#simping

[elizabetak]

It's finally time for me to post a better and an actual intro post, with better explanation

(Jeremy's meme version belongs to @skippybara)

[glooomyshroom]

Me: aw gee I sure hope I don’t find another goofy animated man to obsess over

The humble Jinu:

[gazumirei]

I'm sorry but I'm not gonna hold it back anymore he's fine asf

LIKE BRO HIS VOICE?!!!!!!!!!????!!?!????????!??!??HOLY MOLY GUACAMOLE

[cherrylacuna]

OUR JULY LOVE

Summary: A pure smut! No plot. Just drunkly (literally) in love with Hayden. Intense sex in jacuzzi —

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x f!Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Age gap, explicit sexual content (18+), soft dom!Hayden, possessiveness, oral (f receiving), praise, slight breeding kink, gentle intensity

Rating: E (Explicit)

Status: One-shot

July evenings have a way of quickly turning into night. Not because the sun sets fast—quite the opposite. It’s because you’re finally free. No responsibilities weighing you down, no one expecting anything. Just silence, stars, and the feeling that time’s paused for your sake. Above your head, constellations shine, scattered like forgotten memories. You’ve been staring at one for ages, even though you never remember its name.

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting in that warm tub. Every now and then, your eyes drift shut—not from tiredness, but from peace. A pleasant, tingly warmth spreads across your skin, no doubt from the high temperature. Eventually, you raise your arms and rest your hands behind your neck, tilting your head back, eyes half-lidded, almost high from the heat.

But even paradise runs out.

You know it must be the middle of the night now. And leaving you alone with this much freedom? That’s just begging for trouble. You glance to the side in search of your glass. You want another sip of wine—desperately—but the bottle’s already empty. Doesn’t matter. Not when the world is already swaying around you, and you’re too far gone to care.

That’s the freedom you live for.

You rise from the jacuzzi, only to stub your toe instantly. A hiss escapes your lips, followed by a stream of expletives so poetic it’d make Shakespeare blush. Still, you keep going. You step down the stairs and into the soft grass, spinning slightly, drunk on texture and temperature. Cool air licks your wet skin—not freezing, just enough to feel after the 37-degree heat of the tub. You start walking back toward the house, the chill of the grooved terrace floor beneath your feet sending a shiver up your spine.

The alcohol’s hitting differently now—late, but loud. Still, it doesn’t stop the craving.

Inside, you head straight for the bar, grabbing the first bottle you can find. There’s barely any light, so you check the label the old-fashioned way: by tasting it. The sharp burn down your throat tells you exactly what it is. Jack Daniels. You consider the age-old wisdom about not mixing alcohols—and then hip-check the bar and spin on your heel, laughing at yourself.

Who needs a glass anyway?

You stand there in the dark, letting your hearing take over. The patio doors are still open. Crickets chirp gently, like background music. You close your eyes—though everything’s black already—and just sway, caught between tipsy and tranquil.

Then it happens.

A sudden, searing warmth ignites against your hips. You jolt, eyes flying open, like you could actually see who it is.

“Shh… it’s just me, baby,” comes the low, gravelled voice behind you. Familiar. Dangerous. Safe. Your heart jumps into your throat. It’s him. Hayden. The man you trust with your body, your mind, your destruction. Even so, your skin prickles, goosebumps rising everywhere.

“Fuck, Hayden…” you whisper, lips curling in a surprised smile.

You turn and rest your hands on his shoulders, immediately struck by how tall he is—or maybe how small you feel. The half-empty bottle in your hand clinks lightly against his chest. You forgot you were still holding it. You lift it and take another sip, heart pounding.

“What you drinkin’?” he murmurs, voice thick in your ear. He must’ve leaned in close—too close. And then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is instant and wild. His lips crash against yours, his tongue slipping in to claim you like he’s got something to prove. Your breath whooshes out of your lungs. You moan into his mouth, overwhelmed. He bites your lower lip, then pulls away just as fast, leaving you chasing more.

“Whiskey?” he says in that deep Canadian rasp you love too much.

“Yeah. You want some?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer. He kisses you again instead.

You stand on your toes, pressing closer to his chest. You can feel the fabric of his T-shirt—so soft, yet so annoyingly in the way.

“You’re wet, honey,” he says suddenly, lips brushing yours.

You want to claw at him. Tell him to shut up and keep kissing you. But instead, you let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, I was in the jacuzzi,” you say.

His hands trail down your nearly naked body. It’s like he just now realized you’re wearing only a tiny swimsuit. His long fingers slide over your hips, then cup your ass. You bite your lip. The bottle slips from your hand and lands somewhere nearby. Who cares? You’re already drunk. On him.

His fingers find the bow on the side of your bikini bottom. One tug, and the knot comes loose. Then the other. The fabric drops to the floor with a soft slap, leaving you completely exposed. Your breath catches. The only sound is your shaky breathing.

If he could see you now—naked, flushed, desperate—he’d probably smirk like the bastard he is.

“Hayden…” you say his name like a prayer.

He leans down, lips grazing your neck. You tangle your fingers into his curls. God, his hair is so soft. You wind it around your fingers and grip, hard—like you need something to hold onto before you fall apart.

“We won’t be needing that,” he murmurs, tugging the string behind your neck. It slips free. Your top falls, exposing your breasts to the warm air. His hand replaces the fabric instantly, squeezing you with no hesitation. You gasp—loud, needy. His low chuckle rumbles in your ear.

And when he tweaks your nipple between his fingers, your knees almost buckle.

Maybe you are playing with fire. And it’s burning you from the inside out.

“Maybe we should go back the jacuzzi,” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of your damp hair behind your ear. His fingertips trail along your jaw before stopping at your mouth, gently tugging your bottom lip down. Your face heats under the touch, cheeks flushing a deeper shade.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, slipping both hands beneath his shirt. His skin is hot—almost feverish. You push the fabric up, silently demanding he take it off. While he wrestles it over his head, you go for his.

His grip on your hips tightens just before he pushes into you—hard, deep, merciless. Your cry echoes into the night, muffled only by the crash of water around you. Your hair clings to your back, to your shoulders, floating and soaking as your body rocks forward with each thrust.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, raw and sinful. He doesn’t hold back. He fucks you like he owns you. Like the stars above are watching, and he wants them all to see.

You gasp, your hands slipping on the wet edge of the jacuzzi as he drives into you over and over again.

Then—smack.

His palm meets your ass with a sharp sting that makes you whimper.

Again.

And again.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, breath hot against your ear. “You like when I make you mine.”

“Yes,” you pant. “I’m yours. Fuck, Hayden—I’m yours.”

That’s all it takes. One hand snakes between your thighs again, and his fingers find your clit, rubbing with precision. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can’t hold on.

Your whole body locks up, the orgasm ripping through you like a storm. You cry out, biting down on your own arm to keep from screaming.

And just when you think you’ve come undone completely, he breaks too.

A low curse tears from his throat as he buries himself deep one last time, his release hitting him hard. His body shudders behind you, hips jerking, voice guttural and raw as he spills inside you again.

He stays like that—still, heavy, holding you—while the water settles and your breathing begins to slow.

Then you feel his hand slide up your back, gentle now, tracing your spine like he’s grounding himself with every stroke. Slowly, he leans forward and rests his forehead on your shoulder. Neither of you says anything for a long, suspended moment. The silence says everything.

And then, softly, you turn your head and whisper it into the dark:

“I love you.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t falter. He just pulls you into his arms, turns you toward him, and lets you collapse onto his lap—naked, exhausted, but so incredibly full.

You rest your head on his chest, his heartbeat echoing in your ear. The stars are still above you, bright and indifferent. But now, they feel like they’re watching something sacred.

Together, you both stare up at the sky. You see the same constellation you’d noticed earlier. But this time, you remember its name.

Cassiopeia.

Thank you so much for all interactions. It's my first fanfic on Tumbrl <3

[stickythighs123]

Shoulda been me

[donitasalpastor]

First time drawing Daisuke finally!!!! The app I used is “AmberDraw”

I hope to draw more about him, he is my favorite Mouthwashing character (basic? Yeah maybe idc). ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[catiuskaa]

sway with me —bf!minho thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because everyone loved chan's edition so much and it's really easy to get ot8 brainrot for headcanons and because i love my little bunny boy minho~!)

(this ended up being longer than expected lol)

minho, who’s been training all afternoon inside the company’s practice room. He feels sweaty as he pants, laying on the floor.

minho, who’s so comfortable resting on the wooden floor that doesn’t even bother to open his eyes when the door creaks open, a known silhouette entering with small steps.

minho, who can’t stop a small smile that creeps from the deepest parts of his body when he hears your soft tone of voice call his name, almost in a whisper. “Minho, baby? Are you awake?” For a moment, he pretends to be asleep, and relaxes his body, feeling you move closer to him.

minho, who snickers before lauching his body over yours, rolling on the floor with your body pressed tightly against his, and then stops, smiling from all your giggling when he pins you down.

minho, who gently lowers his head and stays right above yours, almost tempting you to move when he boops your nose with his, then tenderly leaves a shy kiss on your forehead.

minho, who gets too shy after that display of affection that he grins slyly, abruptly letting all his weight on you.

minho, who teasingly refuses to move from on top of you, a childish mockery that you cherish because of how sappy and cute he looks when he wiggles his eyebrows and raises his tone of voice, just like a toddler.

minho, who blushes furiously after you enticingly start peppering his face with kisses, unconciously leaning for more, but then, he reminded himself where you both were.

minho, who quickly rushes back to his feet as you cackle, still on the floor. “Yeah. Reeeeeeally funny.” He mumbles, not being able to cover his red-tinted cheeks or his flustered smile.

minho, who says he has to finish his training. “just one more time, jagi.” He claims, lying through his teeth.

minho, who only wants to dance again because he loves to feel your stare on him as his body moves to the music, smirking at you through the mirror when your cheeks turn slightly pink.

minho, who grins like a fool when you recognize the song and stand up from the sofa, cheeky as you laugh and state that you know this dance better than he does.

minho, who lets you have the spotlight as you laugh, making up moves as you dance, letting the rythm and the melody guide your way.

minnho, who loves to see you dancing anytime, not only because of how good your skills may or may not be, but because how cheerful you look.

minho, who finishes practice and gets home with you with a big smile on his face despite how draining training can get sometimes.

minho, who thinks the best part of the day is when he comes out of the shower and you smile at him, moving your paperwork somewhere else as you start heating up dinner for both of you.

minho, who backhugs you and moves his hand from your waist to underneath your shirt, a move not overly sexual coming from him, but rather one that makes your heart flutter.

minho, who slowly sways your body as he humms, happy that you like dancing and cooking with him, but even happier that you are here with him.

(aish it got so fluffy i almost cried abkdbakdjakd so cute i love minho ajdjajdjkadka —more incomprehensible sounds from cuteness overload—)

[spears-literature]

The obsession is real. I need more Chance content now! I need that twenty side dice real bad. 👀 Ignore me tho.

There's like nothing for him on here and I'm flabbergasted. I'm about to make it everyone's problem. So close to writing fanfiction. Would totally take requests.

[tinkerleaf]

Gnawing at My Enclosure

a/n: I don't wanna hear it synopsis: heavy make out session with dazai w/c: 1.0k m.list: here

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

So picture this. You are at Dazai’s apartment. You both are on his couch. You’ve been at his place tons of times-you’ve known him for a long time. There is no denying the chemistry you both have and other people see it too. You usually try not to think about it, but damn. He just looks really hot right now. He’s wearing his work shirt without the vest, an extra button unbuttoned. His coat is hanging off his kitchen table. Every now and then, he runs a hand through his hair, and you’re just dying. He’s manspreading as he talks and for some reason, you like it.

You’ve felt like this ton of times and figured your little infatuation would go away the longer you were friends with him. What were you thinking?

He turns over to look at you. And you don’t think you can hide the blush on your face. He raises a brow, “You alright, sweetheart?” He calls you that sometimes, and it infuriates you. The first time he used it, he was just being a tease. He saw how red your face went, and it just stuck. Now it’s just something he uses when you’re alone.

He can see how flustered you are, and you don’t even try to answer. Your eyes do not leave his because if you look away, he wins. He knows he has you in the palm of his hand at this point. He knows he can move you. He does it all the time.

Running his hand through his hair again, he rests the same arm on the back cushion of the couch. “You know, it’s rude to stare.” You still don’t respond to him. If you do, he’ll win. He’ll hear how stirred up you are by the falter of your voice. However, you turn towards him, mimicking his pose. His eyes are unwavering, and it feels like needles are piercing through you. You don’t know if you’re gonna win anymore.

You’re both at opposite ends of the couch, but it feels like he can reach right through you. He stands up, without removing eye contact I will add, and removes his belt, setting it aside.

You’re appalled. Disgusted at how quick that turns you on. He sees that he barely cracked that hard exterior you tried so hard to keep. He thinks it’s so cute when you try to battle with him like this.

When he sits back down, he’s closer. You are now panicking. He loves it. His arrogance pisses you off. “Are you gonna blink, or…” You curse yourself when you waver at the end.

He grins, which is even hotter, and you’re so mad. The tension is killing you.

You have had enough of this man. With a frustrated sigh, you yank him by the head and smash his lips onto yours. He’s quick to respond, giving you what you deliver. His energy doesn’t disappoint. He grabs your waist and lowers you down to the arm of the couch. He’s now on top of you, his right leg between the both of yours. His other foot is steady on the floor, keeping him balanced. His tongue slips through your mouth while you pull onto his shirt.

“Fuck,” he gasps as he releases his lips from yours until they latch onto your neck, just below your ear. He’s rough with you, and you can tell he’s needed this for a while. He’s needed you. His hand that isn’t on your waist reaches around to the back of your head, forcing you to move where he guides you. The smell of his cologne is sickening. It invades your senses and only makes you want him more.

He hears a little gasp from you when he reaches that place on your neck you love, and he keeps a mental note of it. Not without annihilating it first, of course. The bruises he leaves on your neck are going to be so visible, but you don’t even care.

He lets go of you and leans back, undoing the rest of his buttons and tossing his shirt aside. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but it doesn’t fail to give you butterflies. What is he thinking? Because his eyes are devouring you.

He leans back down to you, one hand on your thigh while the other goes up your shirt to hold your waist. His body heat warms you, and you melt into his touch. He makes you shiver. His lips go directly back to your neck like it’s his mission to bring those noises back out of you. And of course, he succeeds.

“Can’t believe this is all it takes to make you sound like that,” he teases. It takes everything in you not to kick him. But you’re lost in the pleasure. His stupid remark only makes you whine more.

He groans into your neck, and you’re a mess. He doesn’t let up either, but he does lick a wet line from your collarbone to your ear, and you grab onto him for dear life. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it.

“Osamu…” You can’t help but let his name roll off your tongue when he sucks on your neck again.

His lips go right next to your ear as he toys with you. “Tell me about it, sweetheart.”

Your phone dings again, and he grabs it and turns it over, not allowing you to be distracted by anything but him.

You push back against him gently, “Wait, what if it’s important?”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?”

His lack of response makes you roll your eyes. When your phone begins ringing, he takes it and answers it himself. “Can it wait?”

You try to reach back for it and he blocks you. “What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Bother Ranpo with it.” After going back and forth with who you assumed was Kunikida, he ended the call with a frustrated sigh.

“That murder case from last week has a new lead, and our suspect is going to be around the harbor in an hour.” He grabs his shirt and stands up. You follow suit, still in a daze. He turns to you and traces a thumb around your lips, “You’re drooling by the way.”

You still want to kick him.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

[papaquesito]

Back at it again- I'm in an art block so my doodles are very rushed and bad. 🙇 Im so sorry.

Also random Hotrod, cause i didn't know who to use for the quote and my friend suggested him

[kame11a]

Ugh....Romeo brainrot

WHY DID THEY LET YOU SUFFER SO MUCH

[anonymousegeek]

ladies and gents amd nonbinary vents...

thank you :3

[elizabetak]

The voting has ended

Same template but with different colors, by @vergils-beloved

Happy Easter 🥳

[woosked]

I need to be put down I've been sitting here for an hour and a half simping for this red hair twink with mommy issues with snakes growing out his chest and scoliosis

But like, he's sooooooo fine...

He could impale me any day...

[yuumenakaiser]

Guys im so obsessed with ken kaneki again. It's not funny anymore, I'm literally writing another fanfic about him and it's going to be my longest ever. OVER 5K WORDS please what in the world got into me.

Someone end this suffering, I've been simping so hard but my man isn't even real.

FUUUUCK IT HURTS HAHAHA

I'll try to drop the fanfic this week.

Wish me luck‼️

Here are some beautiful pictures of my husband.

Edit: I finished the 8k words fanfic here we go

Whispers of yesterday {ken kaneki x gn!reader}