#tutorial still coming for this soon

[lalasimmer]

3D CAS Room Replacement - Christmas🎄

Converted from Sims 4, credits to Ellcrze who's not in the sims community anymore from what I read. You can find the Sims 4 version here

This will replace the default CAS Room. Haven't figured out how to extend that to Create a Pet/Create a Bot yet. Have to work on geostates and things and I don't wanna get into all that 😅 The background for those is just a blue background. You can only have 1 CAS Room at a time.

Since the Christmas tree has transparency, it will conflict with some hairs a little in CAS because they both use transparency, but it's fine and not an issue.

Credits

Thanks to @mspoodle1 @nectar-cellar and @greenplumbboblover for helping me and answering my questions

Download

[housewifebuck]

before vs after gif coloring game!

tagged by @athenagranted

here's a few of my more recent psds that im proud of hehe:)

tagging @shitouttabuck @lover-of-mine @callaplums @eddiediaaz @edward-teachs and any of my other mutuals who make gifs im too out of it to think of urls rn

[turgidmuff]

sorry 4 not a lot of art recently they keep making me close at work 😭

[sanguine-squid]

iv gone like 2 months without having any significant anxiety issues and the possibility of tumblr shutting down within the next few months kinda made it all come back.anyway if u want my discord in case tumblr goes to shit you can dm me!!!

[oscargender]

I have some thoughts brewing abt my gender and sexuality that I might feel ready to share soon. Idk idk

[frostedfragments]

truly, madly, deeply ✧.* zayne x reader ✧.* 5.3k words ✧.* friends to lovers summary: zayne loses control warnings!: needy, pathetic!zayne, first time smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, creampie, zayne cums in his pants again???, zayne isn't a sub but...the potential is there note: intended as a sequel to exclusive tutorial

divider cred. @enchanthings-a

It’s been three days since you left his apartment and Zayne can still smell your perfume clinging to the space around him.

After you fell asleep on his chest, he’d carried you to his bedroom and left you alone to sleep, not wanting to wake you for fear you might leave and the whole night would crumble. He imagined waking up, face smushed against the papers on his desk back at the hospital, the evening of you trembling in his arms, coming on his fingers, gone from existence.

It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

He had taken the couch, worried he might overwhelm or spook you if he got into bed with you after everything that had happened. There was no way you weren’t gonna end up in his arms, his hips grinding his dick into your ass the moment his body woke him up. He had to regain some semblance of control, and so, he’d slept on the sofa. When he woke up to a call telling him he had to get to the hospital for an emergency surgery, he’d poked his head through the doorway to his room and found you sleeping soundly, his blankets twisted around your bare legs. He’d smiled, relieved, and had left you a note. By the time he got back six hours later, you’d left, and his note sat exactly where he’d left it on the pillow in his room.

He tried not to spiral, he really did, but it didn’t take long for the old thoughts to creep in. You don’t deserve her, you’ve ruined your friendship by mauling her last night, now she doesn’t want to speak to you. He’d spent the last three days worried he had pushed you too fast that night; he had meant to teach you how to kiss, goddamnit, not lose himself in you. He’s like an addict where you’re concerned, and he worries he won’t be able to return to any sense of normalcy now that he knows how you sound when you come. The way you’d whimpered his name has been the soundtrack to his life every day since, and now, as he shrugs off his jacket in the hallway of yours and Caleb’s grandma’s home, he is itching to see you again.

“Zaynie, you’re here,” A small, white-haired woman walks through the archway and grabs Zayne’s hand, smiling up at him before reaching up to pat him on the cheek, “You’re too skinny. You need to eat more,”

He smiles down at her indulgently, “I’ll be sure to do that, granny,”

“Good,” She sniffs, letting her arm hang off the crook of his elbow and dragging him through to the living room, “Caleb is already here. Dinner will be ready soon, once ___ is here we can eat. Where is that girl?”

Zayne let’s Granny wander through to the kitchen, muttering to herself, and walks over to the sofa opposite Caleb, who watches him with a familiarly blank expression. Zayne isn’t sure when the two of them went from friends to…whatever they are now, but he does know that they’ve grown to tolerate each other for your sake, and Granny’s.

He feels uneasy under Caleb’s eyes, as if he knows every little secret - as if he knows about what he did to you the other night. He wonders with a faint sense of alarm whether you would have told him, but he doubts it. Even so, he busies himself looking at his phone to avoid Caleb’s assessing stare.

Dinner is painfully awkward, and you can’t even bring yourself to look around the table. Just being in Zayne’s presence puts you on edge, his eyes trailing over your form as if he is touching you.

When you’d walked into granny’s house, you had immediately sensed Zayne was already here. Walking into the living room just to see him sitting there, one long leg propped on his knee, his black shirt stretching over the same broad shoulders you’d dug your fingernails into as you’d rocked in his lap the other night. A shiver works its way through you at the memory, and Caleb leans over.

“Cold?”

You look up only to immediately lock eyes with Zayne for half a second, darting them towards Caleb instead, a stiff smile on your face, “No, I’m okay,” you say, but your gaze is soon magnetised to the man opposite you once again.

Zayne doesn’t take his eyes off you, chewing his food slowly. His ears are pink, and you wonder briefly if he’s thinking of that night. You wonder if he’s mad you left, and that you haven’t returned any of his texts, but your worries are washed away when you remember that Zayne doesn’t get mad. At least he never has with you, but maybe now it’s different.

You really hadn’t meant to leave him hanging - that night had been such a whirlwind you’d barely processed it by the time you were unlocking the door to your apartment and walking in wearing the same clothes from the night before. You had never done the walk of shame before, never had the chance, but what you did with Zayne didn’t make you feel shameful. Quite the opposite, you felt hot, charged with a painful desire you hadn’t felt before. The same desire that had led to your hands working their way into your panties the last two nights, trying and failing to recreate the magic that Zayne’s fingers had worked on your body.

The reason you couldn’t speak to him after all that was because you weren’t even sure what you were meant to say, or do. You’d never done this before, never even had a crush on a friend before, and you had realised each time you’d opened up your message thread with Zayne only to close it again in frustration, that you’re out of your depth.

You want him - your thighs ache with it, your underwear already dampening each time you watch Zayne’s fingers shift around his chopsticks, and you know he’s watching you. But he’s your best friend, he’s one of the most important people in your life, and you can’t bear the thought of somehow messing up and losing him.

What if you’re bad at sex? What if he gets impatient or annoyed when you don’t know how to make him feel as good as he made you feel? You’ve heard horror stories from your friends about their first times, and you’d gotten close to having sex with a guy back in college, but you had chickened out the moment you walked into his dorm room and saw the condoms on his nightstand.

He hadn’t even kissed you, and he’d bought condoms.

But there’s a part of you that thinks it would be different with Zayne. He’s a man, not a boy, and the raw, feverish way he’d kissed you the other night makes you hope that maybe it would be enjoyable. Maybe you wouldn’t be writhing around in pain like your college friends used to describe their first times.

The idea of it suddenly makes you clench hard; new, foreign muscles locking tight at the idea of Zayne’s hands on your body again. When you shift in your seat, Zayne glances over at you again, his eyes trailing from your lips, lower and lower until he’s staring at the part of your body hidden by the table. His hand clenches tight into a fist and he pushes back from the table suddenly.

“I should go, I have an early shift at the hospital tomorrow,” He doesn’t look at you after that, smiling warmly at Granny and waving at Caleb, who waves back half-heartedly, more focused on his noodles.

Your lips part in surprise, and when Zayne disappears into the hallway to grab his coat, you stand too, “I should go too, Granny. I have some work to do before tomorrow,”

The lie stains your insides with guilt, but you can’t let Zayne leave, not without apologising. Pushing the chair back in, you leave your near empty plate and walk briskly into the hall, finding Zayne just as he’s slipping his jacket, adjusting the collar before he pauses, staring at you.

Granny and Caleb are still within earshot, so you nod towards the door, indicating for him to go outside so you can talk. He does, his eyes wide and unguarded, darkening with that familiar heat, but he blinks, and it’s gone. He nods back, turning to open the door, keeping it wide for you to slip through, grabbing your jacket on the way.

It’s chilly outside, but you let your coat hang from your fingers, staring up at Zayne. The confidence from a moment ago has vanished, and you’re left standing before you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His breath leaves his parted lips in a soft cloud of white, and when he speaks, his voice is strained.

“Please put on your coat,”

You shrug into it, gasping softly when Zayne reaches forward, as if he can’t stop himself, grasping the buttons and silently doing them up until his hands brush your chin. The contact of his skin on yours has a heady, warm feeling gathering in your stomach, and his hands linger under your chin for a few moments. When he moves away, you can finally breathe.

“I just wanted to, ah, apologise,” You begin, cheeks warm. It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, “I shouldn’t have ignored your messages, I was just…” Words fail you, and you lift your eyes to meet his soft gaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, I understand, ___. You don’t have to explain,” His eyes shutter, the softness that was there now replaced by something haunted, “I went too far. I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t blame you,”

His words throw you for a loop, and you’re struck into silence, wondering if you read him wrong, “What? Why would you think that?”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you realise, shaking your head. If you hadn’t gone radio silent after leaving his apartment, he wouldn’t have assumed the worst. Zayne has always been like this; shouldering the blame, running on this misguided belief that he should know better, that he isn’t just human like the rest of the planet.

Stepping towards him, your hand lands on his chest, “Zayne, no. You didn’t…I wanted that. What we did,” you feel warm again, but you push on, desperate to wipe that tortured look from his face, “I want you. I…I’m sorry for making you think otherwise. This is all new to me,”

As the words spill from your lips, you watch as Zayne’s pupils dilate. You get a hint of the man he became the other night when he kissed you senseless, and you want him to do it again. You need his lips on yours like you need the air in your lungs; it’s a part of your chemical make-up now, this need for Zayne. It’s knitted in your bones, tucked beneath your ribs, throbbing hot and wet between your legs.

“Zayne,” You murmur, tugging his coat gently, desperate for him to touch you, “please, kiss me again. Just like the other night,”

A harsh breath leaves his lungs, deflating his chest as it caves in under your hand. His palm lands in the dip of your waist and you instantly decide there are too many layers between you. He’s breathing deeply, his breath ruffling your bangs as you gaze up at him, “___, please,” his hand grips your coat, fishing the material like he needs to steady himself, “I c- if I kiss you right now I’m - I’ll never stop,”

“Don’t stop,” You plead, running your hands over his chest, moving under his jacket, “I don’t want you to stop,”

His jaw clenches, and he grips your hand, tugging you along towards his car. Your stomach dips with excitement, nerves, arousal, you’re not exactly sure which exactly, but you know that whatever is about to happen will wreck you, ruin you for anyone else, and you think you might already be half in love with Zayne as he tucks you into the passenger seat, his knuckles brushing your thigh through your stockings.

With a hard swallow, he backs away, closing your door and walking around the front of the car. He gets into the driver’s seat, silent save for the ragged way his chest rises and falls, and pulls out of the parking spot so fast you have to hold on.

Zayne is going to fucking combust if he doesn’t get you naked within the next thirty seconds. He’s sure he broke several traffic laws driving to his apartment, and as he pulls you to the elevator in the lobby of his building, he wonders whether he can bribe security to turn off the camera in there.

He forces himself to hold it together, not even able to speak to you for fear he will spew all the filth that’s currently rolling around in his head. He needs to remember you’ve never done this before, that he should be gentle with you, but the words you spoke to him outside your grandma’s house taunt him.

I want you, I want you, I want you.

He’d already been half hard when he left that dining table, thinking he was deluding himself to believe that you were squirming in your seat because of him. Because of the way he was unable to rip his eyes from your pretty, pink lips the moment you turned up. An image of them wrapped around the head of his dick has him bracing against the wall by the elevator for support, and you reach out, a hand on his forearm probably thinking he’s ill or something.

The elevator dings, and he wastes no time pulling you inside and waiting impatiently for the doors to close. He can hear you almost panting, and that little voice in his head tries to convince him you can’t want him as bad as he want’s you. That you don’t feel this unbearable fire running down his spine simply because he’s standing beside you. He wants to push you against the wall, to take your mouth again, to make you taste like him, but he tries, using all of his mental fortitude, to remain in control.

It feels like it takes an hour to reach his floor, and he threads his shaking fingers through yours, needing to feel your skin on his in some way. You have this uncanny ability to ground him and knock him on his ass all in one breath, so by the time you both make it to his door, his cock is pressing eagerly against the fly of his jeans. He almost drops his keys twice trying to open the door, and as he drags you inside, you surprise him by gripping the back of his neck and tugging his lips to yours.

White hot need courses through his veins, the keys are dropped somewhere on the floor, the door is kicked shut and within seconds he’s got you up in the air, dropping your ass down on the console table by the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” His hips are rocking between your thighs, the the table knocking into the wall, his heart thudding hard when he notices you’re panting just as hard as him. Your lips parted, hands grasping and tugging his coat into you both successfully get it off his shoulders, letting it land in a heap on the floor, forgotten in the haze of heat and lips and tongue.

He feels like he’s drunk; his coordination is impaired, vision blurry when he pulls back, looking down at you. The rough sound of his voice cuts through the mayhem, “You want this? You really want this?” He asks because he’s, honestly, in disbelief that this is happening right now. He can’t quite comprehend how the angel in front of him, gazing at him with dilated pupils, red lips and a blush coating your neck and chest, wants him.

“Yes,” You whine, and he just about fucking comes, “Please, Zayne, I need it. I’m aching so bad,”

He might cry if you keep talking, so he kisses you instead, picking you up and walking you blindly in the direction of his bedroom. He murmurs against your lips the whole time, so gone for you that he’s not even sure what he’s really saying, “I’ll be so good for you, ___. I’m gonna make it so good -”

You moan against him, grinding your clothed pussy against his stomach. He finds his bedroom, knocking into the door frame in an effort to get you in there as quickly as possible. When he drops you on his bed, he just has to stare at you for a moment, catch his breath, maybe, but mostly he just wants to convince himself that this isn’t some twisted fucking dream.

His eyes flare and he has to bring his hand to palm his erection when you start wriggling out of your clothes. He almost wishes you would stop, because he’s dreamt about peeling every layer off of your body himself, but he can’t quite bring himself to step towards you. His brain jump-starts back into action once you get down to your underwear, and he plants a knee on the mattress, a hand on your wrist when you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. He’s in a trance, eyes locked on the little bow in the centre of your panties.

He wants to put his mouth on you so badly.

“Zayne,” You whisper, it’s almost a moan, your soft thighs rubbing together as you squirm under his stare, like him just looking at you turns you on. The feeling is fucking mutual.

His thumb brushes the bow, his other hand dropping beside your waist. He can feel the heat of your skin, soaking into his bones, and he knows that he won’t come back from this. He thought that what you did on Friday night would be the end of him, but he was so wrong. This right here will obliterate him.

He sighs shakily, thumb running over your mound, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when he reaches the dampest part of your underwear. You’re soaked, all for him, so wet that he can smell the sweet, huskiness of your arousal, and he abandons all prior concerns about his control, dipping his head to press his nose directly into your wetness.

“Oh,” You murmur raggedly, wiggling your hips to try and get his nose to rub against you just right. He inhales you deeply, pondering in insanity that he may need to find a way to make a candle out of this scent, before he lifts his head a little, looking up at your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” His voice is unrecognisable, and he swallows in an effort to moisten his vocal chords enough to tell you all that he has kept bottled up. If he scares you off now, it’s no matter, it’s far too late for him, “I’ve fucked my hand so many times thinking of this, of you,”

You don’t say anything, but your thighs try to close around where he is currently seated between them. He runs his palms up your thighs, gratified beyond belief to see goosebumps following his path.

“I need to eat you out,” He says simply, eyes boring into yours, waiting for you to give him even the barest hint of consent. He needs to taste you on his tongue, needs to lick deeply inside you until you come again, until he's haunted by the feeling of your cunt clenching against his mouth. He’s out of his mind over the smell of you, the wetness that coats your pretty, white panties with the little bow that he’s sure will haunt him for the rest of his life. “Tell me I can, ___, please,”

“I’ve never…” You don’t need to finish, because he already knows. He witnessed you get soaked from just his kiss, watched enraptured as you came wetly over his fingers. He knows you’ve never had it and there’s a primal roar of satisfaction in his chest at the knowledge that he’s the first man to taste you.

“I know, beautiful. Do you want it? You don’t have to say yes,” He murmurs, even as he licks his lips. He wants to make this good for you, he meant that, and if he’s going to have the privilege of fucking you today, he needs you to be ready for him. He needs you soft and pliant and comfortable - the idea of causing you discomfort makes him want to keel over.

A swallow works down your delicate throat, and his eyes flare, another wicked idea flitting through his mind. If you let him, he will mark you up, he will lay his claim on you, no matter how much he might not deserve to.

“Yes, okay,” You say, brows knitting together. He doesn’t move, hands settling on your knees, pausing your movements as you part them for him.

“You’re frowning,”

A flush paints your cheeks, and you groan in frustration, head hitting the mattress as you stare up at the ceiling. You’re so fucking cute, he can hardly take it.

“I don’t know what - …like, what do I do?” You’re watching him, eyes wide and blown out, almost black. He can tell that you meant it when you said you wanted it, and he smiles softly at you, parting your legs with a palm on each thigh.

“Just lay back,” He says softly, “I’ll take care of you,”

The closer his face gets to your pussy, your face relaxes into a look of concentrated arousal. You’re watching his every movement, gasping quietly when he licks a trail up the wet patch on your panties. He keeps his eyes on you as he kisses you slowly, filthily through the material, taking it as slow as he can, his cock throbbing, angry and eager to be inside your tightness. He ignores it to the best of his ability, keeping his hips lifted off the bed - he doesn’t want to come too fast, but as soon as you moan, head thrown back, hands fisting his bedsheets, he slams his hips down into the softness of his bed. Desperate for friction, it’s near painful with how badly he needs to fuck, and he abandons all thought, pulling your panties to the side to suckle at your swollen clit.

“Oh my god, Zayne,” Your voice is reedy, whimpers breaking every word, and he groans into your pussy, hips punching into the bed.

Your thighs start shaking soon after, and you’re already close. He can feel the way you’re clenching when he dips his tongue inside you, relishing in the arch of your back, the way your hands fly up to grip your breasts. It’s such an erotic sight, Zayne can feel his cock twitching, he’s gonna come too soon, again, but he can’t help it. You turn him into this needy, helpless mess, and he’s coming with you within a few more seconds of your tight pussy squeezing his tongue, his body rocking into the bed, so hard he can hear it squeak a couple times along the carpet.

Next time, he thinks wildly, unhinged in his desire, he’s gonna eat your pussy with you on all fours, he’s gonna make you ride his face while he fucks his hand. He doesn’t care if you never touch his dick as long as he can spend the rest of his life with his face between your legs.

He pulls away from you after a few more licks, the stickiness of your arousal is a sweet syrup on his lips, and when he raises his body off the bed, he can only stare at you. Legs twitching, skin shined with sweat. He can feel his cock getting hard again, and he hasn’t even got his jeans off yet.

You’re opening your eyes then, a hazy gaze running from his flushed face to his panting chest, all the way down to the wet patch on the front of his jeans. You nibble at your lip at the sight, and - yeah, he’s hard again.

“Is it…,” You glance down at his crotch again, “Are we done now?”

He licks his lips, tasting you again, “Do you want us to be done?”

You’re shaking your head, sitting up on his bed. There’s a wet patch under your ass that he wants to lap at, and you wriggle away, further into the centre of the bed until you’re laying your head on his pillow. He lets himself think it now, pulls down the wall guarding him from the truth that he’s devastatingly in love with you. Seeing you laying on his bed in your underwear, fucked out, blushing and smiling as you wait for him to join you - it sends him into a tailspin.

A smarter man would realise he’s not good enough for you, that he doesn’t deserve something so heavenly. But Zayne isn’t very smart, it turns out, because he crawls onto the bed, caging you in with his arms and kissing you deeply. He lets you taste yourself, lets you taste the flavour of what he’s done to you, and you groan, tugging his black shirt out of his jeans.

He helps you as the two of you tackle his shirt, peeling it off of his shoulders, smiling against your lips when your hands immediately explore his skin, grabbing and digging your nails into his shoulder blades. He has to stand up to take off his jeans and his ruined underwear, his cock springing free, already hot and hard again. He watches as you assess him, your tongue wetting your lips has a bead of precum forming on the tip, even as his earlier orgasm already coats it.

You open your mouth as if to speak, but then you snap your lips shut. He can’t have that.

“What is it, ___? Tell me,”

“I want…” Your eyes fall to his dick again, “Can I taste you?”

He almost falls to the floor, all feeling gone in his legs thanks to the blood rushing directly to his cock. He wonders if you could make him come simply by speaking, by asking him questions in that innocently curious voice of yours.

It’s not a good idea, not with his track record with you, but he swallows hard, nodding and watching hungrily as you crawl across to him. He pauses you, desperate to see more, needing to see all of you, and unclips your bra, tossing it aside, forgotten. Your breasts sway before him, his hands reaching out with no hesitation, gripping them both as his cock bobs with another warning twitch. You watch it all with a heated look in your eye.

When you lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the head, Zayne immediately buckles, pushing you back on the bed so you’re on your back. He climbs over you, a barely caged animal.

“You -” He groans when his cock brushes your underwear, “I cant - Maybe another time,”

“Did I do it wrong?” You frown.

He almost laughs, a pained wheezing sound bursting from his throat, “No, you’re - everything's perfect. You’re perfect- “ He’s babbling now, the desperation to be inside you taking over, as he rears up, tugging off your panties and dropping them at the bottom of the bed. A crazy parts of him wants to keep them as a memento of tonight.

He shakes above you, his arms trembling as his tip brushes your entrance, and he worries you might be nervous. He’s not small by any means; thick as well as a decent length, his cock isn’t gonna be easy for you to take for your first time, and so as a form of self-preservation and to help make sure you’re ready, he drops his head to take your soft nipple into his mouth, his fingers skimming your stomach to enter you in one thrust. You buck against him, whining, begging him to fuck you, and he growls, kissing up to your neck so he can suck a couple of marks into your skin.

“So fucking good for me- God, ____, you’re everything -”

“Zayne,” You tug on his hand, trying to pull his fingers free from inside you, “I need you. Please, please -”

He can’t resist you begging, he can’t help himself when you start mewling those words against his lips, your hands digging into his lower back. He positions himself at your wet heat, shuddering with each inch you accept him. You gasp when he thrusts a little too hard, but when he checks your face to make sure he didn’t hurt you, you’re watching him with a searingly needy expression. You want him, you tell him so with every clench of your walls around his cock, and so he lets his dick slide inside you all the way, his thighs already shaking.

He’s pathetic.

“Fuck, fuck - hgn - oh god, it’s so good, ___. So fucking good for me,” He begins a steady pace, slower than he needs, but it’s enough to have you arching into him, your pretty tits lifted to his waiting mouth, and he moans loudly, without abandon, as your hands reach up to flatten on the headboard. You’ve never done this, and yet he’s the one who feels like he’s never been fucked before. You’re rolling your hips, rocking up to take his cock, and he can feel his balls clenching with the need to come, “Tell me I can come - tell me - let me come, please, beautiful, I need to fuck my cum into this pussy,”

“Please,” You groan, “you can come. Please, I need it so bad -”

“Fuck,” He’s going to come, he’s reaching the point of no return and he’s barely been inside you ten seconds. He slides his hand between your bodies, rubbing at the hard little nub above where he’s sliding into you. You’re gripping him so tight he can barely speak. He’s dreamed of making you beg for his cock, of making you tell him how bad you need it, but in the end he’s the one begging you.

“Please, please, oh fuck, ___. I’m coming -” He grunts, “Say my name, fuck - hgn, please. Please say my name - I fucking love you. Say it for me -” His words break off into a moan as you come all over his cock, your body clenching, eyes rolling back. You’re chanting his name, calling it into the empty room, making his fucking life.

He follows you with several jagged, deep thrusts, fucking you up the bed until your head reaches the headboard. He has a few brain cells left to place his hand between you and the wooden surface, and then he allows himself a couple more rough rolls of his hips that have you shaking.

The silence afterwards is broken only by your breaths. Zayne’s head is on your chest, listening to the way your heart hammers beneath him. He can’t move, his legs have lost all feeling and he enjoys the way you run your fingers through his hair. He nuzzles into your sweaty skin and glances up at you. You’re smiling, glowing like you do in his dreams, and he almost wants to pinch himself.

He raises himself up onto his forearms, just about managing to make his legs work enough to hover over you, his lips pressed to yours. He whispers how much he loves you, how long he’s loved you, and you don’t say it back yet, but you kiss him deeply. He relishes in this sweet moment, a whole new beginning, and for the first time when it comes to you, he’s not scared.

[cressidagrey]

Building Blocks

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: How to parent a genius: A guide by Oscar Piastri.

Notes: Because I felt like it was very mean to just give you "half" a new piece of writing, with an edited version, here you have some fluff!

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had long since accepted that he was raising a genius.

It wasn’t the kind of genius that screamed for attention or rattled off multiplication tables at age two (though she could, and did, if she was annoyed enough). No, Bee’s genius was different—patient, precise, methodical in a way that sometimes made Oscar forget she was still learning how to tie her shoes consistently.

At the moment, she was halfway through assembling the LEGO® Technic Ferrari Daytona SP3—3,778 pieces, ages 18+, and she was building it upside down just for fun.

Oscar had found it complicated enough to need a YouTube tutorial and was now trying to attach one very specific connector piece. It was not going well.

“Papa,” Bee said gently, not even looking up from her own section, “that axle doesn’t go there. It’s a two-length, and you’re using a three. That’s why the gearbox won’t sit flat.”

Oscar blinked. “How do you see that?”

She shrugged. “I counted the ridges.”

Of course she had.

He changed the piece, and—miraculously—it clicked into place.

They were seated on the living room rug, surrounded by plastic trays of sorted bricks and half-finished subassemblies. 

Oscar had tried giving her a kid’s set once this year. Something with animals. She’d built it in seven minutes, asked him if it was a prank, and requested the Lamborghini Sián FKP 37 next.

He looked at her now—curled over her build instructions, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, tiny fingers moving with frightening efficiency—and wondered, not for the first time:

How do you race a kid like this?

Not race in the literal sense.

 Race in the life sense.

How do you raise someone who could probably code her way into a Mars rover before she loses her first tooth?

 How do you parent brilliance?

Oscar loved her completely. That part was easy.

 But raising her… it sometimes felt like trying to build IKEA furniture with the instructions written in Latin while she translated them into quantum theory beside you.

When Bee was two, he’d brought home a simple Lego castle. The 5+ kind. Pink turrets. Smiling bricks. It had taken her twenty-four minutes. No instructions. One correction.

They moved to the 10+ sets after that. Then 12+. 16+.

Now they didn’t bother with age labels. If it didn’t come with multiple gear assemblies and at least two bags of axles, she got bored.

He leaned back, stretching out his legs as she sorted bricks with the focus of someone solving a global crisis. Her curls were pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, and she was humming to herself—some hybrid of Beethoven and the Paw Patrol theme. A mix of classical and chaos. Just like her.

And Oscar found himself smiling.

 “Do you think you’ll want to build real cars one day?”

Bee paused. Thought. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll restore cars like Mama does. I like knowing why something works. Why people make the choices they do.” She looked up at him. “I like your choices.”

Oscar’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“You do?”

She nodded. “You always come home. Even when you go far.”

He swallowed. 

Bee smiled, then reached for another piece, her tiny hands precise. “Mama said you have to go race soon.”

“Yeah. In Japan.”

She nodded. “Don’t forget my shirt.”

Oscar smiled, eyes crinkling. “Never.”

They worked in silence for a while. The only sounds were the click of Lego pieces and the distant hum of the dishwasher.

Oscar watched her move—steady, focused, brilliant. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t question herself. She just knew what she wanted to build and made it happen.

He was raising a genius.

 And not just the kind with facts in her head—though there were plenty. She had empathy. Precision. Curiosity.

And she scared the hell out of him.

 In the best way.

The thing was, Bee wasn’t just smart. Lots of kids were smart. Bee was something else entirely. Curious in a way that never stopped. Observant in ways that made you feel like she could see under your skin if she tilted her head right.

She didn’t just memorize—she understood.

She asked how DRS worked when she was two and followed up with, “But doesn’t that affect battery deployment?”

She once looked at telemetry on Oscar’s laptop and said, “Why are you lifting before Turn 9 now?” and then told him why when he didn’t answer fast enough.

And somehow, she still wanted him to sit beside her while she built things. Still curled up under his arm during movie night. Still called him Papa like it was magic.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, watching her snap together a section of bricks like she'd been born doing it.

“How’d you get so smart?” he asked softly.

Bee didn’t even pause. “Because you and Mama never make me feel weird for asking questions.”

Oscar blinked. His throat tightened.

“You don’t get mad when I want to read the building manual instead of the storybook,” she continued, turning the model gently to check the incline. “And Mama says it’s okay to love logic and glitter.”

Oscar nodded slowly, words caught somewhere between pride and awe.

He watched her now, slotting in a gear mechanism with tiny fingers and utter focus, her brow furrowed like a seasoned engineer.

How do you raise a kid who’s already looking three steps ahead?

Who watches a race and times pit stops with a stopwatch app she downloaded herself?

 Who reads two books a week and corrects the science in children's cartoons?

You don’t try to match her, Oscar thought.

You just show up.

You sit on the floor and sort the bricks. You listen when she talks about dolphins and binary code in the same breath. You answer every question, no matter how bizarre. You fold the shirts. You build the drawer. You take her seriously, because she always takes you seriously.

“Papa?”

Oscar looked up. “Yeah?”

Bee held up a completed axle assembly, expression bright. “Do you want to click this piece into place?”

He smiled. “Will you judge me if I get it wrong again?”

“Only a little.”

“Deal.”

He snapped the piece in. She double-checked it, nodded solemnly, and handed him the next one.

Oscar didn’t know how to raise a genius.

But he was learning how to build with one.

 Moment by moment.

 Brick by brick.

[eldragon-x-moved]

Top three insane and concerning Odile dialogues to me. Like the obvious reading here is that her problems will be solved because the King is going to kill her. And I do wonder if, aside from being pessimistic/trying to be realistic, she was straight up prepared to sacrifice herself.

As soon as she joins the party she expresses that she doesn't like the idea of leaving the fate of the country up to Mirabelle and Isabeau because they're younger than her. She says she's willing to do horrible things to protect the party on a family quest route. She learns some kind of craft that stops Siffrin from looping in Act 5. I don't think it's straight up Time Craft, which - as a reminder - could kill the user, but I can imagine it's still dangerous seeing as it's powerful enough to interact with Time Craft. And in the tutorial event, she puts herself between Siffrin and the rest of the party.

I don't think her potentially expecting to die against the King is her just throwing the towel either. She keeps emphasizing how the party has to be prepared and in top condition for the battle. It's more of a "if someone has to die, I'll take the bullet" kinda scenario.

That being said there's still the "One way or another part." which makes me wonder. Assuming she lives, her problems still extend beyond just the party splitting up. But going throught her friend quest, I guess she kinda accepted that trying to find closure in Vaugarde isn't going to be as fulfilling as she hoped and trying to make sense of her ties to it and how it informs her sense of self is going to be more complex than she expected.

But then, maybe the reason she expected her problems to be solved "one way or another" soon is because she expected she'd finally have the courage to ask the party to keep traveling together without worrying about the King?

The game keeps bringing up how the party has only known each other for a short time but a few months is long enough to get attached, especially if you've been by yourself for a long time like Siffrin or never quite found your place in your usual life like Mirabelle.

Maybe Odile doesn't even have that much to go back to in Ka Bue. Before it's revealed that everyone would like to stay together, Mirabelle seems content to stay on Dormont despite feeling insecure about her percieved lack of progress living in the House. Odile says once everything's over maybe she'll go back to Ka Bue but she isn't neccessarily eager to. Isabeau is the only one who really expresses wanting a change in his life once the King's defeated but even then it's kinda assumed he goes back to his town.

Bonnie is a little bit of an outlier here because of course they'd want to go back to their sister, but they still prefer that she comes along with them once they party makes it to Bambouche.

Maybe all Odile really wants right now is to not be left behind again.

[nerdygirlramblings]

cw: poorly executed accents, technological inaccuracies

previous

Over the week between Laswell requesting you go off your scent blockers and the charity event, the barracks slowly carries lingering traces of sun-ripened berries and arid soil, your natural scent. The team is entranced. It hasn't escaped any of them how well your scent compliments theirs. You and Gaz smell like all the best parts of springtime. Simon's sharp acidic scent is tempered by your sweetness. When you and Soap are together, it's hard not to picture seaside picnics. And when Price is in the room with you, the others are remembering crisp, cozy autumn days.

Your natural scent grows as the blockers work their way out of your system, as does your control over it. "How'd ya learn that, Ren?" Price asks one night, back to you as he stirs his tea. As soon as you picked up on his steps, the strawberry sweetness in the air decreased.

The couch creaks as you shift to face him, turning away from the dossiers on the low table in front of you. "After I presented, Dad used ta pull me inta the kitchen for lessons. He told me ta picture my scent like the dials on an equalizer. Taught me how I could ground myself ta turn the volume down on any particular smell. Especially how I could dampen things like fear. And, of course, how to project certain scents."

Your eyes leave his face, looking at the wall instead. "Being an omega in the service is hard, so I used the blockers because conscious scent manipulation takes a bunch of energy, and I wanted ta focus my energy on the job." You drop your voice and whisper, "And I didn't want ta spend all my energy on something that essentially soothed an alpha's ego."

He comes over and sits with you. "Well, if ya choose, after this op, ya don't need ta go back on 'em. Ya don't gotta protect me and Ghost." He grins and bumps your shoulder, and if he's hoping that you off your blockers means the pack can have a proper scenting, he gives nothing away.

The night of the op finds you in a fancy hotel room somewhere in St. James, several floors above the charity event. You're set up into adjoining rooms: one for you and one for the rest of the team. The other room will serve as the communication hub while you and Gaz - because Price saw how your scent was affecting Soap, the doe eyes he turned on you when you weren't paying attention, and didn't trust him to be able to focus on the op if he were at your side - go to the auction to find Arella.

You'd gone shopping with Adam several days before, under Kate's orders to get appropriate attire. The dress he put you in is more extravagant than anything you would ever have selected, but after a few quick photos to Kate who deemed it perfect, it was off the rack and in your hands. Strapless with a fitted bodice with enough structure to hold you and a skirt that flowed like water, except because it's steel grey, it moves more like liquid metal. There's a sizable slit, up to your thigh but is mostly hidden in the folds of silky fabric, which allows you quick access to the tiny holster you strapped there.

Fashion was never something you were interested in, so Adam took it upon himself to find some simple YouTube makeup tutorials, then made sure you had all the necessary products. You were annoyed about the hassle with the makeup, so Adam made sure the hair tutorial was simple yet elegant and didn't require a mountain of products to pull off.

Though you were going in without scent blockers, Kate didn't plan to risk you, even with the support of a beta, to an alpha's teeth. She had Adam buy the most intricate collar necklace you'd ever seen. Geometrically structured with metal rods, it seemed more like a piece of art than a piece of jewelry. When you draped it across your neck and collarbone, it prevented an alpha from getting his teeth on your scent gland but still allowed you to project your scent unencumbered.

Being undercover didn't allow for the traditional communication hardware, so the boys had come up with an ingenious pair of earrings whose large geometric wrap both matched the necklace and served as an earpiece. They also fitted a mic into the structure of your necklace. The whole task force would be with you all night.

When you finish getting dressed and fixing both hair and makeup to the best of your ability to follow Adam's selected videos, you knock on the door between the room you'd been assigned and where the rest of your pack task force is preparing. You need both your escort and your comms before you head for the lift.

An hour later and you're on your second circuit of the room, Gaz at your elbow, holding your drink. There will be some expectation to drink while you're here, but Price had taught you ways to make it look like you were drinking or as though you did not need a refill during those trainings at the pubs around base. Static crackles in your ear and you hear Price's baritone come through as if he were standing beside you. You've practiced not reacting when the comms go off, but you're still a little startled. "No sign of Arella yet, but Spinner's on the far side a' the room, left a' the bar but looking out on the dance floor."

Neither you nor Gaz is in a position to see him, so Gaz lightly takes your hand and guides you toward the balcony door with a hand low on your back. It allows you both to get quick glimpses of the man, older, polished, and with a petite blonde dressed in ice white standing very close. Though you're too far to see any potential mating mark, she's wearing a collar necklace not dissimilar to yours.

"I think Spinner's got an omega with him," you say. "I might be able ta get information from her if I get her alone. "

"Appreciate the initiative, Ren," price rumbles, "but she's not our priority. Technically, neither's Spinner, but it's good ta keep eyes on 'im just in case." He pauses momentarily before coming over the comms again with, "Not going ta tell ya not to talk ta her if the situation arises, but stay on mission."

"Copy that, Captain," you respond.

Waiting for Arella gets frustrating especially as you watch people continually approach Spinner, who's taken up residence at a high top table on the outskirts of the party. You snatch the champagne flute from Gaz's hand and quickly tip the contents back. Squaring your shoulders, you look at him and say, "Dance wi' me." For a moment all he does is look at you, and you can't read the emotion in his eyes. You power through and tell him, "If we're dancing, we can get closer ta Spinner's table and pick up snatches of conversation. "

Pulling back, you search his face. "I know ya've got the hardware on yer phone ta clone Arella's device with some prolonged exposure, but is it possible fer it ta pick up short bursts a' data off other phones it's near?"

Gaz looks at you in awe. "Ren, that's brilliant! Cap, ya hear that suggestion?"

"Affirmative," Price replies, "but I'll be damned if I understand it."

"Just get the systems on yer end ready fer a massive data dump. It's gunna be fragmentary. Laswell's analysts are gunna have a hell of a time going through it. We may need ta send them some whiskey and good cigars, but honestly, if this pans out even a little bit, we'll be able to get a ton a' information on the kinds of people Spinner's meeting with. Maybe Arella's is not the only one who's dirty."

Once they get to go ahead from Price, Gaz pulls you close and takes to the dance floor. You'd learned how to dance once, long ago, but it's clear this man is trained. He waltzes you through the crowd near to the edge where Spinner's settled, and you hope to hell this idea works.

next

an: this is sort of what I envisioned for Ren's necklace, but more modernist straight lines

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @ghost-is-my-bbg @wolfbc97

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Yandere! Sung Jinwoo x Player! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚��𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨��𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 025 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, yandere Jinwoo au ]

┈➤ ❝ [ Ｌ　ｏ　ａ　ｄ　ｉ　ｎ　ｇ. . . ] ¡! ❞

You never really thought about it, you just downloaded Solo Leveling's new game out of excitement to want to see your precious Jinwoo on screen. Perhaps you're here to re-experience the story, or maybe you want to help him grow better. Or just watch him entirely.

After all, you played this game to see him.

Leveling him up as much as you can, getting frustrated when you run out of keys, gold and materials to max him out— You became obsessed with this game just as fast you became with the main protagonist,...

Not knowing that he could feel your drilling gaze on him.

Jinwoo really doesn't know how this happened. He just had a good hot shower after finishing a high ranked gate and sprawled on his bed like a starfish the moment he was done with his nightly routine.

Then all of the sudden, he awakened in the body of his pathetic self. The him he hated so much. He wanted to thrash around, feel his face, or even speak. But in the end, he is somehow stuck on making mundane things. Saying cheesy lines that internally makes him wretch.

Jinwoo felt so disgusted when he sees himself in the reflection on the puddles of water. Unkept hair that looks like it hasn't been brushed for days. His small stature lacking any muscles, he's built like a twig and Jinwoo cant help but feel a huge douse of fury washing over him.

He even tries to make contact with his old friends. He cant say or control his body, but he could atleast control the movement of his eyes. He tried staring at Ju-hee's face even. But he soon realized that she's not really there. it's like she's a hollow machine spatting out whatever.

He tried to summon his shadows who were thankfully still with him, but he could tell that his children are all asleep despite him trying his best to wake them up telepathically.

But most of all, he could feel your eyes on him. He could hear your taps against something. It took Jinwoo a bit of time to realize that he himself— Is actually in a game and you are the player, the player that is controlling him like a damn puppet.

He hated it at first really, he could hear your excited squeals and his head even spins when you toss your phone around when he does something remotely basic. When you spin him around he craves to reach his hand out and shake you as punishment for making him go around and around like some sort of carousel.

Jinwoo had no choice but to be patient with you.

Even as he wants to sigh in defeat whenever you level up the wrong stats, even as you prioritize the wrong things, even as you skip reading important tutorials, even as you level up the wrong artifacts when they have the shittiest substats ever.

Really, sometimes, he just internally begs for you to stop playing the game and let him go. Maybe if you stop, he would wake up and go back to his mundane everyday life.

Though to his dismay, you kept playing everyday ceaselessly. Leveling him up, getting excited over events, feeling victorious whenever you win even with your ridiculously poorly built weapons and artifacts or pulling something good in the gacha system.

At least you're trying to take good care of him in a way, he appreciates that somehow.

But the more time spent, the more Jinwoo is learning.

While you're oblivious to everything and just blindly charging head-first in the game. Jinwoo spends that time learning about you.

He knows at least that he isn't someone real in your world, and he is nothing more than a figment of someone's imagination.

And most importantly, he is apparently your favourite character.

The thought of it made him shudder with cringe honestly.

Like come on, seriously?

Choose better you dimwit.

Of course, that sent him in a whole spiral of existential dread. Even as he isn't in a mood for anything. He cant really voice it out or do anything about it since you are technically his master and he is depresisngly bound to do whatever you wish.

Ah, but who is he again? Jinwoo.

Sung Jinwoo, The Shadow Monarch.

Just like before, Jinwoo will swallow the system. But this time, he's not just going to hack the game code— He will swallow your entire phone system.

Take it as a revenge for making him live through his E-ranked days again.

... At least that's what he plans but instead he craved to wash his eyes out with soap.

The amount of edits you have of him in your phone, the many many screenshots of him you have in your gallery— God, he just wanted to die actually.

Then again, he died a number of times and still woke up again so he's just pulling his leg here.

As frustrating it is, Jinwoo wa slowly finding himself getting attached to you.

From dreading your daily log-ins to actually looking forward to the time you log-in. He even memorized the exact time you usually open the game.

With his little tinkering here and there, he started helping you out with your gacha luck. From usually hitting hard pity to get something good to suddenly frequently having red appear despite being at low pity.

He cant really intervene with the system blindly since you will get suspicious so he starts manipulating the codes into making you have better artifacts and substats. You're not that stupid to keep the shitty ones anyway so he's thankful for that.

Slowly, slowly, Jinwoo's mind deteriorated from simple endearment to outright obsession in a span of a few days or weeks— He can't really tell when he started to become attached to you, his dearly beautiful master.

It never really sunk in how much he adored you until you opened another game you've stopped playing because of him. Jinwoo was so infuriated he almost made your phone shut down since he was in charge of it's system now.

He badly wanted to destroy your account in that game but refrained from doing so since he didn't want you to become upset.

Through hovering around in the code like a boogeyman, he could see that you display signs of attachment to these insignificant characters.

These damn fools aren't even aware of your affections and are just hollow dolls made up of codes. They're nothing more than fools just doing whatever the fuck they were programmed to do.

Jinwoo gets increasingly pissed off when you grind someone else's materials, when you giggle and kick around whenever you hear and read a line from them. Veins would pop angrily from Jinwoo's jaw, almost as if they could burst any moment.

But he had to keep his cool.

He had to endure them since atleast they're making you happy even if he entirely hates the premise of something else stealing your smiles away from him.

Jinwoo behaved relatively well until you decided to abandon him just to grind for another goddamn character you're pining to get.

Jinoo prayed it'll only be for one day, but soon lost his mind when you decided to ignore him for a total of 2 weeks just to get that fucking bastard home. He found it so disgusting that someone else dared to be the apple of your eye. That fucker made you hit hard pity when he in comparison just gives you whatever you want. It fucking pissed him off on another level.

Of course, you decided to pop right back in the moment you get that character from another game.

But Solo Leveling suddenly felt weird.

The game wasn't really buggy or anything, it looked normal but somehow— Somehow, you could feel a pair of eyes watching you the whole time. it was an eerie feeling but you just shrugged it off as you having a weird sense of gut feeling.

But ah, it started to make you feel horrified whenever you play the game.

You try to move to another game, but somehow you cant get them to open. You tried to reinstall and install again but it wont budge. Even as you moved to another device it wont work.

All your games wouldn't work except for Solo Leveling itself.

Left with no other choice, you start grinding him again.

You often forget that weird feeling you have stirring in the pit of your stomach.

However, sometimes, you could catch a glimpse of Jinwoo's eyes— Glancing right back at you even when you didn't manipulate the screen into making it that way.

You shrug it off as a weird bug in the game or your eyes just casually playing tricks on you.

But one day when you left your screen hanging for a few minutes since you had to do some chores, you go back just to see Jinwoo's grey eyes staring at you.

Even as you try to move around, his pupils would follow your movement like a hawk.

Back turned, a form straight and poise— You are sure that he really is looking at you.

Attempting to exit the game was to no avail, since your screen would freeze.

Turning off the button served no purpose either.

And finally, Jinwoo would move on his own, his tailcoat swishing around as he finally turns to meet your gaze with purple orbs glowing so eeriely like the devil reincarnated.

His mouth would move, mouthing so sweetly with his deep voice vibrating through your whole body "You really should have just stayed put, otherwise, I wouldn't have resorted to this."

A hand would suddenly burst from your screen a strong hand firmly holding your wrist. Long and elegant digits were on your skin now, the grip so firm it made you shudder. You weren't given any time to panic or scream for help as you were suddenly yanked in roughly but also gently.

Your eyes would be shut tight, your body shivering from fright as the strong hold on your wrist still stayed.

Then, an arm would find it's way around your waist— Making your orbs shot wide open as they now once again meets with another's gaze.

The gaze you have been staring for so long, the slanted deep eyes the were seemingly carved out of the finest gemstones, eyebrows steady and straight as if it were drawn by the most talented artist, his nose and jawline perfectly angled that felt like it was god himself who carved this divine appearance so that no man could ever match against his unflawed features.

Jinwoo.

Sung Jinwoo

"Locking you out of your other accounts worked at first, but then it started to rub me wrong," Jinwoo starts, his deep voice seeming to echo inside your eardrums as he shifts your hand to his chest where you can feel two distinctive heartbeats drumming against his ribcage. "Maybe I'm guilty for making you frustrated, after all, you tried your best to get into them just to see those pesky imbeciles."

He then continues, "Of course, I could always lift the binds that I placed down. But even the idea of your pretty eyes looking at something else set me off"

"So instead of making you suffer with bullshit you shouldn't, I decided it's high time I bring you home with me. After all, you've always been begging for me, I'll grant your wish."

With a firm grasp around your chin now, he pulled you close, his lips crashign against yours for a heated kiss. Your heart would leap out of your chest, each flick of Jinwoo's tongue tickling and swirling against yours making your inside itch to burst. As you both floated in the dark abyss, your thoughts are put into a screeching halt as Jinwoo continues his assault on you.

Each rub of his slender fingers made you shudder, one arm still firmly around your waist while the other tangled itself in your locks to gently massage your scalp in order to make you melt into his embrace once more.

The more he kissed you so lovingly and possessively— The more the light behind him grew stronger.

And as it engulfed the both of you in it's cold embrace— Your conciousness was eaten away.

The next thing you knew, you are awake in Jinwoo's bed with the hunter himself cradling you in his arms while on his phone.

He had wrapped you in his blanket in a cozy way, one hand still playing with the back of your head as he kept it resting on his shoulder like a pillow.

"You're awake," Jinwoo cooes, tossing his phone down lazily as he presses his lips against your forehead sweetly. "It's still early in the morning, go back to sleep, we'll talk later about your new life and some... Rules you're going to be living with now. But you'll be good and follow them for me, right?"

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[laro80]

KIRYU AS YOUR BOYFRIEND — PART 1

— He has a strange but adorable obsession with your cheeks

Ever since he first saw you, he hasn’t dropped this habit. From the moment you two started getting to know each other — and especially once you became a couple — as soon as he got comfortable around you (which didn’t take long), he hasn’t stopped poking and squishing your cheeks like dough for making bread.

He does it every chance he gets. Doing homework? Cheeks. Watching a movie? Cheeks. Eating? Still cheeks.

“Mitsu, I’m busy” you frowned, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as you worked on some burgers.

“And…? Your hands are still free to cook” he let out a mischievous laugh while reaching out to touch your cheek, leaning casually against the counter.

You sighed and rolled your eyes “You know what I mean!”

“You can’t ask for the impossible!” he whined before cupping your face with both hands and gently turning your head to make you look at him “Your cheeks are just so squishy and soft!”

— He probably knows more about skincare and makeup than you do, and he takes really good care of your skin

On social media, he gets tons of videos about makeup tips and skincare products that are perfect for maintaining healthy skin.

Kiryu doesn’t hesitate to try them out — but only after making sure they’re safe and checking all the comments for reviews.

Every now and then, when you're spending a lazy afternoon at your place, he’ll show you the tutorials he found (always simple but pretty looks, often featuring soft pastel tones).

And every night you spend together, you two do a full skincare routine — creams, masks, cleansers — everything. He helps you through it all.

“Oh! It’s pink and has little watermelon slices on it!” you exclaimed with sparkles in your eyes as you pulled the new mask out of the bag “And it smells like watermelon too!”

Kiryu smiled, watching you through the mirror’s reflection.

“I knew you’d like it” he said as he finished applying his own mask and then turned to face you. “Come here, I’ll help you put it on” he added gently, brushing strands of your hair aside and clipping them back with care.

— He doesn’t like seeing you in a bad mood or serious, so he has a peculiar way to make you smile

I mean, who likes seeing their partner truly upset, especially if it’s because of a joke? No one, obviously. And sometimes it’s hard to get your partner to talk and forgive you. But Kiryu? Kiryu doesn’t just stand there with his arms crossed.

The moment he sees your bottom lip pout and your brow slightly furrowed, he pounces on you to attack with… tickles!

“Sweetie, why won’t you talk to me?” he asked for the third time while you turned your back to him, arms crossed. “Come on… talk to me…” he insisted, trying to turn you around but failing “Is it because I said you’re terrible at the game? You know I’m not serious!”

You didn’t answer. Kiryu sighed, looking defeated. Or so you thought.

His hands hovered near your ribs without touching them, and before you knew it, you were laughing uncontrollably as his fingers found your most ticklish spots. “Hey! No! Stop! STOP!” you begged seconds later, both of you on the floor — him on top, you beneath “Okay! OKAY, ALRIGHT, ALRIIGHTTT!!!”

He stopped when he was satisfied, seeing your frown had disappeared. Looking at you with intense but loving eyes, he made you blush.

“Feeling better now?” he asked softly, a sweet but cheeky smile playing on his lips. “I really like it when your cheeks are red” and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

— He loves you in many ways, but kissing your hand is his favorite language

Kiryu loves showing you affection — whether it’s through little gestures, small gifts, actions, or words. But if there’s something he does over and over, almost without thinking, it’s kissing your hand.

Anytime you’re holding hands — whether you're talking, walking, or just sitting in comfortable silence — he gently lifts your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles. He doesn’t announce it, and he’s not trying to get your attention. He does it like it’s second nature, like your hand has a magnetic pull for his affection.

Sometimes he does it with a faint smile, sometimes without even looking at you, but always with that tender gesture that says more than words ever could.

You were walking through the streets after spending the afternoon together, just enjoying the last moments of daylight before the night arrived. You were telling him a story — something that had happened to you earlier that day — and he was listening intently.

That’s when you felt him take your hand, gently intertwine his fingers with yours, and lift it toward his face to press a sweet, soft kiss against it.

Even though he had done it countless times before, it still caught you off guard. And when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you — that gentle smile on his lips making your cheeks flush warm.

[I wanted to draw Kiryu for this post but I don't have timeeee. I have it but in sketch, it's not finished]

[gilverrwrites]

Two Wrongs

Roy Harper/Reader, 1.1K words Kinktober entry 14: Voyeurism Warnings: (Accidental) Non-con voyeurism | Tight spaces Requested by: Authors choice

Watching your roommate getting off through a crack in his wardrobe door certainly wasn't how you’d planned to spend your evening, but it was just one of those situations, you know, like quicksand, once you're in, it becomes increasingly difficult to get back out.

It had all started months ago when he had eaten the last of your leftover pizza. You'd gotten him back by putting glitter in one of his caps. He'd retaliated by stealing ALL of your socks, so you'd tied all of his shoes together by their laces with the most complex knots you could find tutorials for online. The war had been raging ever since. Most recently, Roy had ‘you-proofed’ every drawer, cabinet, and door in the apartment with a bunch of contraptions of his own design. Many of which now lay broken in his scrap bin, destroyed by your impatience.

You'd been in the process of hiding a series of miniature Green Arrow figures around his bedroom when he’d unexpectedly arrived home early. With zero forethought, you'd simply thrown yourself into his closet and hoped he'd either leave or fall asleep soon. Neither were the case.

You watched through a seam in the hatch as Roy entered his room, your jaw falling slack when he'd immediately unzipped his cargo trousers and started palming his dick through his boxers upon closing the door.

He doesn't bother surveying his surroundings, why would he? This should be his safe space. As he approaches the bed, he kicks off his shoes and socks. You're treated to the sight of his captivatingly firm and freckled ass when he removed his bottoms before finally, he falls unceremoniously upon the bed, still donning his cap and tank top.

You shouldn’t look, you tell yourself. You absolutely should not look. This is a huge breach of trust, and you'd never intended to see Roy naked, at least not like this. Yet, a depraved curiosity possesses you.

It's big. Bigger than you’d imagined, but not intimidatingly so. More, mouth-wateringly so. Thick, cut, straight, and surrounded by a thicket of fiery red hair to match that on his head.

The whole scene is strangely hypnotic; his even, rhythmic strokes, the sordid slap of his spit-slicked hand meeting the base of his cock while he so casually scrolls through his phone. You could watch him all day, but you can't. This goes far beyond a prank, and it certainly isn't fair to him.

You're not brave enough to come clean, you've seen too much. So you gently lean away from the door, closing your eyes and trying to block out the raunchy sound of Roy's heavy breathing until it’s over. Hopefully, he’ll shower or fall asleep after and you can sneak out then.

You're not expecting to hear a voice, so your heart almost stops when you hear someone squeal his name. Shit. Had he called someone? Was he seeing someone? You're struck with a pang of jealousy until you realise the voice in question is your own.

“Ahh, Roy! Are you filming me?” It’s quiet, and tinny but there’s no doubt in your mind. You can even recall when he’d recorded it; Back in the early days of your prank battle, on a hot summer day. You'd been strewn out on the couch, half-asleep in a moderately skimpy outfit that you certainly hadn’t hoped would grab Roy’s attention when you'd noticed him hovering over you with his camera. At the time you’d just assumed it was ammo for some harmless joke. Evidently not.

Peeking through the door again, you watch once more as he continues to stroke his dick, freckled cheeks growing ruddy, jaw tight as he loses himself more and more, eyes fixate on his phone screen as he uses his thumb to repeatedly rewinds back to the first few seconds of the clip. “Ahh, Roy! Ar- Ahh, Roy! Are y- Ahh, Roy!”

The debauched symphony of Roy getting off to the sound of your voice has your body feeling feverish, and you have to fight the urge to grind your nails into the wooden panel that separates you from your housemate. You’re not sure which you want more, to stuff your hand between your legs and knead you’re aching sex in time with Roy’s thrusts, or to exit your hiding spot, climb his husky, tattooed body, and ride him until you’re both completely and utterly fucked. Paralyzed by indecision, you instead watch him, restlessly motionless as he starts to lose control.

The phone falls from Roy’s hand as he bucks his way to the finish line, your name becoming a quiet, breathless prayer on his lips whilest he fucks into his hand from beneath. His eyes close, and he chews on his bottom lip, muscles growing tight until he finds his climax. You watch spellbound as an obscene amount of thick, white cum leaks from his cock, dripping down onto his hand. Wilder, stray droplets launch high, landing on his shirt but Roy neither cares nor notices as he writhes deeper into the mattress, riding out a full body high until he has nothing left to give.

You’re just as fascinated, watching him lay near motionless, enjoying the aftershock, as you had been observing the climax. There had always been tension between the two of you, but you’re starting to realise that you might be down worse than you’d thought.

Eventually, Roy returns to the land of the living, slowly shifting back up. With his clean hand, he removes his cap and pulls his soiled shirt over his head, using it to mop up the mess he’d made of himself and throwing it out of your limited line of sight. Whatever he was aiming for, you don’t doubt he made the shot.

Though you’re disappointed that the show is over, you’re growing angsty at being confined to the four walls of his closet, so when he kicks his legs over the side of the bed you get excited. The prospect of escape is so close you can taste it, until he grabs his phone once more. If he goes down a rabbit hole, you could be stuck here for hours you think, as he taps away at the touchscreen. You’re about to slink back against the wall and try to get comfortable when you’re heart drops. You feel it first, the buzz in your back pocket followed by the custom ringtone Roy had picked out for himself. Instinctively, your arms fumble to grab your phone and turn it off but Roy’s head has already snapped in your direction, his face looking as pale and as panicked as you feel on the inside.  

If you're reading this, you have impeccable taste.

Kinktober Masterlist

[blackynsupremacy]

CLARK KENT HELPING

YOU TAKE OUT YOUR

BRAIDS HEADCANONS

pairing: henry cavill!clark x blackfem!reader

fandom: DC

this was brewing in my head while actually taking out my braids today. plus, i wanted to give my baby henry a shot at this.

summary: it’s that time again! time to take down those 1-2 month old braids to prepare for your next fresh set. the only problem is, it’s raining, you’re tired, and you know it’s gonna take forever. yeah even getting your hair taken down, washed, detangled, and dried can be a hassle. fortunately, your fiancé, clark kent, is always happy to help with the process.

contains: lots of words, some things are based on true events, self insert, fluff, romance, established relationship, you and clark are simps, you and clark being fine, nudity but no smut, clark being a green flag, cuddling, kissing.

taglist: @rosiestalez @afrowrites @afrogirl3005 @simply-the-best23 @jkr820 @zombiehe4rt @elitesanjisimp @sabrinasopposite @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn

(i know i didn’t ask if ya’ll wanted to be tagged, but y’all are mutuals that consistently interact with my posts, so this is how i’m showing my appreciation! thank you! let me know if any of yall want to be tagged in my next blurb. again thank yall and i love my mutes)

• work was work today.

• it’s raining like hell.

• but good news, you’re getting your hair done this weekend! ain’t nothing like a fresh set of braids.

• the bad news, you gotta take out the old braids, wash/condition/detangle, and blow dry your hair all before your appointment. (yk how these new hair stylists be)

• girl, you’re dead tired, but you know you need to start asap!

• good news again though! your man clark kent is already home and you know he’s always down to help with your hair.

• ya’ll have been dating for 4 years before he popped the question a month ago on your anniversary.

• one thing about clark kent, he’s gonna hype up your hair no matter what style.

• he believes you’re stunning whether you have braids, twists, a lace front, locs, a slick back ponytail, a silk press or, your natural. he loves it!!

• he loves to watch you style it on your own or if you’re following along to a youtube tutorial.

• you’ve taught him a thing or two like taking down braids, detangling, applying edge control, and even helping you to wash and condition it!

• he catches on pretty fast and follows your instructions to a tee.

• his love language is acts of service and when it comes to your hair, he wants to make sure he does it properly.

• he told you he wants to continue learning because he can see himself helping out with your future daughter’s hair, so why not start with his future wife?

• this man is going to be the death of you.

• you see clark sitting on the couch with his laptop. as soon as he hears the door shut followed by your sigh of exhaustion, he’s already putting that to the side and zooming in your direction to take your bag, umbrella, and jacket off your hands.

• this man is teeth rotting sweet. how’d you get so blessed?

• he greets you with a warm embrace and plants a kiss atop of your head. he peeps that new growth, but he won’t mention it until you do.

• you both take a seat on the couch and have a brief conversation about each other’s day. you sigh again and run a hand through your hair one last time.

• “it’s about that time, clark. i’m getting my hair done soon and i need to start taking my braids down, but i’m so tired!”

• you whine and lean your head on his broad shoulder before you peer your “please help me” doe eyes into his blue ones that were hiding behind his glasses. he doesn’t hesitate to keep that eye contact either. it’s so intense yet intimate. you almost look away because even after 4 years, clark can still get you a bit flustered from time to time.

• “baby, would you like to help me out again? i promise you’re not gonna have to do all the work. i just need some assistance to get this done faster.”

• you playfully pout and bat your lashes. you already know the answer, but this brought you joy. you knew he was waiting for an opportunity to help with your hair again.

• he shows off those pearly whites before he enthusiastically responds, “i’d never thought you’d ask. you go change into something more comfortable, i’ll handle the rest, and we can get started.”

• he lays a chaste kiss to your lips and pats your behind to signal for you to handle your business and you don’t hesitate to do so.

• by “handling the rest”, clark gathers the necessities: 2 pairs of scissors, a detangling comb, 4 hair ties for sectioning, a plastic bag from that one drawer in the kitchen, your satin bonnet, and an order of chinese takeout placed on doordash.

• clark was waiting on the couch and he gleamed when he saw you come back clad in a white tank, no bra, grey cotton shorts, and one of his oversized, plaid flannels.

• as soon as you found yourself comfortable on the couch, clark handed you a pair of scissors and ya’ll got to work at cutting the braids shorter before you both section off your hair into 4 parts and start unbraiding from the front.

• you started on the right side, while clark took over for the left.

• you obviously know of clark’s abilities, his extraterrestrial heritage, and his intense duties as superman. he makes sure his powers can be of help in the most important areas of his life, one of them being your relationship.

• he’s had some practice with unbraiding and his fingers moves like clockwork. he moves at a delicate, quick pace and uses his keen eye to make sure your hair doesn’t get tangled or pulled, so there’s no unnecessary breakage. braid by braid, each one is removed out of your head and into the empty, plastic grocery bag that’s placed between you two.

• he’s seen you sometimes get it tangled and you would be quick to just cut it off, but with his aid, you’ve been doing that less frequently.

• after about 30 minutes, clark can already hear the doorbell ring and footsteps walking away. the food’s here.

• he opted for contactless delivery this time because he knew he just had one more braid….and done!

• he urges you to give your hands a break from unbraiding your side and to wash them because your dinner has arrived. he chuckled as you perked up hearing that because you were hon-grey!!

• he also takes it upon himself to gently place your satin, royal blue bonnet on your head.

• it’s his absolute favorite because it’s patterned with his iconic red and gold family crest!

• you have a friend who owns a small business of designing bonnets, durags, and head scarves with the cutest patterns imaginable for black nerds like you.

• they got some with superheroes, anime characters, hogwart house symbols, disney, you name it!!

• 2 years ago, you asked them to commission a bonnet to match his heroic attire.

• this was to show him that you’re proud of his kryptonian roots and that you 100% support him being one of the world’s most selfless heroes along with the other members of the justice league.

• you sometimes worry for his life, but he always tries his best to make it back to you in one piece.

• but girl, that bonnet had him geeking when you showed it to him!! his face heated with a bright hue of pink before he plants a billion kisses all over your face. his voice never ceasing his appreciation and eternal love for you.

• you both chill for a few minutes to eat and watch some tv.

• you stretch your hands, placed your bonnet on the coffee table and resumed to unbraiding the last strand on the front before sectioning it off with a hair tie and starting on the back of the right side. it seems that time moves slower (or faster) as your fingers meticulously unravel each braided strand.

• clark is half way done with his entire side. his brows raise at the sound of your soft groan of what seemed to be pain and exhaustion.

• “babe, my fingers are starting to cramp and so are my arms.” you gripe and pause your movements to massage out the stiffness in your fingers.

• clark also pauses what he’s doing. he delicately grasps your hands into his, sprinkling tiny pecks on each aching knuckle. his pink lips lingers on the rock that adorns the fourth knuckle of your left hand before those baby blues gaze into your own eyes.

• you could clearly see your worn reflection in his pupils, but you lovingly smile as you know what he’s about to say.

• “c’mere, beautiful. let me take care of the rest while you sit and relax. it’s just a few more and it’s nothing i can’t handle, so it’ll be my pleasure.”

• that’s true. clark’s an invincible kryptonian. unless your hair was laced with some green k, a cramp within the joints of his digits wouldn’t be possible. if you ask, he would one day take out your braids all by himself without you having to lift a finger and he’d be in pure bliss of taking that burden off your plate.

• he spreads his thighs apart. the large palms of his hands encircle around your waist to shift your body in between his legs before his fingers get back to tenderly remove the last remaining braids.

• as he does so, you simply enjoy each other’s presence. ya’ll would be cracking jokes, planning suggestions for the wedding, your jobs, and a myriad of other topics to kill time.

• about 30 more minutes pass by and your braids are finally out! he leans back feeling accomplished and marvels at how much your hair has grown over the month.

• “may i?” he politely asks. his expectant eyes glancing into yours for approval.

• “of course, kal.” you grin. it’s like seeing a child light up in a candy store, he’s so elated.

• you feel more at ease and lean into his touch as his fingers lovingly caress through your natural hair and scalp.

• you know that he just wants to feel your hair in it’s natural state. it’s not out of a fetish, but out of pure fascination, so you let him!

• you love that even though you’ve been together for 4 years and he’s helped you with your hair on multiple occasions, the curious kryptonian wonders why he always has to ask you before touching your hair.

• as a journalist, he’s gonna conduct his own research.

• he educates himself and he understands the history of that one boundary in your community, so he always asks you before touching your hair or he waits for you to offer.

• he’s not even human and he understands the basic human decency of not to reach out and touch someone’s hair out of nowhere.

• you sigh in relief and thank clark with a kiss before you go to dispose the plastic bag of worn out braids to the kitchen and into the large garbage can. you turn around and lean up against the sink.

• now it’s time to wash, condition, detangle, and dry.

• clark already knows the next step. he stands from his position on the couch and stretches his back muscles. he moderately saunters to the arched threshold that separates the kitchen and living room. his tall stature works in his favor as he casually raises his arms with his hands gripping the arch that’s a few inches above his head.

• you know exactly what pose i’m trying to poorly describe to the best of my ability. it happens to be one of those non-sexual turn ons that men do without them realizing.

• you go into a bit of a hypnotic state as you stare at his bulging biceps. you also take notice of how his white t-shirt raises up to expose a small section of his sculpted abdomen. the raven tresses on his skin that perfectly matches the messy curls on his head form a trail straight down to his—

• the trance is broken by the baritone voice of your fiancé.

• “my eyes are up here, angel. were you even listening to me?” he flirtatiously quips and tilts his head with a playful smirk curving on his lips, lowering his arms to cross them over his chest.

• like some suave lady killer, he approaches you and places his index under your chin to shift your gaze to his.

• girl, not you getting caught in 4K! you know that man is fine, but you got to finish off your hair. there’s no time to waste when it comes to that, so you must stay focused.

• you can’t help, but feel the heat of embarrassment rush on your melanated cheeks and giggle nervously before you confess.

• “i’m sorry, clark! after all of these years, you still get me sprung. now, what were you saying, boo? ”

• “it’s no worries, (n/n). don’t doubt that you’ve got the same effect on me too.” he blushes himself, beaming at the compliment and pecks your forehead, nose, and lips before he resumes his question.

• “would you like to wash in the sink or shower?”

• he bursts into a joyous laugh as you don’t hesitate to choose the shower.

• of course he was hoping you’d say that, but you shut down the idea because you just want to kill two birds with one stone, wrap this up, and cuddle in bed.

• he understands where you’re coming from and it’s no pressure at all. you both love when you two get down in the bedroom, but you share a common belief that spending quality time is the key to true intimacy.

• he takes your hand and leads you both to your shared bathroom.

• he puts his glasses on the sink, switches on the shower and checks for the perfect temperature that’s not too hot for your scalp, but not too cool for your body.

• you go to obtain large drying towels, african net wash cloths, and disposable shower caps. you then seek out the shampoo, conditioner, and detangling cream to nourish and clean your hair.

• you return to the bathroom with the items and clark gets your second opinion on the water temperature. you get a feel and let him know that it’s just right before you both strip of your clothes until you’re both completely naked. you make sure your engagement ring is placed in the velvet box it came in and set it on your drawer before you both step under the running water.

• clark reaches up to detach the shower head. before making a move, he asks if you need any further assistance in this step and you gladly accept, closing your eyes as he handles the shower head to pre-rinse both of your heads for a well deserved cleaning.

• as he puts the shower head back where it belongs, you let him know that you want to do the shampooing for both you and him.

• yep, clark uses your products on his hair!

• one time after your fifth date, he hugged you and his sensitive nose stealthily picked up on the natural, sweet, and intoxicating scent of the hair lotion that seeped into your scalp. he thought at first it was your perfume, which he loves too, but he was mistaken!

• “my god, you smell amazing.”

• clark takes you out to dinner and feeds your ego! okay, kal-el!

• he couldn’t get enough of it!

• this aroma— it was like something fresh and made from natural ingredients without any harsh chemicals.

• it reminds him of the homegrown warmth and love that his parents, jonathan and martha raised him up in back in smallville.

• if it wasn’t so soon (or the fact that he hasn’t told you his secret then), he would literally fly you out there in 10 minutes.

• when you moved in together, he would sometimes sneak a bit of your shampoo and conditioner in his hair routine once or twice a week until you finally caught up to him!

• you scolded clark a bit for using your products without permission because you would’ve let him use a little if he’d ask and plus, that stuff was expensive!

• he looked genuinely remorseful and apologized. “i’m sorry, (f/n). it was wrong of me to sneak like that, but i just wanted to use it because it’s like i’m taking a part of you with me everywhere i go. that way even though we’re apart, i don’t feel so alone in this universe anymore.”

• that almost had you crying and throwing up. he’s as big a simp for you as you are for him, so you couldn’t stay mad at him!

• you had an agreement to share or double up as long as you both are putting in for it.

• it was definitely no problem for clark because besides it’s sentimental value, it does wonders for his hair! it looks healthier, shinier and it feels softer compared to those 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner concoctions that he’s been using since high school.

• he loves your weekly beauty supply store excursions. he doesn’t care if the 6 items in your cart is $35, he’s paying for it all!

• clark’s aqua pupils observes from behind as you pour a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, rubbing the other against it, and massaging the bubbly, white substance through your scalp. your fingers work to make sure every single hair on your head is lathered in the coconut scented liquid and he notices that you’re careful not to tangle it.

• his own trance is broken by a “your turn! now lean down a bit, my love.” you’re now waiting for him to follow through, leaning his head down and forward to make his now drenched, dark hair right in your view and in your reach.

• he exhales at the contact of the cold shampoo descending on his scalp. as your fingers massage through his hair, his eyes close and a smile of ecstasy plays on his lips.

• your touch, the scent of the product, and the fact that if he opened his eyes again at this very moment, your breasts would be right in his face is clark’s idea of his personal heaven.

• you both take turns to rinse your own hair and each others to double check that all of the suds of the shampoo are gone.

• you repeat the process again, but this time it’s with conditioner. once that’s applied, you both put on the shower caps to let it rest and do its thing.

• you both use that time to talk some more and thoroughly clean your bodies of the filth of the work day using the african net wash clothes and aromatherapy body wash.

• after one last rinse of ya’lls hair, you cut the water off and grab the towels set out to wrap around your soaked bodies and dripping hair before walking to your shared bedroom.

• fortunately, you and clark have your own respective hair dryers, so that step doesn’t take too long before you take on the final boss: detangling.

• still clad in your towels, you and clark apply the detangling cream through your scalps. as he uses his comb to effortlessly rake through his noir mop, you just kind of stand and stare at the detangling brush in your hand.

• if you’re tender headed, you’ve probably lived the nightmare over and over with your heavy handed mother tugging the comb through the knotted ends, jolting your head and neck forward as you whined in pain. of course she got mad at you for that and said that it didn’t even hurt.

• you’re grown now! with your own bills, home, car, job, and man. there’s way more stressful things in the world than getting some knots out.

• you start the teeth of the comb from the root of your hair and hear the wet stickiness of the detangling cream as it glides to the end.

• okay, we’re getting somewhere! no pain or the pulling of knots for the next few strands near the front. now let’s start on the back. comb one, comb two, comb three—

• “ow, ugh!” you yelp. cringing as you hit a knot at the end.

“ woah! sweetheart, are you alright?”

• clark immediately halts his actions and puts his comb down. he takes one step behind you to examine the situation.

“please, lord, don’t tell me it’s tangled that bad.”

• you attempt to comb without breaking your hair out and the more you try, the more painful it gets. your arms and hands started to stiffen again.

• you lowkey wanted to cry because you just want this to be done and sleep peacefully in clark’s arms for the rest of the night.

• you immediately ask clark for help and he once again, comes to the rescue. he was gentle and comforting, but straightforward when it came to getting those knots.

• he talks you through it to make this a little easier.

• “i’m so sorry, honey. this is gonna hurt a bit, but we’re gonna knock these out and go straight to bed in no time, okay? i love you.” he kisses your temple before he proceeds with the task.

• several minutes of detangling are over! clark gets a second shower of kisses all over his face as you thank him again.

• you discard your towels and replace them with your nightclothes. clark’s shirtless with his sweats and you’re comfortable in another one of clark’s shirts with a fresh pair of cotton shorts.

• you put your hair in an afro puff ponytail and as always, you let your fiancé do the honors of placing your superman patterned bonnet on over your hair like a king crowning his queen.

• he looks at you with such pride and joy. seeing you happy feels so good it hurts. it makes him feel as weak as when he’s around green k. maybe even more.

• clark wouldn’t feel too comfortable to wrap his hair up just yet, so you suggested he uses a satin pillowcase instead.

• speaking of pillows, you look at the clock and realize it’s gotten late. you and clark shut off the lights and retire your exhausted bodies into your bed.

• you lay in a fetal position and turn to face him. kryptonians don’t usually need that much sleep as humans do, so you weren’t surprised that he was still awake.

• you both gaze and admire each other in comfortable silence. your hand reaching to his jaw. your brown toned fingertips caress the pale yet angelic face of the man you love. he closes his eyelids and leans into your warm touch.

• like a magnet, you drew closer to his face until your, full yearning lips rested on his. it doesn’t take him a second to melt into it, his hands clinging to your waist to rest your figure on top of his. your palms find themselves to rest on each side of his jawline.

• between each kiss, the moonlight illuminates the wide smiles you exchange to each other.

• after you two get your fill of each other’s affection, you lay your head on clark’s chest with his arms still acting as a shield around your back. he pecks your temple and is pulled in by the music of your steady heartbeat. he looks down to see your eyes pointed toward his and your hands folded flat on his chest.

• “thank you, clark. thank you so much for your help, your patience, your kindness, your love, and your compassion. not to mention that you are so fine, you still get me giggling like a schoolgirl at my big age! whether you’re superman, clark kent, or kal-el, i just thank you for being you. i love you, clark kent and that’ll never change.” your lips curve with a beaming smile.

• “(f/n), you need to know that everything i do, i do it for you and i’d do it again. you’re the most beautiful person and i’m not just talking about your stunning beauty. your heart is golden. despite everything that we’ve been through, it’s always been you. you understand me, you give me grace and hold me accountable, you still believe in me when i don’t even believe in myself. that’s how i knew i had to ask you to marry me, so i love you more, (f/n) kent and that’ll never change.”

• “look at us! we’ve only been engaged for a month and it sounds like we’re exchanging vows already.”

• “that sounds like a great start to me.”

• you both laugh and he gives you one last lingering kiss on your lips. your heads drop and your eyelids close before you take your peaceful slumber in each other’s presence.

[russo-woso]

Pigtails || Alessia Russo x reader

Request Reader and less are parents to a little girl, reader is masc presenting and isnt very clued up on all the girly stuff and reader tries to surprise less with a little family date, so sends less out to get all dolled up with Ella, whilst at home, reader is watching YouTube tutorials on how to do braids in their little girls hair as well as FaceTiming one of the girls to help reader pick out the prettiest little dress for their daughter, basically a bunch of fluff around reader getting their daughter all ready for the family date

Summary In a fashion and hair crisis, you FaceTime Lia and Leah to help pick out your daughters outfit and hairstyle because you have no experience whatsoever

A/N First blurb/fic in celebration of 1.5k 🎉

“Okay sweetheart, you sit right here and I’ll do your hair. What do you want?”

Hair had never been your thing. As a more masculine woman, you’d never cared about your hair - often throwing it up in a bun or ponytail or when Alessia offered wanted to do your hair, a plait.

So sitting here, prepping to attempt your daughter’s hair was going to be an adventure.

You prayed the words pigtails came out off her mouth but your prayers clearly didn’t work and your world came tumbling down.

Okay… maybe that was a tad dramatic but it felt like your world was ending in the moment.

“French plaits please, mama.”

“Oh, Evie… I don’t know how to do Plaits, princess. How about pigtails instead?”

“I want French plaits. Can mummy not come home and do them?” Your five year old asked, turning round on the chair to look at you.

You’d banished your wife from the house for the afternoon, calling her best friend - Tooney of course - to take her shopping, giving Alessia enough money for a new outfit and money to get her nails done.

She’d asked why, but there was no way you were telling her the surprise you’d set up - it was simple really, just a nice meal at a new restaurant - but Alessia loved mini family dates.

“This is a surprise for mummy, remember? So she can’t come back home before we’re ready. Look, I’ll try and do your hair.”

You grabbed your phone, searching for a French plaits tutorial on YouTube.

Your tongue poked out as you concentrated, your fingers crossing the tiny strands of hair on Evie’s head.

You continued watching the video, trying your hardest to plait her hair.

“Too tight, mama.” Evie winced

“Sorry, sweetheart. Honestly, I don’t know how mummy does this. She super mummy isn’t she?” You said with a smile, still fiddling with her hair.

“Uh huh! Super mummy!”

“Hey… didn’t auntie Wally do plaits in your hair once?” You asked, a sudden memory appearing in your mind.

“Yes mama.”

You sighed in relief, knowing Lia would be able to give you a proper tutorial that you could actually understand - unlike the YouTube video.

“Hi Lia, I’m in a bit of a situation. I’m surprising less with a mini date and I’m trying to do Evie’s hair and she wants french plaits and I tried to watch a YouTube tutorial but it’s not working and now I don’t know what to do. Alessia’s going to be home soon and I don’t even—” You rambled as soon as she Lia picked up.

“—Y/N. Breathe.” Lia laughed, shaking her head.

“Okay.” You agreed, taking a deep breath. “I remembered you doing a French plait in Evie’s hair one time at training. I was wondering if you tell me how to do one.”

“Of course. Have you brushed her hair?” Lia asked and you hummed, showing the brush to the camera. “Okay, first off you’re going to…”

“…your going to wrap the hair tie at the bottom and you’re done!” Lia finished as you did the final instruction.

“Oh my god! I did it!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air as you looked at the plaits in Evie’s hair. “Thank you so much, wally. Honestly I owe you big time.”

“You can make it up to me on Monday by being my bodyguard.” Lia suggested whilst you sent her an odd look.

“Why?”

“I bought Leah a ham sandwich but it had mayonnaise in and she bit into it and she got so angry… I ran off but she’ll probably want revenge on Monday. And you’ve got muscles and they’ll come in handy by being my bodyguard.” Lia explained and you laughed, nodding your head.

“Deal. Now speaking of Leah, I’m going to FaceTime her now to get her fashion advice. Thanks again, wally.”

“Right. Show me what we’re dealing with.” Leah said, as you opened Evie’s wardrobe, showing Leah the dresses that were possible options.

“Now, Alessia likes Evie in this dress but this is more of a summer dress and with the weather today… I wouldn’t class it as summer weather.” You told her, looking out the window to see the clouds.

“The denim dress, let me look at that one.”

You pulled it out, showing it to Leah as she inspected it.

“Does it have a bow?”

“Yes it does. At the front.”

“I like it. That one. Can evie try it on?”

“Evie!” You shouted her, as a bundle of footsteps echoed the house.

“Hi auntie le!”

“Hi my girl. Look at your hair? Did your mummy do them?” Leah asked, Evie’s face lighting up as she did a 360 for Leah to see her plaits.

“No, mama did them. She called auntie wally to help her.” Evie explained

“Can’t do anything by herself can she?” Leah teased you as Evie laughed and agreed. “Now, I’ve chosen a dress for you to wear. Can you quickly change into it so I can see if it looks good?”

“Okay.” Evie smiled, grabbing the dress from you.

“You look so pretty, sweetheart.” You told Evie as she finished putting the dress on.

“That’s the one!” Leah exclaimed. “You look gorgeous, Evie.”

“Thanks, auntie le. Oh, mummy’s home!” Evie said, looking out the window as she heard a car door shut.

“Okay, thanks le. I owe you.”

“Actually, I have something you can do for me. Lia bought me a ham sandwich and said it was plain but I had mayo in and I need to get revenge. Can you help come up with an idea?” Leah asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Sure. Look, I need to go. Thanks again.”

“I’m home!” Alessia shouted as she shut the door behind her.

“Hi gorgeous.” You said, you and Evie walking down the stairs.

“Well, you two look dressed up. What’s going on?”

“We are going out for dinner. Tooney should have encouraged you to buy yourself an outfit? That outfits for tonight.” You smiled, Alessia pecking your lips as you finished talking.

“You are the best.” She whispered, squeezing your bicep where your shirt ended.

“Eww!” Evie shouted, covering her eyes as you chased Alessia’s lips one final time.

“Go get ready, love. We’ll be right here waiting.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Alessia pressed a kiss to your cheek, bending down to kiss Evie’s head as well before running up the stairs - stopping half way though.

“Hey, who did Evie’s hair? And who chose her outfit?”

“Me.” You said confidently

“Who did she call?” Alessia asked Evie

“Auntie Lia and auntie le.”

“Surprise surprise. You can’t do anything can you?” Alessia winded you up

“Hey!”

[tonfairy]

Molded Love

pairing : fine arts student bf! anton x fem! reader

genre : fluff, established relationship

wc : 1k

💌 : hello ! this is my first ever fic ❤️‍🩹 this fic was inspired by the pottery episode of surpriize and i really liked it 🙆🏻‍♀️ i also wrote this out of boredom : ) ps .. proofread but there still might be grammatical errors. enjoy <3 !

The bell rings at exactly 4:00 p.m., meaning, your laboratory class is finally over. You start packing up your things and ready to go home — when a text message pops-up, it's Anton.

Are you still coming?

You curse in your head. How can you forget about your plan with your boyfriend? He's probably been waiting for a while now. You rushed to his ceramics studio and as you arrived, you heard a whirring sound of a potter’s wheel — Anton is working already.

You knocked hesitantly, guilt still weighing from the almost-forgotten plan. “Come in,” he said calmly. When you opened the door, you saw your boyfriend seated, working on the pottery. “Oh, you're here!” He greeted you with a soft smile. “Hi baby,” you replied. “I’m sorry, the lab practical had been so long that I went off track. . . I didn't notice the time,” you added. Anton did not respond; he then turned off the potter's wheel and put the greenware on the table along with his other works.

There’s a deafening silence around the studio; neither you nor Anton dares to speak. The awkward silence made you overthink. Is he upset? What should I do?, you wondered, trying to figure out a way forward. The tension on your body is obvious — Anton probably noticed. Your boyfriend went to you after washing his hands. He hugged you and gently planted a kiss on the top of your head before speaking. “How’s your day, love?” he asked. “Kinda stressful and tiring. . ,” you replied. Anton hummed in response. “I had a hard time performing for the lab practical, it’s harder than what I expected,” you added followed by a deep sigh. You felt the hug getting a bit tighter. He stepped back from the hug, gently cupping your face as he looked into your eyes. “I know you did well — I’m always proud of you, baby,” Anton responded before giving you a peck on your lips. You smiled at your boyfriend, overwhelmed by his fondness for you.

“So. . do you still want to learn pottery?or. ..?""Of Course! That’s why I am here, you silly!,” you quickly respond, cutting off your boyfriend’s words. Anton just smiled at how adorable you are. “Wear this,” he said while giving you the apron.

You've always wanted to take up pottery as a new hobby, but you’re not an artistic person, you don’t have a potter’s wheel, and video tutorials just aren’t helping at all. Luckily, your boyfriend is a Fine Arts student—artistic and has actual knowledge of pottery. You and your boyfriend had been planning this session for a while, however, your schedules never aligned, and you both barely had any leisure time during school days. Now that it’s already happening, you waste no time knowing about the hobby you’ve always wanted to learn — even if you almost forget about it.

As Anton prepares the clay, you can’t do anything but worry that you might have messed up — again, it’s noticeable. “Y/N!” your boyfriend called, cueing that the clay was ready to use. You went right away to the wedging table where your boyfriend is. Anton holds your hand before kneading the clay, “I know you're worried, you’ll learn it soon— just enjoy, love,” he reassured you. You smiled as your boyfriend’s words eased your worries.

“You have to knead the clay first so the air bubbles would be released and it will get smoother,” Anton instructed. You follow and start wedging the clay. However, since it's your first time and the clay is dense, it's tough. Of course, Anton helped you until the clay softened. After that, he turned on the potter's wheel. “I’ll go first, baby. Watch me carefully so you’ll have an idea of how to do it, okay?” Anton said as he sat at the potter's wheel. You nodded. Since Anton is already a pro in pottery, he finished shaping the clay in 15 minutes. “What the hell! You're so quick!” you protested on how fast your boyfriend is. “Well… skills you know,” Anton smirks playfully. “I’m not ready yet, Toni..,” you pouted. “Come on baby, you can do it!” he assures you. “Fine,” you responded while positioning yourself at the potter's wheel. Anton is in front of you, his hands are above yours, guiding you as you shape the clay on the potter's wheel. You’re nervous at first, but as you go with the flow, the feeling slowly fades, replaced by excitement. You soon realize that Anton’s hands are no longer above yours — you’re shaping the clay on your own. Anton looks at you, smiling, full of adoration.

“Baby, I did it!!” you squealed in excitement, proud of yourself for getting the pottery right and smoothly. It took you a bit longer to finish your work but for you, it's still an accomplishment. Anton then helped you put the greenware on the wedging table for it to dry. “Toni, it's so cute!!” you proudly said while looking at the bowl you made. “I can’t wait for it to fully finish!” you added and looked at your boyfriend smiling.

“See? I told you. .you could do it,” Anton said as you both washed your hands. “Forty-five minutes for a first-timer — that's pretty fast!” he added, gently patting your head. You responded with a swift peck on his lips barely giving him time to react. “What was that for?” he replied, still in shock. You hugged Anton, and he hugged you back. When you looked up at him, your eyes met. “Thank you, baby. . really for helping me learn about pottery,” you said, as tears suddenly began to pour. “You have no idea how happy I am right now,” you added, your voice filled with appreciation for your lover, who had patiently helped you learn about the hobby you had longed to do. Anton gently cupped your face and wiped the tears with his thumb. “Anything for my princess,” Anton replied, smiling softly. “I’m proud of you, love,” he added, gently planting a kiss on your lips. You smiled in response.

No words can express how happy you are right now. Yes, you're happy to have learned pottery—but what makes you even happier is that it’s more than just a hobby. You and your boyfriend discovered a new depth of affection through this moment together, one that you believe will become a symbol of an even stronger relationship.

-end-

tysm for reading ! 🫂

[beersangel]

Matcha lover ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

* ˚ ✦ matt sturniolo’s love language is acts of services!

Matt Sturniolo x reader 💗

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Your head rests on Matt’s chest as you talk about how expensive the drinks in LA are, especially your favorite – a sweet iced matcha. You rant about how hard it is to find a good one that doesn’t cost a fortune.

As you speak, an idea pops into Matt’s head. He’s seen people making iced matcha at home on TikTok before, using those little matcha kits. He figures he could do that for you, especially since he knows how much you love drinking it.

When you drift off to sleep, Matt pulls out his phone, determined. He starts searching for everything he’ll need. He looks for the best matcha powder, paying extra attention to find a sweet one, just like you like it. He adds the matcha kit to his cart, checks everything over, and places the order. Once he’s done, he puts his phone down and pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head before falling asleep with you in his arms.

A few days later, while you're hanging out at a friend's place, Matt gets the package delivered. Excited, he opens TikTok, finds the tutorial he saved, and gets to work. He knows you’ll be home soon, so he hurries, making sure he follows the instructions carefully. He wants this to be perfect for you.

You come home just as Matt is whisking something in the kitchen, his back to you. You frown a little because baking isn’t exactly his thing. Quietly, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around him, surprising him. He jumps but quickly relaxes when he realizes it’s you.

You peek over his shoulder and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Is that—” you start, and he turns to face you with a proud smile.

“Yes,” he grins.

“Matt…” you say, your heart swelling with appreciation.

“Don’t get too excited yet. You still have to try it,” he laughs. “Sit up on the counter, give me a couple of minutes. I’m almost done.” He kisses your cheek before turning back to finish the drink.

You watch him pour milk into a glass filled with ice, then carefully add the green matcha. He stirs it gently and pops in a metal straw. With a nervous but eager smile, he walks over to you, holding the drink.

He hands it to you, eyes full of hope. “Go on, give it a try,” he says, biting his lip.

You take the straw and stir the matcha with the milk before taking your first sip. Your eyes widen at the sweet, familiar taste.

“Well?” Matt asks, leaning in a little.

You swallow and look up at him, shocked. “Matt… this is so good!” you say, a huge smile spreading across your face.

Matt’s face lights up. “Really?”

You put the glass down next to you and grab his face, pulling him in for a kiss. “I can’t believe you learned how to make my favorite drink,” you say, kissing the corner of his lips softly.

“Anything for my girl,” he whispers, his smile soft and full of love. He presses a few kisses to your cheek, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

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