#imperfect circle

[pluralthey]

was testing out a coloring style for idletry and honestly, it's growing on me

[greenapricot]

“I turn my back for five minutes...”

(x)

[possumteeths]

when i was in middle school i was just obsessed with having white skin. i googled a thousand things, went to the asian beauty store to get skin bleaching products. I took weird fkn lemon baths and stuff. And like i guess I never realized how fucked up that was?

Every time I come across the term porcelain skin I want to throw something. Bodily descriptions in books these days are much much better than they were when I was twelve but fanfic is still very much in the past. Obviously i’m not inserting myself in everything I read, I like to be like fifteen steps away from the story but someone exceptionally beautiful is always described with such white centric terms and often the stupid term porcelain skin. Its annoying and stupid and can we stop saying this dang phrase lol.

[random-racehorses]

Random Real Thoroughbred: IMPERFECT CIRCLE

IMPERFECT CIRCLE is a dark bay/brown mare born in The United States in 1988. By RIVERMAN out of AVIANCE. Link to their pedigreequery page: https://www.pedigreequery.com/imperfect+circle

[kkathrion]

We're all imperfect circles

[fleshcatalyst]

peace at last

[syb-rooks]

The bad kids are an incredibly healthy and supportive friend group BUT OH MY GOD THEY SUCK AT COMMUNICATING!

Half of their problems would be solved if they talked to each other.

Fabian would GLADLY pay for Adaine's components and for Riz's tuition if they asked. He would even get his papa to change his trust fund conditions to include them. Or he would declare Riz and Adaine his nemesis.

They would figure out the reason for Fig's misfortune in a week max. They would march into hell, probably accompanied by both Gorthalax and Sandra Lynn, and demand to break whatever deal she made with whichever demon involved.

If Fabian even suggested he was lonely, the bad kids would organise sleepovers every night. He would circle between the Thistlesprings, the Gukgaks and the Mordred Manor. Lydia would pack him his own lunch.

Fig would immediately start promoting Cassandra's religion on all social media, and get her to thousand followers in a week. The rest of the bad kids would join without hesitation.

If Riz would finally admit the HUGE stress he is under, everyone, even Fig, would stop piling all the work on him and happily write their 10 page essays. They would convince him to see Jawbone, and enjoy his last years in high school. They would band together to find the rogue teacher within a day. They would make sure that Riz's resume is the most impressive CV that the universities have ever received.

They would all gather together to come up with music for Fig and Gorgug's new album. Fabian would choreograph their music videos, Adaine would come up with rhymes, Riz would bring a list of all their adventures, including motifs and connections made, to give her inspiration, Kristen would suggest to make parodies of classic camp songs from her old church.

Adaine would contact Aelwyn immediately to get dirt on Porter, to blackmail him. Gorgug would get permission for his MCAT exams by the end of the week.

And if she would stay on the phone a little longer and admitted how much she is struggling, Aelwyn would immediately return home along with her cats. Then she would drag her sister to Jawbone's door, and force her to give him the components list.

The problem is that even after all those years, after all those adventures, even after the forest of the nightmare king, they still each think of themselves as the weak link. As the person in the group that isn't allowed, doesnt deserve to take space, ask for help. Because they should be able to handle it on their own. Isn't that what adulthood is like?

They would abandon anything and everything to help someone else, as long as that person isn't themselves. As long as they dont have to show their amazing, incredible, powerful, and oh so compassionate friends how weak and imperfect they are in comparison.

[frickityfrackityfuckingshit]

Convinced that drawing a perfect circle would summon Satan

[rxmye]

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[bismuthfool]

Mac didn't want to offend him (this time)

and bonus 👇

I have a headcanon (maybe TW eating disorder?) that Wukong really forgets to eat because… days alone seem the same, and in this vicious circle physical needs are blurred, especially for an immortal magical monkey who has experienced a lot of physical and psychological pain and is used to being… well. not very good.

and he eats when he just wants to please himself with something delicious and this is not a normal diet ya know

and Makak didn’t see all this (because, you know. he was dead), and remembers Wukong as someone who eats a lot. and he thinks it's normal, but didn't talk about it

Another headcanon: Wukong does not consider his body ideal for the statuses of King, Sage Equal to Heaven, and Hero that he has. therefore, even an indirect mention of “imperfection” hurt him

ahhh i hope I didn't make mistakes in the sentences i hope my heads not stupid(

[bahablastplz]

Canvas: Hyunjin x Reader

Content: A late night with your boyfriend turns into something more as you both try something you had only talked about before; smut and fluff Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, heavy heavy praise WC: 2500 Happy birthday Hyunjin <3

Hyunjin was painting again. 

As you roll out of bed in the middle of the night, this fact is apparent. The smell of paint wafts from the living room where he has his work space set up. A large tarp on the floor, a small easel propped up and a lamp set to illuminate his latest work. Paints lay haphazardly around him, a blend of colors and shades of hues mushed across the palette. The rest of the room was dimly lit, moonlight shimmering through the curtains and shining on your boyfriend’s face. God, he was breathtaking. One paintbrush is in his mouth and the other in his hand, gliding across the canvas. The sight makes you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Love?” He looks up at you now, watching your frame as you admire him from the wall. The lamp light reflects onto his dark-framed glasses when his gaze meets yours, and you smile at how the yellow and orange lights glow across his features. He smiles back. It’s a small gesture, and even though you’ve seen him smile hundreds of times the gesture warms your heart. 

You cross the room in your nightgown, the cold breeze from the air-conditioning causing you to curl into yourself slightly. Hyunjin beckons to the spot on the floor beside him and you take it eagerly, body curling around him and head resting on his lap. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him. He has the habit of sneaking away in the night, so as to not wake you, and painting until the sun starts to creep through the windows. It’s cathartic for him, a way for him to get away from his thoughts that trouble him in the night. In moments like this you love to watch him, how his brows furrow in concentration and his lips get caught between his teeth. Hyunjin was the most in his element when he had a canvas in front of him. 

“Mm,” he confirms. He checks his hand to make sure no paint dirties it before he rests it on your hip, drawing soothing circles on top of your nightgown. Your head nuzzles deeper into him and you breathe in his scent, letting out a content hum. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks a moment later. His hand moves effortlessly across canvas, dappling acrylic paint across a vision of flowers that was already the picture of perfection to you–but would probably take him at least a few more hours to complete. He was a perfectionist like that; he could point out every absence of color, needed highlight or small imperfection of his work that was near imperceivable to you. 

“No, the bed was just cold. I wanted to see where you were,” you hum against his skin. Your words were true, of course; because you get so hot when you sleep next to your boyfriend, the house usually stays a bit chillier but you notice his absence sometimes when he leaves the bed late at night. He now wears a dark colored hoodie that swallows his features, meant for his comfort when lounging around the house like this. His pants are also meant for lounging, the gray sweatpants soft but covered in remnants of previous art projects known lovingly as his ‘painting pants.’ 

“Do you want me to warm you up?” You nod and crawl into his lap, nuzzling your face right into the crook of his neck. He lets out a breathy laugh underneath you, arms wrapping around your frame to bring you closer as he continues to work. After a few minutes your boyfriend leans closer to the canvas, examining a piece of his work that must have not looked right to him. This action shifts your position, however, your core now pressed right against his clothed length. You tense against him and your breath hitches slightly, and you know that he’s caught on to your arousal. 

“How much longer?” You whine against him. He lets out a laugh and uses his free hand to stroke your back, long fingers moving languidly across your spine. The action is meant to soothe you but has the opposite effect, sending an electrical shock down your body and causing you to let out a small breath. 

“Why, love? Are you feeling needy for me?” You nod almost embarrassingly fast. While you love watching Hyunjin paint and could for hours, you can’t help the want that settles deep in your gut that begs for his touch, his attention, and his desire to be released toward you. 

“I was hoping to paint for a while more,” he confesses. You try not to let your disappointment show, but you let out a moan as the man’s hand finds your hips, pushing you harder against him. The friction that meets your core has you feeling more desperate and you buck into him and he’s smiling, and it infuriates you to know he’s intentionally trying to work you up. He has always loved seeing you pliant, needy and desperate for him, and you were unfortunately already in that state somehow. “Do you want to sit on my cock baby?” Your head reels back to look at him with wide eyes. “You can sit on my cock while I paint but you have to be good and promise not to move, okay?” 

You had talked with him about cock-warming before but it was never something you had actually done. Now, it must be just past 3 a.m., and you were finally turning the hypothetical into reality–it felt unreal. You let out an affirmative sound and nod your head, and he’s maneuvering your bodies to get you set up. He repositions you so that you’re on your knees above him, slightly towering over him where he sits on the floor. He’s lifting his hips up and pushing his pants down just past his thighs, releasing his cock and pumping it one, two times. He’s hard already, and you watch him in awe as he works to pleasure himself in front of you. It’s just for a second, but enough for him to have your breath come to a stop, which is exactly what he was waiting for. 

His hands find place on your waist. He’s hitching your nightgown up above your hips, leaving you bare for him. It’s no secret that sometimes you sleep without underwear on, but he smirks at you and stares in a way that leaves you feeling utterly exposed despite him having seen you like this hundreds of times. His fingers come up to your core, rubbing it and gathering your wetness to spread it around your folds. You let out a moan at the action, thankful for the contact before he’s dragging you down and placing his cock at your entrance. 

He leans back on his hands and looks up at you, waiting for you to do the rest. And so you do, piercing yourself onto him and sliding down his length, inch by inch. Hyunjin was well-endowed, so to speak, so it was never an easy fit to take him but it felt pleasurable nonetheless. Finally he is fully inside you, and your breathing and each moan is completely synced with one another. A hand comes up to bring a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the movement is so domestic and loving that it makes your heart pang in your chest. 

“Beautiful,” is all he says. 

He brings your nightgown back down so that it covers you up, remembering your recent complaint about being cold. Your head finds its place back on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck like it’s your home. 

And, he continues painting. 

You’re not sure why you’re surprised–that’s exactly what he said he was going to do. Your boyfriend has a lot of self-control and restraint that you did not, and it was especially evident when you were intimate. While you often become wrecked from the start, he would let his pleasure build up and would reel from the delayed gratification of it all. 

Your knees find the ground and before you can help yourself, you put your weight on them. You’re propping yourself up, sliding up his length about halfway, before crashing back down. Your clit drags deliciously across his abdomen in the process, causing you to let out a heavy sigh of pleasure. You rock against him only one more time before strong hands find your shoulders, pushing you down hard. You try to bounce up again and find that you’re unable, his grip keeping you in place so firmly that you cannot budge despite your attempts. 

“Don’t,” he scolds. His words are sharp, not laced with venom but to remind you of his earlier demands. 

At this angle, his hands pushing you down causes his cock to be seated deeper inside you than before and you let out an embarrassing squeak. You feel so full, and you tell him so. 

He has an idea; he grabs you and leans forward, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso. When he sits back down, you are now unable to give yourself the momentum needed to move your hips or rock against his length. You are fully seated on him and he is fully inside you, his arms wrapping around you and holding you flush against him as he continues his work. 

It’s silent, now, with the exception of your shallow and uneven breathing. You find yourself clenching against him over and over again, reeling in the sensation of him inside you. And it’s just that–you can really feel him like this, every ridge and vein, every pulse of him inside you, and it has you feeling lightheaded. 

“God, baby, you’re gushing around me,” he whispers into your hair. “Taking me so good.” His praise makes you smile and squeeze tighter around him and he groans. You feel smug to finally get him to lose his composure, but he starts spouting more praise that makes all thoughts vanish in an instant.

“So good for me, baby, you know that? Such a good pussy. You’re the love of my life, God, you were made just for me. You were made for me to love you, to hold you like this… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, meant to take my cock, yeah?” You whimper against him, the mixture of sweet nothings and sexual praise whispered to you making you feel dizzy. 

It’s several more minutes before you say something, finally coming to the conclusion that you would have to be the one to initiate it further, if he would even let you. 

“Please…” It’s all you can say at first. 

“What, love?” He teases. He knows exactly what you want. 

“Need you to move, please, Hyune… It’s too much. Need to cum,” You beg. You’re sure you sound pathetic but you can’t find it in you to care. If there’s anyone who’s not only willing but wanting to see you in your most pathetic and vulnerable states, it’s Hyunjin. 

“Poor thing, does it feel that good?” His voice asks with a small lilt in it. You’re sniffling now, embarrassed about the tears starting to spill down your cheeks but so overcome in pleasure and sensitivity; you can both feel it in the ways that you clench around him unabashedly. He brings his head back to see your face, to examine your tears. He’s seen you on the verge of tears a few times while having sex from being overwhelmed by pleasure, and though it always makes his heart tighten because he’s the one that’s doing that to you, he’s the one making you feel that good,  he knows it’s about time you’ve reached your limit. He wipes a stray tear away and you don’t even realize that he has dropped his paintbrush until he’s picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. 

He leans back, enraptured by you, and brings you in for a sweet but messy kiss. It’s open-mouthed and hot, and it feels like you’re breathing into him and filling up his lungs. Your tongues meet and you’re covered in spit, a mixture of yours and his, and suddenly his hands are on your hips and his feet are planted strongly on the ground. He doesn’t disconnect his mouth from yours as he thrusts up into you long and hard, but any coherence is long since gone and you’re not sure you’re even kissing back anymore, instead giving loud, high-pitched moans into his mouth. 

His hands move to the undersides of your thighs and he uses his strength to piston into you. In this way, you can only take what he gives but it’s more than enough, as he knows your body better than you do. 

“I’m close, love,” he confesses. He lets his head fall back onto the couch but his eyes never leave yours, drinking up your scrunched up face and open-mouthed pants. It’s no surprise that you’re both close to your arrival so soon, after sitting on him for so long your pleasure feels like it’s increased tenfold. 

“Me too,” you say, struggling to get the words out. You didn’t have to tell him, though. He could tell by the way you were starting to tighten around him. 

“Go ahead and touch your pretty clit for me, make yourself come.” You follow his command, hand snaking down to where your bodies meet. He was right, you were absolutely soaked, and you use this wetness to shakily circle around your clit. His thrusts get harder, deeper, the way they do right before he cums. Unsurprisingly, you beat him to it, clenching all over his length and throwing your head back as you release. 

He follows suit, thrusting into you a few more times before he finds his release, spilling deep inside of you. He holds you close, rutting into you now slowly and working you both through your intense orgasms. When he stills, you collapse into his arms and he holds you tight, embracing you and running a hand through your hair as he praises you. When he finally pulls you off of him you feel empty and this makes you whine. Hyunjin pulls up his sweatpants and carries you to your shared bathroom, placing you onto the sink as he runs the bath. It’s late, but you feel grimy and covered in sweat so the bath is more than welcomed. 

When you look into the mirror, you can’t help but laugh. Your nightgown is covered in paint at your hips and your waist. Though he had tried to be so careful, you suppose it was the risk that came with the reward. When Hyunjin sees the target of your laughter, he joins you and apologizes sheepishly, promising to buy you another. 

“It’s okay, this can just be my paint nightgown,” you joke. “I’ll wear it the next time we have sex while you’re painting.” He smiles at you affectionately, and when you finally get back to sleep it’s in his arms and your bed is warm again.

*** Masterlist Recs

[branmer]

think i will be evil and use the circle tool to draw part of this pic im working on

[to-trek-or-not-to-trek]

Kirk, lying awake at 2 am: Do you think mankind has overstepped it's boundaries? It feels sometimes like we are fighting a war against our very nature as beings- stuck perpetuating the circle of mistakes and insufficient attempts to fix them.

Spock, also awake: It is unclear, Jim. However, part of what makes your species so admirable is your need to continue that circle- so long as you persevere and continue to fix your mistakes, the imperfections can be discounted. Do you think mankind is so undeserving of the sympathy you so pride yourselves on?

Kirk: Do you think-

McCoy, his pillow over his head: Do you think mankind is ever going to go the fuck to sleep?

[mercurialparamnesia]

i've been thinking about how sweet and caring of a lover/partner Jason would be, how he'd love and adore every single part of you... maybe i'm just sappy since i'm dying bc of my period

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 resting his hands on your hips and rubbing his thumbs in slow circles where the bones of your pelvis meet the top of your thigh. softly caressing the dips that he loves to press kisses to.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 tracing his worn and rough fingers along the stretch marks that decorate your body, thin lines that dance across your skin with every movement of muscle, tendon, and bone.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 pressing reverent kisses to the freckles, moles, and scars that lay on your skin with little murmurs of how much he adores every bit of you "Mi corazón es perfecto porque tú estás dentro de él" (my heart is complete because you are in it) and "En tus días malos te voy a querer el triple" (on your bad days, i'm going to love you triple); no matter if you think something is an imperfection or ugly he loves it so much since it means you're here, alive and with him of all people.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon absolutely worshiping your body

Lights low, soft, breathy sounds filling the air that is already already thick with the unspoken words of a man consumed, you lay sprawled out naked across the sheets.

This is like his little slice of heaven.

Adoration is what Simon is after tonight, needing to caress every single solitary inch of you until you are left in a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

"Let me turn your brain off for ya, let me take care of ya," he breathes against your mouth as he kisses you, lightly nipping at your bottom lip lazily.

You are the best goddamn thing to grace his life and he desperate need to show it constantly by having all his undivided attention focused solely on you is something he struggles with dailyq.

Moments ago Simon had traced over all the subtle imperfections of your body with his calloused fingers as if every flaw were actually incredibly precious to him, lips following not far behind as he whispers delicious praises into your flesh.

Those gentle things that are only for your ears alone to hear. Can't have people think he's going soft...even though he very much is.

He nuzzles into you as he catches your scent: that natural musk mixed with the clean smell of your body wash. It makes his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he cannot accurately describe.

"Christ, you look so fuckin' beautiful, luv," he purrs against your warm skin as his lips caress down over the swell of your breasts with their nipples already stiff and along the length of your stomach towards your thighs. "I can't get enough of ya. Fuck, your perfect."

It is as if he is performing a sacred act by giving every bit of you the full breadth of his desire, from your lips all the way down to your legs. Extra time he spends on your thighs as he embraces those voluptuous curves with his mouth until you are whining and writhing beneath him before he has even gotten to your throbbing clit.

Simon spreads you open to lean into that mossy bank and delicately peppers kisses to your petals with such care, until you are breathlessly begging him for more, "please baby, please", before he carefully divides them easily with his tongue as he slips it inside. You are already wet, stimulated from his doting on your body alone and shit you are sweet. Like eating a peach accept this own doesn't run out before he's had his fill.

That masterful tongue draws short, cncise circles along your clit, lips locking around it intermittently as he sucks, using the two techniques in tandem until you are bucking against his face. He takes his time, caressing your thighs up and down with his hands, dragging his nails lightly to make you shiver.

By the time he is inside of you, you are a glorious mess or cum and mewls and sweat.

Slow, even thrusts he pounds into you from behind, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each plunge of his cock between your silky petals and into your tight cunt.

Your elbows and knees prod into the mattress leaving indents on the surface as he has you ass up and face down now. One of those wide hands with the long, thick fingers runs up the length of your back to your head where he laces all five digits through your hair before his grip holds it firmly in his grasp while the other glides across your spine.

His clasp on your hair is firm, but not painful; there is nothing but pleasure for you tonight.

Looking down, he watches with hungry amber eyes as your juicy cunt sucks him in right down to the base of his shaft before he pulls his cock back out nearly to the tip to thrist it back in all over again.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groans as his hips snap against your backside. "Ya feel so goddamn good tonight, just wanna stay buried in ya."

Goddamn what a beautiful sight to watch your body strain to take all of his girth in at once, his size almost too much to handle, but he has prepped you well as he always does starting with his fingers and then his tongue; making sure you are nice and wet and relaxed enough to take him.

Fuck, in this position he's so deep in you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. To be so full of him, where you can't tell where he ends and you begin, sends tingling shivers coursing through your veins.

You are completely claimed by him body and soul.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as possible, but the closest he would ever come was the moment he got that first taste of the absolute glory of what lay between your legs as you wrapoed yourselves in one another and then it was as if your body became his church...and fuck was he ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers, his tongue, his cock; all his instruments at your disposal to show his unwavering devotion.

That man had been starved for far longer than he'd like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him. It was you he craved: your softness and warmth and sweetness, everything he did not have in his life before.

And so every chance Simon gets to have you naked and at his mercy, he takes greedily and without remorse. No matter how many times, how many different ways, he always wants more... Needs more...

How can he not overindulge after being deprived for so long?

...when all this beauty just willingly let him have all she has.