#and therefore feeling even worse about it :-|

[indecisive-gm]

Adding onto this, I feel that it's important to recognize suicide as a symptom of a larger problem *instead* of as The Problem itself. I remember a few years ago when I determined for myself that a "right to life" should mean a right to control over your own life, and therefore the right to choose to end it if you genuinely determine that that would be the best decision for yourself. Why is this kind of right discouraged so heavily? I'm sure a large part of it is that people don't like it when the people around them die (though I'd argue that convincing someone to continue suffering for your own sake is incredibly cruel and greedy), but I expect that another large part is that there are people who benefit from having more people to work for them and buy things from them. The upper classes want people to have more kids, it makes sense that they would try to stop people from trying to escape their system too, regardless of what method that escape takes.

I've seen people organize and get things done, and I know enough about history to expect that things will get better--even if it takes time to get to that point, and even if things get a lot worse for a while first. But as we work towards improvement, it's important that the focus is on these overlying problems (severe and widespread poverty, exploitative business practices, fearmongering against scapegoats, etc.) rather than just trying to cure their symptoms (suicide).

It’s so crazy that suicide prevention is just people going awwww don’t!! Awwww come on noooooooooo stopppppp

[silverflameataraxia]

Is SJM aware of what she writes?

Abuse

We know Nesta had her palms beaten raw with a ruler when she was seven-years-old, and she bears a scar near her left thumb from a punishment. This is abuse. I feel like SJM might, somewhat, understand that considering Cassian referred to Nesta as a maltreated animal who bit anyone who came near, and he wondered if learning to dance had been drilled into her as ruthlessly as fighting had been drilled into him and we know Illyrian training goes hand in hand with abuse. But yet, the narrative never goes into it. It doesn't talk about how being abused as a child helped to form Nesta into the adult she became. She never has a conversation with her mate about it, which makes me wonder if Cassian has ever noticed her scar. It would be nice if Cassian hated Grandmamma Archeron for hurting Nesta as much as he hates Tamlin for hurting Feyre and Keir/Eris for hurting Mor.

Sexual Assault

We know Nesta was sexually assaulted by both Tomas and the kelpie and violated in the Cauldron. SJM seems to understand that as well since there were multiple references relating the kelpie's attack of Nesta to Tomas's attack of her and even her experience in the Cauldron. Yet, right after Nesta's horrific ordeal with the kelpie, Nessian has their first sex scene, where Nesta uses Cassian as a coping mechanism and as a way to not deal with her trauma. Cassian is more than happy to use her body and then leave her afterward like so much garbage. Not once does Nesta ever open up to Cassian (or anyone) about Tomas or the kelpie. Rhysand and Amren, I'm assuming, see her being sexually assaulted, yet never offer her the same therapy services that the priestesses utilize. Even during the Blood Rite, it's mentioned that Nesta tells Gwyn and Emerie about the Cauldron, but it never says that she tells them about Tomas or the kelpie. It would be nice if Cassian spent more time hating on Tomas for hurting Nesta and less time hating on Tamlin for hurting Feyre and Eris for hurting Mor.

Grooming

Now, this is the main one I don't think SJM understands because she presents it as a good thing and proof that Nesta is spoiled. We know Mama Archeron was planning advantageous marriages for Nesta, which would have included how to be a proper wife, how to seduce/please a man, how to be a homemaker, how to cook, clean, do the laundry and the dishes, etc. Nesta was born into wealth, she was supposed to marry into wealth, and she was supposed to breed another generation into wealth. This was her life before she reached the age of twelve. This is grooming, and grooming is a form of sexual abuse. We know Nesta was groomed because at the age of fourteen, she successfully seduced an older man. The same people who were horrified with Mor being sold into a marriage at age seventeen are the same people who find amusement in Nesta's childhood grooming. This begs the question, does SJM understand what she writes? Why are we supposed to pity Mor? Why are we supposed to pity Feyre for not being groomed, but we're not supposed to sympathize with Nesta spending her entire childhood being groomed? We're supposed to sympathize with Feyre for being ignored by their abusive mother, not Nesta for being abused by their abusive mother. Because somehow we're told that their mother treated Feyre worse, which is obviously not true. But then SJM has Nesta and Ember - not Feyre and Ember - bond, which makes me think that she must have some sense of Nesta being mistreated by her mother. The narrative constantly tells us that Nesta is just like her mother. Yes, because she spent the most amount of time with her. I hope SJM's not under the impression that Mama Archeron was loving and affectionate to Nesta but cruel to Feyre, and therefore, Nesta just upped and decided one day to be cruel to Feyre. That's not how things work.

Neglect

We know Nesta was neglected by her father, who let her be abused and groomed. He was also willing to let her starve to death rather than doing his duty as a parent and providing for his children. But somehow, SJM paints him as a loving and caring father and blames Nesta for his neglect. All of a sudden, it's not Papa Archeron who neglected Nesta and her siblings, but it's 12-year-old Nesta who neglected her sisters. This narrative both promotes and glorifies parentification. All this time and energy that SJM spends on hating Nesta should be directed toward Papa Archeron. Instead, we receive a narrative where an abused and neglected child doesn't deserve the love of her neglectful father, and therefore, she must strive every day to earn it. If Papa Archeron loved Nesta, she wouldn't have been abused and groomed, and she wouldn't have almost starved to death.

I feel like SJM is so hell-bent on making Nesta the aggressor that she refuses to ever see Nesta as the victim, which is leading to a very damaging narrative. We're told that Nesta failed her abusive mother. She failed her neglectful father. She failed her siblings when she was but a child herself. Nesta is a survivor, but instead, SJM paints her as a villain. Rather than acknowledging that Nesta was raised in the CoN, SJM acts like Nesta is the one who spent her entire life making people's lives miserable. Nesta is a very private person who struggles to be vulnerable, but the only times she ever opens up is to talk about how much she hates herself and what a failure she is. Not once in this entire series has SJM ever acknowledged the people who have failed Nesta, the people who have caused Nesta to suffer, or the people who have hurt her. This begs the question: Does SJM not understand what she writes? Or can she not admit Nesta's trauma without admitting that Feyre did not have it worse and that she's not the ultimate victim?

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who is super sensitive and emotional?😏

Slashers x reader, who's very emotional

Michael Myers

• Michael is always collected and emotional, so he's always here to support you. He can gently stroke your head to make you feel better. Or he'll just look at you with interest, not menacingly, no. Studying.

• Will kill anyone who makes you shed even one tear or even just sigh nervously.

• He will bring you something that gives you a sense of comfort, such as a blanket, a soft toy, or your favorite drink.

• He is a very resilient person. So if you have a tantrum or just an emotional overload, he won't leave. He will stay at home within your line of sight as a shadow guard, so you know that he cares, but he doesn't know how to express it in a human way.

• The more emotional you are, the more often he will appear by your side. He already has a certain sense of your changing emotions.

• When you've cried and calmed down a bit, he'll wrap you in a blanket and carry you to the bedroom to help you recover.

Jason Voorhees

• You're so small and fragile. Jason doesn't know how to handle small people, and he's afraid of breaking you or hurting you. So he just pats your head or something. He needs to get used to the idea that you're so small and fragile, and it might take some time.

• He brings you little things that he thinks will make you feel better. Cute animals, beautiful stones from the lake, flowers, and cute items from the victims.

• If you're scared, he'll just pick you up and carry you to a safe place.

• When some victims get too close to you and bother you, he might accidentally drop his machete next to them. And if they make you cry or feel afraid, he'll show you his full brutality, no doubt about it.

• Jason doesn't say much, but his care for you shows in the little things. He'll make sure his presence brings you peace and that you don't have to cry or feel overly emotional around him. That's why he often takes you to the lake, and you just sit there, enjoying nature and each other's company.

Ghostface

• Billy and Stu are quite active guys who love to have fun, so it's a bit challenging in that regard. Billy is more composed and understands your personality, trying to protect you and provide a sense of stability and comfort. Stu, on the other hand, loves to provoke your emotions, which often results in Billy reprimanding him. "Oh, you're crying? How cute. Well, let's give each other a hug! Only if you let me peel your pretty skin off! Hey, don't cry. I WAS JUST JOKING!!"

• Eventually, Stu will learn to control himself. They are always by your side (except for their 'parties', you're not ready to join their killing sprees yet) like loyal knights on either side of you. They use their actions in public to show that you belong to them. Kisses, hugs, possessive touches. So if anyone dares to harm you, they will have to deal with them.

• They are very fond of horror movies, but I know that they can scare you or make you uncomfortable. Therefore, for a horror night in your company (and it is much more pleasant to watch horror movies with you) they surround you with maximum attention and care. They will buy any snacks, any cute blankets, just please watch the movie with them!

• During the day, they leave you cute notes or texts so that you do not feel sad and forgotten.

• "You are too good for this cruel world... So we're going to make it even worse, because you're a real angel!"

• From time to time, Stu gives you bloody "gifts" after their parties to see your reaction. It could even be the victim's eyes...

Bubba Sawyer

• Bubba is quite emotional himself, but he tries not to show it. Bubba will be as careful and gentle as possible to calm you down if necessary. He will growl menacingly at anyone who tries to harm or scare you in any way. He will fuss over you like a mother hen to make sure you're all right.

• He will show you his trophies (like skulls or a bracelet of teeth) to cheer you up. But if you're scared, he'll quickly remove it and try to hug or stroke you to reassure you that everything is fine.

• If the victims are bothering you, they've already been cut by his trusty chainsaw.

• He suggests doing some handicrafting together, but to avoid scaring you, you'll be making a mask out of fabric. He'll make one out of leather, but it won't be scary, I promise!

• If you're opposed to killing, Bubba will try not to kill you. He'll try, but he can't promise. At most, he'll knock the victim out in front of you and drag them to the basement.

[clownakai]

Akam Princess Mononoke AU with Shuuichi as Ashitaka and Rei as San. That is all

[daily-hanamura]

[thebluebygracieabrams]

i think growing up is just life repeatedly sucker punching you and saying bitch you thought things were gonna better lmao no you're so naive and stupid for having hope in 20 years the world will be flaming bag of garbage and no matter how hard you work you'll get eliminated at some point

[procrastinationaccount]

Also Pearl did not miscarry. People forget the "sucking on me like some needy animal in a barn" line. She gave birth and it still completely terrified her and then it died (possibly from what disabled her father? That's just pure speculation though) and she was relieved.

[jelliclekay]

I'm just so sad

[nabaath-areng]

Dawntrail has been putting a lot effort into upskirting and focusing on Ieeha's legs in almost every single cutscene and to say that that has been distracting is an understatement—

Bonus:

[quietwingsinthesky]

even has killed people—though perhaps that depends on your definition of people—and it’s not. how do i put it. it’s never cool, you know? it’s never a moment where this puts them in control of a situation, where they can show off some skill in putting someone down. because even is not, generally, very powerful, and they do not know how to do this.

it just gets messy.

which is one of those terrible reasons why they… well, they don’t like the master, but they have to like that she can do it easy, quick, clean. she can give even the ability to, as well, when she wants. if for no other reason than it means that they won’t have to scrub it raw off their skin later, they appreciate that.

[batking-lich]

"i'm not like those Other People, i only consume Unproblematic Media™ with Good Representation™ and i don't like Irredeemable Media™"

"i'm not like those Other People, i don't like this Sanitized Media™, i only like Real Art™ with Bad Messy Representation™"

you are literally the same people wearing different hats the only things you disagree about are what counts as bad media and what counts as good representation

[marinaers]

ravi is not naturally inclined to hate any of this stuff btw. it's true he doesn't enjoy roughing it during fieldwork and mostly did the weekend mountaineering because dan enjoyed it but under other circumstances he would be having a really good time getting to research the geography of whole new planets and seeing it personally even if it means sleeping on the hard ground and going without a hot shower for a couple of days. it's a little out of his comfort zone but he wanted to do it! he's just in such a state of emotional and mental fuckery that he can't.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[okwonyo]

LOOSE ✶ down!bad enha ｡

𝗧𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜 ────── 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅.

❪ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐒 ❫ ｡ enhypen & fem!rea 14OO fluff established relationship ── kissing skinship very pathetic boys ◜ᴗ◝ DAILY

骚人 ܃ hyung line is longer because i wrote them in my pcㅠㅠ stream loose and enjoy 🎀

HEESEUNG

he swears he is not crazy. he swears that there is nothing wrong with him— for him to be looking at you like that. but, he admits that he cannot control himself, especially when you are doing so simple and making his heart bounce in his chest.

this is the hottest you could have done, ever. your lips moving at the way you say his name, “heeseung, wait,” you say in a soft tone. halting him in his movements as he gets ready to get out of the house.

his mouth falls agape, he stays still, watching you seduce him by holding your hair tie in between your lips. your neck stretches when you lean your head back, and he has to fight every urge of his to not bite—teasing— your exposed skin.

his eyes widen ever so slightly whereupon your gaze meets his when you finally tie your hair into a ponytail. there is a small smile that draws itself on your lips— you know you’ve got him starstruck; “who are you looking at like that?”

your voice shakes him out of his trance, but he can’t help but find you gorgeous. he doesn’t even have the strength to flirt, too touched by your dizzying beauty, “i’m looking at you.”

JAY

“honey,” you call him. voice still filled with drowsiness, you close the shelf and get back on your feet to turn towards your boyfriend— who is busy making breakfast for you both— after he hums, “where is my mug?”

the man looks over his shoulder quickly, there is endearing smile written on his lips, “here,” then he tilts his chin to the shelf next to him, therefore to the opposite side of where you stand, to indicate what he means by his declaration.

you are half still in dreamland and way too sleepy to ask him to get it for you as well as to think about any other way of getting to that shelf without walking between him and the kitchen counter. he wasn’t ready for what was coming.

without thinking much of it, your hands rest on his well sculpted waist, your fingertips brush against his firm abs. you are too busy saying, “excuse me,” to notice that he goes fully rigi and that he has stopped cooking.

for a while, there is a quite heavy silence in the kitchen. it takes you a moment to realize— you get on your tiptoes first and get your well needed mug. you notice that his face is as red as a tomato just a few seconds later.

JAKE

his fluffy brown is a blessing. he doesn’t need you to tell him about it to know it. he thanks the deity who gave it to him, as well as the one who gifted him with a girlfriend who is quite literally obsessed with his hair.

he loves when your fingers run through his hair. when he lays with his head on your laps, and he feels his hair being played with, he can’t help but fall asleep. and when you grip his hair sweetly as he kisses you, he whines. that how much he loves it.

but this time, this is something new. a brand new gesture coming from you. a gesture that brings a new feeling inside of his stomach— it’s worse than butterflies, burning more than fire.

“i’ll be back in a few,” you tell him, his heartbeats get higher as your hands reach for his head. you tuck his long fluffy hair strand behind his hear— on both sides. double tuck, double heart attack. then you kiss him when he is too stunned to say anything, “love you.”

he stays in shock for a moment. until the door shuts and he realizes that your warm hands aren’t cupping his face anymore. his brings his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating loudly, “wow.”

SUNGHOON

you are driving him insane. on purpose, you are driving him into a spiral, with the simple touch of your lips on his skin. everywhere, on his nose, on his cheek, on the corner of his lips— but never on them.

“please,” he pleads. his voice is a little bit shaky as he sighs, heavy with the desperation of a kiss from you. as you approach again, he can’t control himself and pucker his lips again. this time, you are so close that he actually believes for a second that his misery would end.

but you kiss the other corner of his mouth again, and even if he can feel your lips, it is not enough for him. this time, he groans, hiding his red face in the crook of your neck as you laugh.

he could kiss you himself. he could pin you against the couch and collapse his mouth onto yours but he can’t. your kisses, although they never reached his lips, made him weak in the knees, red in the face down to his neck. he is unable to fight back—not when the slightest brush of your mouth against his skin makes him so flustered.

“you are so mean,” his voice is weak. you don’t know why you started this, but you thank yourself for the idea.

SUNOO

he can feel shyness creeping to his neck more and more the longest your pretty eyes settle on him. they don’t move as he talks— you stare at him, not blinking.

it is not much the unwavering gaze that got his heart hammering against his chest. but the anticipation of what is about to come next, the endearing word that you will use to qualify him soon enough.

it is ridiculous, he knows. you have complimented him a lot of times before, yet it still has the same effect on him.

he tries to not look into your eyes, tries to stare at the ceiling, the television, your hands, everywhere but your eyes. he fails, and when he sees the smile appearing on you face; he knows he is done for.

“you have pretty eyes,” the words slip out of your mouth, smooth as water. he drinks the compliment, his head falls backwards as he hides his blushing face. you are going to kill him one day.

JUNGWON

it starts as soon as you arrive back at home. when he rushes to you after the door opening and your gentle greeting. he is quick to lock you in his embrace.

“hi,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck to reciprocate his hug. you let yourself be lifted up by the man— who does it with barely any effort at, if not none.

he doesn’t respond. well, at least not properly. he mumbles something into your shoulder and then you can feel his nose in the crook of your neck, “you smell nice.” is what he tells you.

you are taken aback, you admit that. “oh?” it feels like he trying to get the tip of his nose through your flesh. his embrace becomes tighter and his skin gets warmer. wait— “are you blushing?”

he makes a sound that is between a groan and a whine. you can see his neck getting crimson. he doesn’t let go for a while.

RIKI

given the obvious difference between his height and yours, he tends to lean in a lot whenever you talk. he says that it is to hear you better but the truth is: he loves to see you get nervous over it.

however, he was never the one being victim of this movement. therefore, he is a little dazed when it happens to him for the first time.

he holds your wrist as you get up from your place, making you turn around and stop in your track. still sitting, the man is a bit doe eyed as he looks up at you.

he says something that you can’t hear, due to your friends talking loudly around you both. he gets ready to repeat, louder— but his throat gets dry when you lean closer, slightly bending down to him.

his grip around your wrist becomes lighter, his mouth opens to talk but your perfume and your breath so close to his skin makes him unable to say anything.

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[clamorybus]

its not fun to talk about, and i feel like such a dick talking about them like this, but it's fucking sickening how easily swayed my parents are

[aliusfrater]

the post in question just came on my dash BUT in the form of an apparently edited version i've never seen that clarifies the intentional character-related decisions made beyond the initial screenshot that quite literally indicates the legitimate opposite of what they had originally claimed within the wider context of the scene. you literally cannot make this up lmao

that transcript made me remember this post where someone added a still of a sam and dean scene in front of the trunk of the impala while it was open and circled sam and dean's respective belongings in the blurred background as like a gotcha for that thing they love doing where they flip sam and dean's characteristics around to say see! dean's the real Clean One! and i think it's so interesting how this works because like it's so based on the recontextualisation of a single entirely decontextualised shot out of this one scene unrelated to the topic of neatness that's unimportant for the actual context of both the content of the scene and its implications on both character's characterisations. and then intentional choices made for sam or dean's actions whose contexts are used specifically to attribute these characteristics to these characters are ignored. like i remember the post didn't give an episode name or number for the cap they edited and included (lol) but i had identified the shot as one that happens in a scene where within the subject conversation, they drop their stuff in the trunk off camera (we see the action, not the trunk) then do not interact with or acknowledge their belongings beyond that