#K. A. writes things

[a-most-beloved-fool]

There's a fic I've been (slowly) working on that features Kirk being just about the Only person on the ship who can read Spock's expressions, simply because he Likes Spock (not even romantically at first, he just sees Spock and goes, 'friend-shaped <3'.) and therefore pays attention, where he winds up being like. a Spock-interpreter for everyone else. (Captain, is he mad at me?? Captain, are my questions annoying him? Captain, did he like my joke? Captain, I feel like Spock hates me. etc.)

and the reason I bring this up is because I think there's a lot of potential in a Different version of this, where Kirk is still the only one who can read Spock's emotions, but this time, it's because they managed to spontaneously bond like. immediately. and neither of them realize this for a good while, because what are the odds that you're So Compatible with someone that your minds just Instantly glue themselves together? They're astronomical, that's what they are.

Except, a year or three into the mission, Spock discovers the bond. and panics. and blocks it. Of course he does! It's an egregious breach of telepathic etiquette! (Or, it would be, if he'd done it on purpose.) He has No Idea how long it's been there - he assumes it must be new. And, once the bond is blocked, by a Spock who is absolutely swamped with shame that he could let that happen to his own captain and dear friend, Kirk suddenly. cannot read Spock's emotions. And then he panics, because ohmigod i can't read him is he mad at me what did i do does he hate me???? (everyone else on this ship is baffled. they're like 'his face has literally not changed?? what do you mean you can't read him now??)

and eventually, they figure out what happened, and that they love each other, and then restore the bond to its original state and kiss and what not. but they angst about it for a bit first, and possibly have to get their heads slammed together by bones before that happens.

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

— the moments in which the members of stray kids realize how they truly feel about you.

words・1.4k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / warnings・depictions of conflict and anxiety in hyunjin's and han's / genres・domestic fluff, smidges of hurt/comfort, established relationships

a/n・thought i'd try out a new fic format :-) i had so much fun writing these and hope you like reading them just as much. any and all feedback is appreciated, as always!

chan is in a heated staring contest with his notepad when the door opens, and he knows that it’s you who comes in, but his head is miles away, tangled in an amalgamation of syllables and rhythms. he goes on to forget that you’re here for a short while, poring over the unfinished lyrics in front of him with undivided focus. that is, until he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder.

you’ve just pulled a chair up next to his desk. “lemme see,” you say, gesturing to the notepad. there’s a surprised pause, and then chan places it in your hand, scoots closer to you.

you spend the next two hours talking him through his block, but there are periods when you fall silent to brainstorm or to write something down, and chan takes those quiet opportunities just to look at you: wearing one of his old t-shirts, your hair still damp from your shower, completely concentrated. and he knows, then, that he wants to marry you.

minho doesn’t realize he loves you in a singular moment. rather, he has a faint inkling for some time, and then the rug is randomly pulled from beneath his feet, and all of a sudden he can’t remember a version of his world that didn't have you at its center.

there are times when he’s especially aware of his feelings, though. like when he throws a witty remark in your direction and your retort comes back twice as sharp. when your eyes and smile light up like lanterns as you talk to him about your passions. when one (or all) of his cats hover at your side as you go about your day. when he returns home after a grueling practice and you’re there to offer him your comfort, no matter his withdrawn demeanor or sweaty skin.

he is a quiet lover, and sometimes he worries that he’s too quiet, that you have no idea what’s going on inside him every time he looks at you. but words have never really been necessary with minho. you know. you just do.

changbin is greeted by a chilly breeze when he emerges from the gym, and he silently chastizes himself for forgetting to bring an outer layer yet again. but the temperature moves to the back of his mind when he spots you, waiting on the sidewalk, as you said you would. a familiar grin breaks across your face when you see him, and he feels its shape against his lips when he runs over and kisses you, in lieu of hello.

“what are you feeling for dinner?” you ask once he’s pulled away, and he realizes that you’ve pressed something to his chest: one of the hoodies that he keeps at your place, still soft and warm from just coming out of the dryer. and boom—the epiphany hits him, instantly and unequivocally.

he is dumbfounded for a moment, just processing the newfound discovery; and then, out of nowhere, the two of you say the name of the same restaurant at the same time. he swears he never believed in soulmates until he met you.

hyunjin has always held so many emotions in his heart so fervently, to the point that they sometimes overflow in the form of words that he doesn’t believe, in a tone that he doesn’t intend. and it happened again today, when he spoke to you the wrong way in a moment of pure impulse, and the surprise on your face morphed into poorly-disguised hurt.

a few hours later, the weight of his actions sits heavily on his shoulders. when he lifts his phone to call you, his hands are shaking a little, and a breathy apology spills from his lips the moment he hears you on the other end: “i’m sorry, angel. i’m trying, i promise. i really am.” to which you answer, “i know, hyune. i forgive you. we’ll keep trying together, okay?” and your words pull his heartstrings in a new direction entirely.

he asks if he can come over, you say yes, and he tells you he loves you as soon as you open the door. he’s done hiding his heart from you.

jisung’s contagious grin and raucous cackle come easily to him for the most part, but there are times when he forgets how it feels to laugh or to breathe, times when he wants only to hide from the world and all of its scariest parts. and when you see his figure in the doorway tonight, his face cast in a nameless shadow, his shoulders sunken in quiet defeat, you understand immediately that this is one of those times.

“do you wanna talk about it?” you ask as he approaches you. silently, he shakes his head: not tonight. but his body language asks for what he cannot verbalize. you extend your arms toward him, and he buries himself in them the second he’s close enough to, his face nestling the crook of your neck, the tension in his limbs melting at your gentle touch. you stay there for a long time, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, coaxing him back to the ground, back to you.

wherever he chooses to hide, he thinks he’d like to take you with him.

when felix opens his eyes, the space in the bed next to him is empty, and the faint scent of flour and sugar wafts through the gap beneath his door.

he gets to his feet, throws on some clothes, and wanders in the direction of the smell, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—and the sight that awaits him makes him wonder if he’s still dreaming. you’re standing at the stove, still in your pajamas, hair slightly disheveled from your rest, and there are pancakes in the frying pan before you; sliced strawberries on the cutting board next to the stove. and the look of sheer focus on your face, as if staring at the pancakes will cook them faster, absolutely destroys him. (and he knows in that moment that he wants to wake up to you for the rest of his life.)

with an enamored smile, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulls your back to his chest, and presses a light kiss to the nape of your neck. “morning, beautiful,” he mumbles sweetly. “how fucking lucky am i?”

being around you makes seungmin feel like a kid with a crush. he smiles brighter and laughs louder. he opens like a lotus in bloom when you say his name. the floaty sensation he gets when you kiss his cheek or hold his hand persists for hours afterward—and none of it makes any fucking sense to him. it’s not that he doesn’t believe in love, but he’s never believed that love could feel like this, straight out of a sonnet.

now, your head is on his shoulder, your body rising and falling in your slumber. seungmin looks at your interlocked hands where they rest on his knee, and at the current track displayed on his lockscreen: “still” by day6, a song about losing and loving, about regret and reminiscence. those bright days between us are over, the lyrics go, and he makes a silent promise to your sleeping form that the bright days between the two of you will never end.

the word "love" still doesn't cross his mind, but it is etched all over his face, and carved into his soul.

you and jeongin are telling each other about your days over dinner when your phone lights up with an incoming call, and he nearly spits out his mouthful when he sees who it’s from. for a few seconds, the two of you just stare at each other in flabbergasted silence. but then, you raise your phone to your ear: “hi, grandma! to what do i owe this pleasure?”

and the voice of his grandmother comes back through the receiver. she tells you that she’s just gone on an evening walk and found herself thinking of you, so she wanted to see how you’re doing; if you’re taking care of yourself. you rush to thank her, looking entirely flustered, and a bit like you’re about to burst into tears.

with that, the two of you launch into chatter about everything under the sun: grocery store discounts, the recent humidity, jeongin’s bad habits, you name it. and it finally dawns on jeongin how inextricably embedded in his life you have become—and that he doesn’t want it any other way.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[xochimillilili]

I want to kidnap and tie up my boy, stuff his mouth with his soaking panties so he can't scream as I take him away. Tell him he's mine and only mine forever as I collar him up, scratch my name into every single one of his limbs, make him only see me

Fuck him until he's unconscious, pump his holes full of my cum, make him only want me, need me, love me. I'll keep him forever as my beloved pet, my beloved boy until I'm his entire world, his shining light and god

[rainyyy-dayysss]

I like canceled plans. And empty book stores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quite coffee shops. I like messy beds and overworn pajamas. Most of all, I like small joys that a simple life brings.

[pastafossa]

"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door. 

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring. 

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional. 

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless. 

Asleep. 

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him. 

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused. 

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh. 

You were wearing his shirt. 

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned. 

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest. 

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied. 

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down. 

Gentle. 

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you. 

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep. 

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him. 

God, your scent. 

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you. 

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt. 

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.  

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids. 

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe. 

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit. 

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips. 

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too. 

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?” 

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him. 

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it? 

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”  

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours,  ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat. 

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again. 

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan. 

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken. 

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets. 

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep. 

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more. 

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep. 

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both. 

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep. 

Satisfied with what he’d given you. 

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist. 

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[mercuryplanet00]

Check it out

[buriedunderdaffodils]

date idea: tie me up on my knees and kick me in the ribs over and over and over, with big heavy boots made for stomping, until i fall over and curl up sobbing on the ground - and keep going. bruise my ribcage, break a few bones, crack my sternum, make it hurt to breathe.

then when i finally lose the energy to cry, and all i can do is shake on the ground, pick up my trembling body and cuddle up with me to watch a scary movie, paying no mind to the state of my broken body. feign sympathy when i startle at jumpscares and hiss from the shock of pain it sends through me, until my injuries get the better of me and i'm hardly conscious enough to register what's on the tv, or your hand running along my bruised skin.

[visionsofmagic]

day 4: uchiha obito [mutual masturbation]

࿓ synopsis • you can’t deny the desire you have for obito and you want to show it.

―❦ nsfw, akatsuki member!obito, watching, voyeurism, pet names, humiliaton, day dreaming (kinda), masturbation, fingering, neck holding, cum eating, swearing, ordering, power play (a little), shinobi!reader, f!reader. • 1.9k • so fun to write this maniac yet broken man, love him soo much, much favorite character from naruto beside kakashi. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

he is a wanted former shinobi, a danger to all nations, and you’re just someone he knows from the past he can’t get his mind off. 

it’s always like this; he leaves the others, the world behind the moment the sun disappears, and the shining stars lighten the sky up in the night of the hidden leaf. he comes here – comes to you. he knows you wait for him because the same circle of events happened for at least 2 years now. he stays behind the tree, behind your door’s windows yet gazes on inside, traveling on your body, watching every movement, and having a peaceful – even paradise, away from the cruel world behind him.

it’s simple – maybe it isn’t but he doesn’t care; he just likes to sit on a tree, and see the sight before him – you while cooking, reading, laughing at something you watch or read, playing with your hair, sometimes pouting – cute, he thinks, and he finds them enjoyable because it is you – the only person he sees entirely, he seeks and he misses. 

however, this night isn’t simple, it’s complex – he realizes even before coming here, finding you sitting on the edge of your bed, the window is wide open, the wind of the hidden leaf flows into your room, a few things fly from here to there including your hair. you seem as if you don’t notice any of it – you don’t, he can say, after with the arrival of his presence, you only focus on him.

you don’t look, eyes still on the wall in front of you, hands between your thighs, the marks of heat you have are visible on your body that is lighted below the gleam of the moon.

obito isn’t blind, no, he has an eye to see clearly, even under the dark light of the night, even from that far. the vision helps him to witness the scene before him with magnificent quality and detail.

he isn’t dumb either – can be the most intelligent man in the whole world. you know it, you always tell him how smart he is, catching little details, especially when it comes to you. he remembers the moments you were surprised when he understood gestures even though you can’t realize what you’re doing, so when he comes here, he doesn’t waste a second time to gather enough knowledge about what is going on.

he leaves a deep chuckle under his mask, a hand stays on one of the branches of the tree he is sitting on, “what a silly girl,” he says, head tilting to the side when you close your eyes, opening them again, and taking a deep breath.

with the knowledge of what you will do next, he gets excited – only you can make him feel this kind of emotion with the rest of the others including lust. he doesn’t have to be smart to get the hints; his girl – he likes to call you that, sitting on the bed, a thin white night dress you chose to wear that shows your entire body underneath it – hardened nipples because of both the cold night and him are visible, exposed thighs clenching together, and a bottle of oil standing on the bed, beside you.

it isn’t surprising that you are naughty and horny, wanting to create a show only obito can witness to. you tried this before, maybe more innocent, but you did. however, obito can’t deny that this one is far more different than the previous ones. his rapid breaths prove him right and when you take another deep breath, he sees determination in your sparkling eyes, and it catches him off the ground when you suddenly change your position.

now you sit right in front of the open window – him. he can see you directly – not your side profile. if you look up, he knows your eyes will be in contact with each other.

you don’t anyway. your eyes focus on your thigh, opening them wider, slowly, you pick up the dress until your soaked pussy can be seen – he holds his voice low when he leaves a growl, hand grips the brunch tighter, head tilts forward to see it closer – “oh maker,” he says, “what a beautiful pussy!”

he knows you hear him because your cheeks begin to burn with redness, hands squeeze the fabric of your dress, eyes half-closed. 

he waits for you to move on – to give him more – he’s needy; the desire to come into your room and have you under him right away is pleasing to the ear, however, he wants to wait, you prepared for him after all. he wants to see how far his good girl can go.

two fingers get inside your wet mouth, the tongue licks them from tip to toe – his cock twitch with lust; that wet fingers travel down to your pussy, standing on your folds and playing with them, slowly enough to drive him crazy.

he expects you to put your fingers inside that fleshy pussy of yours yet you have a different plan; your left-hand finds the thin strap of the dress as the other stays still, playing with the folds, earning low lewd sounds mixing with your rapid breaths. 

taking off the straps from your shoulders, it falls into your abdomen in a smooth motion, hardened nipples and the cute flesh of your breasts are revealed, making obito’s hand find his clothed cock under the cloak of akatsuki. another growl goes out of his parted and dry lips, he licks them to feel wet as if his lips taste your pussy, kneeling down and eating it out.

somehow his mind goes all dizzy, taking functions of moving from his brain, filling it with you who starts to play with hardened nipples, squeezing them from time to time – low moans leave your opened mouth that obito wants to put his cock into – for another day, he thinks.

he needs to live this moment and enjoy it at the highest level.

after quite a foreplay with your breasts – squeezing, slapping, licking them, you have obito in a state of a needy man whose mind is full of lust, brown eye activates the sharingan because he never wants to forget, the cloak is long forgotten under his feet, cock is standing inside his palm, precum licking from it.

the fingers finally enter your pussy in one go, the head is thrown back, a scream can be heard, minds lose themselves, and sin remains behind.

it’s feels so wrong and so right at the same time; neither of you cares yet the feeling of it drives both of you mad. hunger for one to another rising up with a dangerous rate in sync with your fingers going and out of your now wetter pussy, lewd sounds filling the room travel inside to outside until it reaches the man who jerking himself off while reaching euphoria closer owing to the sight he watches; wide open legs, pussy clenching around the fingers that give pleasure – but he knows well that he is one of your ultimate pleasure givers by only staring at your nearly naked body, eyes blurry, mouth half-open, breasts bouncing in rhythm.

“fuck -!” he swears under his breath, close to the edge like you, hand getting faster. “pretty –“ he says louder, wanting it to reach your ears, and it does. “my pretty girl, go on, give me –“ 

nodding to him, you lower your head down so that you look at each other. 

eye to eye, breath to breath, heart to heart – you see the red eye he has, taking your breath away, and an idea pops inside your mind when you can’t see the lower part of his body. you guess what he’s doing under there but you need to see it, so, you chuckle, teasing him, “oh, my greedy pretty boy, can’t handle watching me like this?” it is a question, indeed, but it doesn’t feel like it. “come closer,” you say, ass moves until you reach the middle of the bed, getting away from him to provoke him. it’s unfair that he can see your pussy yet you can’t see his cock. “please –“ you say, close to the edge, “ooohh, obito –!”

without any control of the body, he moves on his own with the help of eagerness, jumping to the window fast enough to make you rethink your plan once again. the idea vanishes into thin air when your eyes connect with him; standing with his glory, he sits on the edge of the window, the mask is still on but the eye – oh that hazardous eye that can end lives gives life to you now, hands stay on the thighs to show off his thick and long cock – and yes, you open your eyes wider when you see it, precum is all over it. you have to fight with the urge of kneeling down on the ground and taking it into your mouth, sucking it, licking it so that he can fuck you with all that wetness afterward – 

“pretty,” he says after chuckling deeply, taking your mind all to himself – to his presence. “move your fingers,” he orders, sounds deep and sending chills down your spine. you wait no more, readjusting the fingers, going back to the rhythm and rate you had – the difference this time is that you witness how his hand rubbing his cock, up and down, giving a weakness to you that you merely have the power to continue.

want to make him cum, make a mess, wins – you get up on your knees, rising on the bed, three fingers giving you pleasure as you bounce below them, breasts bouncing, acting like it’s his cock you’re bouncing on – riding, you moan his name, “aggh -! o – oohh –obito! please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for, neither he is – maybe a bit yet you go on screaming his name, pleases wandering around the room, eyes look at his eye and his cock, a hand holding your breasts from time to time and a sin blooms in the night.

then, he says, “fucking cum.” and you do, your own cum dripping into your fingers – to the sheets, and his white semen flows into his long fingers, ending on the floor.

getting weak – exhausted, you sit down, hands on the bed, looking up, taking a sip of achievement because you drove him mad – too needy, too greedy – and ended up masturbating with you.

a smile appears on your face, he comes closer, and he tilts his head, pointing to your mouth, “open your mouth,” he sounds bossy, alerting you that if you don’t do what he tells you, you will end up in a situation that you face with real menace side of obito, so, you open your dry mouth due to all that moans, and he puts his fingers that full of semen into it. his free hand caresses your hand as you suck his fingers off, bitter taste of the semen that belongs to obito burns the throat – you want more. “my good girl, did that all for me? and even cleaning the mess she caused,” he chuckles, fingers roaming on the lips, hand now holding the neck, kneeling down closer, the eye sparkles – turning the room into the new setting of sin which will bloom sooner than you thought, “will take care of that wet pussy after I fuck this beautiful mouth of yours. will fill all holes with my cum to reward you for the show, my special whore.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina ! special thanks. 🎆

[tagging is open!]

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Spock knew he was dying. It was, he supposed, quite inevitable. In truth, he was surprised that death had not claimed him much sooner; there had been many instances throughout his life and career when it had seemed inescapable.

Now, however, it would be time that would claim him.

All told, it was a significant improvement upon his last death, trapped within the Enterprise's warp core. Though his bones ached with age, his flesh did not burn with radiation, and his vision remained quite clear. He hurt, yes, and was cold, but he was not in agony.

However...

The last time he had died, pressed up against the glass, he had not had to face it alone. Jim had been with him, as had Doctor McCoy and Mr. Scott. He had been unable to touch them - and indeed he had wanted to, had wished quite illogically for the glass to fall away and allow him to tumble into Jim's arms - but they had still been there, at his side.

He was a Vulcan, and so perhaps it should have been inconsequential, but he was old now, and sentimental.

He could not help but want.

And then, as though a breath had passed through the room, Spock sensed a change.

Suddenly, without any fanfare at all, Jim stood at his side, smiling warmly down at him. He looked just as young as he did when Spock had seen him last, before he had been swept away by the Nexus and held away from him for so many long decades. He was, thought Spock, so beautiful.

If this was an illusion, it was a welcome one.

When Jim's hands clasped his own, they felt real, somehow, soft and warm against his chilled flesh, and Spock gripped back with all the strength he could muster. Illusion though it may be, Spock would savor it.

Jim, he wanted to say, how I have missed you, but his voice was well beyond him. To even try would be an exercise in futility. Kaiidth. Perhaps it was for the best. It would not do to frighten his doctors by speaking to a hallucination.

Still, he allowed himself to look, drinking in Jim's appearance like a man parched. It had been so very long since they had been together, and Spock could find no shame in taking advantage of his situation. He was dying, and if an illusion was the only way he could have the company of his husband, he would accept it without question. It felt like Jim, and it looked like Jim, and that was enough for him.

To his other side, a light began to bloom. Sunrise. He had not expected to make it to this sunrise. Memories, long cherished, of watching alien sunrises with Jim bubbled up in his mind, and a sigh fell from his lips.

Oh, how he had missed him! And now, at his very last sunrise, Jim was back with him, hands holding his.

Yes, this was by far an improvement on his previous death.

With some effort, he turned his head towards the sun. Jim, too, turned to face it, and together they watched, as they had so very many times before. It was peaceful. Wonderful.

He did not know how long he lay there, gazing at the rising sun, Jim's hand still in his, before the change became apparent to him: breath no longer stirred in his chest, and his heart no longer beat in his side. Gone, too, was the ache of time that had so suffused him these last years.

And yet, the sun still shone before him, and Jim's hands were still warm against his own.

He blinked, wondering.

"Jim," he whispered, and the name fell with shocking ease from his lips. Cautiously, he pulled himself to a sitting position, and his form moved more smoothly than it had in many years as he turned to meet Jim's eyes once more. "Jim."

"Hello, Mister," Jim replied.

Jim beamed at him, that beloved face warm with affection. The barest hint of sadness lingered at the edges of his eyes, and Spock's hand raised almost of its own accord, brushing lightly over his cheek.

"You grieve," he murmured. "Why?"

Jim just smiled, leaning into Spock's touch. "Illogical, I know," he said, a light puff of laughter escaping his chest. "I only - well. It isn't pleasant to watch you die, peaceful though it was. And, while I'm terribly pleased to see you again, I can't help but feel sorry. Death is - quite permanent, most of the time. I'm afraid no strange Vulcan rituals will be bringing you back, this time around."

Spock understood. Gently, he threaded his fingers into Jim's hair. "I confess that I am relieved by that," he admitted, cherishing the feeling of Jim beneath his touch. "I would not wish to be taken from you once again, so soon after arriving."

Something honey-warm softened in Jim at that, his eyes alight with a deep fondness.

"You sweet talker, you," he said, squeezing gently at the hand still within his grasp. Then, something almost tentative crept into his face. "Spock," he started, eyeing him cautiously, "I know it's been... quite some time, for you. But - to say it bluntly, I still love you. If you've moved on, I'll never mention it again, but-"

Illogical, Spock thought, silencing Jim's words quite suddenly with his lips. Jim melted against him easily, and for a long moment they did nothing but kiss, breathing into one another as they traded touches. When Spock finally pulled away, Jim looked almost kiss-drunk, lips swollen and eyes besotted.

"I suppose that's my answer, then," Jim chuckled, squeezing Spock's hands again.

"Indeed," Spock replied, allowing his eyes to crinkle with some of the delight which pumped through his veins. Gently, he rubbed his nose against Jim's, then pulled back again.

"I'm glad." Jim looked at Spock for a moment, and then glanced down at the bed he still sat upon. "I'll admit, I expected you to have more questions."

"I have surmised that I am dead, and that you are here," Spock said. "Anything further seemed unimportant, for time time being."

Another huff of laughter escaped Jim. "Imminently logical, Mister Spock," he teased. Spock merely inclined his head in response.

Jim stood, and pulled Spock with him, rising from the bed. Disconcertingly, he could see his own body laid out beneath him, eyes closed in death, but then Jim leaned in to press a brief kiss to his cheek, and it was forgotten.

"Well, suffice to say, it seems there's some kind of afterlife. It might be a part of the Nexus, believe it or not." Gently, he tugged Spock along as he started walking, linking their arms together "I'm not the only one who's been waiting for you, I'll have you know," he said, an almost impish smile playing at his lips. "You'll have quite the greeting party, I'm sure. I think Bones has been saving up gripes just for you."

A smile found its way to Spock's face, and he did not try to stop it. He had Jim in his arms once again, and soon he would see their friends. But, before they could continue, Spock pulled lightly at Jim's arm, stopping him.

"Jim?" he said. "I am glad you were with me."

For a moment, Jim looked at him, clearly surprised. Then, an expression which shone like the sun spread across his face. He stepped forwards, enclosing Spock in a hug. Spock went willingly, tucking his face into the crook of Jim's neck.

"I am, too."

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: mentions of being on birth control, mention of maybe getting pregnant, scent kink

have you guys ever heard of like…..being attracted to someone’s smell which means you’ll pair together really well??? and there have been cases where people get off birth control and it intensifies the smell and either makes it completely unbearable or even fucking better for the person??? okay THAT but with Bakugou…….,,,

you’re on birth control for whatever reason, and you’ve always pretty much liked his smell. it’s always been distant scents of caramel, a little sharp twang of spice whenever he comes home sweaty. and usually, you’ll let him chase you around the house while you laugh about him needing a shower because he stinks—but it’s all in jest.

and maybe, after a couple years of being with him, you get off of it for whatever reason—you wanna get pregnant, or it’s not serving you anymore, or you just don’t wanna be on it for any longer. and there’s—there’s a certain shift in the air whenever you’re around him.

you feel like a fuckin cat in heat when you stand near him, always pressing your face against the slickest parts of his skin. your nose buried in his palms, pressing sweet and gentle kisses to the hardened skin.

and Bakugou doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on with you, or why you always want to lay in his armpit, but he doesn’t complain much. even when he catches you huffing his dirty workout tanks and wearing his already worn boxers around the house.

but you can’t help it!! you just wanna bathe in his scent—now slick and honeyed and cinnamon—until you pass out from forgetting to exhale. and you’re such a perv about it that he can’t help but tease you—for licking the sweat from his collarbones whenever he’s on top of you. for inhaling where his scent lays stronger on the skin beneath his balls. for burying your nose in his pits whenever he stretches in the morning.

calls you his sick little pervert, getting off to his sweat, tells you how nasty you are for liking something so depraved. but your shame has abandoned you—all you care about and crave is his scent covering you in every way, shape, and form.

[irisbaggins]

This episode validated me so much. I left a comment on one of the shorts on YouTube, and I fucking clocked it. I was right. K and Evan worked together on helping people after Magic Broke, and after Evan left K felt like they had to do everything on their own. I'm just gonna attach my original comment below (everything bolded is to emphasise what I feel very validated on due to the new episode):

YES. Exactly! K and Evan are, fundamentally, very similar in their complexes around others vs the self, aka how they view themselves and how their value is tied to their usefulness. I don't know why they broke up, but my money's on the fact that both Evan and K were drowning in guilt for their actions relating to the breaking of magic, and that put a strain on their relationship. Especially as both K and Evan started to become self-destructive (or, even more in Evan's case) in their attempt to "fix" their mistake. I have an inkling that their breakup was more due to them drifting apart because of their Atlas Complexes (taking the world/their family on their shoulders) rather than an explicit Wrong having happened.

But yeah, Evan is fully in the right about his bodily autonomy and K having ignored that. However, what this clip doesn't include is K's actual reasoning and mindset around this. They wanted to "fix" Evan the same way they've been "fixing" magic as Itsy, and they thought they could do it all on their own; do a massive task that should have been done by a community all by themselves. K attempting to heal Evan and then proceeding to royally screw it up was just the natural progression of K's spiral; they were going to create an explosion at some point if they continued to act as they were. It was just, unfortunately, Evan's arm that got blown up, and not their van.

I am just. I called it. In a YouTube short's comment. I called that the reason for K's erratic behaviour was due to their guilt and sense of responsibility, and K nearly spelled it out when talking to Jammer. And with this confirmation, I feel even more bolstered in saying that I genuinely think that K didn't think through their actions when attempting to heal Evan; they saw that Evan had been hurt and scarred after their breakup, and most likely felt guilt over that. They weren't there for him, which led to him being hurt and having an injury heal wrong. K's a healer at heart, someone who tries to help and fix things, and here's living proof that they weren't enough. That they weren't there for Evan because of their own complexes. They just...hadn't considered what it means to heal an already healed bone, especially when magic is less "whimsical" and a lot more realistic right now.

I could go on and on about K and how their character is amazing, but I'll leave this here for now and bask in the feeling of having my analysis hit true. It's really helping my confidence which I need, oh no I have so much to write for my thesis

[sopafia]

It’s me and my love for misunderstood fictional women against the world 🫡

[thousand-winters]

Okay, I do think people blame Teruhashi too much and think she's far worse than she actually is. She's literally just a teenager with unique, fucked up circumstances.

But on the other hand, she's SO fun. Like she can be a jerk in her thoughts and I find it so fun, honestly.

I was daydreaming a whole crossover fic with Teruhashi and Tsubomi on the shower earlier (fun casual activities to do when you're very normal about media) and like... genuinely the kneejerk rude thoughts Teruhashi could have are so... giggling and kicking my feet because it's fun. The exploration of why she acts like this and the "hey, you good over there?" is fun.

Why do you all hate women. Women being jerks can be fun too. Generally not the case with Teruhashi tbh but when she is, it can be fun.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ok i really dont understand why people go "grrr the author wrote something canon that doesnt follow MY headcanon grrr hes wrong about his own character" can someone please enlighten me on why people do this

[sukirichi]

PLEASE STOP COPYING FICS ‼️

I am by no means gatekeeping concepts or tropes. We all know that it’s normal to see the same tropes or AUs be used differently, and that is not plagiarism. However, I recently found a fic that was oddly similar to my old (and discontinued) Gojo x Reader series, Reckless. The CEO! Gojo is nothing new, and neither is an accidental pregnancy trope. The only reason I am concerned is because this Gojo series I found has the exact same themes as Reckless that consists of: a playboy CEO Gojo with a very notorious reputation, a poor reader who is an employee and asset to the company (someone who works closely with Gojo), reader getting knocked up from a one night stand with Gojo, reader with a seemingly dead/absent mother yet still in contact with her father, Gojo with a very traditional family who does not like reader, and Gojo with an ex he struggles to let go of - which are all elements of Reckless.

The first chapter of that Gojo fic is also eerily similar to my first chapter with the same flow of: YN finding out she’s pregnant and her friend being there for her, Gojo saying he’ll take responsibility because ‘they both made the baby’, YN having to move in with Gojo to take care of the baby, and both of them coming to a mutual agreement that their ‘relationship’ will be purely for the baby’s benefit. The flow of events and specific details about the characters’ backgrounds are too similar to mine.

Again, I am not gatekeeping concepts, just as how I’ve had other writers ask me if they could write their own stories or takes based off of the NAOYA’S TROPHY WIFE COLLECTION or the BONTEN HUSBANDS EXCLUSIVE, and I’m fine with that. I’m even happy people are inspired by what I write. But being inspired is completely different from taking someone’s story and posting it as yours. Please trust your own creativity and skills in writing. You can write amazing stories and have people love them without having to steal from others.

It’s sad to say this is not the first time I, and other writers, have been plagiarized. It’s even more upsetting to know that a friend of mine who has also written a Gojo series (that I’m sure you all know and dearly love) experiences the same issues with the same person. The fact that this is happening to many writers out there is disheartening. We work hard and pour a lot of love in the stories we create. None of us are getting paid for this, and we simply want to share our passions with others. So please, let us be kinder with one another and show love and support the right way. If you love a fic, you give feedback and rb/comment + show support to the writer. You don’t steal their ideas and play it off as your own because you liked it.