

he’s waiting for you to push him away. but you don’t. instead, you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

and then… well, the guy’s got skills. his lips move against yours with this easy credit, and when his tongue flicks out to trace the seam of your mouth, you can’t help the little noise that escapes you. he takes that as encouragement, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently really, really good with his mouth.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you both try to steady yourselves. “okay,” you say, voice a little breathless, “so you’re not scared.”

he laughs, low and soft, his hand still cradling your jaw. “nope. but you might be.”

before you can ask what he means, he’s kissing you again, harder this time, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing easier than that. you go willingly, settling against him as your hands find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

you’re both a little frantic now, hands wandering as the kiss turns messy, desperate. his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. you shiver, pressing closer, and he takes the opportunity to mouth at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“jun,” you moan, and it’s enough to make him pause, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“umm... so do you…”

you nod before he can even finish the question, your hands tugging at his shirt in answer. he grins, and then he’s helping you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

college fling!jun, who’s skinny but stupidly cut, all lean muscle and sharp lines that you can’t help but trace with your fingers as he kisses you again.

“your turn,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. you lift your arms, letting him pull it off.

“you’re so…” he starts, but then he shakes his head, like words aren’t enough. instead, he leans in, kissing you again as his hands explore, mapping out your chest, by pinching your nipples

things blur after that—when he finally settles between your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, you think you might actually lose your marbles.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently a goddamn expert when it comes to going down on you. his tongue swinging your clit to the sides just to suck it all right after. your fingers are tangled in his hair, and you even feel pity about his scalp. he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming inside his mouth—you last minutes by the way—, your back arching off the floor as you cry out, your other hand holding a highlighter that you've found on the floor and decided that would be your stress ball.

and then he’s kissing his way back up your body, touching your hand to release the poor highlighter before it explodes in your hand. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “still think I’m scared?” he teases and you don’t even have the energy to come up with a clever reply.

college fling!jun, who’s cocky as hell but more than backs it up.

you pull him down for another kiss, your hands fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants as you shift your hips, sinking down onto his lap. the stretch is dizzying. u hear your blood flow through your ears with the immediate sink, making your head spin as he grips your hips,.

college fling!jun who twitches every time you circle your clit as you ride him. the little gasps he lets out are addictive, this stuttered rhythm of groans and whines that have you clenching around him just to see how he’ll react.

“uhm—hands to yourself.” he chokes out, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his neck, his adam apple bobbing up and down. you take advantage, leaning forward to press kisses there, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips. his hands tighten on your waist, his thighs flexing under you as he buck his hips up into you as a warning.

“j-jun,” you stammer, breath hitching as you shift, grinding down, making wet shots reach his ears, his head snaps up, eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours.

“you like that?” he rasps, his chest heaving as he fights to keep himself together. “‘cause i… i love watching you like this, pretty.”

college fling!jun, who moans loud enough to embarrass himself but is too lost in the feeling of you to care. his grip on you tightens as you find a rhythm. his noises grow louder, needier, every time you roll your hips, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer, he always punishing you a little for teasing him, a pinch on your clit, a bite on your neck, a slap on your ass.

“y/n,” he groans, his voice shaking, and you’re right there with him, your own climax building as you reach down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against your clit again. the added sensation has you gasping, and he twitches inside you, his hands pulling you down hard against him as he lets out a broken moan.

“you’re so… gorgeous, fuck!” he mutters, his words slurred, and that’s all it takes for you to cum, your body fluttering as you cry out his name. the sound of it seems to tip him over the edge, his grip on you tightening as he follows, his body shaking beneath you as he spills inside you.

college fling!jun who collapses back onto the carpet, dragging you down with him, his arms wrapping around your ass, letting his hands lazily squeeze the meat there.

it’s like nothing happened when you two go to the college hallways to finish the project. when actually, everything happened all at once. jun’s sitting at the edge of your desk, eating one of your granola bars like he didn’t have you trembling in his lap just hours ago. you’re pretending to focus on your laptop, but your mind’s stuck on how his hair’s still a little messy and his shirt’s on inside out—your fault, obviously.

“what’s with the face?” he asks, mouth half-full, grinning like he knows exactly what’s with the face.

“you didn’t even ask before raiding my snacks,” you say, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere near flustered.

“c’mon, you owe me,” he teases, leaning closer. “all that… effort? you’re lucky i’m still standing.”

you glare at him, but your face burns. “junhui, shut up.”

college fling!jun, who bites his lip to stop himself from laughing but ends up chuckling anyway, stupidly cute as he swings his legs. you’re about to throw a pen at him when he leans over and kisses your temple.

and that’s how it is now. he’s still jun—still the guy who hoards biology notes and carries all his books like the lockers are his mortal enemy—but there’s this… nerves now, this implicit thing hanging between you. like, when he’s explaining something in class, leaning over your desk, his voice low in your ear, and you’re trying not to think about how those same lips were on your pussy just a few nights ago. or when he slides into the seat next to you during study group, his knee brushing yours, and you glance at him, only to catch him already looking at you with that knowing smirk.

college fling!jun, who’s casual as hell in public but pulls you into empty classrooms when no one’s around, his hands already under your shirt as he kisses you like he’s been dying to all day.

it’s worse at night, though. he texts you at random hours, shit like, “you awake?” and “missed you today” with a dick pic coming right after, hard and dripping for you—like always. like he’s not gonna be in your bed an hour later, his hands sliding over your skin as he whispers your name.

“we’re so bad at this,” you tell him one night, lying tangled in his sheets, his arm thrown over your waist as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder.

“bad at what?” he murmurs sleepy.

“keeping it casual,” you say, glancing back at him. “you’re always here, jun.”

he shrugs, pulling you closer. “maybe i like being here.”

college fling!jun, who’s starting to feel like more than a fling, but neither of you’s ready to say it out loud just yet. instead, you let it keep happening—the late-night visits, the stolen kisses between classes, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

and maybe you’re not ready to say it, but you’re definitely feeling it. especially when he shows up at your door with takeout and that stupid grin, saying, “figured you’d be hungry,” like he hasn’t already fed you twice today.

college fling!jun, who’s not so casual after all.

[bahablastplz]

Canvas: Hyunjin x Reader

Content: A late night with your boyfriend turns into something more as you both try something you had only talked about before; smut and fluff Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, heavy heavy praise WC: 2500 Happy birthday Hyunjin <3

Hyunjin was painting again. 

As you roll out of bed in the middle of the night, this fact is apparent. The smell of paint wafts from the living room where he has his work space set up. A large tarp on the floor, a small easel propped up and a lamp set to illuminate his latest work. Paints lay haphazardly around him, a blend of colors and shades of hues mushed across the palette. The rest of the room was dimly lit, moonlight shimmering through the curtains and shining on your boyfriend’s face. God, he was breathtaking. One paintbrush is in his mouth and the other in his hand, gliding across the canvas. The sight makes you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Love?” He looks up at you now, watching your frame as you admire him from the wall. The lamp light reflects onto his dark-framed glasses when his gaze meets yours, and you smile at how the yellow and orange lights glow across his features. He smiles back. It’s a small gesture, and even though you’ve seen him smile hundreds of times the gesture warms your heart. 

You cross the room in your nightgown, the cold breeze from the air-conditioning causing you to curl into yourself slightly. Hyunjin beckons to the spot on the floor beside him and you take it eagerly, body curling around him and head resting on his lap. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him. He has the habit of sneaking away in the night, so as to not wake you, and painting until the sun starts to creep through the windows. It’s cathartic for him, a way for him to get away from his thoughts that trouble him in the night. In moments like this you love to watch him, how his brows furrow in concentration and his lips get caught between his teeth. Hyunjin was the most in his element when he had a canvas in front of him. 

“Mm,” he confirms. He checks his hand to make sure no paint dirties it before he rests it on your hip, drawing soothing circles on top of your nightgown. Your head nuzzles deeper into him and you breathe in his scent, letting out a content hum. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks a moment later. His hand moves effortlessly across canvas, dappling acrylic paint across a vision of flowers that was already the picture of perfection to you–but would probably take him at least a few more hours to complete. He was a perfectionist like that; he could point out every absence of color, needed highlight or small imperfection of his work that was near imperceivable to you. 

“No, the bed was just cold. I wanted to see where you were,” you hum against his skin. Your words were true, of course; because you get so hot when you sleep next to your boyfriend, the house usually stays a bit chillier but you notice his absence sometimes when he leaves the bed late at night. He now wears a dark colored hoodie that swallows his features, meant for his comfort when lounging around the house like this. His pants are also meant for lounging, the gray sweatpants soft but covered in remnants of previous art projects known lovingly as his ‘painting pants.’ 

“Do you want me to warm you up?” You nod and crawl into his lap, nuzzling your face right into the crook of his neck. He lets out a breathy laugh underneath you, arms wrapping around your frame to bring you closer as he continues to work. After a few minutes your boyfriend leans closer to the canvas, examining a piece of his work that must have not looked right to him. This action shifts your position, however, your core now pressed right against his clothed length. You tense against him and your breath hitches slightly, and you know that he’s caught on to your arousal. 

“How much longer?” You whine against him. He lets out a laugh and uses his free hand to stroke your back, long fingers moving languidly across your spine. The action is meant to soothe you but has the opposite effect, sending an electrical shock down your body and causing you to let out a small breath. 

“Why, love? Are you feeling needy for me?” You nod almost embarrassingly fast. While you love watching Hyunjin paint and could for hours, you can’t help the want that settles deep in your gut that begs for his touch, his attention, and his desire to be released toward you. 

“I was hoping to paint for a while more,” he confesses. You try not to let your disappointment show, but you let out a moan as the man’s hand finds your hips, pushing you harder against him. The friction that meets your core has you feeling more desperate and you buck into him and he’s smiling, and it infuriates you to know he’s intentionally trying to work you up. He has always loved seeing you pliant, needy and desperate for him, and you were unfortunately already in that state somehow. “Do you want to sit on my cock baby?” Your head reels back to look at him with wide eyes. “You can sit on my cock while I paint but you have to be good and promise not to move, okay?” 

You had talked with him about cock-warming before but it was never something you had actually done. Now, it must be just past 3 a.m., and you were finally turning the hypothetical into reality–it felt unreal. You let out an affirmative sound and nod your head, and he’s maneuvering your bodies to get you set up. He repositions you so that you’re on your knees above him, slightly towering over him where he sits on the floor. He’s lifting his hips up and pushing his pants down just past his thighs, releasing his cock and pumping it one, two times. He’s hard already, and you watch him in awe as he works to pleasure himself in front of you. It’s just for a second, but enough for him to have your breath come to a stop, which is exactly what he was waiting for. 

His hands find place on your waist. He’s hitching your nightgown up above your hips, leaving you bare for him. It’s no secret that sometimes you sleep without underwear on, but he smirks at you and stares in a way that leaves you feeling utterly exposed despite him having seen you like this hundreds of times. His fingers come up to your core, rubbing it and gathering your wetness to spread it around your folds. You let out a moan at the action, thankful for the contact before he’s dragging you down and placing his cock at your entrance. 

He leans back on his hands and looks up at you, waiting for you to do the rest. And so you do, piercing yourself onto him and sliding down his length, inch by inch. Hyunjin was well-endowed, so to speak, so it was never an easy fit to take him but it felt pleasurable nonetheless. Finally he is fully inside you, and your breathing and each moan is completely synced with one another. A hand comes up to bring a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the movement is so domestic and loving that it makes your heart pang in your chest. 

“Beautiful,” is all he says. 

He brings your nightgown back down so that it covers you up, remembering your recent complaint about being cold. Your head finds its place back on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck like it’s your home. 

And, he continues painting. 

You’re not sure why you’re surprised–that’s exactly what he said he was going to do. Your boyfriend has a lot of self-control and restraint that you did not, and it was especially evident when you were intimate. While you often become wrecked from the start, he would let his pleasure build up and would reel from the delayed gratification of it all. 

Your knees find the ground and before you can help yourself, you put your weight on them. You’re propping yourself up, sliding up his length about halfway, before crashing back down. Your clit drags deliciously across his abdomen in the process, causing you to let out a heavy sigh of pleasure. You rock against him only one more time before strong hands find your shoulders, pushing you down hard. You try to bounce up again and find that you’re unable, his grip keeping you in place so firmly that you cannot budge despite your attempts. 

“Don’t,” he scolds. His words are sharp, not laced with venom but to remind you of his earlier demands. 

At this angle, his hands pushing you down causes his cock to be seated deeper inside you than before and you let out an embarrassing squeak. You feel so full, and you tell him so. 

He has an idea; he grabs you and leans forward, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso. When he sits back down, you are now unable to give yourself the momentum needed to move your hips or rock against his length. You are fully seated on him and he is fully inside you, his arms wrapping around you and holding you flush against him as he continues his work. 

It’s silent, now, with the exception of your shallow and uneven breathing. You find yourself clenching against him over and over again, reeling in the sensation of him inside you. And it’s just that–you can really feel him like this, every ridge and vein, every pulse of him inside you, and it has you feeling lightheaded. 

“God, baby, you’re gushing around me,” he whispers into your hair. “Taking me so good.” His praise makes you smile and squeeze tighter around him and he groans. You feel smug to finally get him to lose his composure, but he starts spouting more praise that makes all thoughts vanish in an instant.

“So good for me, baby, you know that? Such a good pussy. You’re the love of my life, God, you were made just for me. You were made for me to love you, to hold you like this… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, meant to take my cock, yeah?” You whimper against him, the mixture of sweet nothings and sexual praise whispered to you making you feel dizzy. 

It’s several more minutes before you say something, finally coming to the conclusion that you would have to be the one to initiate it further, if he would even let you. 

“Please…” It’s all you can say at first. 

“What, love?” He teases. He knows exactly what you want. 

“Need you to move, please, Hyune… It’s too much. Need to cum,” You beg. You’re sure you sound pathetic but you can’t find it in you to care. If there’s anyone who’s not only willing but wanting to see you in your most pathetic and vulnerable states, it’s Hyunjin. 

“Poor thing, does it feel that good?” His voice asks with a small lilt in it. You’re sniffling now, embarrassed about the tears starting to spill down your cheeks but so overcome in pleasure and sensitivity; you can both feel it in the ways that you clench around him unabashedly. He brings his head back to see your face, to examine your tears. He’s seen you on the verge of tears a few times while having sex from being overwhelmed by pleasure, and though it always makes his heart tighten because he’s the one that’s doing that to you, he’s the one making you feel that good,  he knows it’s about time you’ve reached your limit. He wipes a stray tear away and you don’t even realize that he has dropped his paintbrush until he’s picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. 

He leans back, enraptured by you, and brings you in for a sweet but messy kiss. It’s open-mouthed and hot, and it feels like you’re breathing into him and filling up his lungs. Your tongues meet and you’re covered in spit, a mixture of yours and his, and suddenly his hands are on your hips and his feet are planted strongly on the ground. He doesn’t disconnect his mouth from yours as he thrusts up into you long and hard, but any coherence is long since gone and you’re not sure you’re even kissing back anymore, instead giving loud, high-pitched moans into his mouth. 

His hands move to the undersides of your thighs and he uses his strength to piston into you. In this way, you can only take what he gives but it’s more than enough, as he knows your body better than you do. 

“I’m close, love,” he confesses. He lets his head fall back onto the couch but his eyes never leave yours, drinking up your scrunched up face and open-mouthed pants. It’s no surprise that you’re both close to your arrival so soon, after sitting on him for so long your pleasure feels like it’s increased tenfold. 

“Me too,” you say, struggling to get the words out. You didn’t have to tell him, though. He could tell by the way you were starting to tighten around him. 

“Go ahead and touch your pretty clit for me, make yourself come.” You follow his command, hand snaking down to where your bodies meet. He was right, you were absolutely soaked, and you use this wetness to shakily circle around your clit. His thrusts get harder, deeper, the way they do right before he cums. Unsurprisingly, you beat him to it, clenching all over his length and throwing your head back as you release. 

He follows suit, thrusting into you a few more times before he finds his release, spilling deep inside of you. He holds you close, rutting into you now slowly and working you both through your intense orgasms. When he stills, you collapse into his arms and he holds you tight, embracing you and running a hand through your hair as he praises you. When he finally pulls you off of him you feel empty and this makes you whine. Hyunjin pulls up his sweatpants and carries you to your shared bathroom, placing you onto the sink as he runs the bath. It’s late, but you feel grimy and covered in sweat so the bath is more than welcomed. 

When you look into the mirror, you can’t help but laugh. Your nightgown is covered in paint at your hips and your waist. Though he had tried to be so careful, you suppose it was the risk that came with the reward. When Hyunjin sees the target of your laughter, he joins you and apologizes sheepishly, promising to buy you another. 

“It’s okay, this can just be my paint nightgown,” you joke. “I’ll wear it the next time we have sex while you’re painting.” He smiles at you affectionately, and when you finally get back to sleep it’s in his arms and your bed is warm again.

*** Masterlist Recs

[ozzgin]

Based on The Lighthouse (2019) movie, because I feel like it would make a nice monster romance. Isolation, vivid dreams of sea creatures, and a tentacle beast hiding in the top room? Come on.

Content: gender neutral reader, same gendered captain (homoerotic tension), monster romance (merfolk and tentacles), dubious consent, absurdism, horror, NSFW

“Y’know, the others…they don’t make it to the six month mark.”

Your captain continues to eat, unbothered by the ominous statement they just made. You fiddle with your cutlery, slowly digesting your present circumstances.

You’ve been shipped to this island as the lighthouse keeper. It’s you, the captain, and the tall, crashing waves. A boat will pick you up and bring you back to land in a few months, if everything goes well.

If everything goes well.

You drag your feet upstairs, to the small, cramped room you share with your higher up. Your hands search underneath the pillow, until they eventually pull out a wooden statue. It’s a monstrous human donning a chiseled fish tail instead of legs; the merfolk. You’d found the trinket on the day you moved in, stuffed in your mattress.

When did your vivid dreams start? Probably around the same time as your discovery. You opened your eyes to a pale, deformed creature thrusting into you. You could hear the wet, sloppy sound of its claspers ruining your hole, the waves breaking against the rocky shore, and its breathy giggle as it observed you. You tried to slap it off you, but your arms were mush, flailing without aim. Your gaze lowered to its long, scaly tail, spasming and curving to the rhythm of your defile.

One morning, you woke up outside, sprawled on the sand with your tongue dried up and your skin scratched all over. Your fingers relaxed, revealing a clump of translucent scales.

“You must’ve sleepwalked”, the captain declared at the time, stroking your hair with one hand and holding their smoking pipe in another. They reminded you of your parent, yet the nostalgic feeling quickly vanished once their bony fingers slid up your thigh.

You sat in their lap, quietly accepting the flaccid explanation. Then, you wondered whether to bring up another dilemma: at night, you can hear them sneaking away, up into the locked room you are forbidden from seeing.

“No one but me has a key to it”, the captain huffed. “It’s where we keep the light. It’s the heart of the lighthouse.”

You followed them once, much too curious to remain in your chamber, silently pacing yourself to their heavy, limp step. Through the cracks of the attic door, you could see enormous tentacles swirling around, engulfing the burning lamp. You ran back to your room, hiding under the blankets and praying for an ounce of clarity. In your slumber, you met the kraken once more. It throbbed and slithered, calling out to you alluringly.

“I dreamt of a beast with many tendrils”, you finally confessed, squirming within the firm hold of the sailor.

“It does have a thing for pretty ones like ya!” the captain joked, releasing a loud, strident laugh.

You place down the statue and flip through the pages of your work journal. Only a few more months to go. Then you’ll be away from the bizarre visions, and the strange yearnings, and the isolation. You’ve touched yourself one too many times to the uncanny silence.

“Dumbass!”

The captain sways in, visibly drunk. They notice your thick, little binding of pages and chuckle.

“The boat was s’pposed to arrive yesterday. You missed it. Matter of fact, it never showed up.”

No. They’re lying again. They always feed you nonsense and fake promises!

Your ears pick up a faint sound coming from outside, millions of suction cups rapping at the old tile of the lighthouse, trampling down to your window.

You’re not stranded here. It can’t be.

[More Monsters]

[manmuncher777]

Ugh there just something that is so fine about Roommate toji I swear. It’s my favourite trope for him

Not quite smut but very suggestive. MDNI 18+

Just imagine living with him, but not dating. Well not yet at least

Those little late night talks you would have when you paths cross that day, your schedules never really leaving you two with a lot of time together

Until one night hes taken the day off, you’ve been at work all day, and then gone out for a night out with friends, giving him a quick greeting when you get in, and a rushed goodbye as your leaving.

Only for his eyes to shift from the Tv to you, tracing over your figure shamelessly as you strut out in your little skirt, top showing just the right amount of cleavage. Where did you think you were going looking like that?

“See you later Toji, I’ll be out late tonight so don’t wait up” you smile, grabbing your coat from the hook and sliding it over your freshly perfumed skin. The scent lingering in the air, intoxicating every breath your roommate took.

“Oh? Hot date tonight?” A trace of a smirk lined his lips, but there was a flash of something else, something darker. Jealousy creeping up the back of his neck, a feeling he didn’t like.

A chuckle leaves your lips, smile never leaving. You were in a good mood, excited.

“I wish, no just girls night, going out for some drinks”

“Lucky girls then, don’t think ive ever seen you in anything but sweat and a baggy shirt.” The comment leaves his lips so easily, but you don’t miss the way it tingles through your spine. The causal compliment whirling around in your mind.

“Well I thought it would be nice to get dressed up for a change, can’t have everyone seeing me like that.” Hands nervously brushing down your outfit, now far more aware of how you look than moments ago

“Oh I feel honoured, so the hobo look it just reserved for me?” His attention is fully on you now, his body turned towards you, drinking you in as he spoke.

You cursed yourself internally, every now and then you would have an interaction that eft you brain completely mush, he had a way with words that would leave you as red as a tomato and him hardly faded, even after you left the apartment that night, he never left you mind. What he said, the way he was looking at you. All burned into your head. You thought maybe drinking would help you loosen up, get your mind off of him, but if anything it made him worse. Out in the bar with your friends, trying to listen to their conversations, when in the back of your mind is him, your stupid roommate who could have any girl he wished, why would he bother with you.

He was probably just flirting for some entertainment, maybe he gets bored sometimes and likes to think you have a little crush on him.

Stop thinking about him

Stop it

But not even you are able to resist the charm he puts on, that sexy smirk and huge fucking muscles seem to turn you into a blushing school girl, and you hated it. You were a strong minded woman who was not about to be fawning over some man, you were not about to be his little plaything.

So thats exactly what you told him. Only not quite as well put together.

Your heels clicking against the stairs being the only thing grounding you in that moment, doing your best in your drunk state to make it up to your shared apartment in the early hours of the morning, head slightly spinning, skin tingling and the taste of wine still in your mouth.

You did your best to open the door as quite as possible, dragging of your heels and slinging your coat somewhere over the couch, you could deal with that in the morning, right now you needed to deal with him.

Toji

Who just so happened to be awake, stood in the kitchen cooking. Shirtless. Grey sweats hanging sinfully low on his hips. His back to you as he stirs a pan of whatever he was making. His skin ilumated by the small orange lamp on the counter, brightening the dark room. His muscles flexing with each simple movement…

No,, snap out of it.

Determined, you sit yourself on the island in the middle on the kitchen, doing your best to stop your drunk swaying.

“You’re back late, fun night?” He muses, the sound of sleep still noticeable in his voice.

“Couldve been better.” You do your best to spit out, but you notice a slight slur to your words, lessening the effect.

Finally he turns to you, turning off the stove before plating up his food. You couldn’t help your wandering eyes, taking in his half naked form. Trailing over his sculpted figure, happily taking in the sight before you.

Snapping yourself out of your daze when you eyes rest on his smirking face

“Something wrong sweetheart?” Shit. Youve been caught

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh really?” He takes a moment to trail his eyes over you, noticing the slight glare in your eyes “why do I feel like you’re about to say it’s my fault?”

“Because it is” anger growing in you, how can he read you so easily? If he wasn’t so stupidly hot, your evening wouldve been fine. But his stupid face had to go and ruin it

“Wanna explain that to me sweets? I wasn’t even there.” Stepping closer to you now, eyes trained on you intently, curiosity flickering inside him. He’d never quite seen you like this before. Eyes glossy with emotion, directed at him, but something he couldn’t quite read. Face flushed and skin prickled.

“Yes you fucking were Toji! Yo-you were..” you try your best to form a sentence, but the words kept leaving you. He may as well have been right next to you for the amount of time he was on your mind that evening

“I just woke up, been here the whole night…” amusement gracing his features as he watched you try to come to a conclusion.

“No~ but you were in my minddd! The whole fucking night, always there..”

You pointed a wobbly, accusing finger at him. “Exactly. But you were in here—” you jabbed at your temple— “the whole time.”

Toji let out a low, rough laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest and made your knees feel weak. He stepped closer, slowly, like you were something cornered and skittish he didn’t want to scare off.

“You mean to tell me,” he said, voice a deep, dangerous purr, “you spent your whole night thinking about me?”

You shook your head stubbornly, but you were already cornered between the counter and his heavy gaze.

“Nooo— I mean— not like—” you stammered, words tangling up in your mouth.

His hand caught your chin between two fingers, tilting your face up to look at him, and you could barely breathe.

“Seems like exactly like that, sweetheart.”

You made a small sound, somewhere between a protest and a whimper, and tried to pull back, but Toji’s hand just dropped lazily to your waist instead, holding you there without even needing to try.

“And what exactly were you thinkin’ about?” he murmured, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shirt where your skin was hot and bare. “Somethin’ innocent? Or…” He leaned closer, his mouth barely brushing the shell of your ear. “Were you bein’ a dirty little thing about it?”

Your whole body went up in flames. Your fists balled into the fabric of his sweatpants, clinging to him without even realizing it.

“I—I wasn’t—” you tried again, but Toji just chuckled low, the sound reverberating right through you.

“You’re drunk, baby,” he said, almost gently, but there was no missing the hunger crackling underneath. “Bet you can’t even lie to me properly when you’re like this.”

Your face pressed into his bare chest, trying to hide the mortification burning through you. You could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the heat of him, the way every inch of him was just there, so solid and warm and overwhelming.

Toji hooked a finger under your chin again, pulling you back so you were forced to meet his eyes — dark, sharp, full of something dangerous.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinkin’ about?” he coaxed, voice syrup-sweet and rough. “Hm? What got you so worked up you couldn’t even enjoy your night?”

Your mouth opened—and nothing came out.

Because all you could think about was him.

The way his big hands would feel wrapped around your thighs.

The weight of him pushing you down against the mattress.

That cocky mouth between your legs, smirking against your skin.

You whimpered, embarrassed at your own traitorous mind, and Toji’s grin went feral.

“Poor thing,” he drawled. “Bet you’re soaked just from thinkin’ about it.”

You let out a pathetic sound of protest, but Toji only laughed again, catching your hips and tugging you closer, until you could feel just how hard he was through his sweatpants.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “I’ll make it real for you.”

And when he kissed you — hot and claiming, hands roaming your body like he already owned it — you knew you were so fucking gone.

[sikayeto]

[2000] Thursday the 27th

-------------------------------------------------------

[michael robinavitch x offspring/daughter reader]

[tw: assault and violence]

[summary: another missed dinner, another gasp for air]

[a/n: this is unedited! but i hope you enjoy anyways!]

MASTERLIST

[1] [3]

-------------------------------------------------------

There’s an overwhelming sense of relief. Hearing the words, “You passed,” come out from your instructor’s lips felt like a dream. A dream you’ve had for the past 6 months. And it came true. It’s a reality. Wet tears stream down your face. A choked sob escapes from depth inside of you. 

6 months ago, you failed your final nursing practical exam. Through constant practice, and weekly counselling sessions, you’ve overcome this obstacle that derailed you from your life plans. No longer would the label of “FAILURE” hang above your head. You’re back on track. Exactly where you need to be now.

Leaving the testing room, you pull out your phone and send off a text to your Dad.

[Hey! You’re coming home for dinner, right?]

[I sure hope so]

[Great! I’m making roast and veggies!]

[What’s the occasion?]

[You’ll find out soon!]

[See you at 8!] Read

Warmth rushes into you, and floods your carcass with each breath you take. The weight of the world placed upon your shoulders as you balanced on a delicate pedestal, no longer threatens to make you fall. The bright fluorescent overhead lights of the college didn’t burn your retinas. Instead they highlighted the shades and hues of the furniture and walls. Picked with the sole purpose of uplifting the moods of students. Is this what happiness felt like? Is this how normal people feel?

Ecstatic. Giddy. Delighted. Happy.

Excited. You haven’t felt excitement in who knows how long. You get to tell your Dad the good news. But first, you have to make dinner.

- - -

The apartment is bathed in the warm yellow of lamps and other light fixtures. Honey Glazed ham wafts through the kitchen and permeates the rest of the premises. Singing and dancing along to “The Winner Takes It All” harmonizing from the vinyl player, Reggie makes figure eights between your legs. You pause every now and then to stir a pot of sauce or saute a side dish on the stove. Eyes fluttering every now and then to the clock. Counting down the minutes to your Dad’s arrival. 

Good news. You get to tell him the good news. 

The oven timer reaches 0, and beeps. Snapping out of it, you grab the oven mitts nearby and take the roast ham from the oven. The glaze on the ham glistens and shines. Steam wisps from its flesh, teasing your olfactory senses with the promise of a sweet and savoury supper. Mashed potatoes are plated next. Whipped to perfection with thick cream and salted butter. A side of oil roasted seasonal vegetables are placed down on the dining table next. A fork stabs one of the carrot pieces and directs the morsel to your mouth. The carrots flavour blooms on your tongue. The texture, you find, is just right. Not too crunchy, and not mush either. 

Looking at the meal you’ve painstakingly prepared, another emotion emerges from you. Pride. You’re proud of yourself. It’s been so long, you’ve forgotten what that feels like. 

A quick glance at the clock tells you that your Dad is due to arrive home soon. 

You start cleaning up the kitchen. Washing the dishes you left in the sink, and wiping down surfaces. Losing yourself to the dulcet tones of the vinyl player and the peace that lays on you like a familiar blanket. 

Eyes instinctively gravitate to the clock. 

8:10pm

That’s not a problem. He’ll be here any minute now. 

8:30pm

He probably just got held up. Any minute now.

9:15pm

He works at the ER. If he’s late, there’s somebody’s life on the line. He’ll be here.

10:00pm.

You sit at the dining table. The ham’s gone cold.

The screen of your phone illuminates from where it lays on the table. Hope sparks from within. Picking it up reveals a text message from one of your classmates. 

[We’re at the Pearl celebrating! They’re playing Sabrina! Get here ASAAAAAAP!!!!]

      [...]

     [Be there in 30 :)]

- - -

“Busy Woman” blasted from the base speakers of the club. Bodies crowded each other on the dance floor, a flurry of motioning limbs. 2 drinks in and you’ve melded together with the rest of the population. The music replaces the neurotransmitters telling your muscles to contract and move to the beat. Bringing your cup to your lips, no liquid reaches them. Realization dawns on you that your cup’s empty. You grab the attention of your group of classmates on the dance floor with you, motioning to your empty cup, and then pointing at the bar. One of the girls nods in understanding. 

You maneuver around the people blocking your way to your next drink. Reaching the sticky front counter of the bar, you catch the attention of the bartender.

“What can I get you?” he yells over the music.

“Gin and coke please!” you shout back.

He gives you a thumbs up and starts making the drink. You busy yourself with your phone as you wait. A glass with bubbling dark liquid appears in front of you. A quick thanks and you’re back to the dance floor.

That last drink might’ve been too much for you to handle. The world spins more than you're comfortable with. There’s a heaviness in your gut, and the faint taste of acidic vomit in the back of your throat. 

Everything in slow motion. Strobe lights flash in and out of your view. Bones and sinew that used to be so hollow and light, are now made of lead. Trying its hardest in tandem with gravity to drag you down, down, down to the disgusting floor. Stumbling like a newborn fawn, making your best attempt at making it to the equally disgusting bathroom. 

With all your withered might, the bathroom door swings open and bangs against the wall.

Leaning against the wall, hands reaching for the cold porcelain of the singular sink. The press on nails you put on in a hurry before you left the apartment, dig into your fingers with how hard you grip the sides of the sink. You see glimpses of the sequins of your too short dress, in between leaning your head down and looking at the cracked mirror. 

Burning pain emerges from your scalp as your head is forcefully pulled back. A hand pressed against your mouth muffles your scream. In the mirror is the bartender. He grasps the back of your skull and slams your head into the mirror.

Everything goes black.

- - -

Regaining consciousness wasn’t a better experience. He straddles your prone body. You’re on the bathroom floor and his hands are wrapped around your throat. Every cell in your body burns because you’re starving for oxygen. Hands flailing to find some sort of relief or purchase. Trying desperately to pry away the bones that have viced your airway. Start patting aimlessly around the tiled floor. Pain shoots from the tip of your finger as it touches something sharp. The bartender looks as if he’s somewhere far away. You grasp on to the makeshift blade and stinging red blooms from your palm. With all your strength, you swing your arm towards the bartender. The large shard of glass you grabbed, deeply pierces the side of his torso. If you guessed, somewhere probably between the 4th and 5th left lateral ribs. The bartender falls back in shock at the sudden foreign body that entered his. Blood leaks from the open wound in steady rivets. You lean up on your elbows, gulping down gallons of air. 

Now, the bartender lays prone on the dirty floor. Hands weakly trying to stem the flow of life leaving his body. Everything stills, and the only thing you can hear is the sounds of your breathing and the beat of your heart.

The bathroom door opens, and a random girl enters. One glance at the scene in front of her, and she screams.

You don’t remember the ride to the hospital in the ambulance. You remember the sirens, the lights, but whatever you had in your system was still wreaking havoc.

Wheeled into the ER on a gurney, you hear the paramedic yell out, “21 year old female, drowsy but oriented times 3, possible head trauma. Respiration rate of 8 and O2 sats at 85% on 10L. Heart Rate is 115 and BP is 95/80. We think she got drugged with something and gave her intranasal naloxone but it’s not having any effect on her vitals”.

The ER lights forcefully invade your pupils, and you squint in an effort to adjust. You hear your name called out in surprise. Trying to focus on the source of your name, your eyes adjust to reveal a doctor.

“Uncle Jack?”

‐------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[spitefulsatanfics]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

— by little devil 🖤

pairing: dean winchester x she/her reader tone: domestic fluff, angst-kissed tenderness, love under the weight of the world genre: canon-compliant headcanon list told like snapshots in fanfic form rating: pg-13 for language and suggestive themes synopsis: a list of what it means to be loved by Dean Winchester, one stolen moment at a time.

🥃 Late Nights at the Motel With Only the Lamplight Between You

He always turns the lamp on low when you fall asleep before him—never off.

“Just in case you wake up and think I left,” he mutters, almost too quiet to catch. You’re pretending to sleep, cheek mushed against the motel pillow, but his voice chases your heart like a moth to flame. He sighs, then adds, “I’d never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

Sometimes, you feel the ghost of his fingers trailing along your shoulder blade, the press of his lips against your temple. Dean Winchester kisses like a man who knows time is borrowed and the bill's already overdue.

🍔 Making You Breakfast at Weird Hours Like It's a Love Language

There’s a bacon-and-egg sandwich being shoved in your direction at exactly 2:47 AM.

“You didn’t eat earlier,” he says, chewing his own. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. “And you’re cranky when you’re starving, so. Eat up, princess.”

The paper napkin tucked beneath it has a doodle of the Impala on it with hearts for wheels. You pretend not to notice how your smile makes him beam when he thinks you're not looking.

🎸 Letting You Have the Aux Cord in the Impala—Sometimes

Don’t get it twisted—classic rock is king. But sometimes, when you’ve been hunting for days, tired and half-conscious in the front seat, he lets you play your playlist. Even if it’s “criminally poppy,” he doesn’t change it.

“Is this the same chick who sang that sad vampire song last week?” he asks, brow raised. “Yes, and she’s iconic.” “Huh. Guess she grows on you.”

Three days later, he’s humming the chorus under his breath while loading silver bullets.

💚 Overprotective? Try Terminally Attached

He flinches every time you’re out of sight longer than five minutes on a hunt.

“I’m fine, Dean.” “You didn’t answer your damn radio for twenty minutes. You could’ve been dead, Y/N, and I wouldn’t’ve known until I found the body.”

He doesn’t say “your body.” Never your body. He says it like he’s watching his world burn every time he thinks of losing you. And then he pulls you in like he’s drowning.

“Next time, I’m not letting you outta arm’s reach.”

And he means it. For two days, you practically share a coat pocket.

🎯 Teaching You How to Use His Favorite Guns, Even Though It Kills Him a Little

“Safety’s here. Recoil’s a bitch, so lean into it.” “Like this?” “Perfect.” (He stares too long. Blinks. Clears his throat.) “Yeah. You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

He tells Sam he’s just being practical—wants you to be able to defend yourself. But the truth is, he hates putting that kind of danger in your hands. Loves you too much to ever let you stay defenseless. Hates the world for making it necessary.

🍁 Fall Drives and Small-Town Diners

Every once in a while, when the world’s not ending and the salt lines hold, Dean takes you for drives with no destination.

There’s always pie. Sometimes two. You split the first, and he insists you each get your own for the second round.

“That’s not sharing, that’s survival,” he says, smug with a forkful of cherry pie. “You try to touch mine and I will fake my death.”

You try to steal it anyway. He lets you win. Every time.

🔧 Grease-Stained Love Letters in the Form of Impala Repairs

He teaches you her name like she’s a living thing. Teaches you how to listen—really listen—to her engine. Shows you which wrench to use like it’s a sacred ritual.

You come in once with a smudge of oil on your cheek. He stares.

“You got…” he gestures vaguely, brushing it off with his thumb. His touch lingers. “Better?” “Better,” he says. But he’s not talking about the oil.

🛏️ Late Night Confessions and Sleep-Tousled Softness

There are nights—rare and sacred—when Dean tells you things he doesn’t even tell himself.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this’ll all be some dream,” he whispers into your shoulder, arms locked around you like a promise. “Like, there’s no way I get to have this.”

You shift closer. Your fingers find the pulse point at his wrist.

“You do,” you whisper. “You get to have this. You get to have me.”

And he holds on tighter like the universe might steal you away the second he lets go.

✨ Falling Asleep to the Sound of Classic Rock and Dean's Steady Breathing

Sometimes, the hunts go bad. Sometimes, the world feels a little too sharp around the edges.

But there’s something about lying next to Dean—his arm slung around your waist, his breath in your hair, Baba O’Riley buzzing from the radio—that turns the whole mess into something survivable.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he says once, half-asleep. “How do you know?” “Because I’ve got you.”

And for now, that’s enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 Dean Winchester doesn’t love easy. But he loves hard. Fierce. Loud. In bacon sandwiches, in spare bullets tucked into your jacket pocket, in a glance that says please don’t die louder than words ever could.

Having him as a boyfriend is like dating a storm— chaotic, warm, dangerous, and impossibly beautiful when it hits just right.

You don’t tame him. You join him.

𓆩♡𓆪

[pad-wubbo]

"manta wubs", "autumnal mush", "flexi-pigeon"

Infinite Painter.

Simple monochromatic sketches I made while playing back a long recording of myself speaking to someone.

CC-BY-SA 4.0

[judeswhore]

this is what it feels like

summary: jude just can’t stop kissing you

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: stupid fluff + it’s short but like yeah

notes: you can find my masterlist here. this is a longer version of this ask bc it made me all silly and weak

“could kiss you forever.” jude mumbled, humming softly against your lips as he pushed yet another light kiss to the corner of your mouth. it was a perfect match for the one he’d pressed to the other side only seconds before, your boyfriend seemingly on a mission to love on every part of your face.

“hmm, surely that would get boring.” you teased and let your thumb brush along the edge of his jaw before curling your hand around the back of his neck in an attempt to pull him a little closer. you were already glued to his body, the both of you turned onto your sides, your leg hooked comfortably over jude’s hip so he could wrap an arm around your back and use his hand to keep you firmly pressed against his chest. it was a soothing position, one that had made your kissing lazy and languid almost immediately, both of you on the verge of falling asleep and yet unwilling to pull away.

jude ran his hand gently up and down your spine, his palm tucked under your shirt and pressed warm against your bare skin. the gesture was calming, relaxing in a way that had you pliant in his arms, brain a lump of mush that could only focus on the heat of his fingers and the tenderness of his lips. you’d forgotten how long he’d been kissing you, how long it had been since you’d gotten into bed with every intention of actually going to sleep. you’d wanted one kiss, a quick peck to say goodnight but that wasn’t enough for jude and before you knew it he had you pressed against him and was kissing you breathless.

now, he made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. “s’not possible.” he settled his mouth a little more firmly against yours, effectively cutting off your little huff of amusement. his movements were slow, lips and tongue swiping over yours so lovingly it left you feeling dizzy and light headed. there was a sort of weightlessness that came with kissing jude, a feeling that, if he wasn’t holding you, would have you floating away. his lips stole all your worries with one swipe and left you blissfully empty, only able to think about him.

the rain pattered against the windows and jude kissed you. he rubbed a slow path up and down your spine, up between your shoulder blades and down to the curve of your ass, back up and repeated until you were sure he must have burned a mark into your skin. you tipped your head, opened your mouth a little more and swallowed the happy moan he let out when your tongue met his again. the tips of your nails grazed gently over the back of his head before you lowered them and scratched his neck, content with staying like this forever. you knew the kisses would taper off at some point, knew jude would start to grow sleepy, his mouth tripping messily over yours until he gave you one last peck and tucked his face away into your neck.

the hand on your back travelled a little lower on the next pass, brushed down to your ass which he gave a soft and somewhat playful tap to get your attention. “turn the lamp off.” he told you between the kiss, words muffled because you were still pressed so close together. you were nodding, trying to shift away and reach behind you for the little switch but jude’s mouth was still attached to yours, his tongue still brushing into your mouth with absolutely no intention of stopping.

you gave a light laugh, one that he swallowed with yet another kiss and he followed as you half rolled onto your back, chased you for more kisses because he couldn’t stomach even a seconds break. he caught your jaw with his hand, palm spanning your face so he could keep you in place and litter playful pecks around your lips because you were giggling too much for him to kiss you properly. the noise had he own smile growing, so big his attempts at kisses were just messy presses of his mouth to your skin.

“jude,” you puffed out with a laugh, nose crinkling because the stubble on his chin and jaw was tickling you. your hand rose between your bodies and you pressed a firm but gentle palm to his forehead then pushed. “y’have to actually let me go to turn it off.”

“m’sure you could just wave your arm around and knock it.” he whined a little and tried to dodge your hand but you managed to keep him away for a few seconds. you ignored his over dramatic frown and the way he purposefully butted his head into your hand and managed to twist a little to reach the lamp switch with your free hand.

you’d barely even flipped the switch when jude was knocking your hand off of his head, his thumb and fingers finding your chin so he could pull your face back to his. the grin he was wearing was flirty and annoying but so stupidly pretty your heart skittered. he nudged the tip of your nose with his before dipping his head, going back to kissing you like nothing had happened. the heavy thumps of your heart didn’t go away, your body feeling hot and tingly with giddy love at how eager and needy jude was to show you his love.

the bedroom now bathed in darkness, jude started to settle down over you, shifting on the mattress so he could lay you comfortably on your back and lower himself on top of you. the weight of him had you sighing happily, arms winding around his neck as he pressed his forearms down beside your head, caged you in in a way that made you feel safe and secure. the duvet was twisted a little around your bodies but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too caught up in how he brushed his tongue back into your mouth, moaned low in his throat when you licked into his.

silence wrapped around you for the next few minutes, broken only by soft moans and panted breaths, the gentle taps of rain on the windows. jude finally gave you a few moments to catch your breath properly, his forehead pressed to your temple as he shuddered above you, the soft scratch of your nails over the back of his neck making his eyes feel heavy. the palm of your hand smoothed along his shoulders and back, copied his moments from earlier and you quirked a quick smile.

“y’getting bored yet?” you asked, voice lilting playfully and he answered with a quick scoff, shifting to peer down at you through dark eyes.

“never.”

[iridescent-solstice]

Finally at your wit’s end, you decide to close the shop early. Your headache, that was mild at first, is now practically unbearable. Asra wouldn’t approve at all, and for once you agree. The shop already made enough profit for the week, didn't it?

So, surely one day off won’t hurt . . . Right? Right. So, with all the lamps turned off in the main shop, you set out with an agenda. Operation locate Asra is in session! Which isn’t hard since the only remaining source of light faintly emanates from the backroom. The very backroom he escaped to earlier today. ALL DAY. He's been cooped up there all day. Reading tome after tome and other strange books. Their pages old and torn by now with a funky smell you don’t even want to know the source of. He’s probably up to no good again, you muse to yourself. 

So that is where you’ll go. To Asra. his wonderfully warm arms and his insatiable love of mischief . . .

Gently pushing the magenta-coloured curtains to the side. You wander over. Muted footsteps that do little to alert him of your presence. Your heart leaps at the sight of him. Asra . . . Sitting cross legged at the rounded table used for tarot readings, he’s practically glued to the torn pages of a tattered monstrosity. With a bottom lip jutting out and his eyebrows shooting so high, you’re surprised they’re still attached to his face. Just one look at the pillows surrounding him is enough to make you sigh blissfully. Comfy. The buzzing yet comforting feeling of Asra's magic hangs in the air like a perfume. Tempting. And just like Selasi with his infamous pumpkin bread, you can't find it in yourself to resist this either. 

"Missed me?" He looks up from his tome when your hand finds its way to his bare shoulder. An amused smirk painting his face. But you don't care. Not bothering one bit with his teasing nor with wasting anymore time. You shove yourself into him. Wordlessly ducking under his arms to crawl into his lap. Like a lazy cat, you drape yourself over him and he embraces you just as quickly. A warm hand gently finds its way to the back of your head before you're cradled into him. A contented sigh escapes you, and with your cheek mushed up against him. He can’t help but coo at the precious sight. His arms encircling your frame. Engulfing you in his hold. "Well, aren't you adorable today~" Instantly fastening his arms around you as you nuzzle your face into his shoulder. he in turn, rests his chin atop of your head.  Light breathing that makes your slightly frizzy hair sway every now and then. "I always miss you." He chuckles pulling you even closer with a peck to your forehead. "The feeling's mutual my love"