#the best steak you can eat

[rabbitcruiser]

What made you get into photography? Best vacation you ever had? Best meal you ever ate?

Hi there,

I got into photography through my travels.

I don't know what my best vacation was. Last year was great. But so was the one in 2019. Or in 2014.

One of the best meals is always the porterhouse in Keens Steakhouse in New York City. I had a lot of steaks. But this one is and will always be the best. Every time I visit New York I get a steak there. Hands down the best steak you can get!

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Having salivated over European food yesterday, here’s the head children’s takes on gastronomy:

[beingjellybeans]

An anniversary foodie adventure at Seven Corners, Crowne Plaza Manila Galleria

A (not so) few years ago, my Significant Other and I decided to make it official and go through the adventure of married life together. The past several years had its ups and downs but they are always marked with significant milestones and great memories. Well, these deserve to be celebrated in grand style, don’t they? So on our special day, Dear Hubby and I decided to go on a food adventure at…

[daydreaming-in-daisies]

me looking for a restaurant to reserve a table at for my graduation knowing damn well i should be doing my homework right now

[evilminji]

Okay this is going to drive me INSANE. D:>

Dearly beloved, Phandom darlings...

Can DANNY EAT VIDEO GAME/TV FOOD?

I... I NEED to know. You don't UNDERSTAND!? Think about it. No, seriously. THINK about all those HIGHLY unrealistic, too good to be true, PERFECT looking meals. Animated shows n games etc where there are chefs who will "cook for Anybody!"

Now think about being 14 going 20. A teenager. A broke college student. Your fridge is empty and everything you touch? Comes back to LIFE. You're... you're just so hungry. Tired. Your bruises have bruises and you have a paper due tomorrow.

I kinda want to CRY.

Can only eat cup ramen so many times before you DO.

And this show? That commercial? Yonder cooking game?? Well... they did a REAL good job animating it. It looks so WARM. So FILLING and COMFORTING. You can practically SMELL it.

You look down at your sad, soggy, cheap but you can afford it, EZ Noodles and? Feel something BREAK inside. You... you KNOW you can travel inside technology. KNOW this. Have done it before. Why... why AREN'T you? You can't keep living like this.

You gotta TRY, right?

I? Wanna believe it TOTALLY works?? Because Ectoplasm is weird like that? And just shrugs? Says "actual food, the concept of food backed by electricity, what's the difference? Sure, we can fuck with this"? And so Danny? IMMEDIATELY fucking switches his diet.

Like? Dead stop screech, slam on the breaks, u-turn to take that last off-ramp. Type IMMEDIATE.

Grocery bill? No, no, you mistake him! No. NOW it's his "carefully researched for their cooking, games and shows" bill. Touch his collection and he'll FUCKING BITE.

They got sticky notes on the cases. Menus n lil fold out "grocery store" locations. He punched a dragon for this fruit. Mmmmm, home cooked meeeeeals~

Just? Weird Foodie Danny. Yes he DOES know what those steaks taste like. While YOU fuckers were staring at the cat girls bizangas, HE was eating granny cat lady's home made meatball stew! Ha! YOU FOOLS!

More then that? I want him to write reviews. Like "yeah, fight system was OKAY but- *5 hour glowing rant about the food, sounding like a food critic who'd actually fucking gone and loved it* " and people are like?? Who? Is this funky lil madman? This is hilarious?

I want it to be DPxDC JUST? So everyone slowly starts to play the game "Meta or Shtick?" Because no one REALLY knows who he is. This dude gets POPULAR though. For some reason can't be hacked (shame on you guys! Way to try and ruin the FUN!). And like? Eventually? Someone just fucking ASKS?

And Danny is like... " wouldn't YOU like to know, weatherboy?"

So everyone is like:

"Meta."

But hey... since they're already ASSUMING~? >:3c WHOOOOO wants to help him PAY RENT~? Let's VLOG this fucker! Wooooo! Say "hi" Catchef! *feline noises* like? It's like a let's play combined with a mukbang.

Teen Heros everywhere are FACINATED. Game developers are suddenly like? "If there's food. You BETTER make it look amazing. We want that weird YouTube twink to... whatever his powers are, our game! Free viral marketing!" Food channels? Rending their clothes, on their KNEES, please! PLEASE! Just ANSWER OUR EMAIL! Just ONE SHOW! A one off! Guest appearance!

We have MONEY!!!

All while Danny? Is finally happy with his life. Weird as hell. Harrasing the world. Good food on the regular. Gets to travel, kinda. Best of all? He's raising money from it! Can help people! Now... who wants salad?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @dcxdpdabbles @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[rubyreduji]

beach boobs babes — kmg

summary: mingyu goes to the beach to cool down, but things only heat up

tags: smut (minors dni!), chubby!big-boobed!reader warnings: sexual content, semi-public sex, spit used as lube, praise, tit fuck, oral (m. rec), cum eating, tit sucking, fingering, one mention of being "too heavy" wc: 1.3k an: this is def inspired by that video of ross lynch at the beach where you can see his dick print ANYWAYS

Part Two

Mingyu wouldn't consider himself a pervert, he may be rethinking that now though.

At the beginning of the day he thought that a beach day would be the perfect way to cool down from the scouring heat of the Korean summers, but now that he's actually here he feels nothing but heat creeping up the back of his neck, covering him in a whole body flush from his cheeks all the way down to his dick.

Ever since he laid eyes on you this morning he's been doing his best to tamper down his growing hard on. It doesn't help that his swim trunks are short and tight and perfectly define his package even when he's not have perverse thoughts.

In his defense, he wasn't expecting for you to show up like that, with everything out on display for his viewing pleasure. Your soft looking stomach and your full round breasts and your thick thighs all wrapped up in a bikini that doesn't do much to stop Mingyu's imagination from wandering away.

Your bikini is cute, a little yellow set with white flowers patterned over it, strings tied together to hold it in place. Mingyu would kill to pull those strings, releasing the knot and subsequently your fat tits.

There's not much that Mingyu wouldn't do to see your full bare body in front of him, served to him like a starving wolf being fed a steak. Mingyu knows he should have shame for his thoughts, but he can't bring himself to care when you look so fucking good.

You're technically Joshua's friend. While you get along well with the others, it's Joshua who you're always hanging around. It makes Mingyu a bit jealous to see the way you're so clingy to the older boy. He's also a bit thankful for it though, because if not then you wouldn't be here now, at the beach with the group.

Mingyu stares intently at the way Joshua squirts sunscreen all over your back. The creamy, white ropes hitting the bare skin of your back. He can't peel his eyes away as Joshua's large hands cover your back, spreading the sunscreen all over and working it into your skin. Mingyu desperately wishes he was in Joshua's place, his hands roaming across your skin, the soft rolls of your back under his palms.

Mingyu knows that everyone can see his hard-on through his swimtrunks but he can't help it. You look so pretty with the sun beaming down on your smiling face. Mingyu can't take it anymore and he quickly heads to the shore, hoping a swim will help him calm down.

It does work for a while, the cold water shocks him a bit and the swimming helps him release some pent up energy, but it quickly all goes to waste when he climbs out and gets another sight of you. You're standing next to Joshua, eating a piece of watermelon and just the idea of you and food gets Mingyu going, but then you take a bite and the juice of the watermelon drips down your chin and falls right onto your chest, sliding further down right into the valley of your breasts. Mingyu groans, his dick stirring at the idea of him pressing his tongue to your skin, lapping up at the sweet juices with your beautiful, full tits squishing either side of his head.

Mingyu realizes he really has to stop staring because you've seemed to notice him and the prominent strain of his swim trunks. Your eyes trail down his figure, lingering on his crotch, before looking up to meet his eyes. Mingyu doesn't give you time to even send him an expression before he's quickly turning and heading to one of the changing huts.

He's not quite sure what the laws are on jacking off in a changing room on a public beach is, but he also can't really put much thought into it when his dick is actually starting to hurt. The only thing his mind can focus on is the image of your soft curves and suffocating in your cleavage.

A deep groan leaves Mingyu's throat when he finally pushes his trunks down, letting his cock pop free. He doesn't waste time spitting in his palm before grabbing his length and starting to pump it. He leans back against the wall as he closes his eyes, fucking his fist and imagining it's your pussy.

He's so lost in thought he nearly misses the sound of the changing room door opening but when he opens his eyes he jumps, trying to cover up his leaking cock. In his haste he must have forgot to lock the door. It takes him a few more seconds to process who exactly is standing in front of him.

You look so innocent, with your big eyes and soft features, staring at Mingyu curiously. It would almost be enough to make Mingyu feel some kind of shame, but then his eyes trail down your figure and his body is flooded with the pains of lust once again. Your swimsuit is just so tiny on you, the strings digging into your flesh, your tummy pudging up over your waistband. He can't even look at your tits without his cock twitching in his hand, just barely hidden from your gaze. They way they spill out of the fabric, pushed together to create the most delicious cleavage that jiggles anytime you move.

"I-I'm sorry!" You exclaim, but you still don't tear your eyes away from Mingyu. "You looked a bit uhm...flushed earlier, so I wanted to check in on you. I can see why now."

Something snaps in Mingyu and he's suddenly removing his hands to let his dick hang free, in full sight for you. "Don't give me that bullshit, baby. I know you saw it. It's kinda hard not to." Mingyu wraps his hand around his cock, yanking at his length a few times. "I mean, look how big it is. All hard just from you."

"F-from me?" You squeak.

"Who else, gorgeous? I mean look at you, in that skimpy ass little bikini, teasing everyone on this damn beach," Mingyu growls.

"I-I didn't-"

"God baby, doesn't matter what you meant to do. Truth is it's taking all of my resolve not to jump you right here." Mingyu's hand speeds up, his cock leaking pre-cum all over his fingers.

"Well then, I should help you, right?" Your words come out slowly and Mingyu swears he has no clue how you can still sound so innocent while implying something so dirty.

Before Mingyu can react you're kneeling down in front of Mingyu, staring up at him. You gently bring your hands up to pull the strings of your bikini top loose, letting the fabric fall off your body and reveal your tits. Now without the support of the fabric they droop down, the weight of them too much to defy gravity. Your areolas are large and round like a target for Mingyu's mouth.

You don't allow Mingyu to put his mouth on you though. Instead you lean foward and push your tits around Mingyu's cock, eveloping his length in the warmth of your large, soft cleavage. Mingyu audibly whines at the feeling and he can't even be embarassed because he's in absolute heaven right now.

You slowly start to move your tits around his cock, and Mingyu nearly cums on you right then when you let your saliva dripple down your chin and onto his tip. The mix of his pre-cum and your spit allows you to glide his cock between your breasts easily, rubbing up against his length in a way that makes Mingyu's head go completely blank.

"F-fuck," Mingyu whines, "you look so good right now baby. My big cock pushed between your fat tits."

Mingyu starts to rut his hips into the valley of your chest, helping you jack him off. Mingyu knows he's not going to last long when you lean down to start suckling on the head of his cock. You suck and kitten lick at it, lapping up all of the pre-cum drooling out of his slit.

"Holy shit, baby, fuck," Mingyu babbles. He knew he needed this, but he completely underestimated how good it would feel. Your skin is warm against his cock and the plump fat of your chest cushions his length nicely.

"C'mon Gyu," you mutter in between lapping at the tip, "cum all over my chest. I know you want to. I see the way you stare at me. Cum on my tits."

With a groan Mingyu's hips stutter and he's painting your chest white with his spunk. Some of it sprays up onto your face and the sight of you cover in his cum is enough to send Mingyu's mind reeling.

Mingyu nearly falls over when you bring your finger to your chest, scooping up the mess and bringing it to your mouth. You suck on your fingers, staring directly at Mingyu as you do. Mingyu's cock twitches despite having just nutted.

You whine and shift a bit where you're kneeling. "Mingyu," you mumble, "I'm so wet now."

Holy shit.

Mingyu quickly moves to sit on the chair in changing hut. You stand and make your way over to him. You look nervous for a second but Mingyu grabs you, pulling you into his lap.

"M-mingyu! I'm too heavy!"

"Fuck baby, no you're not. You feel so good in my lap," Mingyu mutters, his mouth too busy kissing at your bare skin. His hands roam over your stomach, soaking up every bit of sweet chub he can.

You whimper under his touch, squirming in his lap a bit. Mingyu stares at you intently as he brings his head down, raising one of your boobs to meet his mouth. He wraps his lips around your tit, sucking on it hard. He swirls his tongue around your nipple and relishes in the reaction he gets out of you.

"G-gyu, please," you beg.

Normally Mingyu would respond, "Please what baby?" but he doesn't dare take his mouth off of you. Instead Mingyu lifts you up, turning around so this time he's on his knees while you sit in the chair.

You seem a bit shocked Mingyu could lift you, but you can't focus too much on that when Mingyu's fingers are playing with the strings of your bikini bottom. When Mingyu tugs at it, it comes undone, your bottoms falling against the chair away from your body.

A soft sigh leaves your mouth when Mingyu pushes his fingertips up against your clit. He rubs there for a moment before exploring further. His fingers push your chubby folds apart, revealing your hot, slick cunt. As much as Mingyu wants to drag this out he can't help himself from sinking his fingers into your pussy.

You wrap your arms around Mingyu's head, pushing his face even farther into your chest. Mingyu thinks he could die like this happy, suffocating between your tits, your velvety walls wrapped around his fingers.

Mingyu is completely content to stay like this, but then you start to wiggle your hips and Mingyu realizes you're basically cock warming his fingers. He starts to move his digits in you, brushing up against your walls. When he hits a particularlly soft spot and he hears you gasp, he knows he's hit your sweet spot.

Your jucies are running down his hand as he continues to jut his fingertips up into the same spot, his thumb rubbing at your clit as he does. Up above, his mouth is still working diligently at sucking at your tits, licking and nipping where he can.

"M-ming-gyu," you stutter out, your voice high pitched and tense, "so close. Please."

Finally, Mingyu pops his mouth off of your tits. "Fuck, c'mon baby. Cum for me. I know you can, pretty girl."

His thumb speeds up, pressing against your clit harder. Your hips buck up against his hand before your thighs are clenching and you're shaking. You let out the prettiest mewls as you reach your high, your head thrown back against the wall.

"Good girl, you look so pretty like this. Absolutely stunning," Mingyu tells you, and he means it. He doesn't think he's ever seen something so breath taking before.

When you've calmed down Mingyu slowly pulls his fingers out from you and pops them into his mouth, licking your arousal off of them. You taste even better than you look and Mingyu hopes that eventually he'll have the opprotunity to be squished between your thighs. He's sure it will be just as magical as being squished between your breasts.

Mingyu helps you tie your bikini back on and when the pieces are in place you frown at the marks Mingyu left all over your chest.

"Mingyu!" You whine.

"I'm sorry baby," Mingyu mumbles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I couldn't help it."

"Yeah, but now I'll have to explain to Joshua why I look like a vaccum attacked me!" You exclaim and Mingyu suddenly remembers you two came to the beach with a group.

Mingyu groans. He's never going to hear the end of the teasing. Oh well, it was totally worth it.

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[ravcnism]

I know we all love the idea of Kenji being absolutely shit at cooking, ( he's a rich boy with no time and a fancy AI assistant who can do all the cooking for him, ) but I keep thinking back to the opening scene. Kenji's dad asks him what he thinks about their curry and he, despite being 6 years old, responds with: "ten more minutes." And he's right. It does indeed, need ten more minutes. He's also very clearly a foodie, being particular with his noodles, knowing specific steak names, remembering the tonkatsu from his childhood. So, I raise you this: He is good at cooking, and he's an absolute natural at it. Complicated recipes? No problem. Knife skills? He doesn't even have to look. Omu Rice? Hell yeah, he gets it perfect every time. Cooking was his and mom's favorite pass time. No matter how old he got, he was always there, helping her in the kitchen. ( He definitely has a cookbook that he inherited from his grandma or something. )

Bad day? Miso soup. Lost a game? That's fine. He'd make oyakudon with some ramune. Dad cancelled out on graduation again? He'd feel better after a bowl of zosui. Nothing comforted him better than food. And mom. She made everything taste like magic.

But now he's older, and busier, and of course mom isn't there anymore. So he loses his spark. Cooking isn't as fun, his meals don't taste as good. It becomes a chore - he's always too tired. Always missing her. So now it's junk food, and takeout, and whatever lifeless healthy meal Mina forces him to eat.

But maybe, one day, Emi catches a whiff of the breakfast he's making. It's nothing complicated. Pancakes, eggs, bacon. He decides to give her a plate, and to say that she loves it is an absolute understatement. Emi chirps like it's the best thing she's ever eaten. So he makes some more. And he makes it again. And eventually, he digs out a dusty cookbook from under his bed and wonders what she might like to try next.

A Tuna Tataki sounds right up her alley.

[rabbitcruiser]

Excellent Food and Drinks on My Vacations (No. 21)

I travelled a lot; and still do. I love to eat and have a nice drink. Here are some of the best foods, drinks and wines I had to pleasure to enjoy. It starts with this year and goes back in time. I hope you like the pics as much as I loved this food.

Please contact me, if you want some further information about the food and/or restaurants.  

[figsnpassionfruits]

Kiss The Chef

rq: "hello!🌸 I wanted to request headcanons of Logan filled with just PURE FLUFF something domestic like cooking or anything along those lines tysmmmmmmmmmm" a/n: these are my first hcs yayyy tags: logan howlett x fem!reader, fluff dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Logan is a simple man; whatever is on his plate he eats it.

but he still can appreciate a love filled meal (especially if his lover does it for him).

whenever you cook for him, whatever it is, he will appreciate it.

(even if it may suck a little)

“Are you sure you like it?” You ask, cringing slightly, your voice hinting at worry.

Logan wipes his mouth and nods. “It’s good, love, don’t worry about it.”.

one way for him to show love is through acts of services.

if you are craving something specific, he would try his very best to surprise you with it.

+ bonus: if you are pregnant.

steak? he knows that he makes the best.

grills it outside on a fancy grill with a cute apron on that you bought for him.

 you probably have to force him to wear it though.

“I only kiss chefs that have the ‘kiss-the-chef’ aprons on.”

“Fine.” He grumbles (, secretly liking the way it makes your eyes sparkle whenever he agrees to).

loves it when you hug him from behind while he cooks / grills.

cooking anything overly fancy? maybe not as good as the steak but it is the thought that counts.

probably ends up beating himself up over the fact that he burned something while wanting to try a new recipe for you.

his eyes flicker from the recipe to the pan, tilting his head.

“Lo…” you coo, placing your hands on either side of his face, trying hard to suppress your giggle, “it’s alright, don’t worry about it.”

“Agh, just wanted to do something fucking nice for you…”

won’t let you do the dishes by yourself.

expect many kisses while cleaning up (mostly on the top of your head or on your temple).

also; you are his favourite bartender.

“Can you poor me some liquor, darlin’?”

have fun figuring out what beverage belongs in what glass.

he definitely laughs to himself when you bring him whiskey in a wine glass but won’t say anything.

“It’s nothing, princess.” He snickers.

🍯

[s4lv4tions]

labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

[yumeboshi]

Mmmm, may I order myself a bloody pomegranate sundae? Looks quite delectable! ♥️

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @yandere-romanticaa .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚BLOODY POMEGRANATE SUNDAE：disturbingly red but it smells good at least．．

𐙚 dish desc。．yandere hsr men’s reactions to getting caught in the middle of one of their messy crimes.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。general yandere themes, mentions of gore and violence, manipulation, filthy, light minors dni warning

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。aven, sunday

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ “so what if i’m crazy? the best people are”

。no literally 。this man has no shame at all. he’d give you the widest smirk in the world, staring at you straight in the eyes with those intimidating eyes of his while carelessly wiping off some blood from his expensive attire. 。“oops, you caught me.” 。it would be rather unsettling about how unfazed he is. when you call him a murderer and all sort of insults you can think of, he’d just laugh and tell you it’s all part of the ‘game’ you two were in. 。he’d love the horrified look on your face, though, so do be prepared for now intentional bloody corpses anywhere you go. 。aventurine himself knows what he’s doing is wrong. unlike a certain someone but he will submerge the voice of reason inside him if it means that it’s needed for his ‘end goal’ — which is securing you all to himself. he knows you’re breaking him apart, ruining his mind with your thoughts that gnaw on his morals like parasites, but at some point he had just decided to succumb to it. after all, he does not have anything left to yearn for if you’re gone. 。it is almost like he clings to you for his own sanity, ironically enough. you are the cause of him breaking down and yet you are also the one who lets him know why he’s still alive, so for him, killing someone is equal to reminding himself about what he’s living for. 。this gambler won’t know when to stop— he relishes in the thrill of it, he even likes getting caught by you. his sick mind thinks it’s hilarious.

“YOU DON’T have to stare at me that much,” aventurine chuckles.

how could you not, with the obvious residue of blood splattered all over him, he doesn’t even bother wiping it off. the dim candlelights flicker to illuminate your mortified face, because the seat that was occupied moments ago before you excused yourself to get something, was now empty. your dinner date with your friend was cancelled by force.

the man in front of you carelessly slides the scarlet chair out to sit in the formerly occupied place, the chair making an ugly creak as he does, crossing his legs- leaning back leisurely as he smiles at you through despicable eyes.

“i know my attire is ravishing tonight, but please, feel free to order anything else.” he gestures to the spread menu. you can’t even touch it with the substance that contaminated it, no, contaminated the whole table you were sitting in— the angelic white rose jar decoration is broken and red is bleeding into their fragile petals, the ravishing steak is inedible, broken utensils are scattered everywhere on the luxurious tiles of the restaurant, and it’s eerily quiet except for the soft romantic jazz that echoes creepily across the silence.

when you try to leave- to get away from this insane monster that is him, he stops you and pouts, telling you he’s waited for so long, surely they could have an impromptu date. you were his fiancé, it was natural for him to want to treat you to dinners alone- he’d say with a chuckle.

“dates out of the blue are always fun, don’t you think?” he would say with a smile as he eats the steak without caring much about the taste- he has his pretty princess all to him, that’s what matters more. that should be the only thing that matters.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ justifies himself

。this paranoid and obsessive man will have the most difficulty suppressing his desire to make a complete massacre 。he just can’t stand seeing someone even close to you. but as the head of the oak family, he’s also the most reputable person so he cannot risk that to succumb to his needs. 。he still will though, just not obviously. his murders are calculated and too well-woven to be suspicious of from the public eye, he knows how to pin crimes on someone else and it’s certainly not his first time doing this. 。when you raise eyebrows- he’d smile and laugh about how you’d think such lowly of him. he was your sweetheart, so you didn’t think much of it either. 。“please, love. now im quite offended.” 。he was definitely pondering over how you caught up though, so he’s going to put in extra effort to cover his tracks. 。but there’s times he loses his composure and doesn’t bother to cover up his crimes. he snaps, letting go of the thin string of sanity that held him together- and when you see that, he’d suddenly go all sweet, cooing to you that this was all for your own good. 。“they were hurting you, angel. hurting you. you’ll never be heartbroken again, not in my arms.” 。sunday is a master manipulator. human emotions are something he has dealt with tons of times. he will know what to say and what to do to pull on your cogs as if he’s performing clockwork. 。when even his reasoning and silver tongue doesn’t work on you- he would hate to do it, he doesn’t want to artificially make his darling, but for the greater good, he would, brainwash you. like mentioned, he’s a firm believer of the end justifies the means.

STANDING upon you is a fallen angel with his attire drenched with blood that isn’t his. you can tell with the way his pristine gloves are stained to oblivion.

you see his business smile crack slightly when he sees you standing in the doorway, horrified. “apologies,” sunday says with a smooth voice, but his eyes waver a little, but soon harden- as if there’s a completely rational reason why he has done whatever he did to your poor friend that was waiting for you in your room.

“what…?”

his cold eyes suddenly melt at your mortified look- he sighs with condescension, as if somehow you’re the one in the wrong. “it’s my sincere apologies i intruded your room without warning, but I must say, the situation was rather… suspicious, hm?” he slowly walks towards you- every step pronounced and clicking against the tiles as if death is knocking on your door.

“another man sitting in the bed we share? I don’t think that’s appropriate, don’t you think?” he’s close enough to push you onto the wall- blocking your escape route. “isn’t he the same person who forgot to send you presents on your birthday?”

sunday doesn’t actually care about the presents part- he was the one who discarded his gift before you could get it, anyway. he’s using it as an excuse to reprimand you.

“y-yes, but that’s not an excuse to—“

“ah ah, I don’t think there’s much of an excuse to make here. you’re dodging the point. tell me, am i not enough for you?” his sickly sweet voice isn’t paired with the sweetest gesture- in fact, you can feel his stained hands press your neck ever so slightly.

you have no other choice but to say you’re sorry- begging him that you really weren’t cheating on him; and it was just an unfortunate coincidence your friend was on the bed. every time you pleaded, he’d sigh and shake his head as if he’s giving in to your desperate begging to not leave you here alone, but inside, his heart pounds with delight seeing you break down and lose your reason.

“oh, you pathetic little dove. always needing someone to protect her from evil.” his hands caress your head, leaning into you to envelop you in a tight embrace he doesn’t plan to let go of. “you keep trying to fly away, yet you know nothing about the world around you.”

your pleas echo louder as his fingers touch your lips, stinging your nose with the metallic smell on them, and he pulls you in for a kiss that makes you choke, his tongue intruding your mouth that spills out drops of saliva from the lack of breath.

“—so I’ll make you a lovely cage, sweetheart.” he whispers against your lips, smiling through his devilishly handsome gaze before devouring them once more.

[azzibuckets]

national what day [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: a very random and unedited little blurb i wrote for national girlfriend day yesterday

word count: 1k

masterlist

“You think I’d forget?”

Emerging from the bathroom, Azzi freezes midway through brushing her teeth, not expecting to see a huge inflatable Olaf, probably as tall as her, sitting on her bed. Even wilder is Paige standing next to the Olaf with a proud grin on her face, one hand holding a gift bag from Tiffany’s and the other holding a huge sign that said “Olaf you!”

Azzi licks toothpaste from the corner of her lip. “What’s this for?”

Paige’s face drops, the corner of her lips turning downwards as a pout starts to form. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Azzi gurgles at the sink before spitting out her toothpaste. Wiping her damp hands dry on her sleep shirt, she returns and eyes Paige curiously. “This is super cute, babe, I love it. But am I missing something?”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow even further, her mouth agape. “You don’t know what today is?”

Azzi looks innocently around, as if an idea would conjure up in the air in front of her. “The first of the month?”

Paige’s mouth pulls into a even tighter line. She slumps on the bed beside the Olaf, throwing her arms around its stomach and burrowing her head into the plastic nylon material. “Maybe you can be my new girlfriend,” she grunts, her voice muffled.

Azzi nudged Paige in the back. “What’s going on?”

The blonde peeks up, one eye glaring at her girlfriend and the other covered by blonde hair falling across her face. “Did you honestly forget it’s national girlfriend day?”

Azzi, having busied herself with her bedtime routine, starts to rub lotion onto her face. “Is that a thing?”

“Of course it’s a thing!” Paige whines. “How do you not know it exists?”

“I’m not chronically online,” Azzi says slyly, smirking at Paige in the mirror.

“Babe.” Paige is behind Azzi now, hands splaying across her waist and pulling her in. She brushes a kiss across the nape of Azzi’s neck, fingers smoothing out the curly baby hairs at her hairline. “Did you really not know?”

The dejected look on Paige’s face forces Azzi out of her act. Bursting out laughing, Azzi turns in Paige’s room and presses a light kiss to her nose. “You’re so gullible it’s cute.”

“I’m cute?” Paige is smirking now, completely ignoring the first half of the sentence as her eyes glaze over with wonder.

Azzi pushes Paige in the forehead with her palm. “And you’re so in love with me you’re deaf.” Shaken out of her trance, Paige follows Azzi to the bathroom.

“That’s fucked up,” Paige groans. “Why’d you do me like that earlier?”

“You were gone the entire day and you said you’d be home by 7. It’s 10 and you just got back.” Azzi has a half smile on her face, but Paige sees right through it. She hates the thought of her ever disappointing her girlfriend, so she swallows down her pride.

“I’m really sorry, I was at Tiffany’s getting your necklace I ordered ahead but then it took a while and-,”

“Paige, it’s okay,” Azzi interrupts, reaching out to brush off a piece of lint from Paige’s shoulder. Her hand rests there and she squeezes. “I’m not mad at you, I swear. I just wish you would’ve texted me so I could’ve prepared better.”

“Prepared?”

“I made us dinner.” Azzi glances shyly away. “Spaghetti, steak, all your favorites. It’s in the fridge now, but it’s fine. We can eat it later, like meal prep.”

“Azzi.” There’s hurt and regret and guilt packed in only one word, and Paige’s eyes are wet when she clamps her hand over Azzi’s. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I should’ve texted. I’m gonna make it up to you, I promise.” Paige cups Azzi’s face in hers, beginning to pepper her face with kisses. “Tomorrow, just me and you. I’m gonna take you out, okay? It’s gonna be the best day of your life.”

Laughing, Azzi shakes her head. “Don’t feel bad, Paige, I told you it’s fine.”

“You’re too fucking good of a person,” Paige says, all serious now. “I messed up and should take responsibility for it.”

“I don’t know, your huge ass Olaf makes it easy to forgive you.” Azzi glances over Paige’s shoulder, eyes softening once she realizes that a necklace of polaroids is draped across its neck. “Is that us?”

Paige follows Azzi’s glance. “It is. But come on.” Dragging Azzi’s hand along, she leads them downstairs to the kitchen before they’re both staring at the fridge.

“Paige, it’s 10 PM.”

“You made us dinner. We gotta eat it.” Paige opens the fridge and immediately starts stacking the counter with the Tupperware containers marked with “P&A”.

“You missed the vegetables,” Azzi says pointedly when Paige starts to close the fridge.

“No, I didn’t,” Paige says breezily before shutting the door.

“Where are we going?” Azzi questions as Paige picks up the containers before hurrying out the front door.

“Somewhere more private.” Juggling all the containers on one hand, Paige opens the door to the back seat with the other and ushers Azzi inside.

“Sitting in a cold and dark car eating cold leftovers. Best national girlfriend’s day ever,” Azzi says sarcastically as she scoots in.

“Shut up.” Paige flicks Azzi in the cheek. “I wanna cuddle while we eat.”

“We couldn’t do this in our room?”

“You know your mom hates when we eat in the bedroom.”

Azzi shrugs, adjusting their bodies so that she’s lying in Paige’s arms as they sprawl across the three seats.

“This is what I used to dream of.”

“Huh?” Azzi looks up as she pops a piece of cold steak into her mouth.

“Calling you my girlfriend. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to be with you and I have to slap myself. I used to think about scenarios like this every fucking night before I went to sleep.”

Azzi smiles into Paige’s bicep. “You’re such a romantic.”

“You know that if I had the choice I would’ve spent the entire day with you?”

“I know. You’re pretty obsessed with me.” And there are a lot of words that Azzi wants to say. That she thinks that her heart beats for Paige, and she doesn’t know how she managed to live before this crazy beanpole white girl ran into her life and upheaved everything she knew. But she stores it inside the small part of her brain that’s been working on her vows since she was 14, and instead she says, “But it’s not like you forgot an anniversary. You and I both know today doesn’t really matter.”

“But you matter.” Paige’s grip tightens on Azzi.

Azzi nuzzles her head into Paige’s chest, sighing contentedly as her eyes flutter sleepily. “You make me feel like I matter.”

[paperultra]

service with a smile!

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 1,726 words Warnings: Swearing, violence, verbally/physically abusive customer, reader has a brief panic attack

eccedentesiast (noun): someone who fakes a smile

It’s six-thirty in the evening at the Baratie. The customers are ravenous, the kitchen is in the weeds, and you’re wearing a snake-like trail into the floor of the restaurant delivering drinks and dishes when the sound of snapping fingers pricks your ears.

“Waiter!”

Twisting your neck around, you spot the man at table four waving you over.

You quickly make your way to him with a bright smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

The man gestures to the plate in front of him, disgust clear on his face. “I said I wanted my steak medium-well.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” you reply. Leaning over slightly to check, your eyebrows knit together as you stare at the slice of meat pushed to the edge of the plate. “… It seems to be medium-well, though?”

“No,” he snaps. Light glints sharply off the many rings on his fingers as he pointedly prods at the center of the slice with his knife. “It still has some pink in it, see? I can’t eat this.”

“Well, sir,” you mentally roll your eyes up to the ceiling, though your gaze remains attentive and apologetic, “Here in our restaurant, medium-well steak will still have a little bit of pink. We could bring it back to the kitchen and have it cooked until it’s well done, if you’d like. It’d take no more than five minutes.”

“I don’t like well done steak. It’s too dry.”

Oh, god.

“I see. Well, we could still bring it back to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Fucking hell.” Sneering, he drops his steak knife and pushes the plate towards you. “Fine. Go. I’m not paying if you guys fuck it up again.”

“We’ll do our best.” Fuck you.

Nodding deferentially, you scoop up the plate and head off to the kitchen, smiling all the while.

“Carne!” you announce after you kick open the door, setting the steak on the pass and leaning over to catch the attention of the rotisseur. “Customer at table four says your steak is shit.”

“What?!”

“He wants it medium-well with no pink at all.” Carne swears and stomps over to fetch the steak. A slight movement in the corner catches your eye, and you look over at Sanji, who’s already looking at you as he pulls his suit jacket on. “Hey, chef.” A genuine grin stretches your face. “The old man kick you off the line again?”

“He slated my mixed paella,” Sanji replies, no small amount of irritation in his voice. It melts away quickly as he smirks and sends a wink your way. “But I’ll be seeing more of you out there, so maybe I should count my blessings.”

“There’s certainly one at table four right now.” Balancing three plates for table seven on one arm, you grab the fourth with your free hand.

Sanji hurries to hold the door open for you, frowning through the thank-you that flies from your mouth. “What else did they say?” he asks seriously. “Do they need to be kicked out?”

Despite the rush, your heart finds the time to skip a beat.

“Nah, not yet,” you assure. “Now hurry up!”

“[Y/n] –”

“Bye!”

As you pass him, your head held high, you hear Sanji sigh and chuckle in resignation.

You deliver the plates and check back with guests who have already gotten their food before returning to the kitchen. Table four’s well done medium-well steak with no pink is on the pass already when you go in, freshly garnished and by all appearances even more gorgeous than before.

Raising your eyebrows, you whistle. “Thanks, Carne! Love you!” you shout over the din of cooks before grabbing the plate.

“Kiss my ass!”

You laugh. One of the other waiters wishes you luck and pats your back as you exit.

You waste only a brief moment just outside the kitchen to take a deep breath and scan the restaurant. Sanji is at the far end, refilling waters and likely charming the eyelashes off a table of giggling young women. You’d kill to be on either side right now.

Closing your eyes, you recite the Baratie’s fourth employee guideline and then smile, stepping out into the dining area and walking over to table four.

The customer is God.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, placing the plate before him. “I’m sor –”

“This looks like shit.” The man hardly glances at the steak Carne had so painstakingly reprepared, choosing instead to glare at you. “I waited five whole minutes for this?”

The customer. Is. God.

Your teeth hurt. “Our rotisseur put in his best work to fix the mistake.”

“Well, he should be fired on the spot.”

“If you would just try it –”

The man suddenly slams his fist on the table and stands up, his face red, grabbing the attention of the surrounding guests as he throws the plate onto the ground.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WAITER!”

His hairy, meaty hand seizes the collar of your uniform.

Your perfect smile slips off your face.

“Get your hand off of me.”

The man doesn’t listen. He raises his other fist and swings it at your mouth instead.

You pull him down and knee him in the face before he even realizes that you’ve dodged.

Crunch. Warm blood splatters over your carefully ironed slacks.

“Augh!”

The man’s hands fly up to his nose. You shove him face-down to the ground and press your knee into his back, yanking his head up by his hair.

“I asked you to taste your fucking steak,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “I didn’t ask you to FUCKING TOUCH ME. OKAY?”

His groan bubbles quietly through bloodied teeth.

Your ears ring. You’re cold and your head is numb and your heart is racing, and you’re breathing, but it feels like you’re not getting enough air. You don’t move a muscle.

Above you, muffled and buried underwater, someone calls out your name.

A hand rubs your back gently. Your name is murmured again, and you finally blink, slowly twisting around to look up at Sanji.

“I think he got the message, sweetheart. Come on. The old man’ll take care of the rest.”

He places his hand over yours, coaxing you to let go of the man’s hair. It hurts, but you do it, and Sanji helps you stand afterwards.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We’ll wash dishes together until you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to be waiting tables,” you mumble. Your mouth is dry.

“You know I hate doing that anyway.”

He tucks you underneath his arm. You push your face into the front of his suit and smell the traces of his last smoke break as he guides you to the kitchen.

Washing dishes is a ritual you’ve had since you were a kid. While Sanji’s punishments had been anything that prevented him from cooking or flirting, yours were limited to washing dishes. You loathed the chore, and Zeff took note and made sure to stick you at the sinks whenever you got into trouble. You’d curse and splash and generally be a pain in the ass to the rest of the kitchen, but you scrubbed the dishes pretty damn well, and within an hour or two your anger would fizzle out and you’d be back to your usual self.

Over time, the chore became something that grounded you whenever you weren’t feeling too hot. It kept your hands busy, and sometimes Sanji would join you to chat and complain until Zeff decided that the two of you were just a little too happy in his kitchen and kicked one or both of you out.

“Washing or drying?” Sanji asks. He had tossed his jacket somewhere while you were thinking and is now holding out an apron for you to take.

“Washing.” You slip the apron on and roll up your sleeves.

Nobody bothers you or Sanji as you start working. You use a generous amount of soap, let the water heat up until it almost scalds your skin, and scrub each plate and bowl and utensil and glass until they’re better than new. Then you hand it off to Sanji, who carefully dries each item and puts them aside.

Eventually, you find your voice again.

“Sorry you had to come over and get me. I thought I could handle it.”

“No, I should’ve been there before it got too bad. I’m sorry.” Sanji meets your eyes, and his gaze softens into something sad. “What happened?”

Your shrug is so small you almost don’t feel it. “I was fine when he was yelling at me. But when he grabbed me by the collar, I just – I dunno. It surprised me real bad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just wrinkled my shirt.” You bend your knee, feeling the stiffness of dried blood on your slacks, and pout. “And stained my pants.”

“He didn’t even land a hit, at the very least,” Sanji says. A corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’ve got to say, I’m quite impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I impressed Black Leg Sanji by kneeing a customer in the face?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you fight a customer. You usually calm them right down.”

“Well, this one was a real shitbag. I’m surprised I haven’t had to do it sooner, to be honest.”

He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be something you should ever have to do,” he tells you. “Not while I’m here. If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“My hero,” you say with a smile, kicking up one foot.

Sanji winks at you and, with towel and dish in hand, leans over slightly to kiss the side of your head. It’s an innocent and playful thing he’s started doing as of late, and it certainly has no underlying meaning whatsoever, so you make a show of scrunching up your face like you always do. You swear that your face only feels hot because of the steam.

“Until my dying breath,” he says softly.

Oh. It’s not so funny anymore.

You flick bubbles at him and resume washing the dishes. Sanji grins and resumes drying, and if you scoot closer until you feel his arm brush yours with every movement, well – that’s nobody’s business but yours.

[petsdenonne]

Accidental

(Part 2: Here)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+, nudes, Fluff, Graphic sexual content, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 1,185

Summary: When you accidentally send something to Jason that you're not supposed to he doesn't react the way you were expecting.

Authors note: I read @dxckgrxsonx ‘s Dickpic!Jason x Reader series and it sent me absolutely feral 💕 I had to write something! Seriously, go read it, it’s amazing. Here, look, I even made it easy for you.

✨MASTERLISTS✨

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

oh god.

oh god, no.

Surely you hadn't...no, surely not...

As your finger hovered over the screen of your phone you could see that you had in fact done what you hoped you hadn't.

You had accidentally sent a nude to Jason instead of the man you had meant to. Why did he have to message you then!? It had bumped your chat with him to the top of the list and in your pre-occupied haze you hadn't noticed the name and contact photo at the top of your screen before you sent the image.

Fingers moving quickly to unsend the photo before he saw- oh, no, please no.

The 'sent' under the photo had changed to 'seen'

Bile and panic rose up into your throat and you tried to swallow it down as you threw your phone onto the bed beside you. You had to see him tomorrow! Bruce had invited you to the stupid family BBQ that they hosted at the manor every summer, since your father had died Bruce had taken you under his wing causing you to be an honorary member of the Waynes. Maybe you could pretend you were sick, tell Bruce you had a cold or a stomach bug? no, he'd send Alfred over with meds and soup. Maybe you could fake your death and run off to Bosnia? No, he'd know. He was the Bat after all.

Maybe you could kidnap Jason and brainwash him, cause him to forget that he had seen it and then delete the image from the chat- ding.

Your phones text chime ripped your attention back over to it, wrapping yourself tightly in your duvet you reach over and gingerly bring the phone back towards you so that you can read the message. Whatever he was going to say you could deal with, you'd dealt with Karens during the Black Friday sales when you worked in retail and you were sure nothing could be worse than dealing with that. Preparing yourself mentally to deal with the embarrassment of having to apologise and grovel with him you throw the phone back down again in frustration, causing it to bounce off of the bed and onto the floor, the screen chipping, when you see that it was just a spam text.

-----

By the next morning Jason still hadn't acknowledged the photo in any sense, that was a good thing, right? You were both adults. Adults have needs.

Even so you wanted to avoid him as best as you could, planning to go out. Say hi to Bruce and Alfred, thank them for being invited again like every year, grab a plate of food, and then hide somewhere to eat it.

Walking into the manor, having unlocked the front door with your key, you headed through the halls until you reached the garden. A small radio playing the playlist of whoever had managed to jump onto it first. Saying your hellos and thanks you piled upon your plate with chicken and steak, as well as a few things from the table spread like a healthy portion of Alfreds homemade potato salad before retreating into the manor to find somewhere to eat it.

As you settled in the library, closing the door behind you to pace slowly in front of the bookcases as you ate, your eyes skimming the spines of the vast collection- ding.

oh for gods sake, you'd have to have your number removed from whatever spam list it had been put on, the amount of junk you were receiving was ridiculous.

oh.

Oh.

As you opened the text to block the number you see that it wasn't a spam text.

It was from Jason.

Jasons dick was taking up your whole screen, all 7.5 inches of it. Pubes neatly trimmed back and cared for. You could see every vein and god it was good.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jasons voice broke you from your thoughts as he stood in the doorway behind you, damn Bruce and his perfectly oiled silent door hinges. Stepping towards you with a dark look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips "Ya' know, you sent me that at the most inconvenient time. Right as I was about to break a guys collar bone, sweetheart. How was I supposed to do that when all I could see was you? so alone. so wet. so needy"

"J-Jay..."

"What? Baby girl. So shy now, I saw the pose you were in. That screamed confidence. Where's that gone, huh?" The smell of cigarette smoke and leather and gun powder filled your nose as he got so close your back pressed into the case behind you, towering over you as he softly placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, your jaw, before he whispered into your ear "I want you"

Potato salad smushed into the carpet as you dropped the plate whilst trying to place it on a nearby surface but missed, you didn’t care, you’d clean it up later. All you wanted to do was get your arms over Jason’s shoulders as soon as you could. Mouths clashed together as he lifted you up by your waist, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you. Soft moans being shared as your lips worked together, his hands moving down to cradle your arse in his palms, fingers digging into the soft flesh through your jeans.

Placing you down to rest on the arm of the nearby sofa, hands were everywhere. His on you. Yours on him. Just trying to undress as fast as you could, both desperate for the embrace of the other. As soon as you were stripped off to an acceptable standard he grabbed you by your hips, turned you around, and bent you over the arm.

-----

Your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock as the thick veins dragged against you. One hand clinging onto your waist tightly, the other on the sofa next to you to support himself as he pumped into you. "Fuck, Sweetheart...would have done this sooner if I had known you'd feel this good..." he growled, digging his nails into your side to anchor you close to him, he had waited so long to hold you, to feel you, and he wasn't planning on letting you go any time soon.

"H-Harder...M-more.." You whined out, burying your face into the leather of the seat. Trying to stay as quiet as possible to avoid others hearing, the last thing you needed was for someone to walk in and see you with him, arse in the air as he pounded into you from behind, his balls slapping against your puffy sensitive clit.

Reaching forwards Jason grabbed ahold of your hair, yanking your head backwards so your face was out in the open and free. Leaning forward to growl into your ear as he made your back painfully arch against his chest "No, Don't you dare muffle yourself, I want them to hear me make you sing"

[oddheadd]

Perfect Husband

You didn't have that much experience with guys, and the little things you did experience weren't good at all. Everything felt so... Empty. The "Wyd" texts and shallow conversations at the bar didn't satisfy you. You knew what you wanted, and you decided to go for it.

So when you met him it felt so real and unreal at the same time.. He felt real as in he understood you, he engaged in interesting conversations and knew just what was the best for you.

...And he felt unreal as in he wasn't... Human? Like a man from 19th century novels, he was gentle, polite, relatable but mysterious enough to keep you wanting him. The problem before was everybody acting same, now you were weirded out with how unique he was? You started thinking you were the problem.

Therefore, after a few months of dating, when he set up a beautiful dinner table for you two, with candles, flowers, perfectly cooked delicacies and asked you to marry him, you said yes.

You cut the steak and...

"Oh... This seems raw..?"

"It's medium rare, dear. But I won't feel bad if you don't want to eat it." - he smiled.

You felt lucky. So, you cut a piece of it, and put the red, moist and almost slimy piece of meat in your mouth. His smile widened as he watched you do so. You chewed and chewed, trying not to think too much about the texture or the taste, instead washing it down with red wine and forcing a smile.

The night ended with him gently holding and kissing you, while not so gently fucking into you. It felt almost like a reward for accepting his proposal, and the amount of times he made you cum only supported that theory.

The wedding happened shortly after, him making sure it was as big or as small as you wanted.

Everything after that felt like a dream... In a literal sense. You found yourself derealizating on more occasions than you can remember. Feeling dizzy, out of the place and unreal was then a daily accurance for you. And you didn't quite feel comfortable with talking about it with your husband.

But it didn't matter... Not as long as at the end of the day you laid in his arms.

However, even that comfort was broken when only weeks after your marriage, he started staying at his job later and later... As soon as he got home he'd take a shower, too.

Suspecting that your husband was cheating, you decided to follow him one day.

The day went on fine, he stayed at his job til 8, but then he left. You quietly followed, wanting to catch him in the act. He... Went into the woods..? Was he actually fucking someone in the woods? Then you saw another person... But they seemed to not be aware of your husband being there. In fact, he was watching them... Stalking them like a predator would to a prey. The person was obviously wasted, having come in the woods to relieve themself.

Your dear husband got up from his hiding spot, and approached the person... And so you watched in horror as his limbs started twisting unnaturally, making popping and cracking sounds as, his skin changing it's color into a dark red, almost a bloody color. He turned into something incomprehensible... A monster.

His now inhumane looking jaw unclenched, opening so wide he could swallow a man whole, and he took a generous bite out of the person, their bloodcurdling screams not loud enough to bury the sound of your ears ringing.

Despite the scenery being hard to look at, you turned around to leave, but stumbled and fell down with a loud noise.

Your husband's head turned towards you slowly, and his smile fell.

The dream turned into a nightmare.

Man I just love creepy, cannibalistic, eldrich monsters/gods and not in an only ha they're sexy way (I blame the movie Ritual)

[rabbitcruiser]

Excellent Food and Drinks on My Vacations (No. 10)

I travelled a lot; and still do. I love to eat and have a nice drink. Here are some of the best foods, drinks and wines I had to pleasure to enjoy. It starts with this year and goes back in time. I hope you like the pics as much as I loved this food.

Please contact me, if you want some further information about the food and/or restaurants. 

I had a lot of steaks from different restaurants: some better than others. But you simply can’t beat the porterhouse steak from Keens Steakhouse in Midtown Manhattan. I can’t even begin to describe the taste. And it melts in the mouth. We always order the medium rare porterhouse for three (we are only two!).