I wanna hear that man info dump more than I want him to dump in me
I wanna hear that man info dump more than I want him to dump in me
Going to bed, remember y’all those asks are open for a while. I’ll chip away at them fully once I close the inbox.
For now, try not to make it blind me with a black light.
TUMBLR YOUR ADS ARE SEXUALLY HARASSING ME
Two the two anons who chose violence with the nsfw asks, I see you. Your waiting until last.
137. “That’s not where [icing] goes.” | nanahiko pwp with zero plot elements whatsoever | wc: 1.4k
For all of Nana’s many faults in the kitchen, she somehow manages to be a deft hand at baking. Sorahiko tends to be grateful for this saving grace (once in a while, Nana whips up a baker’s dozen of the most drool-worthy taiyaki) except in the instances when she’s stress-baking into the small hours of the next day.
Sorahiko, a U.A. teacher obligated to sit in on the early staff meetings, is also obligated to wait out his partner’s manic mood and remind her to clean up afterwards.
Otherwise, he’d wake up to a chaotic mess.
He sits on a high kitchen stool, chin propped up on one hand, observing how Nana doles out the sugar cookie dough. One rough-edged dollop, rolled in her palms until it formed a small sphere, then plopped onto the parchment-lined aluminum sheet. Fifteen per.
It’s the third round.
“Who’s eating all this?”
“Your coworkers?” she rejoins. “Didn’t you say that the teacher’s lounge needed snacks?”
“Snacks, not treats.”
“Ah, I forget,” says Nana, winking. “You’re a glass half-empty kind of man.” As she finishes the fifteenth cookie dough ball, the oven beeps. It’s a shrill noise. Sorahiko grimaces until Nana shuts off the timer and opens the door; that first waft of steam from the freshly-baked cookies practically smothers every petulant thought Sorahiko’s had.
Metal rasps against metal; the third sheet slides onto the rack, and the second sheet is retrieved without incident. Nana deposits it onto a wooden doily, shakes off the insulated rubber mitt, and starts transferring them to a wire rack.
“You’re not doing another, are you?”
“I’ve got enough dough for two more trays, actually.”
Ten minutes to bake; another fifteen for them to be cooled off for storage; Sorahiko runs the numbers in his head and remembers to account for the intimidatingly full bowl of white royal icing at the center of the counter. He gets off the chair.
“It can wait until morning.”
“Maybe,” she concedes. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know. You can get the bed all toasty warm before I join you.”
Sorahiko drags the glass bowl with his fingertips as he circles the counter to join Nana. The tiled surface causes it to click and clatter; Nana preemptively stops the bowl from reaching the edge and throws him a chiding look, as though Sorahiko is an asshole cat hellbent on knocking shit over for attention. Then she processes his nearness.
“Hey,” he says, shuffling close and peering over her shoulder. He’s… not all too certain where his head’s at right now. Everything is fuzzy with sleep deprivation, toasty warm now that he’s directly leeching heat off Nana’s frame.
She tips her head back. “You should really just sleep, Sorahiko.”
“Not without you.”
“That was nearly romantic,” Nana congratulates dryly. He butts his head against hers and breathes in; idly, Sorahiko settles his hands at her waist and his mouth at her neck, feels more than hears the resultant pleased hum.
“Come to bed,” he says. “Just put plastic wrap on the bowls and leave it for the afternoon.”
“I’m not going to have an afternoon. The Commission’s panel about our, ah, extracurriculars is going to last into the night, and I’ll just be so stressed about it, I’ll end up right back here--Sorahiko, are you--?”
He drags his hands up under her shirt, fingers digging slightly into the give of soft flesh over her ribs, tracing and cupping the swell of Nana’s breasts, grateful that she discarded her bra the instant she got home. He nips at the join of her neck and shoulder.
“Oh my god,” she laughs, a tad breathless.
“Please what,” Nana says. She nudges the cooling rack of cookies away, and weighs the empty tray like she’s considering whether or not to make another round. Sorahiko’s hands involuntarily clench; she jolts where she stands. “Aah, okay, okay…”
“Okay what,” he teases, not above mimicking her tone.
“Okay,” she echoes breezily, “you can be my source of stress relief. Move this tray over to the sink for me?”
To do so, Sorahiko reluctantly retreats a step. Nana takes full advantage of the split second she has; in one swift motion, she’s flung her shirt over her head (it hurtles over the kitchen boundary to the living room’s couch) and has boosted herself to perch on the countertop. A tilt of her head while Sorahiko processes the view.
“Should we take this to bed?”
“No,” he says, belated, and he shakes his head to clear it of fuzziness. It’s too cozy in their home. He wants to curl up and sleep by Nana’s side, and he wants to stay awake and treasure these precious moments where desires can be indulged and fed.
“Come here,” Nana encourages in a soft tone, beckoning him back towards her, and Sorahiko goes. Reeled in by the promise of a kiss. He sinks into it, eyes sliding shut, a rumbling groan being elicited by the slick heat of Nana’s mouth.
“Could’ve taken off your pants.”
“In the kitchen? For shame, Sorahiko.”
“It’s not cross-contamination if all the cookies stay home,” he suggests, and scrapes his teeth along her collar bone before licking the flushed skin. Sorahiko dips his head, trailing further down until he sights the royal icing bowl in his peripheral vision.
“Your co-workers would riot.”
“They wouldn’t know any better. Who’s telling them? You?”
Solemnly, Nana says, “The people deserve to know about your sweet tooth. And my enabling of it.” He stifles his smile against her breast to no avail. “Hey, hey, what’s this? Are you laughing?”
“A little bit,” he admits, and he lifts his head, a newfound clarity sharpening his senses into an anticipatory hunger. Sorahiko drums his fingers against the side of the glass bowl, nails clicking at the hard surface. “Can I use this?”
“A spoonful, sure.”
The spoon that a bemused Nana gestures at is, thank god, the large one that she would use to scoop the royal icing into a piping bag. Sorahiko considers his options. He says to Nana, “Lean back on your hands,” and then she gets it.
“That’s not where icing usually goes.” Mischief runs rampant in her tone; her knees squeeze at his waist as Sorahiko carefully drizzles thin, curling lines over Nana’s chest. He doesn’t follow the shadows of her twitching muscles, nor does he attempt to construct a symmetrical design.
Nana’s an absolute hindrance in that regard. She arches her back and shoots a playful grin his way, because the slightest movement causes her breasts to sway and break and smear Sorahiko’s work.
A warning would be pointless. So instead, Sorahiko locks eyes with Nana and drags his tongue over the spoon’s excess of icing, flooding his palate with the sugary sweet mixture. The spoon is discarded (not into the bowl).
“Needs some salt,” says Sorahiko thickly, and ducks his head to lap a long line extending from her stomach to the underside of one breast, capping it off with a luxurious, lingering swirl of his tongue at her nipple. He purrs when Nana, startled, shifts her weight to a single hand and uses the other to grab a handful of his hair.
“Oh,” she gasps, and it’s not just her knees pressing at Sorahiko’s body. Nana tilts her hips back and locks her ankles at the small of his back, pushes against Sorahiko’s mouth.
He breaks contact. She tugs his head backwards, wordlessly asking him to tip his chin up. Sorahiko cracks his eyes open--when did they close?--to see Nana’s studying him. “Mm?”
“I,” Nana says, then falters. He has the vague feeling that his face isn’t reflecting that earlier lucidity. “... Ah. You’re gonna get me all worked up, huh?”
“I can eat you out,” he offers, his lazy tone belying the sharp curl of yes, yes, yes, please let me do that stirring in the pit of his belly. She doesn’t have to sit on the counter. Sorahiko will clean the icing off first, and then he will pull her down to the tile, and pull her sweatpants and underwear off too, and if Nana doesn’t want to sit on the floor, she can straddle his face.
Easy. Simple. Bliss is within his reach.
Nana, he is pretty sure, reads his mind. Her cheeks flush a delicious pink, and her next words are faint with arousal: “Persuade me.”
Here are more of my parts from the JayVik roleplay. First, we have Viktor waking up after that spicy dream I shared (so read that first for some context), then him going to the showers on campus and getting a little frisky with himself. Also shame. Oops.
🔞 for masturbation & sexual thoughts.
Word count: 1k
The morning was rough, the sun shining in made it hard to open his eyes, but besides that, the feeling in Viktor's groin is what caught him at first. He lifted his blanket, he saw the tent in his pants, albeit small, and then immediately remembered his dream. For a few minutes, he lied face down on his pillow, trying desperately not to think about Jayce kissing him...everywhere, licking him, sucking him. He was sweating and had sweat throughout the night and he felt disgusting for many reasons. That was his friend, his best friend, his only friend, and he was thinking such perverted thoughts of him? It was shameful, disgraceful.
Sitting up, he winced and in frustration, he stumbled out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair and breathed out in a failed attempt to calm himself. And he almost would have felt better, but then he looked to his right. Jayce was on the bunk bed above his, lying on his back, shirtless, with a rather large tent in the front of his sweatpants, and oh how badly Viktor wanted to see what was beneath.
'What... What am I thinking?' Viktor thought to himself and swallowed roughly, taking a few steps back from Jayce, though his eyes were still on his crotch, noticing how low his pants were on his hips. Quickly, although nervously, Viktor opened his dresser and gathered some clean clothes, anything he'd need for a shower, grabbed his cane, and swiftly left the room, making sure to let the towel hang down just past his thighs as he stumbled toward the showers.
Luckily there weren't many people awake yet and Viktor was, so far, the only one in the bathroom. After he stripped his clothes off, he stood in the shower and turned the cold water on, hissing as the freezing spray pelted his skin. Once he couldn't handle it anymore, he turned it warm and sighed as the chill left him. The warmth was welcoming and comfortable but he couldn't fully appreciate it. He squeezed his eyes shut but only saw images of Jayce, his stupid smile, his stupidly perfect body. Him touching him, sucking him, making him pant and moan and want more and more and—
'Stop...' Viktor groaned, begging his mind to stop and thumped his head against the title wall, hands fisted as he braced himself on the shower wall, slumping over as he breathed heavier at his own active thoughts. He was never interested in sex, only purely on a biological level, his body's natural hormones. Sex was something other people did, not him. But Jayce had come into his life in the most unexpected ways and made him feel things he never felt for another person. With his thoughts not relenting and his body only getting hotter from the steam, he glanced down at himself, his cock hard beyond the point of just letting it go away. With disgust in his mind, he reached down and began to stroke himself.
'Jayce...' he thought, a soft mewl escaping his lips and he closed his eyes, leaning with one shoulder against the wall as he continued, stroking slowly and firmly, moaning softly but luckily the shower was loud enough to mask his restrained voice. After a while, his leg began to shake and he slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his legs spread and bent at the knees, the water beating down on him, hair in his eyes as he touched himself. He was filled with shame, but he couldn't deny how good it felt to finally feel some pleasure after weeks and weeks, months even. Even if the source was his best friend, he felt...good.
Finally, he reached his climax with a muffled whine, his toes curling, back arched against the title, teeth grit. He slumped down more, the water getting colder again, washing away his regret and guilt. He felt...disgusting. He'd used the image of his friend — his only friend — to get off to, and he hated that it felt good. But now, all that was left in the wake was shame.
For a while, Viktor sat there on the hard floor, the cold beating down on him. He didn't want to move because to move meant going back to Jayce after what he'd just done. He felt embarrassed, an immeasurable amount of shame rising up in his chest. But, he had to move eventually, so, slowly he hobbled to his feet and braced himself against the wall, staring for a moment as water dripped off his skin, from his lips and nose, his hair plastered to the shape of his skull and forehead. Turning the water warmer again, he focused on properly bathing, washing away the sweat and shame from both his dreams and...what he just did. He didn't do stuff like this, it...wasn't like him at all. Occasionally a flash of Jayce's face or body would come into his mind and he'd grit his teeth while he washed his hair, scrubbed his body with the gentle vanilla-scented body wash, but he tried to keep his imagination under control, but it, admittedly, was very difficult.
Finally, he finished and turned the shower off, shook his head from side to side to shake some of the water off, and buried his face in his towel, groaning softly to himself. Once he was dried and dressed, he gathered his things and went back to the room. However, he could feel his heart sink as he approached. How was he supposed to face Jayce after that? After he'd thought such things about him? After he'd done something like that? He stood outside the door to his own dorm for nearly a minute, other students walked by and glanced at him curiously but never said anything, until finally he opened it and walked in.
Immediately, he was stunned by the sight of Jayce in just his towel, his face going red. He almost looked apologetic and couldn't even look him in the eye, nor near him in general. He was too embarrassed and Jayce was too gorgeous, looking like that in front of him, like fate playing a cruel trick. He couldn't handle it.
"I'm going to make breakfast," Viktor mumbled in a strange, uncharacteristic way, like he was avoiding something, and of course he was. He went to the kitchen area and looked around for something to make, but found himself instead just staring at the bag of their snacks they got the previous night and felt a wave of guilt wash over him again.
I want everyone to know that while Viktor was jerking it in the shower, Jayce was also in a shower nearby jerking it thinking of Viktor; he'd come in shortly after Viktor and neither of them knew the other was there, so...they're very awkward when they do see each other because they both know they did something but neither knows what.
If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, it’s super appreciated <3
being super high has me eating every single plain ingredient in my apartment and marveling at the flavor
Froggie Hoodie Kaz 🐸
Oh, to be vampire!Haitani Ran’s cute, little human snack 😞 blood too fragrant to resist that even his brother has to have a taste 😞 so cold and unaccustomed to human warmth that I can never not be touching them 😞 siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh
NOX IS THE FUCKING BEST
They drew my sona for me (FOR FUCKING FREE)
As I have stated, go follow or die.
what if mochi could perch up on her broomstick like this