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forlix · 1 year ago

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· . ˚ 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 when he returns home after a grueling practice and you’re there to offer him your comfort, no matter his withdrawn demeanor or sweaty skin.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 ♡

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lesbionicandiconic · 1 month ago

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Stacy’s mom… is a butch?

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Contains: Fingering, strapon sex, risk of getting caught, cheating, age gap, breeding kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, rough sex. Most notably, mention of a character topping despite not really liking it, but in the end all stone related boundaries are respected within the action of this story. Enjoy!

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Wren had been dating Stacy for 6 months when she decided it was time to meet the family. Things has gotten pretty serious, after all. They saw each other multiple times a week, their friends had met, they had a beautiful candlelit 6 month anniversary dinner, it was the natural next step. And Wren Loved Stacy. Probably.

She hadn’t said it yet but it had to be true, right? It didn’t matter that she never quite felt that spark that people talked about, but that’s more a myth and a turn of phrase… right? Stacy was easy, comfortable, like a best friend. And the sex was… pretty good! All things considered. Wren had never been easy to please or quick to orgasm, not like Stacy. And she was sure that guilty twinge she got when she topped was just a little leftover perfectionism, because she wanted to please her girlfriend so badly.

Everything was going perfectly. Or as close to perfect as could possibly be expected.

Nothing could have prepared her for meeting Stacy’s mom.

She had been warned that Stacy’s mother was an old fashioned butch dyke, and not to be intimidated by them. Apparently they had gotten pregnant as a teen and came out a few years later, raising Stacy with a revolving door of girlfriends her whole life. When Wren saw them herself, she understood why they never seemed to be lacking for a woman.

Tall, short hair, thick arms undoubtedly filled with muscle and broad shoulders filled the doorway as Wrem stumbled her way through introducing herself. How could she not stutter and blush? The perfect image of a butch, dominant and suave was staring down at her with piercing eyes and a 50’s greaser aesthetic. For a moment she forgot she was standing with their daughter’s hand on her arm.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” She managed, sticking a hand out awkwardly.

They laughed, mouth twitching into a smirk, and shook her hand firmly. “Please, call me Sir, not ma’am.”

“Y-yes sir. Of course”

Wren tried not to think about how large their hand was, tried not to look like she was getting wet from a handshake.

Stacy just rolled her eyes and grabbed Wren’s arm, pulling her away from the butch’s strong grasp and inside the house towards the stairs.

“Ignore them,” she said, “They like to fuck with people, they think it’s fun. Let me show you my room, babe!”

Wren let herself be pulled away from the doorstep, but allowed just the quickest glance back. Her breath caught when her eyes met theirs, watching her go with the smirking expression of a predator who just spotted their next prey.

——

Wren tried to convince herself she was fucking crazy. Her girlfriend’s mom? Really? What kind of lesbian lunacy was she on now?

And of course Sir wouldn’t be interested in her, a femme half their age who was dating their daughter. The thought alone was insane. The way they had looked at her in the doorway was just her brain playing tricks after the long drive over. No, it was definitely all in her head.

She kept telling herself that the entire first week of the stay.

She imagined them staring at her while she sunbathed in the back yard in only a bikini.

She made up the time they grazed a hand over the small of her back while passing her in the kitchen.

She dreamt of a time when they complimented her dress before her and Stacy went out to the club, and the way their gaze dragged down her body with unconcealed lust.

She hallucinated when she found herself almost pinned against the wall of the hallway, hot breath ghosting over her lips as they wiped some chocolate from the corner of her mouth, large thumb nearly slipping between her lips before they walked away without another glance.

Eventually though, some things get impossible to deny.

Like the day they watched a movie together. The three of them, squished like sardines on the small couch facing the TV. Wren was in the middle, Stacy fast asleep next to her, and Sir on the other side, wide awake. A blanket draped over all three, keeping it cozy as period action clanged out from the television.

The movie was good, but not entertaining enough to make Wren not notice the brush of fingertips against her bare thigh. Not her girlfriend’s fingers, theirs.

She tried not to change her breathing, pretend like she didn’t notice. It could just be a innocent graze.

Those rogue fingertips drifted up the outside of her thigh, calloused and rough against her soft skin, then dragged down between her legs.

Not innocent.

Her breath caught. She could feel their gaze on her but she tried to keep her eyes glued to the screen, terrified that any acknowledgment of what was happening would make it stop. Their fingers pressed against her clit through the fabric of her shorts and underwear. She gasped, her eyes flicking to her sleeping girlfriend.

“She won’t wake up.” They whispered, barely audible over the TV’s noise.

Wren didn’t respond, she couldn’t fathom how to gather a single coherent sentence. Instead, she slowly opened her legs as wide as she could without disturbing Stacy. They got the message and chuckled softly, dragging their hand up to her stomach then diving underneath her clothes. The track of their fingertips felt burned into her skin. Even though they touched her lightly, she wondered if it would bruise and give away her filthy new secret.

Their fingers pushed past her clit and dipped into the wetness gathered below. She was dripping, sitting next to them for an hour with their shoulder against hers had already been tantalizing enough to get her desperate. They massaged over her folds and clit, exploring, drawing shuddering breaths from her lips.

“Do you want more?” They breathed against her ear. She burned with guilt and pleasure as she nodded.

One thick finger slowly pushed inside her. So much larger and somehow warmer than Stacy’s fingers. She slid down in her seat to help the angle as they start to shallowly thrust inside her. They soon added a second finger that stretches her deliciously, her eyes fluttering closed as ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She still can’t look at them, but she can feel their hot breath on her ear and face and her neck. She wonders if they’ll kiss her.

They push a third finger inside her and she can’t help but let out a squeaky moan. Stacy shifts, and the fingers in her pussy stop moving immediately.

Stacy rubs her eyes and groggily asks if the movie is still going on. Sir answers.

“Yeah it’s got like an hour left, why don’t you go to bed honey? We’ll finish it then head up after you.”

Wren nods, unable to speak and hyper aware of how her girlfriend’s mom’s fingers were stretching out her pussy beneath their shared blanket. So deep inside and just barely grazing her g-spot with how they curled.

“Yeah, okay that sounds good.” Stacy says, detangling herself from the blanket while barely opening her eyes. She leans down and kisses Wren on the mouth, Wren clenches involuntarily on the thick fingers inside her. “Goodnight babe.”

“Goodnight.” Wren Squeaks, trying and failing to keep the tension out of her voice. Luckily, Stacy is too tired to notice. She slowly stumbles up the stairs and moments later the door to her bedroom clicks shut.

Wren lets loose a ragged sigh of relief that turns into a low moan as the butch’s fingers start to move at a brutal pace. Faster than before, and curling deep inside her each time.

“That was close.” They growl, then hot lips connect to Wren’s neck and she feels herself ramping up to the quickest orgasm she’d ever had in her life. She bucks her hips into the palm of their hand and tilts her head so they can access more of her neck. With each thrust the base of their hand grinds against her clit until sparks fill her vision. The orgasm hits her like a truck. She clenches around their fingers, own hands twisted in the soft blanket.

In the aftershocks they pull the blanket back and extract their dripping wet fingers from her pussy. She gasps in ragged breaths, not sure what would happen next, only certain that she just experienced the best orgasm of her life with the last person in the world she should have.

“Clean them up for me.” Sir purrs in her ear, touching the wet fingertips against Wren’s open mouth. She obeys. She opens her mouth wide and sucks greedily on each finger as it’s presented to her, tasting herself. Stacy hated when she sucked on her fingers, but they let out soft groans as they watch her head bob while she meticulously licks her own cum off. Their clear arousal at her enthusiasm gives her a rush of courage. She takes all three fingers in her mouth at once, almost gagging on the length, and she makes eye contact for the first time that night.

It flips a switch in them. Only a moment after those piercing eyes meet hers, she’s straddling their lap with those rough hands moving all over her body, pulling off her flimsy pyjama shirt and leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air. They grope her chest roughly, pinching and twisting her nipples as she squirms against them. With a shock she realizes they’re hard packing. Stacy never used a strap. No matter how much Wren begged and pleaded, she didn’t like the way it brought men into the bedroom. But grinding her hips down on the hard plastic in their pants now, Stacy knew there was nothing man about this. This was all Butch. This was what she wanted.

She decides to own it, to take advantage of this butch and everything they were offering her. She wants it. She wants it all. So she digs her sharp nails into their back as they take a nipple into their mouth and suck. She drags her nails through their short hair as they leave hickeys all over her chest. Fuck it.

They grab her hips and lift her to her feet, then pull down her shorts and panties so she is left standing completely bare in front of them. The way they look at her body sets her on fire. Utter desire. Complete dominance.

She sinks to her knees between their legs and unzips their fly, peeling back the rough denim until a long, thick strap pops out. Her hands then travel up their torso, slipping beneath the white T-shirt and just barely grazing warm skin before their large hands stop her. She looks up with concern, worried that reality had sunk in and they had decided this was too much, too wrong. But instead they put her hands back on their waist, on the outside of their shirt.

“I don’t like to be touched on the first time. I need to know a girl better. And even then, I don’t bottom.” They explain, a twinge of pain in their eyes. They’d had this conversation before and it had not gone well.

But Wren didn’t feel disappointed, she felt warm tingles spread through her body. Comfort. Freedom to not do anything she wasn’t fully comfortable with. To fuck and be fucked without guilt.

“Do you kiss?” She breathes, completely captured by their eyes and messy hair and warmth radiating through their clothes.

“Yes. Do you suck strap?”

“I’ve never tried, but I want to.” She says, shifting her gaze down to the long silicone cock only inches from her face.

“Give it a go, pretty girl. I’ll reward you with a kiss.”

She nods, feeling her wetness dripping on the hardwood floor. Never in her life had she experienced arousal like this. With one hand she takes the strap, slowly pumping it like she’d seen people do in porn. Leaning in, she licks up the underside, then swirls her tongue around the head. Her eyes flick up to see their reaction, pleased to find their mouth hanging open and chest heaving. Without breaking eye contact, she takes the strap deep into her mouth until she gags. Then again, and again, taking it a little bit deeper each time. Their hand tangled in her hair, pushing her further onto their cock. Her hands grip their thighs through denim as she gags continually and tears run down her cheeks. They use her hair to pull her off and smile at the sight of her watery eyes and the drool connecting her mouth to the strapon. Wren smiles back. This is what she wanted.

They lean down and grab her hips, easily tossing her onto the couch next to them. Crawling on top of her, they spread her legs apart and slot themself between so the strap pokes at her entrance but doesn’t quite slip in. Wren moves her hips, needing something.

They kiss her.

Her world melts away. The perfect kiss, so teased and anticipated, bruising, dominant, attentive. She arches her back and wraps her arms around their neck. Almost twenty more years of experience kissing makes a master, their tongue slipping in and out of her mouth, they read her like kissing girls is their first language.

After an infinity or maybe just a few minutes she breaks away, “Please fuck me. Please Sir, I need it.”

They chuckle, “As you wish, baby.”

Strong hands grip the backs of her thighs, pushing them up to her chest, she grabs them and holds them there instinctually. They line up the strap with with her pussy, dragging it through her wetness.

“So fucking wet for me. Who knew my daughter’s girlfriend was such a slut.”

Wren whined, guilt and pleasure and desperation mixing to create a headrush. They laughed at her pathetic expression, and push deep inside.

She had never felt a stretch like that. Never been so impossibly full. She could suddenly understand what people meant when they described sex as rearranging their guts. With the strap fully seated inside her and the masculine weight looming over her, she knew she would never be able to fuck a femme again.

They hooked her legs over their shoulders, and grabbed her face with both hands. This position is a mating press, she knew that much. Her poorly repressed breeding kink raged to life just thinking about it. She melted when their eyes caught hers and she saw that they were just as affected by all this as she was, the hunger in their eyes vivid.

“Are you ready for this? I’m going to knock you up, pretty girl.”

She nearly came on the spot. “Yes yes yes please Sir, knock me up please.”

They responded by driving their hips forward.

Wren held on for dear life as waves of pleasure ripped through her body. She forgot about her girlfriend upstairs and moaned with each impact of their hips against hers. The base of the harness rubbing against her clit sent extra zaps of pleasure shooting up her stomach and down her legs. She had never felt pleasure like this. Never been fucked like this. They knew exactly what pace to keep and how to flick their hips to hit spots inside she had never known existed. The pressure kept mounting so she bit hard into their shoulder and dragged her nails down their back, claiming them, pushing down her screams of pleasure. They moaned loudly and fucked her harder, moving one hand from her face to her neck.

Putting pressure, they pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You’re with my daughter, and I’m about to get you pregnant. You should really start calling me daddy.”

Shame and guilt and extreme arousal brought tears to her eyes. “Yes daddy.” She moaned, her whole body burning in every way possible.

They kissed her hard then looked at her with that crooked cocky smile, the same way that they had looked at her in the hallway that first day. Like she was theirs.

“That’s my good girl.”

Wren came so hard she thought she might die. Her vision went black and every muscle in her body tensed and released all at once. Wave after wave crashed into her until she felt like she was floating outside of her body, but they kept fucking her at a brutal pace, drawing it out even further.

“Say my name.” They growled, their face flushed and thrusts getting sloppier, her pussy squelching obscenely with each movement.

She could barely think but managed to whine “D-daddyyyy!”

They thrust deep one last time and stayed there as they convulsed on top of her, ragged breaths hitting her neck.

They both stilled for a few minutes, catching their breath in silence. Eventually, they moved her legs off their shoulders, instead looping loosely around their hips. They didn’t pull out. Wren could feel her used pussy throbbing and clenching around the strap as they buried their head in her chest. Little kisses and bites trailing between her nipples, making her twitch and sometimes whimper. She traced imaginary patterns along their scalp, down their neck to the collar of their T-shirt, then back up again.

The movie was over, credits rolling by to a cinematic score. Reality started to sink back in. She had just fucked her girlfriends mom. On her girlfriend's childhood couch. With her girlfriend right upstairs, hopefully still asleep despite how noisy they had gotten.

In fact, her girlfriend's mom's strap was still inside her treacherous pussy.

She lifted their head from her chest and looked them in the eyes, “What now?”

They didn’t answer, simply leaning forward and claiming her mouth. Every thought and feeling of guilt melting away with the sensation of their tongue sliding over hers.

Everything was perfect.

They started thrusting again, slow and languid, sending aching pleasure rippling through her tired body.

“You’re mine now.” They breathed against her lips.

“Yes daddy.”

#it starts out slow but really ramps up #this is the first thing I’ve written in months really & it feels nice :)#Butch #femme #stone Butch #stone femme #femme writing #Butch writing #lesbian writing #dyke writing #kinky lesbian #daddy Butch #daddy k!nk

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sweetieviktor · 22 days ago

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"it's the tradition", feat. viktor.

summary: it's christmas in runeterra and couples are sharing kisses under the mistletoe.

word count: 1.000. (yes! exactly 1k im happy with it :]

content warning: just fluff as always! :DD (written with s1 viktor in mind!!!

author notes: ITS 5AM AND IVE WRITTEN 2 FICS IN A DAY, maybe im going to die but fuck it we ball. love viktor and love xmas, i wish i could use sweaters but in brazil december is sooo hot but yeah, here it is a lil something for the holidays. hope u like it!! :)))

whenever some holiday approaches, piltover academy is adorned in it's colour by students. it's december and the halls are decorated with reds and greens all the way, bringing joy to those who look up and see the fairy lights blinking slowly to them. christmas is coming, and so is winter.

everyone is using their thickest coats, but there's still some people who are cold, even if they are holding hot drinks to warm up both their hands and their body, or if they are rubbing their arms, creating some friction that could maybe help it, or sharing kisses under the mistletoe meticulously placed on the tree near the entrance of the academy, which have all kind of things hanging on it. some letters addressed to santa, little brilliant baubles made in all type of materials you could think of, red bows and colorful lights, all made by it's students.

you wanted to spend your day like this, enjoying over your partner's warmth under the mistletoe. well, life isn't fair. he was already working and you needed to work too, but maybe you could bring him some sweet milk and cookies on your lunch break, right?

so once the clock hitted midday, you walked to the cafeteria, the same one you and viktor got out on your first date, and ordered enough cookies for both of you. the women on the other side of the counter packed them to you, putting the little bag on your right hand, while you carried the cup of sweet milk on the other. finally, you got out, hands full, hoping that you could bring him some of the christmas spirit when leaving those in the lab.

when you made it to the academy again, it was even more crowded than earlier, students going in and out, chatting and joking around, throwing snowballs at each other and playing in the snow. and again, the couples kissing under the mistletoe. and all you could think of was him. oh, how you missed his kisses. so you hurried up, the flashy holiday themed colors in the halls blending together in an indistinguishable blur.

once you reached his lab, you knocked on the door, anxiously waiting for an answer. you could feel how your heart thumped against your ribs, maybe it's the nervousness or just because you runned all the way to come here in time. “come in,” was all you could hear from inside.

you turned the door knob, pushing it so you could enter the lab. he was hunched over his desk, but once he looked past his shoulder, realizing you were the one who got in, his golden eyes immediately lighted up, just like the fairy lights, but shined even brighter when he seemed the baked goods you carried, then turning again to his work, “just wait a bit, i will finish this, ehh- hopefully soon.”

you came from behind him, leaving both the bag and the cup over his desk, “i know these are your favorites,” you put your hand on his shoulder, “and it's my break now, but soon i need to get back to work,” his hand stopped, no longer making calculations. he looked up at you, then at the papers in front of him, thinking if he should or not give in.

sighing, he let the pencil over the papers. you knew he would keep working if you didn't say it. “i guess i could give myself a break, then,” the corners of his mouth quirking up while he reached for the bag, opening it and letting the smell of the cookies bathe the place, bringing coziness alongside it. he shoved his hand on the bag, picking one up and biting onto it, humming softly when it melted on his tongue, then bringing the almost half cookie to your lips, only to put away and eat it himself.

he was laughing loudly, keeping a hand over his mouth, to prevent any crumbs from coming out. “you ain't fair,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. you knew he was just joking, but you wanted to eat too, “i brought those so we both could eat. together!”

“i know, i know!”, he said, getting the cup of sweet milk and taking a sip of it, “but it's fun to tease you. can't help it,” he shrugged, looking at your pouty expression turning into one of anger. picking another cookie, he proceeded to feed you first, your frown immediately disappearing. he was trying to not laugh again, but he couldn't contain it, as he did so, soon the frown came back to your face.

“stop making fun of me and let me eat, for jannas's sake,” you also couldn't keep your smile from growing, it was such a good atmosphere that, even if you were mad at him for stealing your cookie and laughing at you, you couldn't be mad for longer than thirty seconds.

you were laughing with him, happy with how your lunch was going, eating and talking, so busy with everything that you didn't see him fidgeting, looking for something inside his jacket pocket. once there was no more food nor milk, he cleaned his hands, bringing one over you both, holding something up. a mistletoe.

you scoffed, running your hand over your face, “really, viktor?”, you were astonished, he truly got one of those just he could have an excuse to kiss you?

“well, it's the tradition, isn't it?”, he grinned, placing his free hand on your waist, bringing you closer, “any person who's under the mistletoe must kiss, it's correct?”

“yes, absolutely correct,” you put both hands on each side of his face, kissing his lips softly, tasting the sugar on his mouth. “but you taste like milk and cookies,” you kissed him again, just to make sure you got it right, “maybe next year i will bring you more of these, so we could kiss under the mistletoe again.”

“oh, christmas may be my favorite holiday now.”

#—swe writes #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #ok! im sleep deprived but oh well i finished it before the end of christmas :D #it's 5am i want to sleep so bad oh gods #but i will prob still play some league before actuality going to bed hehe #originally i thought abt making hot chocolate with vik #but i love so much the mistletoe tradition to just not write it #and he is so.#arrrgh love him love him #oh and its rare that i happened to write 2 things in the same day #it was only bcs i promised i would make smth for steb and for christmas too #but couldn't write an xmas fic if i was already working on the steb one #so i started and finished both on the same say :)#im going to die oh well oh fu k #but whatever!! life is an amazing experience and im living it fully ((not sleeping properly ;)

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zuppizup · 18 days ago

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Don't get me wrong, I see the appeal of Rayllum as parents working extra hard to defeat Aaravos (I am writing In Absentia, after all)

But...

Seven years of longing? Of pining for the quiet domestic life they got a quick glimpse of? Wanting to relax and begin that next stage of their life, but the anxiety gets to them every time. Whenever they contemplate maybe things will work out. Maybe they've prepared well enough. Hopefully, they're strong enough.

This time they'll truly win.

For good...

But what if they're not?

What if one of them doesn't make it this time?

What if they leave their kids as orphans?

What if Aaravos targets their children?

And so they decide to wait. Seven years isn't that long and they'll still be young then.

They'll have more than enough time.

Even if Lira teases them every time she sees them, if she doesn't pick up on the smiles that don't quite reach their eyes.

"Shouldn't you have some by now if you want ten?!"

It's safer to wait...

#ngl i also like the idea of 7 years of tension k #the pining and the longing #only stopping *themselves*#everyone tells them things will work out #that they shouldn't put their lives on hold for what ifs #they just cant shake the unsettling feeling #seven years isnt that long to wait #yeah I'll probably be writing this #i know who i am as a person #rayllum #the dragon prince #tdp #rayla #callum #tdp spoilers #tdp s7 spoilers

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rainyyy-dayysss · 9 months ago

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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.

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pastafossa · 4 months ago

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"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.

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.”

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