#all of you sending me prompts? You're my muses now

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR FAKE DATING & GOING UNDERCOVER *  assorted dialogue for muses going undercover as a couple and having to maintain the illusion that they're dating, and all the chaos, feelings, and whatnot that come with it, suggested by dollhidden, adjust as necessary, send "reverse" for the reversal of action prompts

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

come on. at least pretend that you like me.

if we hold hands, that'll sell the illusion even more.

what petnames do you think we'd use if we were actually dating?

please don't make this too difficult on me.

stop letting go of my hand.

you're going to pay for this later.

that was way too close of a call.

[petname]? that's what we're going with?

could you at least look like you like me for an hour? is that so hard?

admit it. i'm not half bad.

didn't think i would enjoy this as much as i am.

did you take acting classes growing up?

excuse me! i'm just trying to sell the illusion!

do you think they bought it?

you don't look like you love me. you look like you're constipated.

way to lay it on thick. i think you might have done too good of a job.

pretend to laugh at one of my jokes.

i guess i didn't expect you to dress up for this. i'm impressed.

you know, if you treated me like that on the regular, i might actually start falling in love with you.

they have to believe we're together. how hard can it be?

quick, pretend like you're about to kiss me.

you clearly care more about the tiny appetizers than you do me.

i'm just here for the free champagne.

you clean up nice.

that honestly wasn't as bad as i thought it would be.

they're looking over here. quick, say something funny.

that... was surprisingly smooth of you.

you don't date much, do you?

we should pretend to date more often.

hey! my eyes are up here!

shit, they're coming. kiss me.

ACTION PROMPTS all of these are written as if both parties are fake dating and going undercover at some specified event, but feel free to add your own scenarios if you'd like!

[ hand ] sender quickly takes receiver's hand in public to avoid getting caught

[ waist ] sender quickly slides an arm around receiver's waist in public to avoid getting caught

[ propose ] sender stages a dramatic fake proposal to further sell their relationship to the crowd, catching receiver completely off guard

[ fake fight ] sender and receiver stage a coordinated fake fight/messy breakup in front of the crowd

[ kiss ] realizing they need to sell their relationship to an important person/people, sender and receiver kiss for the first time

[ coat ] noticing receiver is cold, sender gives them their coat

[ entrance ] sender and receiver approach the entrance of the secret event and discuss their plans for selling their fake relationship to the crowd

[ slip away ] sender slips away from receiver in order to take a break from pretending, and receiver goes to find them

[ off limits ] sender and receiver are exploring an off limit portion of the event space, get caught, and are forced to try to explain how they got lost

[ the big kiss ] to conceal the fact that they're exploring an off limit portion of the event space, sender kisses receiver dramatically once they're caught

[ introduce ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to a very important (and potentially dangerous) person at this event

[ family ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to their family, who just so happens to also be at the event

[ lost ] sender loses receiver in the crowd and rushes to relocate them before their cover is blown

[ flirt ] when someone else shows interest in receiver, sender steps in and makes it clear they're "taken"

[ exit ] sender and receiver have successfully accomplished their goal, and now must sneak out of the event as covertly as possible

[ spill ] sender accidentally spills their drink on receiver and rushes them to the restroom to clean them up

[ private ] in a brief moment of privacy between the two fake daters, sender admits to receiver that they don't think receiver is as bad as they thought

[wheeboo]

all yours | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you get a bit too drunk on your special day. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of drinking alcohol and throwing up, reader has long enough hair to be pulled back, cursing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

requested from anon: Hi hope all is well, just wanted to say Congrats on the milestone! You deserve it! And if it’s okay I would like to request #29 and #52 from prompt list 1 with Jeonghan thank you in advance if you do it. Congrats again to 2k you honestly deserve it :) - #29: "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it." - #52: "Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

notes: thank u sm anon 😭🫶 ur so so sweet ily AAAA sending consensual smooches ur way 😚😚 also genuinely did not know what to title this lmfao

join the 2k celebration!

Okay, maybe you've had a bit too much to drink tonight.

It's your birthday anyway, so surely you have the right to go a little bit overboard on your special day... right?

"Ugh, I feel like shit," You mumble groggily, your body drifting and hitting the bathtub right next to you with a thud as the sounds of the toilet flushing bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

Jeonghan just crosses his arms together, leaning against the doorway with a sly smirk to his face. His eyes peer over your flushed face, slightly tousled hair and overall cute, disheveled appearance. You huff a breath as your gaze meets his, and a small, almost dreamy smile of your own forms on your face despite knowing how absurd you look right now.

"How do I look?" You ask, drawing your words out drunkenly.

"Honestly?" Jeonghan starts, and you lift a brow in anticipation. "You look ravishingly awful."

The words that leave his mouth has your face twisting in confusion, your brain hardly processing whatever the hell he just said (you'll take it as a compliment nonetheless, thanks to your cloudy mind).

However, Jeonghan just chuckles, fully stepping his way into the bathroom and towards where you are plopped down on the tile floor. He carefully sits himself down on the rim of the bathtub, expression softening right away with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth on your face from the alcohol to his fingers.

You lean into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a few seconds. "My body is going to hate me in the morning."

Jeonghan retracts his hand slightly, but not before his fingertips lingers your cheek, sending a jolt through your already-buzzing body and causing your eyes to flutter open. You can feel the heat creeping back up your neck, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Hmm, not if I take care of you real well, yeah?" he muses teasingly, and you could only groan in response, feeling the alcohol earlier make your head spin once more. But a tiny, sober part of you registers the warmth in his gaze.

That is, until you can start to feel something bubble up your throat, and before you can react, your stomach lurches, and you're scrambling for the toilet just in time to expel the contents of your stomach. You heave and retch, feeling utterly miserable as Jeonghan helps by pulling back your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

As the wave of nausea passes, your hand releases its hold on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat. You lean back once more, nearly toppling over before Jeonghan's hands catch you by the shoulders, helping to straighten up your posture. You let out a sluggish sigh.

"Well, maybe you're not wrong about your body hating you," he says jokingly, then squeezes your shoulders right after as if reassure you. "I would not want to be the receiving end of all... that."

You roll your eyes in playful annoyance and yank his grip off you, his laughter ringing in your ears. "I... Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

A feigned gasp leaves Jeonghan as he dramatically clutches his chest. But the inebriated glare you throw his way doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. You catch the way his face quickly dissolves into his horribly distinguishable shit-eating grin.

"Ah, you figured out my secret, my dearest," he responds with an exaggerated flair, cupping your face gently with his hand. "You getting wasted made you more perceptive than I thought."

You swat at him weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"Only for you." He cheesily presses a kiss to the top of your head. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"

"Mmmh... help me?" You laggardly open your arms up to him, a pout forming at your mouth.

Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way Jeonghan is gazing at you so adoringly right now. He takes your outstretched arms and helps to hoist you up to your feet. For a moment, you're eye-to-eye, your head spinning slightly from the sudden movement and the world tilting a little as you stand.

Jeonghan secures a hand at your lower back as he carefully leads you out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, catching a glimpse to the remains of the party from earlier scattered about the room. Balloons hang lazily at the ceiling, confetti laying across the floor𑁋you can deal with it in the morning.

"You're a hot mess," he comments teasingly, though there's a fondness in his tone as he guides you to the bed.

You flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the softness of the pillows cushioning against your throbbing head. Jeonghan disappears for a minute to retrieve a bottle of pills from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen, placing it on your bedside table before sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush hair away from your forehead.

You crack open an eye to look at him, feeling yourself trying so hard to not fall asleep on the spot.

"Do... you think they know?"

Jeonghan looks back down at you. "Who?"

"Every... Everyone who came today, uh..." You mutter, motioning the air with your hand. "I didn't... do anything weird out there, right? We haven't really told anyone about us yet..."

Jeonghan purses his lips together, eyelids fluttering as if he's trying to remember the events of the party. He crosses his arms together, and you should probably know from the smirk appearing at his face that𑁋

"Hm, like, weird as in when you tried to kiss me earlier after you sang karaoke? Or𑁋"

"Are you being serious right now?!" There's a long, drawn out unintelligible sound that you whine as you bury your face into the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against your flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm so stupid..."

"My love, I still don't entirely understand why we have to hide it," Jeonghan says gently, his fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "Your affection is pretty obvious, you know."

You snort at that, but you can't really deny it anyway since yeah, you are pretty affectionate with him. And it isn't that you don't want people to know. The thought of people knowing is completely fine, but it's really just that your friends can be absolute nutcases sometimes, and you really don't want to be at the teasing end of the stick right now when all you want is a bit of privacy, at least in the beginning.

"I just... I want you all to myself, you know?" You ramble drowsily, words still slightly slurred. "Just wanna... um, keep this between us for now. N-Not that I'm ashamed or anything, I just... want this to be ours."

Jeonghan lets his eyes take you in for a few moments, a soft look gracing over his features. He glances down at the way his hand seems to seems to instinctively find yours, your fingers intertwining loosely. Frankly, he’s already yours𑁋been yours from the moment the thought of you started to become a frequent visitor to his head.

"Of course," he assures lightly, not taking his eyes off you even while adjusting the pillows so you're in a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep now, okay?"

"M'kay," You utter out, feeling the weight of the bed lift when Jeonghan stands up. Yet as a thought crosses your mind, you call out to him, "Jeonghan?"

He pauses, turning back to look at you with gentle eyes.

"I... I do love you, you know," You confess slowly, almost hesitantly, like that small flicker of sobriety had finally peeked through the haze of alcohol. "Even if I'm shit at showing it."

Jeonghan feels his heart racing in his chest, and the heat flaring at the tips of his ears. On the surface, it's normally hard to detect such reactions to whatever loving, cheesy, romantic stuff you've said to him (since usually, he'd rather tease you into the grave instead). But on the inside, his heart is practically doing cartwheels, somersaults, and backflips all at once𑁋he would quite literally do anything for you.

"Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?" he remarks playfully.

You only shrug loosely, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. "I might... maybe. But, uh, at least you know, right?"

His lips just curl up lovingly. Even if you don’t remember it, those three words would be the first things he would say every morning anyway.

"I love you too, angel," he says against the skin of your temple. "Happy birthday."

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[queenie-avenue]

Hii! 🌟

So..i want ask for request about CEO ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

What if one day reader is caught sketching the CEO in some fancy clothes? Would he like to wear this for reader?

(Thank you in advance! Hope u have really good day 👁️〰️👁️)

/// sorry for my English kinda bad at grammar (ง’̀-‘́)ง

He'll wear anything you make.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, Adrian Houde

—> he's your muse, you're his obsession.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader has a crush on Adrian, obsessive behaviour, posessive thoughts, snooping, fluff, red flags but they aren't so apparent.

notes: i altered the prompt a bit, i hope you don't mind but thank you for the ask! i'm glad you like adrian as much as i do. feel free to send in more asks! love the cute emoticons btw <3 did not proofread, we die like men.

Adrian strolled about the fashion department, his hands raking across the abandoned tables now that everyone had headed home. He rolled up his sleeves to check the time as he walked past the messy and cluttered desks, the heels of his shoes clacking against the floor.

One might ask, what was the CEO of the company doing so late at the fashion department? Everyone had gone home, clocking off early for the holidays — even the ever-busy fashion team — except him. His blue eyes raked across the table as he searched for your table, and finally, he came across it and smiled.

You didn't have a table before, you cramped alongside the lower level employees but well, Adrian pulled some strings here and there for you to get your own table.

It also made it easier for him to look through your belongings.

"Hm?" He hummed when he saw an unfamiliar book on the table. He had memorised every detail of your table, to the point where he knew where you put your emergency snacks — sometimes even refilling them for you anonymously — but this sketchbook was new.

He knew it was wrong to sneak into someone's belongings, and his grandmother would no doubt absolutely pulverise him for such ungentlemanly actions but you already belonged to him. You didn't, but you would soon.

He was slowly cracking you down, he knew. Adrian could still see the blush on your face when you were caught staring at him for too long.

His nimble hands reached for the book and flipped through them. The pages crinkling in his hands as he gazed at all of the different designs. His eyes slowly widened as he recognised the dimples on the model's face, the tousled blonde hair, the dashing pale blue eyes, and the silhouettes you had crafted just for him. The suits, some dresses, some eccentric, some more subdued, and multiple designs made with styles he had a penchant for.

He smiled, knowing that you had to have been observing him rather closely to be able to craft such flattering outfits for him.

"Hah," he breathed out, feeling his cheeks heat up. "You're driving me crazy." He whispered to himself as he felt his entire body grow hot.

He continued to flip through the pages, taking in the sight of him as your muse. He almost wanted to hop in his car and drive off to your house now just to kiss you but he had to restrain himself.

He was a gentleman; even if he snuck into your belongings. He would wait for a while more. His grandmother had always said that a prolonged courting period was needed, filled with flowers, chocolates, gifts, and, of course, polite flirting.

He placed the book on the floor and snapped a few pictures, making sure to make it look accidental, like he had just stumbled across it and sent it to you.

Adrian. H: Stumbled across a cute little thing on the way to a late-night meeting. Mind if I get it privately made? I'd love to wear something you made.

He smirked, knowing that you would fluster. He just wished you were here just so he could see colour fill your face. He made a note to visit the fashion department during lunchtime just to tease you further. Maybe he'd even wear something akin to your designs tomorrow.

He just wanted to get this courting phase over so he could wrap you in his arms like a snake and never let go.

Your sketchbook was practically an invitation for him to do so.

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: smut, aged-up Bakugo (21+ yo), fem!Reader, daddy kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, choking, face slapping, dirty talk, degradation

Synopsis: Bakugo returns home, seething with anger. To his surprise, he notices that his rage seem to ignite a spark of desire within you

Author: @doumadono

A/N: Welcome to the second day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration! I'm absolutely ecstatic to share this delightfully naughty piece of fiction with you, and I hope you find it thoroughly enjoyable! Today's prompt: overstimulation

💥Masterlist💥

From the early morning hours, you were glued to the TV screen as a massive battle unfolded in the city center involving a villain group. Each time the camera focused on Bakugo in the background, your boyfriend appeared not only frustrated and angry but seething with rage. It was evident that the cooperative action wasn't going as planned, and it was taking much more time than initially estimated.

The front door's lock emitted a beep as he pushed it open, his crimson eyes ablaze with dark fury. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock audibly clicking into place.

"Katsuki, I saw everything because…" The words faltered on your lips as he strode across the living room, his hand abruptly making contact with your cheek. A sharp sting spread across your skin, and a rush of desire coursed through you. His large hand effortlessly wrapped around your throat.

"What did you just call me?" His voice was nothing but a gravelly, almost a menacing growl, intensifying your shock and arousal. "You know better, fucking slut."

Oh, he was so exasperated.

“Sorry, daddy,” you squeaked out. Your soft whimper of desire elicited a wicked grin on Bakugo's face, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours. As your mouths met, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, merging with his hungry kiss. His skilled tongue danced with yours, igniting a fiery passion between you. "I'll be good, I promise, daddy," you panted between gasps as he bit the soft flesh of your neck after breaking the passionate kiss. "I'll help you ease the anger, kay?"

"I know you fucking will," Bakugo growled, letting go of you as he swiftly took off his own shirt. "You're always a good little whore when daddy's angry," Bakugo taunted, a sly smirk crossing his face. "Now, strip for me."

You hurriedly shed your last pieces of clothing, slipping out of a snug pair of shorts and a tank top.

Bakugo's gaze bore into you, desire igniting his crimson irises, sending shivers of anticipation down your trembling fingers. As you stood there, completely exposed to him, his strong fingers returned to your head, gently guiding you over the edge of the couch. You pressed your face into the sheets, a faint blush of embarrassment warming your cheeks as the cool room air brushed against the dampness between your thighs that already managed to form.

"Well, well," Bakugo mused.

You detected a sly grin in his tone as his fingers lightly traced over the curve of your ass.

"Look at you, so aroused and eager. Does my anger really turn you on that much, dumbass? How pathetic. Aren't you a little, pathetic whore for daddy, hmm?"

All you could manage was a quivering gasp as he slid a broad finger along your drenched folds, teasing your sensitive clit. In an instant, his finger vanished, replaced by a sharp, stinging slap against your asscheek, eliciting a cry from your parted lips.

"Use your fucking words, you knucklehead. I asked you a fucking question."

"Yes, daddy," you moaned weakly as his hand struck your ass once more, the pleasurable sting sending shivers directly through your core. "You make me so wet, daddy…"

Bakugo chuckled, giving your ass a soothing caress before delivering another firm smack. "Tsch, you fucking whore. Did you think about my hard dick while watching me on TV, hmm? Are you such a dirty slut?" One of his hands slipped between your thighs and his calloused index finger rubbed fast circles over your clitoris.

"Yes, daddy!" Your voice quivered, ending with a small gasp as you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle being undone while he was brushing his fingers against your vulnerable spot, making your thighs shiver.

“Oh fuck, princess," Bakugo emitted a low, primal growl as you sensed the mushroom tip of his rock-hard dick pressing against your slick entrance. “Just what daddy needs, fuck. You're so hot and wet, dumbass.” He slid inside you with ease, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "You're nothing but a cumdump for daddy."

You were reduced to incoherent pleas beneath his rough assault; each buck of his hips driving him to penetrate you deeply, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "Dear God, daddy! Oh! Ah!"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, jerking your head upwards as he thrust faster. "God, you're so fucking tight," Bakugo gasped, his words strained through clenched teeth. "Fuck. I can't believe your petite, little cunt can fit me so fucking well."

Your body clenched around his thick dick involuntarily as his words sent shivers down your spine. Fingers gripped the couch cushion desperately, seeking stability amidst the intensity of his rough pace. “Daddy…" You moaned weakly, the tightness in your core growing. Your slick walls quivered around him, eliciting a bestial groan as his hand moved from your scalp to your neck and pulled you flush against him. "Fuck, please!" Your voice was a keening mewl as you scratched weakly at his strong arms, your orgasm on the brink, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He chuckled lowly in your ear as his other hand snaked around you, two large fingers pressing firmly and massaging your swollen clit. "Yes," he moaned, "Come for daddy like a good little whore. Soak daddy's cock, princess. Show me what you've got."

As though waiting for Bakugo's permission, you surrendered with a shuddering cry. "Daddy!!!"

He continued to work you through the sensation, slamming his thick dick into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as his fingers played your clit expertly like an instrument.

You panted and moaned loudly for him, already feeling yourself approach your second orgasm quickly as he squeezed your throat softly.

“That’s daddy’s good little slut,” he growled in your ear, nibbling your earlobe as his thrusts increased furiously as you came again, soaking his hand, your pussy clenching around his cock convulsively. "My little, horny bitch in heat."

Once the high began to ebb, you whined softly, wiggling your hip, trying to free your clit from the overwhelming feeling of his calloused fingers pressed there.

“Tsch, slut," the smirk in Bakugo's voice was evident as he continued pounding inside you. “Daddy’s not at all done with you yet.”

[nanamiscocksleeve]

HIIIII you're amazing! Can I get “i love making you so flustered, you get so cute” but it's reader saying it to Nanami if that's not too much to ask? Thank you for blessing us

I wasn't sure, but now I'm starting to think, yes, I AM amazing. Here's your thirst blessing.

--------

Kento is trying his best to appear normal but you're not making it easy. You chose the shortest skirt you could possibly find, just barely covering your cheeks, fluttering invitingly each time you moved.

And you weren't exactly being demure about it either, dropping things unnecessarily just to have an excuse to bend down and flash him the sheer fabric of the lace thong you wore, wet with excitement.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks through gritted teeth as his cock swells in his pants.

You giggle and wander close to him, tip-toeing to whisper in his ear, "I love making you so flustered, you get so cute." You smirk at him, as though daring him to react. In the next second, you knew you fucked up.

Kento's hands suddenly grab you, forcibly leaning you over, and smacking you ass loudly in the middle of the street. A few passersby stop at the noise. Your cheeks dust pink, not expecting such a move from him, then squeal as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, your legs wiggling as you try to get free.

"Kento! My skirt!"

He spanks you again with his free hand as he walks towards your shared apartment, pedestrians staring at the sight. "Don't pretend like you don't love it. Why else would you wear something like this hmm? Now be a good girl and just stay still and let everyone see how soaked you are from showing off your ass like a little slut all this time."

You instantly feel a rush of shame followed by arousal at his words. They're all strangers sure, but knowing they could see your panties was turning you on more than you thought. When Kento finally gets to the apartment, he sits down and flips your skirt up, reavealing your pretty round ass cheeks.

"How many smacks does it take for a slut to beg for cock?" he muses, running his hands over your behind. He gives a sharp slap, making the skin redden, and you squeal again, only to be held down and spanked again harder on the other side.

"Look at that, how wet you are. Such a needy slut, needing her cunt to be filled." You lay still on his lap and then gasp as he suddenly pushes two fingers into your pussy.

"Go on. Cum like the good little whore I know you can be." His fingers pump inside you, curling up and hitting your sweet spot. You feel your mind starting to haze, moaning with abandon as he fingers you. Your climax hits with a jolt, and you can't control the loud sobs that you make as your body cums, ecstasy running in your veins.

"Hm. Not even 5 minutes. Must be a new record."

Send me a prompt!

[freelancearsonist]

there are 4,000 of you here now???? this is crazy to me????

i am so so so so eternally grateful to each and every one of you. i wish i could personally thank each of you, i'm giving everyone a massive virtual hug 🫂

i don't want to get too sappy but being here brings me so much joy and i'm so glad that so many of you enjoy my silly little stories. ily all <3

in celebration i'm going to be holding a week-long event! it's all movie themed because 4k (i think i'm clever). the event will last one week (may 27-june 3), and you're welcome to send in as many as you want on or off anon! (please send separate asks for each prompt so i can keep them organized ☺️)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

🎙️ // send in a character and i'll make you a ten-song playlist for ✧vibes✧

🎞️ // let's celebrate the community! send in a shoutout for yourself/your own fic or your favorite writer/favorite fic!

🎥 // send in a character and i'll give you a sneak peek of what i have in my wips/ideas folder for them.

🎬 // for the friends and mutuals i've made along the way, send this one in and i'll tell you which character i most ship you with and why.

📸 // send in and i'll make you a random moodboard from my pinterest dashboard.

send in your emoji here :)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

no pressure tagging some of my lovely mutuals (pls ignore me if you’re not interested) <3

@writefightandflightclub @moonknightly @ineffablepspspscal @mattmurdocksscars @joelsgreys @chronically-ghosted @ezrasbirdie @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @sp00kymulderr @schnarfer @wannab-urs @joelsgreys @mrsmando @covetyou @morallyinept @perotovar @mothandpidgeon @cavillscurls @pedroshotwifey @strang3lov3 @goodwithcheese @ozarkthedog @bitchwitch1981 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sin-djarin @futuraa-free @janaispunk @fettuccin-e @missredherring @party-hearses @kedsandtubesocks @hellishjoel @endlessthxxghts @penvisions @fairycoreboyloser @syd-djarin @qveerthe0ry @magpiepills @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @bitchesuntitled @joelmillerisapunk @julesonrecord @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @pedgito @thesluttylittleknee @rosellacwrites @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery

[chaosheadspace]

How about #15 for the kissies? Hope you feel better!

Hello! Thank you for sending in an ask. Yes, I am better by now, but I still have for prompts to do :D This is a continuation of this prompt, because they wouldn't shut up in my mind (tagging @academicblorbo for obvious reasons).

15 is passionately, I hope this qualifies.

Of course Hob gets the job. It just takes the interview and five weeks of waiting, during which Dream misses him that much more fiercely, because Hob could be here, with him, if they would just hurry up and answer.His inability to do anything about it almost drives him crazy.

When Hob does get the answer, the search for a house proves to be equally frustrating—slow at first, before it's all over fairly quickly. They're on a phone call, both scrolling through listings.

“Here, look at this one,” Hob says, sending a link. Isn't that—”

The listing is for a flat identical in layout to Dream’s, albeit decorated somewhat more… frilly. “There is no way to know, Hob,” Dream says. “There are thirty-five apartments in this building alone, you cannot—”

“No, look at the pictures of the balcony, it's the one next to you. It's the exact flowers you're always stealing, and the pink bird bath.”

“Excuse me?” Dream asks, offended. “I do not steal, I simply take what grows over onto my side, which—”

“Do you think we could knock down a wall?” Hob muses.

“—is very well within—what?” Dream's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.

“Like. Make a passage. From this one to yours.”

“The lease is very particular about holes left by nails,” Dream tells Hob, holding back a smile. “I do not think they would take at all kindly to holes very much larger than that.”

“Pity,” Hob says. “Okay, have you seen the one with the double parking spot that we don't need because we both go by bike?”

In the end, they get very lucky. Through one of Dream’s coworkers, they find a small house with four rooms and a fairly large kitchen, tucked away from the seaside hotels and tourists, just a short walk away from a stone beach. The style of it is, as Hob would call it, romantic. Dream just calls it “in dire need of renovation.”

“I know you'd have loved grey stone and glass,” Hob teases. “If you want, you can paint the bedroom.”

And so Dream does. Hob knows Dream secretly loves the house just as much as he does. He’s seen him caressing the wooden framework when he thought Hob wasn’t looking, as well as trying and failing to tuck the overgrown roses back behind the archway. When Hob, who only offered up the bedroom walls as a means to make peace between the house and Dream, checks up on the room after two days, he's left there in the doorway, gaping.

The room is painted in dark blues and greys in a soft gradient until it dissipates into a light grey in the middle of the ceiling, a rippled almost-circle around the cables where Dream detached the lamp. The walls and ceiling are covered in bioluminescent sea creatures, winding themselves around the corners of the room, swimming up, partly hiding behind an underwater volcano that covers most of the wall where the wardrobe will go. Amidst all of this kneels Dream, on cheap, taped-down paper sheets, painting something close to the floor.

“Love, that's amazing, Hob gasps as he finds his words again.

Dream, veritably covered in paint, looks up at him. “You always seem to forget that my second major was art,” he pouts.

There's a bright green streak on his cheek and a white spot on his nose, his usually raven hair flecked with grey. Hob thinks he's adorable. “Never,” he vows, stepping up to Dream to carefully press a kiss on his as of yet clean forehead. “You'll always be my little artist.”

“I am not little,” Dream says.

“You so are,” Hob grins.

Dream gets up from the floor, where he has been painting the very bottom of the wall with little rocks, the paper he put down to protect the floor crinkling. “Just because I am one centimetre smaller than you—”

“One and a half,” Hob corrects cheerfully.

Dream points at him with his brush. “I am not small,” he tells Hob again.

“To me you are,” Hob sing-songs, narrowly avoiding getting his face painted on. He gently grabs Dream's wrist to stop him, his tone turning earnest. “Does it really bother you? Because I'll stop if it does.”

Dream arches his eyebrow, stepping closer, making no move to free his wrist. “Are you insinuating that I cannot take a friendly barb about my height?”

The tension in Hob's stomach eases at once, while other parts of him light up with a spark of interest. Dream really does look cute covered in paint. Maybe they should split the library room to double as an art studio. “Well, I know all kinds of things you take very well, but even I can't know everything, can I?” Hob says softly, smiling.

With a hoarse, sobbing laugh, Dream buries his face in the crook of Hob's neck, dropping the brush in favour of embracing him. “Are you seriously coming onto me right now?” His disbelieving tone is belied by his hands that wander down to tug Hob flush against him by his waist, his breath that ghosts hot over the side of Hob's neck, followed by a playful nibble.

“I might be,” Hob hedges, his breathing just a little heavy. “Why, are you objecting?”

Dream moves away from his neck to frame Hob's face with both hands. “This house is basically empty save for painting supplies, and I am filthy,” Dream states before kissing him, deep and hungry. Hob sighs and opens for him, snaking one hand under Dream's shirt, feeling a cold smear of paint on his cheek from Dream’s nose.

“A shower, then,” Hob murmurs, “so we're clean before we get filthy again.” His fingers trail up over the knobs of Deams spine, finding goosebumps on their way back down.

“So you are suggesting two showers with work in between?” Dream asks, rubbing his nose through Hob's scruff, no doubt still leaving paint, before biting at his Adam's apple.

“I think you’ve worked enough for today,” Hob says, emphasising his words by sneaking one hand into the back of Dream’s paint-smeared jeans. “Could let me do some work for a change.”

“Very well,” Dream says smugly, wrapping his legs around Hob’s waist, leaving Hob to catch him so they don’t fall. “You may.”

Hob just laughs and kisses him again before walking them unsteadily towards the bathroom.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other one's here

[finniestoncrane]

Dano!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k giveaway commission: thank you @cml-san for an excuse to get back to this loser boy!! eddie is released from arkham on advise of his psychologist and is transferred into the care of a stranger from his past who has been inspired by him in their own life as an aspiring actress/singer🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: it's kind of unhealthy attachment fluff i guess!!

He'd been granted parole, much to his own surprise. Edward was smart though. He'd studied psychology, books upon books in his apartment, trying to figure out what he might say in order to convince them he was sane, that he was safe to be returned back to society. And he'd tricked the psychologists, his doctors, the warden. The one hurdle, however, that he wasn't sure how he had navigated it, was the supervisory element of his freedom.

There had to be someone on the outside who was willing to take responsibility for his wellbeing, to facilitate his reacclimating to the world, and Ed had no one.

But someone out there had agreed to take him on. A gesture he'd never known. No one had offered to take him from the orphanage. No one had offered to take him out of the low level position he'd slaved at for years. So why would someone offer now?

Long gone were his hopes that it might have been Batman, looking to help Eddie find redemption, to have him as his assistant, finally understanding what it was that Eddie was doing for him.

As he was ushered out through the last of the doors that kept him prisoner, Eddie looked out towards the wrought iron gates. The last threshold. And just beyond them, a woman standing by a car. Someone vaguely familiar.

He had managed to place you by the time he was walking out of the Arkham grounds. You had gone to college with him. His quiet, unspoken crush. There you were, reaching your arms out to hold him, pulling him into a warm embrace.

"Eddie! I'm so glad to see you. I don't know if you remember me, but-"

"Of course I remember you."

You blushed at his words, a warm smile spreading into your cheeks. For a brief moment, Eddie wondered if he was actually dreaming. Freedom, reconnecting with a cute girl he'd been madly in love with? It didn't feel real. Even when you had driven back into the city, settling in at a booth at the back of a diner, he was certain he was going to wake up at any moment. But he kept himself invested in the conversation.

"So... you know what I've been doing lately..."

The topic was a difficult one, but he had to at least reference it, quickly, before changing the subject.

"... What have you been doing since school?"

As awkward as the topic might have been for him, it was just as uncomfortable for you.

"Well... truthfully, not much. There was a lot that I wanted to do. I wanted to act, but I never made it past any local commercials. And then I thought I could sing, but I'm kind of stuck at the lounge right now, doing late nights... only on week days."

You twiddled your thumbs, trying to turn things around, not wanting to sound so down on life now that Eddie had his back.

"I have a radio show too! In fact, I was inspired by you... by your words. Your streams."

Eddie choked on his sip of coffee, completely surprised by not only his effect on you, but the fact you were so casually bringing it up.

"R-really?"

"Yeah! I uh... I usually just talk, play some music, break some stories where I can. When I came across your streams, though... I knew there was more I could be doing. Like you. You're kind of my muse, Eddie."

You reached over the table, taking his hand in yours. It was warm and clammy, and you could see the nerves on his face, in his eyes.

"You know, I haven't done what I wanted to in life either. And anything I have done, it's been because of your inspiration. When I'm singing, it's like I'm serenading you, making a promise to you. And I owe you for all of this."

Eddie's eyes were wider now, dark pupils almost covering the iris as he watched your lips move with your words, not quite believing what he was hearing. Deciding that the silence couldn't get any more awkward, you made the choice to confess a long held secret to him.

"You know... I had a huge crush on you in college. I think we only shared two classes together, but those were my favourites. You never reciprocated though, which is fine of course, I just-"

"I thought it was a joke."

Your hand was still on his, but you let your grip loosen just a little, surprised by his statement.

"Eddie... I would never..."

Making up for the slight lack of contact, Eddie found it in him to squeeze your hand back.

"I know that. Now."

Another prolonged silence, one that felt a little more comfortable this time. You both finished your coffee, picking at the food on your plates as you both tried to figure out what to say next. Eddie was still wondering why you had offered your time up for him, and you were wondering how to tell him why. It was you that broke first, realising that he was vulnerable, confused, and deserved to know the truth.

"Eddie, you and I have a lot of work to do."

"What... what work?"

"I know what you want from life, Eddie. You want to complete your goal. Your mission. And I want... well, I want you.

He was staring intently, unblinking, a slight smile crossing his lips as the understanding sank in.

"You don't get many second chances in life. At love. At fate. At revenge. But I think if we work together, we can make it work for us. Don't you?"

Eddie nodded, his hand squeezing yours tighter than ever now. A giddy feeling pulsing through his chest. He'd been offered a second chance at everything, and he wasn't going to fail twice.

"I think we can. Just you and I. Real partners. Together."

Grinning, you sipped the last bit of coffee from your mug and held his hand as you left the booth, pulling him after you.

"Let's go get started then."

[yoshizawaviolet]

— ❝ One day at a time. ❞

✧ ADMIN. celeste (kroosluvr) / she/her / 23 / PST (but i'm pretty nocturnal)

✧ TATSUYA SUOU ASK/RP (@lonesingularity)

headcanon-based, canon-divergent at times, celeste's personal and beloved take on sumire yoshizawa! established july 17 2024.

all art posted or used as icons is either mine or from official persona media! please do not repost or use my art without permission!

please read my rules under the cut before following or interacting - we do not have to be mutuals to interact! ♡

no spoiler tags for p5r

open rp ✧ rp prompts ✧ all rp ✧ sumire musings ✧ art tag ✧ sumire answers ✧ verses

okay to respond to open rp, rp prompts, or musings whenever!

— ONE. my number 1 rule is absolutely no NSFW or R18 content. (even in AUs/timeskips.) aside from sumire being a minor, around age 15-16, i myself am not comfortable with that. i may also not interact with accounts that largely post nsfw/r18 stuff for my own comfort. please understand!!!  

— TWO. blood, violence is ok to a certain extent! but nothing crazy! i'll let you know if it's to an uncomfortable extent for me! 

— THREE. i may respond to asks/rp with art, but do not interact with me with expectations for art. if you even remotely tell me to draw something for you, i'll probably stop talking to you or block completely. (Vice versa, if you're an artist, please don't feel pressured to respond with art!!! <33)

— FOUR. this is my first time rping as a canon character, and running an rp/askblog at that! so, i'd like to restrict rp to persona series characters (and persona OCs) only for now. this might change later! the only mainline game i'm unfamiliar with is p1, and i haven't played strikers or finished tactica yet. 

— FIVE. i may not respond to your ask if 1) i can't think of a good answer 2) the ask is confusing 3) makes me uncomfortable 

— SIX. hopefully this is obvious but please no unsolicited flirting/overfamiliarity with the muse or admin, especially out-of-character.

OK !!! ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

sending asks about specific ships/leaning towards certain pairings, and feel free to specify if you'd like! "i.e. what do you like to do with x, what do you think about y?" as i am an avid sumire multishipper, basically any sumire x pthief or highschool-aged npc is valid! cross-persona series characters are also valid with chemistry! (so probably don't ask "what do you think about minato" as there's nothing to go off)

if we follow each other (reminder that i follow from kroosluvr!) honestly feel free to shoot a starter anytime, i don't mind at all! even multiple rps going at the same time are awesome!!! ^^

totally ok to drop a thread if you don't see it going anywhere or it's naturally come to a close! (though i think ending it with an [END] of sorts would be nice hehe

my sumire is bi demisexual! my favorite pairings for her are shusumi/shuakesumi poly/akesumi (my favorites! feel free to read here for more), kitasumi/violetfox, annsumi, sumitaba, ryusumi, and sumifumi!! but as mentioned, totally willing to rp/think/draw other ships!

NO !!! Σ(°ロ°)

probably no rp with other sumires, sorry - i just don't think i have ideas for that haha

please don't push headcanons or ships on me!

please don't dm me unless we've interacted before!! if there's any inquiries you have re: my art, commissions, please dm my main, kroosluvr.

please do not push me to answer your ask!!!!!! totally ok to nudge me if we're mid-rp though and its been 48~ hours!

do not use the icons that i make for sumire, as they're tailored to my depiction of sumire and therefore i don't want anyone else to use them.

thanks for reading! let's have fun! ♡

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Mezo Shjoi x Reader - Make Believe - V

Summary: You ask Shoji to pretend to be your boyfriend for a dinner with your parents.

Warnings: Slow burn, fem!reader, fake dating trope, multi-parted, fluff, angst

With burning cheeks, you hastily hopped a variety of vegetables, the many embarrassing moments of the day playing on loop in your mind. "Honey, slow do, you're gonna hurt yourself." Your mother scolded lightly, stirring a large pot of stew.

"Sorry, Mom..." you muttered under your breath, slowing up a bit. "I think I'm about finished with these, just need to do the carrots now." You sighed, trying to shake Shoji off your mind. A lot good that did.

"Hey, is there anything I can help with?" His voice was smoother than earlier, calmer somehow, and you could hear the smile in it.

"Well, thank you, Shoji!" you mother gushed, patting his bicep as she passed him to make her way out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of food. "If you really wanna help, there's a sinkful of dishes that need washing."

He nodded, walking over to the sink and running hot water on one side. As soon as your mother was out of earshot, he spoke. "Seems like your quite the chef, huh?"

"Not really, I'm just chopping vegetables." you responded, almost in an uninterested manner, though it was unintentional.

"Still, you seem pretty good with a knife." he mused, wrist deep in soapy water.

"I guess so," you sighed before smiling to yourself. "Not as good as Bakugo, though."

"Got me there," he laughed. "That was such a crazy trip." He carried on, rinsing a plate and setting it in the draining rack. "It was kinda fun though, at first at least." Without warning, you fell into a fit of laughter, snorting and folding over, holding your stomach. "What?" he chuckled, setting down the bowl he was working on and fully turning towards you. "What's so funny?"

"N-Nothing, nothing!" you giggled, taking a shaky breath. "It's just, when you and Midoryira came back from dealing with Tokoyami you looked-!" You burst into another fit of laughter, imagining it in your mind. "You looked like you were traumatized! Your hair was all messy and your eyes were so wide! It wasn't funny at the time, but sometimes I remember it and it cracks me up."

"Well, one of my best friends tried to kill me," he rolled his eyes, trying not to smile at your antics. "Safe to say I might have been a little traumatized. But I'm so glad you look back on one of the scariest nights of my life fondly." He feigned annoyance.

Noticing this, you set the knife down, wiping your hands on a rag, before stepping over to him. Instinctively, he turned towards you, slouching- something he'd developed a habit of when talking to someone, considering his stature. With a gentle smile, you reach up, running a hand through his hair, mussing it. He was silent, praying you couldn't see the blush creeping up toward the hem of his mask.

"Don't be like that," you said softly," I think you look kinda nice when your hair's messy. Makes you look kinda rugged."

"Uh, thanks..." he replied, his hand slowly tracing up your arm to hold yours to his cheek as it rested there. Something in the back of his mind- most likely your grandmother's influence, screamed at him to come clean with you, right here, standing in your parents' kitchen with your hand cupping his cheek. Now was his chance. "L-Listen, (Y/N), I gotta tell you something..."

"What is it, Mezo?" You wondered, thumb slowly beginning to caress his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"A-After we finish this..." he trailed, whispering the next part into your ear. "Faking dating thing." His breath hitched, tickling the shell of your ear when he released it. "I was thinking maybe we could...go out on a-" Before he could finish his thought, he picked up on footsteps making a beeline for the kitchen door, prompting him to abruptly push you away on instinct. "N-Nevermind." He sputtered, turning away from you and back to the sink just in time for your mom to walk in.

You looked at the back of his head, a look of hurt flashing across your face, something that he didn't miss, having morphed a hand into an eye to gauge your reaction from the other direction. Your mother looked between the two of you, puzzled before asking: "Honey, you're not done with those carrots yet? It's been 15 minutes."

"S-Sorry, Mom..." you shrunk away from the center of the room, returning to the counter where you were working.

Awkward silence befell the kitchen, hanging there up until the meal was finished, nearly an hour later. Your mother had thought to ask if something had happened, thinking she might have interrupted a lovers' quarrel, but thought better of it.

-----

You sat at the table, Shoji beside you, so close that you more than occasionally brushed elbows when shifting or reaching for a drink. It astonished you how quickly he could go from being open to affection-sharing it even to being totally shut down. Once again, you wondered about the validity of the agreement, but luckily, the lively conversation kept your mind off it sufficiently enough. Yes, the distraction was nice, spending time with your family, and for the first time in the day, not focused entirely on him. That was until he nudged your shoulder, a pair of lips coming around to your ear asking a question that made your blood run cold.

"Hey, what time does our train leave?"

[hotchfiles]

Hi!! Happy 100th follower bash! I wanted to request Seth Cohen with the prompt “what if you just want something, and you want it so bad?” If you decide to write it, I can’t wait to read whatever you come up with. Thank you!!

lari's 100th follower bash + send me a prompt and one of my boys for a blurb

seth + “what if you just want something, and you want it so bad?”

three times seth let you go and the one he didn't

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      You were his best friend, two little kids watching cartoons and drawing around while your parents drank wine and talked about things you both didn't understand.

      As days and weeks and months went by, the more the drinking wine encounters became something only your mother would do, frequently going to the Cohens to talk to Seth's mom.

      "Your mommy looks sad."

      "She cries a lot too, more than me."

      Divorce is the word that has been making your mother cry apparently, and soon it makes you and Seth cry as well. Divorce means you're going away to a new city with your mom.

      Seth can't do anything about it but hug you tight and hand you the collection of not really great drawings he made of you, for you.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      You come back for high school, thank God, your mother's job is much more demanding now and she feels your dad can be more present than she is.

      It's like you never left, you feel. Seth instantly clings to you like he did when you were children, except this time his mind is going a thousand miles per hour. He wasn't exactly expecting you to come back and now his mind is completely torn into Summer obsessive thoughts and you.

      You spend hours and hours watching terrible sci-fi tv shows, he's drawing (more often than not, you're the muse), while you read or write on your journal. It's silent and comfortable and people often tease you about how you're the only one to keep him quiet for so long.

      Seth doesn't understand it much either, but he enjoys watching you, the way you furrow your brows when you forget a word, or how you take a deep breath following a surprised sound when something happens in the book you're reading.

      He's been thinking about how at peace you make him feel and he has plans to ask you to homecoming, but some sophomore beats him to it. And he could ask you to go with him instead, drop the other guy. But your eyes almost close while you're smiling telling him about it, so he just lets it go.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      2.027 miles. 31 hours drive. 4 hour flight.

      Writing came to you as drawing came to him, you both had collab comic books even. He should've known you wouldn't go for Irvine or Berkley. Or any goddamned college in California with a creative writing program. No.

      Northwestern University. Illinois. He heard you gush about it all senior year, and doubting yourself, saying you wouldn't get in anyway. But you did, obviously, you had everything they required and everything any university could hope for in a student. He knew you would get in and he obviously couldn't ask you to stay for him.

      You were just friends.

      And even if you weren't, he would never stop you from going after your passions, what made you happy.

      He visits you when he can. You both kiss and make out and tell each other the sweetest things in whispers only you can hear in those times. Nothing more comes of it though, you're busy and two thousand miles away. He accepts it, he lets go of the idea of having you just yet.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      Enough is enough though. And when you tell him about the internship opportunity outside of the country you don't smile with your eyes like prom. Your tone uncertain, your whole body weight being held by his arms as you both laid down on your terrible dorm bed.

      And as always he wants you. He wants you so bad. He wants you to stay. To ask him to go with you. Like he wanted you to stay with your dad after the divorce. Like he wanted to be your date for homecoming. Like he's been wanting to call you his girlfriend, his partner, his lover, his wife even.

      "Is it bad to want something so badly?" he says more to himself than to you, really, but still you turn your head to him, using his chest as a support for your chin.

      "I mean... It's just an internship I don't want it that bad—"

      "That's not—I want to ask you to stay. With me. Don't go. And that's selfish." He keeps his eyes glued to the ceiling as if he hadn't just made your heart skip a thousand beats.

      "Then just ask me, funny boy."

      His grip to you tightens, if that's even possible, and he's finally able to not let it go, to not let you go.

[realcube]

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖ TROPE GENERATOR for @sofiepofie20

𓆩♡𓆪 part of my lovers level — 3k follower event

𓆩♡𓆪 chosen character: tsukishima kei

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ YOUR TROPE IS...

MATCHMAKER

after being invited by your close friend yamaguchi to a new cafe that just opened, the last thing you expected was to show up and not see him at all. usually he is quite a punctual guy, so you're a bit concerned, but you shrug it off at first, assuming he is just a bit late and it's no big deal.

you text tadashi and wait outside the cafe for around ten minutes — nothing. the lack of response is what prompts you to go inside and wait in there instead, however, when you enter, you see a certain blond-haired boy already seated at a table for two, all on his own. that's when your heart starts thumping in your chest, and you have a suspicion as to what is going on.

and your theory is only confirmed as, on cue, you receive a text reply from yamaguchi.

it reads, "sorry i lied, i'm not coming to the cafe 😭 maybe you and tsukki can hang out instead 😉"

you huff out of your nose as though you were angry, however you couldn't bring yourself to feel even a twinge of irritation towards tadashi as you are mostly consumed by pure nervousness. yamaguchi had been your friend since the beginning of high school but you were never really that close with tsukishima — just mutual friends — but tadashi knew you've had a bit of a crush on tsukki for a while now, so this stunt of his must be his foul attempt at playing matchmaker.

but you weren't going to entertain his schemes; no, not today! you were far too shy to approach tsukishima — a boy you hardly know — and ask to join him for dessert. absolutely not.

swiftly, you spin around on your heels and are about to dart straight out of the place until you feel a large hand on your shoulder hold you back, and familiar voice state, "sofia."

you jerk around at the touch, startled. even more so when you realise who it is standing in front of you — tsukishima kei. he stares down at you with an intense look in his amber eyes, "did yamaguchi invite you here too?"

"yeah." you stutter out, wide-eyed. the last thing you expected was for a guy known for his rudeness to approach you in such a mellow fashion, unless there was some underlying disrespect that you weren't picking up on, but it didn't seem so.

"he did the same to me. what a weirdo." tsukishima mutters that last part but you still hear. it sends a shudder down your spine to hear him talk about his best friend in that way, but admittedly what yamaguchi did could be considered weird and it clearly pissed kei off at least a little, "but since you're here, might as well join me." he points lazily at the table where his bags were placed, then turns to you for a response.

still looking like a deer in headlights, you glance rapidly between him and his table, then blurt out, "sure."

"cool." he says, and you follow him over to his table, and he pulls out your chair for you but in such a casual manner that you wonder if it's deliberate or if he just did it by habit. though he doesn't seem like the type of guy to pull out chairs for everyone.

you take a seat across from him and he plops himself down with a huff, adjusting his glasses as he picks up the menu, and after staring at him for a couple more seconds, you do the same, skimming over their vast selection of food items.

"what are you going to order?" he asks, having already been sat for a while now — when he thought he was waiting for yamaguchi to show up — and decided what he wants.

meanwhile, you've not been given much time to browse at all, "hm, probably something sweet." you muse, noting that it's much easier to talk to him when there is a big menu blocking your view of his piercing amber eyes.

his heart skips a beat when you say that, and admittedly his cheeks heat up a little. it's embarrassing that you saying you'd like to buy a dessert had such a fierce effect on him, but it did. perhaps it was mixture of other suppressed feelings too, but hearing that you had a sweet tooth like he does completely enchanted him.

"so will i." he nods in affirmation, hiding his slight blush behind his menu.

"maybe i'll get some macarons. but they are super expensive; i'm sure you could make them for a lot cheaper."

"you can. i could probably make double the amount for the same price." he comments, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he pretends to be reading the menu.

you lower the paper to display to him your shocked expression, "you know how to bake macarons, tsukki?" immediately after the nickname leaves your mouth, your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and your whole body tenses. you didn't mean to call him that; it's just that you were so used to hanging out with yamaguchi — who refers to him exclusively as 'tsukki' — it kinda slipped out.

but to your surprise, tsukishima doesn't seem to mind you calling him that at all. in fact, he subtly smirks a little as he declares, "yes, i do."

in your mind, you exhale in a deep sigh of relief upon tsukishima not making a big deal out of your little slip-up. "nice, i bake too. macarons are super hard to make, though."

"i could show you how."

you perk up at his offer, "how to make macarons?"

"what else?" he scoffs, though you can tell by his warm smile that he doesn't mean to be bitter.

"that would be fun." you can't help the grin that envelops your face, and neither can tsukishima, but he does a good job of playing off and he continues to look at the menu.

"it's a date."

for @sofiepofie20: had to use the cafe date , it's always so cute !! also yams is a bit of a trickster but also match maker supreme. mwahaha!

[enjoythesilentworld]

wilmon + paint me 👀

hello my dear! oh, you wanted a drabble? too bad. instead you get nearly 2k of unnecessary world building and musings about Simon's beauty.

(and surprisingly little spice, but i'll give this an M rating for nudity)

send me a prompt and i'll write a 'drabble'! (it will not be a drabble)

Wilhelm, looking to separate himself from his peers and secure a place in Florence’s Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, decides to find a new muse in the commonfolk. He finds Simon, a lowly leatherworker, in a bar in the slums.

Wilhelm surely looked out of place. Though he tried to dress down and muss up his hair a bit, there was something more that set apart the rich from the poor. Something about his paler skin, his lighter hair and smooth hands. The evidence he spent most days inside, well fed. Not working in the fields or a stuffy forge. They may call it high times, a renaissance for art and culture, but the divide was clear in this bar.

It was dark and drab and the wine tasted like shit, but Wilhelm was not there for that. He was there for the type of regulars that frequented this establishment.

All day every day Wilhelm was surrounded by pompous assholes, dressed immaculately in imported silks and feathered hats. The art that followed was all the same. Soft, aristocratic women draped over chaise lounges and round, pale men posed with their swords. It was a depiction of 17th century Florence, sure, but it did not show the rest. The underbelly. The real people who lived and worked and sweat and bled and died in the city, slaving away for the profit of the rich. Babies in buckets and shit on the streets. Wilhelm was tired of the glimmering image. People needed to see the real thing. He would be the one to show them all, to show the damned Accademia in particular. They would all see. Commonfolk could be beautiful, too, he was sure of it.

As he scanned the bar, hiding his grimace at the wine, his point was quickly proven. Across the way, there was a man bent over a goblet, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever the artist, Wilhelm noted the way the light from the nearby lantern lit his tan skin in a warm glow, how it highlighted the frizz around his deep brown curls. The shadow from the man’s face, cast across the wood of the bar, outlined his beautiful profile, the sloped nose and pursed lips. His shirt had nearly no sleeves and was ripped in some places, stained in others, though he wore a nice, simple leather vest over it. He looked distraught, if not a little pissed off, and when he lifted the goblet to drink, his throat bobbed with the motion, muscles shifting as he swallowed. He also was the most exquisite human Wilhelm had ever seen.

He found his feet carrying him over before the man could even lower his cup.

“Hello,” Wilhelm said calmly, placing his own cup on the bar and staring down at the man, who, looking startled that anyone was talking to him, glared right back.

“What do you want?” His voice was like summer rain, and an array of light purples and blues swirled through Wilhelm’s mind as he spoke, though the tone was fiery.

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

The man glanced around the bar, almost looking nervous.

“I can tell you're not from around here,” he murmured in a low voice, “but this is not that type of establishment.”

“Oh, I—” Wilhelm stuttered, swallowing his blush at the insinuation, “No. Not like— A real job. I am a painter. I would like you to pose for me.”

A rough chuckle bubbled from the man’s chest, and he lifted an eyebrow, tentative eyes roaming over Wilhelm. He scoffed, “You want to paint me?”

“Yes. I can pay.”

“How much?”

“Twenty per sitting.”

“Thirty.”

Wilhelm paused. Now closer, he admired the man’s slim fingers and calloused palms, the cut muscles off his arms and the tilt of his eyes. His lips were perfectly symmetrical though there was a scar on his cheek and a grit about his demeanor that said everything Wilhelm needed to know. All inspections necessary before truly employing someone as a model. He was like nothing and no one he'd ever seen before.

“Deal.”

The man, Simon, as Wilhelm had learned, showed up to his apartment on the north side of the river one week later.

They had talked late into the night and agreed on a tentative business partnership. Simon would pose for Wilhelm for their agreed upon payment per sitting at least once a month, more often if needed for a larger painting. There would be sets and props and Simon assured Wilhelm he would have no issue holding one pose for many hours. Wilhelm was sure he would not either, based on the state of his arms and legs and the sliver of chest he had had seen.

At the door, he greeted Simon warmly, offering food and wine, both of which Simon declined, slipping past him. He smelled of leather and oil, his skin was just as smooth when it brushed against Wilhelm’s bare arm as it had the night before when, slightly deep in his cups, Wilhelm had forgotten himself and placed a hand on Simon’s arm. Simon had met his eye then glanced out towards the bar, a warning. Not a denial.

Wilhelm busied himself setting up while Simon roamed his home, which was really one large room. It was a warm morning for spring, so Wilhelm had tied back the curtains and opened the windows, flooding the room with light and the soft sounds of the city below. There were more painting supplies and easels than pieces of real furniture, but Wilhelm was quite content with it all. His lone mattress, piled with blankets and pillows, was plenty for him. All he longed to do was paint, the one thing that worked well enough to quiet his mind for some time.

He arranged his stool and easel just so, then checked his paints again. On the canvas, there was a loose sketch. This one was a commission for some noble lord, supposedly a friend of the Medici Family. Wilhelm had been sure to charge him extra for claiming that friendship, as he had never heard of the man before, nor had he seen him at any of the Medici’s dinner parties. Still, the man would surely faint if he knew Wilhelm was using a commoner as a model for this painting. That pleased him.

Wilhelm cleared his throat. “Shall we?”  

Simon turned from where he had been appraising a pile of Wilhelm’s works in the back corner and nodded once. With a careful hand, he accepted the clothing Wilhelm offered and began to undo the loops on his vest.

As more skin was revealed, he felt unable to turn away, and Simon’s eyes locked on him even as he slowly undressed. Wilhelm spoke quickly, “Would you be okay if we tried something different today?”

Fingers froze on leather and Wilhelm tore his eyes away from Simon’s chest, meeting his intense gaze.

“What’s that?”

Wilhelm glanced back at his easel, at the sketched-out commission. He had plenty of time to work on it, really. Simon could come back next week and sit for it then.

“I was thinking,” Wilhelm began slowly, knowing he was toeing a delicate line. “If this agreement is to my understanding, you may very well be posing for me for a good while.”

Simon nodded, hands still hesitating halfway through undoing his vest. Wilhelm swallowed dryly and prayed this was not a mistake.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “I should spend some time getting to know your body first. As I will need to get comfortable with all its forms and curves for future works.”

When something crossed Simon’s face, it became evident that Wilhelm was going to have to be state it out clearly. There was a challenge in that open, innocent look.

“Perhaps, you may like to pose nude for me, so I may… familiarize myself.”

“Familiarize yourself,” Simon said flatly, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Very well.”

Unable to believe it, and not wanting to break whatever spell had allowed this, Wilhelm spun away and began tearing down the background he had originally set for the comission. Thankfully, he had a new, blank canvas already prepared and set to the side.

Every day in the late morning, a beam of warm sunlight slipped through the windows to cast across his bed. Though it would be a pain to find the right timing each day, he knew that would be the place. He kept is back to Simon as he fiddled with the sheets and fluffed pillows, creating a small nest of luxurious fabrics.

When he turned, he found Simon standing in full nude, casually leaning against the wall, watching Wilhelm with careful eyes.

“How do you want me?” Simon asked, uncrossing his arms and pushing off the wall, then taking a step forward.

Wilhelm would not let himself look, not really, not yet.

He gestured to the bed, “Right here.”

Over the next bit of time, Wilhelm, in a great feat of personal strength and restraint, carefully arranged Simon on the sheets. At first he tried to explain with his words only, mimicking the gestures himself, but then Simon said, softly, “It’s okay, you can move me if you need,” and suddenly Wilhelm had hands on warm skin. A hand on his thigh to bend at the knee, on his wrist to prop up his head, on his waist to slightly tilt the hips.

By the time Wilhelm made it behind his easel, he felt as if he had lost his breath. Once he sat on his stool, he allowed himself to look.

In the back of his mind, he noted the colors he would need, which to mix to match the color of Simon’s skin where the sun hit it, compared to where it did not. The color of his lips, now redder than they were when he had first arrived. The flush on his chest was new, too. From this distance—too far for Wilhelm’s liking but just far enough to have the full body in frame — Wilhelm could not really see Simon’s eyes, though he knew the hundred colors that swirled there and would likely never forget them.

In the front of his mind, like seeing the sun for the first time after a long, long winter, he gazed at Simon’s body. His eyes tracked over the line of his neck, across his shoulder, the defined pectoral and ribs and toned stomach. The slight curve of his hip, muscled thigh, bony knee, all the way down to his ankle, then back up across every other piece of skin. Wilhelm could paint for three hundred years and never truly capture the dip of Simon’s collarbone and the jut of his jaw, how his core muscles twitched as he adjusted under Wilhelm’s stare.

“Do I look okay?”

Simon’s voice pulled him from his musings. Wilhelm smiled at the smirk on Simon’s face, the confidence to cover the insecurity, marked by the way his cheeks blushed lightly.

“Yes. You are perfect,” he said.

Perhaps he would never be able to truly capture Simon’s beauty with a brush and paint. But, he would be honored to spend his entire life trying.

[minhosimthings]

Hold me Without Hurting Me

Chapter 12: Deflowering

A/N: In which an old friend fills your life with flowers again, along a bumpy sided road.

Pairings: Ceo!Jay × Ceo!fem!reader, includes rest of Enhypen and certain other groups

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, fingering, unprotected sex (a no for you), size kink, swearing, smut with plot as continued in the last chapters, reader wears a dress, sub!reader, reader is sort of drunk.

Story prompt: If I had a flower for every time I fell in love with you, I would walk in my garden forever. (This story is based on the language of flowers.)

SERIES MASTERLIST

Letting a man's dick into you on a Sunday in Seattle wasn't the greatest option on your bucket list when you boarded your plane in Seoul. Letting your ex best friend turned fake boyfriend especially wasn't on it. But here you were feeling Jay's breath on your neck as he contemplated whether he should lay a finger on you or not.

Paranoia rotted in a corner of Jay's brain somewhere, and right now it was telling him to get his dick inside your pussy at this instant.

"Jay- ngh" you gasped as he leant so close to you, his erection pressing against your core, filling your body with pleasure. "So wet for me already darling?" Jay chuckled, one hand gently tugging at your hair, the other, leant down to the slit of your dress.

The gasp you let out was so loud as to be heard from the first floor of the building, as Jay slid his fingers into your pussy so easily through the thin material of your panties. The cold metal of the rings on his fingers moved through your wet cunt so easily, sending shocks throughout your entire body. Your cunt itched for more, his fingers moving ever so slowly through your folds not satisfying you.

"Jay- faster." You groaned, feeling his grip on your hair tighten, adding to the pleasure you were experiencing. You felt Jay's hand move down to your back, unzipping your dress, giving him more access.

"So pretty." Jay mused, tearing away the fabric decorating your tits, "all mine." You moan as he refers to you as pretty for the first time in years. Your cunt clenching desperately around nothing (his fingers had been pulled out) as your mind gets dizzy. There was something about how he had said it. Soft and warm, his voice dipping a bit lower as he pronounced the letters and it was tinged with a feeling he wouldn't associate himself with. His hands knead your breasts softly while leaving kitten kisses on the nape of your neck. He plays with the buds of your breast, touching them until list and desperation fills your drunken veins.

His touch was teasing, tormenting, as he neared the apex of your thighs. His fingers danced along the edges of your arousal, but never fully delved into it. It was a maddeningly slow torture that left you trembling with need.

“we’re gonna start slow, okay? gonna take my time with you.” he muttered, eyes on yours before they trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. “oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“S-shit s-so fucking big” you moan pressing your chest into his, as he slips into you, not even a tease before.

Jay knows that he needs to be the one to slow down, but it's hard when you feel this good - especially when you're moaning like that. He hasn’t even moved and yet you’re already cock drunk. You’re drooling and moaning incoherently as his cock fits like a puzzle piece inside you, nice and deep. Your pussy struggles to accommodate the stretch. Your walls pulse around him like dandelions soaking up water.

“S-shit it’s like you’re fucking choking my cock” he grunts out, looking at the slight bulge in your lower stomach every time he slides back in. The sight is enough to make him cum right then and there. You nod, babbling incoherently into his ear. Sweat beads down your temples, tears coat your lashes. Your skin takes on a feverish sheen, but you don’t care. All you care about is the feeling of his cock slamming into you and how his arms flex with every thrust. 

Your cunt was the same as it had been, Jay thought, the way it was when he had fucked you before leaving for good. How he wished he hadn't. How he wished that he could have had this pussy for breakfast every day.

"Seongie~" you moan into his chest, the sound of the familiar nickname electrifying him, "Seongie wanna cum please."

"Please- darling." Jay moaned low with you, feeling your liquid slowly start to coat his cock, "Cum around me now."

You’re surprised that he manages to keep the pace he does, fucking his cum back into you with renewed vigour. He leans over you, giving himself better access to slam into your pussy. You cry out with every thrust, raking your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside of you as he bottoms out for the last time, holding you flush to his thighs as hot ropes of cum fill you up. He sucks and bites at your neck as he finishes cumming inside of you, letting you fall onto the bed, panting.

The combination of his cum and his cock inside of you has you feeling so full it almost hurts. Your senses have dulled, all of your thoughts of leaving having been fucked away. 

"Such a good girl you've been." Jay mumbles into your ear, as he feels your chest fall up and down against his, "such a good girl aren't you my yarrow?"

This wasn't a session you had exactly expected, but as you drifted off to sleep, Jay's arms warmly cradling you, your mind went black with no idea of who you were. Flowers rushed around your mind. Iris? No Salvia. Or yarrow perhaps? What does yarrow mean?, You thought, laughing as you remembered he was the only one who knew what it was. Yarrow, always the perfect flower to complete your bouquet.

[justabigoldnerd]

For the WIP tag game, I have to know more about number 16, the Soviet Russia Memes Incident, please!

AKHDJSSKHDJ Okay so I was inspired by these memes:

And started writing a modern crack fic where Solo and Gaby torment Illya with them 😅

Here's a snippet, under the cut!

"So," Waverly started, leaning back in his chair, "Would either of you like to tell me exactly how this happened?" He gestured between the two men vaguely.

Solo moved the icepack he was holding against his swollen eye to glance over at Illya. The Russian wasn't in much better shape; blood was drying around his nose, and a colorful bruise blossomed along his jaw. He was sitting up perfectly straight, his arms crossed and a frankly pissed expression on his face. Solo rolled his eyes and flexed his sore knuckles.

"I….may have misused the work group chat."

"'Misused,'" Illya scoffed under his breath.

"Misused, how?" Waverly prompted.

"In my defense," Solo drawled as he wrangled his phone from the inner pocket of his blazer, "They were hilarious."

A crease formed in Waverly's brow as he accepted the phone, but as he scrolled through the seemingly endless number of messages, his confusion gave way to annoyance. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Solo, I am impressed at just how many of these you were able to find."

"I made a few of them myself," he preened, "I'm particularly fond of the 'in Soviet Russia, its not iPhone, its OURPhone' one."

"Is not funny," Illya grumbled.

"Right. Mr. Solo, I believe some sensitivity training is in order. However, I don't believe the onslaught of memes warranted an assault. So, in lieu of a harsher penalty, I'll just have you apologize to each other."

Solo huffed, and looked to Illya, who mirrored his indignation.

Waverly leaned forward again and clicked his pen threateningly, "Or would you prefer paperwork only for a month?"

With a sigh, Solo shifted in his chair to half-face Illya, "I'm sorry for sending you a hundred Soviet Russia memes, Peril."

"One hundred and thirty five," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"You counted?"

"When messages keep you up all night, nothing else to do but count."

"It wasn't-" Solo tried to protest, but a pointed look from Waverly made him stop short, "I'm sorry for sending you one hundred and thirty five Soviet Russia memes."

Illya's glare didn't waver in intensity, even as he tipped his head to the side and held Solo's gaze. He was silent for a few moments, then took in a deep breath and muttered, "I am sorry for punching your face. Might have been overreaction."

Solo chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to conjure much anger when he was faced with Illya's ridiculously adorable head tilt, and he had no right to be that attractive with blood smearing his face. 

"I didn't break your nose, did I?" he asked before he could stop himself, in a soft tone that made him curse inwardly. Maybe Illya had concussed him.

In a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Illya's murderous stare, and he turned away with a shrug. He cleared his throat and stared at a missed spot in the freshly polished tile. "Doesn't feel broken."

"Good," Solo nodded, an extremely unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness churning in his stomach.

"Well then," their boss cut in, sounding more like a middle school principal than the commander of an international espionage force, "Now that's all settled, Mr. Solo, I expect you to be front row at next week's sensitivity seminar. Otherwise, you're both dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Solo beamed bitterly as he stood, "Looking forward to it."

Illya mumbled a similar acknowledgment and slunk out of the office. Once Solo shut the door behind them, he sighed and mused, "Now the only question is how did Gaby get out of this one."

"No idea," Illya shook his head, "Even screenshots I took were altered. Without my knowledge. Couldn't even track changes."

"She's getting too good at this game," Solo tsked, a bit of pride swelling in his chest nevertheless.

"Da. We make her pay."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

His partner's fingers drummed against his leg, and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he considered their options. "We take engine."

"The whole thing?"

The corner of Illya's mouth quirked up in a poorly hidden smile, "Is just bizarre enough to be good payback."

"She's gonna be pissed," Solo laughed quietly, "Hide it in rendezvous three- no, two. The storage rack in there is taller."

Illya nodded along, mischief washing away the anger in his eyes, and checked their surroundings before giving Solo's chest a pat, "Come on, Cowboy. Let's go steal an engine."

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Now tell me why do I have the idea of Lena and Kara getting ready to leave her Penthouse for an event but as they’re about to leave Kara grabs Lena, pins her against the wall next to the door because she can’t take it anymore…she just has to have Lena right then and there, her desire for her doesn’t afford her the patience of waiting until they get home 😭😭

So . . . this just kind of . . . came out *ahem* I make no apologies.

As for the other dirty prompts in my inbox, I see you! I am but a subject to the muses. but hey, smut begets smut right?

Rated M for sMut

Also, fair warning, this turned out rather vanilla lol so I hope y'all still enjoy!

Reservations

"Leeennaaa." Kara calls out, letting her head flop against the back of the couch. "What is taking you so long? You look beautiful, I promise!"

There's the sound of shuffling in the bathroom before Lena's voice comes back through the closed door.

"Just a minute! I'm almost done!"

Kara whines, eyes drifting closed . "It's been fourty-five minutes. I've beaten like twelve levels on the match game on my phone."

"Not all of us have super speed, darling. Or perfectly coiffed curls, for that matter."

"You have a perfect everything." Kara counters. "Now can you please get your perfect self out here before I starve to death?" She takes off her glasses to squint at the smudges on the lenses.

"Is this your master plan as Luthor? Make me fall in love with you and then starve me to death while waiting on you to get ready for dinner? I can see the headlines now - 'Supergirl defeated by Lena Luthor, long term starvation plan executed perfectly by wife.'"

Lena's laugh is tinkling.

"First of all, the media doesn't know that I'm married to Supergirl; so the headline would be about Kara Danvers. Second of all,: I'm a better Luthor than my brother, darling, if I wanted you killed then you would be dead before you had time to put two and two together."

And Kara knows that Lena is joking.

Knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that her wife is teasing and would never hurt her - well not without a safe word. But the undeniable truth behind the honey sweet tone sends a shiver down Kara's spine.

Rao, why did everything this woman does have to turn her on?

Kara squirms in her seat as she reaches to untuck the corner of her shirt and uses it to wipe at her glasses.

"Well yes, but we can leave the 'you're evil, I'm Supergirl' role play for another day please? I'm really hungry."

She can hear Lena's long suffering sigh even without her super senses as she holds her glasses up to the light; frowning when she still sees smudges.

The unmistakable click of Lena's red bottom heels sounds on the hardwood floor behind her, as she tries once again to scrub at her glasses.

"Thank goodness, let's go, I've been dreaming about these appetizers ever since the last time we ate at Ralphio's."

The aforementioned heels come into Kara's peripheral vision, and she hurriedly pushes the glasses back on her face.

She blinks once through the streaks that her dress shirt has made on the lenses before she remembers that she doesn't actually need them to see the beauty in front of her and pulls them off.

"Fuck."

The expletive slips out unbidden, and Kara fully blames it on Lena's bad influence; because she lived with Alex for years and managed to keep her vocabulary clean, but now she apparently cusses like some sort of deviant.

To be fair, it's really not her fault.

No one should be held responsible for what they say when Lena Luthor-Danvers is standing in front of them dressed to the nines.

"What was that, darling?"

Kara slowly gets to her feet, letting her eyes trace a lazy path up from the floor so she can fully appreciate Lena.

The heels of course, showcasing perfectly flexed, creamy white calves all the way up to just below the knee; where a short but enticing slit slices it's way up Lena's thigh. The dress hugs Lena's curves in all the right places, guiding Karas eyes up the swell of her hips to the soft crescent of her abdomen.

Briefly, she worries about Lena's ability to breathe in the dress because of how snug it is around her ribs; but then the material cuts away to show off Lena's cleavage, the black lace trimming barely containing Lena's breasts where they threaten to spill over, and she's distracted again.

Her eyes trace the lace over perfect skin that she wishes was beneath her fingers - or god, her lips. She doesn't think she has a collar bone kink, but she definitely has a Lenal kink; so she lets her gaze meander slowly to Lena's exposed shoulders before darting to the column of her throat.

She can see the muscles of Lena's throat contract as she swallows, and sinful red lips are moving - saying something that Kara's distracted brain isn't processing.

"Darling."

Lena's holding back a laugh, and something tells Kara that this isn't the first time she's repeated herself.

Trying to break the spell, Kara shifts her attention to Lena's eyes; but - oh boy was that a mistake. Lena's applied her eye makeup a little darker than usual tonight, and her green eyes sparkle like a faraway planet in the night sky.

"I - I'm sorry?" Kara's mouth goes so dry that the back of her throat sticks together, and she coughs, embarrassed.

"Are you ready for dinner?"

"Dinner? I -uh -yes, dinner. Right." mentally, Kara kicks herself; forcing her body to do her bidding instead of lusting after Lena.

"Apres vous, Madame." She gestures to the door, and that's when her body's obedience ends. Lena's hair is swept up into a tight bun, and the back of her dress is cut just enough to tease.

Her fingers twitch, and before she can stop herself, her fingertips are ghosting along Lena's skin - trailing the path from the chain around her neck down to where he sleeve is hugging her shoulder.

She can see in Lena's posture when her breath hitches at Kara's touch, and it's then she loses her last remnants of self control.

All it takes is one long stride forward and she's caught up with Lena, her front ghosting Lena's backside and her lips lowering down to caress the same milky skin her fingers just left.

"Kara . . ." Lena's voice is shaky and she can see the tremble in the hand that reaches up to undo the chain lock on the door.

Grinning, Kara lowers her head once again to lave kisses against the taut skin of Lena's neck; her left hand following Lena's until she closes her palm against the back of Lena's hand. Kara gently pushes forward until Lena is pressed between the door and Kara's body with their left hands laced together.

Kara's right hand comes up to Lena's waist, and Lena's knocks against the door as she braces herself against the sudden force of Kara's grip.

"Kara . . . " Lena repeats in a strangled whisper.

"Yes, my love?" Kara barely pauses her kisses to mouth the words against Lena's skin.

"Dinner . . . " Lena shudders as Kara hits a particularly sensitive beneath her ear.

"Hmm?"

"We have reservations. . . "

"You have standing reservations at every fancy restaurant in National City." Kara corrects, before closing her teeth around the shell of Lena's ear.

Lena's fingers clench where Kara has them pressed against the wall.

"Do you want me to stop?" Kara offers thoughtfully, tugging Lena more flush against her, fingers grazing the underside of her bosom.

"I - . . ."

"Words, Love - mind reading isn't one of my super powers."

"Kara." Lena's voice quivers. "Fuck."

"Was that a request or a demand?" Kara smirks.

"Either, both, I don't know, just - "

"As you wish." Kara promises, using just a hint of super speed to spin Lena so that her back is against the door, their left hands remaining laced above Lena's head"

It Lena's turn to smirk.

"Are you quoting The Princess Bride to me?"

Kara's right index finger comes up to hook around her upper lip like a fake mustache.

"My name, is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father, prepare to die."

Lena laughs, a full on belly laugh that's a complete juxtaposition with the sexual tension in the air, but it somehow turns Kara on even more.

Grinning, she takes advantage of the way that Lena's head is thrown back against the door and bows her head to claim Lena's neck once again. This time, her lips quickly give way to teeth - grazing and nipping at the quivering skin.

She feels the sharp tug in her hair before she's even realized that Lena's free hand has moved, and she grunts into the freckle on Lena's neck. Her weak knees let the majority of her body weight fall into Lena and the door, and she feels their bodies meld somehow closer; Kara's knee slipping between Lena's legs and shifting her dress up her thighs.

"Kara." Lena's voice is a whispered prayer against her ear, and Kara can't help but chuckle as absolute want and need race in shivers down her spine.

She pulls away slightly, waiting until Lena's unfocused eyes have lost their glazed look and met hers, before brushing the lone strand of hair that's escaped from Lena's bun away from her face.

"You know, we could always send a driver to get takeout if you still want those appetizers." Lena pants out, even as her hips subtly grind down onto Kara's thigh.

"Mmmm, but you got all dressed up." even as she speaks the words, Kara uses both of her hands to pull Lena's hips into hers.

"I only got dressed up to look nice for you." Lena admits with a gasp as she steps out of her heels. The loss of height presses Kara's knee deeper into her center.

"I do like that one suit you have, in particular."

"I swear to god, if you say birthday suit -" Lena threatens.

Kara huffs a laugh, toeing out of her own shoes.

"I was going to say the purple Tom Ford, but I'm partial to the birthday suit as well."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Supergirl." The severe look on Lena's face might have worried others but Kara can see the smile pulling at her lips.

"Cheeky, huh?" Kara's hands drop to palm Lena's ass, squeezing suggestively.

Lena swats at her shoulder.

"Well if you're going to get violent Ms. Luthor." She ducks under Lena's grasp, using her handholds to hoist Lena over her shoulder.

"Hey!" Lena protests, fisting her hands in the back of Kara's shirt to try and maintain some semblance of control even as her legs kick helplessly in the air.

"That's Mrs. Luthor-Danvers to you!"

Kara's laugh echoes down the hall as she carries Lena to their bedroom.

"My apologies." She tosses Lena onto the bed, barely letting her settle from the bounce before crawling over her predatorily. "Mrs. Luthor-Danvers."

"Better." Lena breathlessly concedes before tugging Kara's lips down to hers.

Kara could spend hours kissing Lena - has spent hours kissing Lena - their mouths moving in a practiced dance that somehow leaves her satisfied and yet wanting more; tongues and lips bruised and tired.

But tonight, tonight she wants more.

Needs more.

And if Lena's moans and her nails digging into Kara's skin though her shirt are any indication, then Lena wants more too.

She buries her face in Lena's neck, reveling in the way her tongue and teeth draw out ragged gasps from the woman beneath her.

They both grind their hips, searching for friction, but Lena's dress is in the way. By some unspoken agreement, Lena lifts her hips and Kara balances on her knees and her mouth on Lena's shoulder - one hand pushing the dress up and out of the way and the other jerking Lena's panties down past her knees.

She has little time for a victory celebration though, because Lena uses her distraction at staying balanced to flip them over.

"Hey!" she half-heartedly protests, but it falls on deaf ears as Lena gives the seam of buttons on her dress shirt a sharp tug - sending buttons flying across the room.

Lena uses her hand on Kara's chest to balance as she leans back on her heels and as Kara takes in the scene; she would swear under oath that she'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Lena's fancy dress is rucked up and twisted; and breasts that were once merely teasing their presence are now playing a very indecent game of hide and seek with every ragged breath her chest heaves. Her once immaculate lip stick is smeared almost pornographically, and more of her jet black locks are framing her face than are left in her bun.

"You're beautiful." Kara breathes out reverently, fingertips tracing an indistinct pattern up Lena's thigh.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go put on that Tom Ford suit - "

"Don't you dare put on any more clothes." Kara lets some of her signature 'Supergirl' authoritative tone leech into her voice, but Lena only laughs.

"Or what?" she teases, even as Karas hand slides between her legs and her fingers swipe through her slick.

"Or I'll have to rip them off of you."

"Is that a threat?" Lena moans as Kara's fingers explore her heat. "Or a promise?"

Kara grins wickedly, two fingers sinking into Lena's cunt with practiced ease.

"Oh, that's definitely a promise."

It's something she's watched probably a hundred times, but there's just something about Lena riding her fingers that she can't tear her eyes away from.

Kara's name sounds like a prayer on Lena's lips, and she can't help but feel a rush of pride at the blush that's spreading across Lena's chest.

One of Lena's hands is behind her on Kara's knee for leverage and support, and the other is fisted in the remnants of Kara's shirt. The green pendant that Kara made her for their last anniversary bounces just above her breasts, drawing Kara's attention but then Lena moans her name again, and she's distracted - watching pearly white teeth sink into maroon lipstick stained lips.

It's a beautiful thing watching Lena come undone, feeling Lena come undone.

The way her body rocks and trembles as she reaches the edge of orgasm, as she clenches around Kara's fingers, as her eyes roll back and drift closed- senses too overwhelmed to keep them open.

It's almost as beautiful as the lazy smile that crosses Lena's face as the last rhythmic shocks fade. The way her body sags almost in relief to be released from the building tension.

Almost as beautiful as the way Lena's hand pushes hers away as the stimulation becomes too much. The way she collapses next to Kara on the bed, already moving into snuggle position before her body fully hits the mattress. The way she pants as she joins her hand with Kara's and brings them to her lips to give an almost innocent kiss the fingers that brought her to ruin.

"That's - I'm just - give me a second." Lena pleads, but Kara only laughs placing a kiss to their joined hands herself before easing off the bed and slipping back to the living room to grab her phone.

"Hey!" Lena's weak protest calls after her. "Where are you going?"

Before the words have even completely left her mouth, Kara is rounding the doorway to the bedroom; taking in Lena's disheveled state with a grin.

"Well, I figure if we order those appetizers now, they'll be here by the time we finish the next round."