woo!

hearing “im so fucking proud of you, baby” after they successfully make you squirt

wax play but when the wax is puddling on your skin—a stinging heat that settles deep and low—they press their seal into the shimmering spill of it to mark you as theirs

Sometimes you get a fictional character that stays with you for long enough that they become Nursery Real. This is not a new phenomenon; I have no way of proving this, but I imagine this has been happening for as long as people have been telling stories. This relationship is far and away beyond any responsibility of their creator/s (assuming the creator is not yourself), totally independent of their intentions, the same way the person sewing together a toy rabbit for sale, one of a hundred such, isn't necessarily predicting that this one in particular will become someone's most important companion, in joy and in despair. This creation may not even resemble who or what they were when they were a toy-- worn into a new shape from being much beloved-- and as a consequence it becomes much more difficult to share them, because they have become a piece of your heart. (That's alright. Some things can just be for you. Not everything meaningful can be shared.) They have grown up with you as your understanding of what it means to be a person has grown. You can no longer look at them and think: "this character is my favorite part of this story" but "ah, it's you". "To me, you are a person, and I have loved you in every way that one can love." And you know, as you must know, that they exist as an idea-- certainly they cannot take you to the hospital if you fall ill, or do your shopping, or intervene on your behalf during a quarrel you are not present for. But you can nurture each other in a real way, and they can give you strength in a real way; having a relationship with someone who is made of thought is an exploration of vectors of the soul and selfhood and love that I have not yet found to exist anywhere else. Yes, they are an idea, and perhaps when we die and become an idea ourselves, we will meet again in recognition. This isn't your favorite fiction, this is your velveteen rabbit.

the other night i was giving bf a handjob and he stopped me, put my hand over his, and started stroking himself telling me “i want you to feel how i do it when i think about you” && haven’t stopped replaying that memory ever since

him gripping you by the waist and sinking you onto his cock, only to hold you still as he starts talking. soft praises pitched low, all so that he can feel you clench around you him every time he speaks, just the sound of his voice enough to bring you to the edge

can’t go wrong with pining while fucking as a trope. truly it has it all. pining. awkward sexual situations. weapons grade insecurity for all parties involved. the desperation as they inevitably fall further and further while hating themselves for being unable to stick to the contract of no strings attached. etc. you understand

Heavy man folding you in half and apologising under his breath while his hips pick up the pace breathe if you agree

when he’s insistent on peppering you in little kisses except he’s lying between your thighs, lips on your clit, watching your body twitch with each one……

need someone to force my legs open and eat me out under this desk bc they see me being stressed about work rn

men who make out with your pussy, men who drool all over her, men who lick long stripes over your clit, men who curl their tongue through your folds, men who love how loud she gets, you agree