#and with that his relationship with drift of course

[my-castles-crumbling]

shame - @rosekillermicrofic - word count: 213

“Okay….” Marlene McKinnon drawled, a grin on her face as she looked around the circle for her victim. “Crouch!”

Surprised, Barty looked over. “Yes?”

“Truth or dare?” McKinnon asked, slurring only a little. 

Barty snorted. He was far too comfortable to get up, so he decided to go with the lazy option. “Truth. I don’t feel like moving.”

But McKinnon didn’t seem put out. “Who’s the most recent person you’ve kissed?”

Immediately, Barty felt himself stiffen. McKinnon had just started dating Dorcas, and their new relationship had caused many friend groups to merge. The circle of about fifteen people that was currently playing didn’t all know about the history this question evoked. And he was damn sure he couldn’t trust all of them. Not yet.

“Erm. Emma Verity. You know, the Seventh Year?” he said, trying to keep his face blank.

Sirius Black, who was sitting a few people down from him, whooped. “She’s cute, mate! Good for you!”

But Barty wasn’t paying attention to Sirius’s reaction. Instead, his eyes drifted over to Evan, who looked devastated. And though Barty tried to catch his gaze and mouth an apology, the taller boy refused to meet his eye.

Shame coursing through his body, Barty sighed. He just couldn’t tell that many people. Not yet.

[isaadore]

SLEEP CAN WAIT CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor wakes you up at two in the morning, completely serious about proving the moon landing was fake. it’s ridiculous, but it has you laughing and falling for him all over again. word count 0.6k

warnings pure fluff, established relationship, light teasing

note requested by @cyberhughes 😋

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

YOU WERE TEETERING on the edge of sleep, the warmth of Connor’s arm draped around your waist, his slow and steady breaths lulling you into relaxation. The glow of your bedside lamp illuminated the room in soft golds, casting gentle shadows on the walls. You sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut, ready to drift off.

And then Connor spoke.

“You know the moon landing was fake, right?”

Your eyes blinked open, confusion cutting through your drowsiness. You turned your head slowly, catching sight of Connor’s face, illuminated by the soft light. His expression was serious—almost too serious for what he had just said.

“Come again?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

He rolled onto his back, his brows furrowed like he’d been thinking about this for hours. “I mean, think about it,” he began, his voice low but carrying that familiar matter-of-fact tone. “It was 1969. There’s no way they had the technology for that. And the shadows? They don’t even match up.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at him in disbelief. “Connor, are you seriously telling me you think the moon landing was fake?”

“I don’t think it was fake,” he replied, turning his head to look at you. His blue eyes were filled with an intensity that was both endearing and mildly ridiculous. “I know it was. Have you ever seen the flag in the videos? It’s moving. There’s no wind on the moon.”

Biting back a laugh, you squinted at him. “So you’re saying NASA faked the whole thing? Just for kicks?”

“No, not for kicks,” he said, clearly offended by the idea. “Probably for the Cold War. Or to beat the Soviets. I don’t know.” He shrugged as if the finer details weren’t as important as the truth he was unveiling. “But it’s obvious if you really look into it.”

It was too much. A laugh bubbled out of you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to wake your neighbours. “Connor, it’s two in the morning,” you managed between giggles.

He turned on his side to face you fully, an almost exasperated look on his face. “You’re laughing, but I’m serious. This stuff matters. What if someone asks you about it one day?”

“Oh, of course,” you teased, grinning at him. “Because moon landing conspiracies are such a hot topic in 2025.”

“It could happen!” he insisted, his voice serious. “And when it does, you’ll thank me.”

Shaking your head, you reached out to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the soft flush that had spread there. “You’re a nerd, you know that?”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in that shy, boyish way that you loved. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But you love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” you admitted with a mock sigh, leaning in to kiss him gently.

Connor sighed as you pulled back, collapsing against the pillows. “Fine. I’ll let you sleep,” he mumbled, almost like he was doing you a favour. “But tomorrow, I’m showing you a video about the shadows. You’ll see I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back into your spot, the weight of his arm finding its way around your waist again. “Whatever you say, moon boy.”

Even as you closed your eyes, you could feel the energy radiating off him, his mind still racing through facts and theories. And despite how absurd it all was, it made you smile.

Because even when Connor Bedard woke you up in the middle of the night to talk about conspiracy theories, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[aventurineswife]

Remember when I mentioned that Veritas would bite his s/o for "science" to see their reaction? Could you make a fic about that concept and make it suggestive, maybe? Only if you're comfortable, of course.

“For... Science”

Summary: When Ratio decides to "experiment" on his significant other's reaction to being bitten, he claims it's all in the name of science. However, the playful tension between them suggests there's more to his methods than pure academia.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Science Shenanigans, Suggestive Themes, Light Humor.

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive Content, Light Biting (consensual, playful).

The soft glow of the study’s golden sconces bathed the room in a warm light as Ratio meticulously flipped through the pages of a thick tome. His focus was unshakable, each note jotted down with precision and care. Across the room, you were seated comfortably in a plush chair, trying to read a novel, but your attention kept drifting back to him. His waves cascaded elegantly over one eye, his form a picture of otherworldly allure.

You admired him endlessly—his sharp wit, his passion for knowledge, his unrelenting confidence. But that same confidence often led to... eccentric experiments. Tonight, judging by the glint in his eyes as he closed his book, one of those experiments was brewing.

He turned toward you, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “Dearest,” he began, his tone smooth but with an edge of mischief, “have I told you about the latest hypothesis I’ve been pondering?”

You raised a brow, setting your book aside. “What is it this time? Another philosophical debate? Testing gravitational constants in a low-gravity zone?”

“Hardly,” he said, rising from his chair with an air of intrigue. He crossed the room in a few confident strides, standing before you, his arms crossed. “It’s a matter of behavioral response to physical stimuli. Specifically... biting.”

You blinked. “Biting?”

“For science,” he assured, leaning down so his intense gaze met yours. “The sensory and psychological reaction varies from person to person, and I’d like to collect data on how you would react.”

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. “And you thought this was the perfect moment for such an experiment?”

His smirk deepened. “Is there ever a wrong moment to pursue knowledge?”

Before you could protest further, he tilted your chin up with a gentle touch, his fingers cool against your skin. “I promise, this is purely academic,” he murmured, though the playful lilt in his voice betrayed otherwise.

You sighed, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Just... be gentle, okay?”

His eyes sparkled with triumph as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your neck. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you gripped the arms of the chair for stability.

The first graze of his teeth against your skin was surprisingly soft, almost teasing. Then he bit—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. A quiet gasp escaped your lips, and you felt his smirk against your neck.

“Interesting,” he mused, pulling back slightly to observe your reaction. “Increased heart rate, slight dilation of the pupils, and... was that a gasp? Fascinating.”

You glared at him, though your flushed cheeks undermined the attempt. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me for it,” he countered, his confidence unshaken.

He straightened, brushing an errant strand of hair from his face. “I must say, your reaction aligns with my initial hypothesis. However,” he added, leaning down once more, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I may need further tests to confirm my findings.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re incorrigible, Veritas.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to the spot he had bitten, his touch surprisingly tender. “But you must admit, the pursuit of knowledge is never dull with me around.”

And as you watched him return to his desk, already jotting down notes from his “experiment,” you couldn’t help but agree.

[badasoneandonly]

𝘗𝘜𝘛 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘈 𝘔𝘖𝘝𝘐𝘌 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,118𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N is manipulated by her neighbor Hwang In-Ho into a relationship, questioning it only to be gaslit into submission, ultimately losing herself to his control.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: MANIPULATIVE INHO, NAIVE READER, READER IS 22 WHILE INHO IS 45, NEO-NOIR, DARK ROMANCE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP.

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘏𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰 × 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 ;)

"C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the voice cooed from Y/N’s phone as Lana Del Rey’s lyrics flowed through her headphones. The eerie, saccharine melody filled her quiet room as she absentmindedly hummed along, the words settling somewhere deep in her subconscious. She wasn’t sure why she liked this song. Something about it felt unsettling yet intoxicating, a contradiction that mirrored her own life.

Her neighbor, Hwang In-Ho, had always been there. He had lived next door for as long as she could remember. While their families were close, her connection with In-Ho had always been... different. As a child, she idolized him. He was older, wiser, and had a calm, commanding presence that made her feel safe.

But now, things felt different.

---

Y/N was sitting in her backyard, flipping through a novel, when In-Ho leaned over the fence that separated their properties. His casual smile disarmed her, as always.

“You’ve been reading that book for weeks now,” he teased, his deep voice carrying warmth.

She smiled shyly. “I like to take my time.”

“Some things are worth savoring,” he said, his words laced with a meaning she couldn’t quite grasp.

They chatted for a while about nothing in particular, and before long, he invited her over for tea. She agreed without hesitation. It was second nature to her—In-Ho had always been like an older brother, someone she could trust implicitly.

But that trust would soon be tested.

---

As they sat on his patio, sipping tea, In-Ho began to reminisce.

“You know, I remember when you were just a little thing,” he said, his eyes glinting with nostalgia. “You used to follow me around everywhere.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “I was a kid. You were the cool older neighbor.”

“You still do,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for her to catch.

Her laughter faltered, and she looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his smile returning. “It’s just funny how some things never change.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but a strange tension lingered in the air.

---

That night, as Y/N lay in bed, the memory of his words replayed in her mind. “Some things never change.” It was such an innocent phrase, but the way he’d said it made her skin prickle.

---

The weeks that followed were filled with small moments that left Y/N questioning everything. The way his hand would linger on her shoulder during conversations, the way he seemed to watch her a little too intently when she laughed, the way he always seemed to be there when she needed something.

She told herself she was imagining things. This was In-Ho. He’d always been kind and attentive. He was like family.

But then he confessed.

---

It happened on a quiet evening, as they walked together through their neighborhood. The sun had set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement.

“In-Ho,” she said, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone gentle.

“Why do you spend so much time with me?”

He stopped walking, turning to face her. The look in his eyes was intense, almost desperate.

“Because I care about you, Y/N. More than you know.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always cared about you,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s not just as a friend or a neighbor. It’s... more than that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“I-In-Ho, I don’t know what to say,” she stammered, her mind racing.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said, his voice soothing. “Just think about it. All I want is to make you happy.”

---

Y/N spent the next few days in a fog of confusion. She had never been in love before, never even dated. The idea of someone feeling that way about her was overwhelming.

And then there was In-Ho. He was safe. He was familiar. Maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like.

---

She agreed to date him.

At first, things were almost perfect. He was attentive and thoughtful, always making her feel special. He would surprise her with her favorite snacks, take her on long drives where they would talk for hours, and tell her how beautiful she was in ways that made her blush.

But as time went on, the cracks began to show.

---

He would ask her not to wear certain outfits.

“You don’t need to dress like that,” he said one evening as she prepared for a dinner with friends. “You’re already beautiful. Besides, who are you trying to impress?”

The comment made her stomach twist, but she brushed it off.

He started isolating her from her friends.

“Why do you need to spend time with them?” he asked one afternoon. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”

The questions felt harmless at first, but they began to pile up, eroding her confidence.

---

One evening, as they sat together in his living room, she finally voiced her doubts.

“In-Ho, do you think this is right?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I just... I feel like something’s off. Like this isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

He sighed, reaching for her hand. “Y/N, you’ve never been in love before. It’s normal to feel uncertain. But I know what I feel, and I know this is right. You just need to trust me.”

---

“C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the lyrics played in her head like a taunting whisper.

She began to question everything: his intentions, her own feelings, the way their relationship had started. But every time she tried to pull away, he would pull her back in with words that felt like a lifeline.

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” he told her one night, his voice soft but firm. “No one else could ever understand you like I do.”

---

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this was love, that the unease she felt was just her own inexperience clouding her judgment.

But deep down, she knew.

She knew that something about this wasn’t right.

---

By the time she realized the truth, it was too late.

In-Ho had woven his way into every aspect of her life, his presence a constant shadow that she couldn’t escape.

And somewhere along the way, she had stopped trying.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @ehcausewhynot @akumazwrld @elledumplings @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog

𝘈/𝘯: soo that happened, ik this isnt the usual sad angsty sht i post but like hey its just me branching out to diff genres ^_^ let me know if u liked it, i would love to hear yalls thoughts...

[oliveyougently]

Only You

Miguel O'hara fic, word count 1,185. Entirely fluff, preexisting relationship, soft Miguel, tooth-rotting-mind-numbing-fluff.

Nothing worked for you anymore. Not videos, not touches, not anything. You were bone dry, absolutely numb to everyone but your precious Miguel. You hadn’t even noticed at first- it was such a subtle thing, too.

So what if other men didn’t make you feel that familiar tingle? So what if an intimate scene in a movie just left you bored? So what if a shameless mannequin displaying men’s boxers just made you wonder if Miguel wanted any? It didn’t matter, you weren’t super sexual anyway.

But Miguel was different, way, way different. You could just look at him and start losing your mind. The way he talked with that accented, low voice aside to you, the way his body flowed and rippled when he stretched, everything. He made you hot just by being himself. Sure, he had his unattractive moments—those funny angles that made his forehead seem big or gave him a mock-double chin. And yet they just drove you crazier. You almost kicked your legs with a fan-girlish glee at how absolutely adorable he was. And all he had to do was look your way.

Nobody could make you feel the way he did. Everything else was an annoying white noise in the background compared to him. Other men? Pass. Others touch? Pass. Even enticing videos and intimate moments on screen had you yawning. But Miguel? Miguel was the love of your life, and you went crazy just at the barest touch.

Such a night came when you were watching a movie with him. It was come cheesy romance, one you had picked just for kicks. There sat the man himself on your couch, leaning back, face neutral and relaxed as he watched the overwrought drama play out. He had been half working on a schematic for a new lab within the Spider-Man HQ on his tablet, but it lay forgotten in his lap, his large hands resting the flat device on his thighs. You glanced over, curled up with a pillow ticked to your chest. It was a chill Friday night—sweats and a t-shirt for him, shorts and a sweater for you. It was messy and sloppy and absolutely normal—and yet you still couldn’t stop your glances. Eyes tracing his nose, eyes, the swoop of his messy hair, and of course his perfectly sculpted features. You didn’t dare look anywhere else—you knew he was aware of the slightest glances, and the slightest drift to anywhere else would have been noticed immediately.

“Preciosa?” Came a familiar, curious timber. You looked up to meet his brown eyes, realizing you had been staring at the spot where his jaw met his ear. He eyes were full of a special mirth, a mix of smugness, curiosity and fondness. You cleared you throat, well aware of how obvious you were being.

“What is it, my vida?” He inquired, turning his head to you and cocking his head, thick eyebrows raised. You smiled and looked away, embarrassed. “Ah, nothing, nothing… Sorry.” He raises his eyebrows even further, his full attention now on you. Feeling pinned, you shift, looking back at the movie. At the moment there was a tearjerking confession going on—you didn’t really have the patience to understand the details—and the male leaned in, cupping his darlings cheeks. You scoffed lightly. “Wow, what a loser…” you said with annoyance. You winced, hating your own harsh words. You had a bad habit of letting unkind things slip out when I you didn’t mean them.

“What, what’s wrong?” Miguel asked again, turning his head to look at you again. You gestured to the screen, huffing. “He’s doing it all wrong! It’s just… Ugh. I don’t wanna watch some awkward dude try to romance this girl. He’s just… Ick.” You express your distaste, knowing you were being slightly unreasonable but pressing on anyway. It wasn’t a bad movie or a bad actor, really—it just wasn’t him.

Miguel gave a throaty chuckle, again leaning back into the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “Not to your taste, Hermosa?” He teased, watching your disgust with amusement. You give a small huff and cross your arms, tucking your feet under yourself.

“It’s just… It’s making me uncomfy, okay?” You answer defensively, knowing full well that wasn’t the truth. He cocked an eyebrow, head tilting back to view you sideways from the back of the couch.

“Uncomfy? You never minded the intimacy before.” As if to prove his point his hand comes to rest on your thigh—instantly triggering every single hot flash and shiver you had. He raised he eyebrows even more—an almost impossible feat, at this point—at the obvious reaction you had. You flush and look away, tapping a finger on your crossed arms.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” He asked, now actually a little concerned. His large hand stayed on your thing not moving an inch—he wouldn’t dare make you uncomfortable. You sigh, rubbing your neck and stealing a glance at him. At the sight of his worried face, skin drawn up into acute wrinkle between his eyes and the barest hint of a pout, you almost lost it. What right has he to be so cute?!

You pick up a pillow and put your face in it, curling back on the couch. “Ah, dang it!” You cry, muffled by the plush of the pillow. He could only give an Incredulous laugh, eyes still wide with curiosity.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he scoffed lightly, half getting up to move you you. His voice was concerned, amused, fascinated—what was making his pretty hermosa so flightly? He reached over to grab at the pillow, the movie forgotten. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me, vida—”

You squeal, unable to help kicking you legs a little. “Please, Miguel, have mercy! I can’t take you!” He chuckles incredulously, still tugging insistently on the pillow. “My vida, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

You finally huff as he finally drags the pillow away, leaving you disheveled and slightly grumpy. You sigh up at him, taking in the beautiful sight: his hair falling forward to curl slightly, his deep brown tone warm and ruddy, and those damn puppy dog eyes just begging to know what was bugging you.

“You’re too hot, Miguel.” You say bluntly, relenting. He scoffs yet again—this time in actual shock. He looked down, face incredulous.

“What?” He asked, rich tone filled with bewilderment. You huff and groan, sitting up. He backed away slightly so you can sit up, face frozen in a small smile of shock.

“I spent my whole life thinking I had to make myself better to attract a woman and now you say it’s too much? Apologies, love. I had no idea.” He says, tone laced with an amused sarcasm. I huff again, cheeks slightly flushed.

“I can’t even function around you! You’re too much! I just melt like a little fan girl for you. I can’t even bring myself to think of another guy or someone’s else’s touch. It’s all you!” I sigh, putting my hands to my face.

He chuckled, laying down next to you and drawing you close to his chest. "I love you too." He murmured. You sighed, irritation dissipating quickly in the face of his warm affection.

"Damn you." you murmured, closing your eyes and settling into his chest. He chuckled again, cuddling closer to you, movie long forgotten.

Hey guys! First attempt at a fic, sorry if the ending was choppy! I hope you liked it!! I love soft Miguel so much you guys. I know this fandom is a little dead but I'm still here yall. Fluffy couple life with Miguel lives on. Love you, thanks for reading <3

[vampiricstoryteller]

Are You Even Real?

Two smut stories in one night, whew I really do love these two characters and their relationship. I hope y’all enjoy this quick smut filled one shot.

Summary: Richter often wonders, especially when they’re in bed together, if Annette is even real

All mistakes are my own

Read fic on A03 here

Warnings: Explicit smut, swearing

The sun peeking through deep orange curtains, is what wakes Richter from his slumber. The rays have caught the reflection of a crystal charm that hangs from a vanity dresser mirror across the room. Richter knows this because he’s asked about the various charms all over the room on more than one occasion. Annette’s got one for every important person and event in her life, and the one currently blinding him at 6 in the morning is the one he’d gifted her as a birthday present.

Richter supposes it shows how far he’s truly come. Five months ago, being awaken at the crack of dawn by a trinket would have soured his entire day. But this morning, Richter breathes deep and says his thanks for being able to greet a new day. Then he rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around Annette. She’s still sleeping but when the weight of his arm on her waist settles, she wiggles until her back is pressed to his chest.

Richter smiles into her head scarf, the silk cool against his face which had obviously started being cooked by the sun rays. He curls to the shape of her, aligning their hips and tangling his one leg between both of hers.

Her breathing stays even, the dark skin of her chest rising and falling underneath a baby blue tank; one of his favorites that she purposefully wears when he stays over. Richter kisses her shoulder, obsessed with the softness of her skin and the way her body wash scent clings to her.

Relaxing into the pillow they share, Richter’s thumb rubs slow circles into the skin at her sternum and he let his mind drift a bit; enjoying the early morning calm.

Every day since he’d met Annette two years ago at Maria’s 18th birthday party, Richter had been completely into her. She was smart, funny, gorgeous and knew what she wanted in life. She brought purpose, serenity and sunshine to his finely structured but empty life; and though they may have only been dating five months, Richter loved her.

He’d been uninterested in much besides work and making sure his little sister was cared for when Annette crashed into his life (thanks Maria) and kept him on his toes every single time they had a conversation.

Some of his favorite memories of the time they spent together before they started dating were the days he would drop Maria and Annette at their 4pm college course on his way to work. Evening classes were teaching his little sister the responsibility of time management and Richter enjoyed teasing her with Annette.

For an entire semester the three of them spent more time in Richter’s car trading music, discussing life and just being all around goofy than they spent anywhere else.

He’d come out of the daily experience with a massive crush, much to Maria’s delight, and a need to spend every single day of the rest of his life with Annette.

She was a goddess to him, her rich brown skin always glimmering like fine sand and her gorgeous thick hair a halo above her perfect face.

From the bottom of his soul, Richter loved Annette.

His thoughts are broken by the change in her breathing, her back stuttering against his chest as she emerges from sleep slowly.

Richter nuzzles her neck, kissing slowly along her shoulder line before biting the round curve gently. Annette’s hands blindly reach for his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing in appreciation when his thumb continues its rhythm on her thigh.

“Good morning.” He murmurs.

“Hi,” Annette smiles, “someone’s up early.”

“Your birthday gift was treating me like an ant.” He quips, chuckling at the confusion that wrinkles her brow as her still sleep brain struggles to make sense of his words.

“I did tell you that hanging it there would be hazardous.” She murmurs, turning her face towards the pillow.

She had told him, but Richter chuckles against her soft skin and bites it gently when her hips push back ever so slightly. Warmth spreads through his chest, his spine tingling when Annette slowly starts grinding back. Her movement gradually growing bolder each time he ticks his own hips up to meet hers on the roll back.

“Richter,” she murmurs, her pearly white teeth digging in her bottom lip and plumping the flesh.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing one of her sweet spots behind her ear. His hand on her thigh begins to knead the flesh, fingers clutching hard enough to leave marks.

“I—I love you too.” Annette whimpers, lifting her hips when he starts to tug at the waistline of her black panties.

Richter dips his hand down, pushing his knuckles past her panty line and brushing his fingers through the damp curls they never tire of finding between their thighs.

His other hand skims and squeezes her breasts through her shirt, pinching at her nipples and tugging them each time the fingers between her thighs swipe down her pussy lips.

Annette sighs and whimpers, hiding her face in an attempt to muffle the steady rise in her voice. Richter nips at her jawline, his voice rough as he whispers into the skin,

“Don’t hide from me, baby, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

He taps one finger on her hot clit, rocking his hips up against hers and stroking a second finger through her slick lower lips. Annette arches into him, shoving the skin he’s playing like an instrument into his welcoming talented hands.

She reaches back blindly, her hands shoving at the boxers he’d worn to bed last night. Richter helps her pull them down his thighs, leaving the material bunched just above his knees.

Richter’s cock is long, thick and painfully hard by now so he can’t help the shaky moan that escapes his throat when Annette’s pretty fingers wrap around the shaft. She strokes him twice, her hand holding him lightly so she can twist her wrist on the way down before she runs the sensitive head over her hip and the lace of her panties.

“Annette.” Richter growls.

He dips his fingers down to her soaking opening, circling it as he places his mouth next to her ear and whispers filthily,

“So small, don’t know if I’ll be able to fit, Princess.”

Annette jerks, the moan that leaves her mouth primal and she lifts her leg in invitation. Richter tugs her panties to the side, wanting to watch his cock slide not only in and out of Annette but leave a mess on the black fabric as well.

She shivers when he hooks one arm under the back of her knee and tugs her legs open wide, her small hand guides his cock towards her hole; helping him nestle the head there and Richter bites at her earlobe.

“You gonna breathe deep like I taught you baby?” He asks, chuckling at her immediately nod of response.

Richter squeezes his hips forward, once, twice, three times and then on the fourth lets the flex glide into a full thrust. Sliding all the way in until the head of his cock meets the opening of her cervix.

“R-Richter.” Annette clenches around him, her nails digging into his hip as she scrambles for something to hold onto.

“What do you need Princess?” He asks sweetly, his tongue flicking at the shell of her ear.

“Need….nmph…need you to….fuck! I need you to fuck me.” Annette cries out, the words tripping over her tongue. “Please, fill me up Richter!”

He grins into the curve of her neck, nose brushing her earlobe as he growls and locks his hand into the crook of her bent knee; letting go of the last bit of his control now that he has her permission.

The first couple of thrusts give Richter the chance to set a brutal pace, jerking Annette back onto his cock hard enough that the bed creaks dangerously beneath them.

Richter fucks into Annette hard and deep, her moans and pleas urging him to use her as he saw fit. The head of his cock finds the sensitive sponge like space inside of her on a particularly hard thrust and Annette shrieks.

Her orgasm rippled through her body like water, cum gushing around Richter’s cock and effectively dragging him down with her. He stiffens, erratically slamming deep inside of Annette as thick, hot cum paints her core and inner walls. His vision blurs out, his grip on her tightening as they shudder through aftershocks together.

They stay straining against one each other for a long moment, only relaxing when Annette’s body collapses. The only sounds being their huffs of exhaustion for several minutes until the clock at the end of the hall chimes eight times.

“We should go back to sleep.” Annette murmurs, her body already sagging backwards slumber.

Richter chuckles, agreeing with a kiss to her temple. He starts to shift away from her, but her dark slender hand shoots back and grips at his hip in desperation.

“No, don’t.” She whines quietly. “Stay right here.”

Richter laughs, his face and ears heating up as he settles back into the mattress. Annette pulls her thick comforter back over them, sighing contently as she wiggles to find the most comfortable spot.

She interlaces their fingers, resting their hands against her stomach as she says,

“I love you Richter, you’re the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

He kisses her cheek when she finally does settle, brushing his lips along her jaw as he whispers,

“I can’t believe you’re real.”

She looks at him over her shoulder, an embarrassed but pleased smile on her lips.

“That’s the best way you’ve said it back yet.”

He watches her drift back to sleep, truly mesmerized by her beautiful face and the fact that she wants anything at all to do with him; let alone share the most intimate parts of her with him.

Richter burrows into her neck, content to shut out the rest of the world forever if it meant he could stay connected to Annette and be the only person to know the face she makes when she comes apart.

The End

As always, thanks for reading! I hope y’all liked it. Like, reblog, tell me what you think! 🤟🏾

[sourkreem]

So, I really wanted to make a comic focusing on Jason's relationship with one of his brothers. But every time I hoisted myself to draw a single panel, I would blank out and die. So, I figured writing it down before actually doing the storyboard would work better (crazy, am i right).

So here it is, I am open to suggestions since this is the very first time I have ever written a sort of fanfic.

Tim Breaks in Jason's Apartment

(i think i need a better title)

It had been a long, draining day for Jason, coming home after hours at his civilian job. Tonight was one of those days where he wasn’t in the mood for vigilante work—a night to simply rest and recharge.

Being a mechanic had its perks, plenty of them, actually. Jason loved tinkering with bikes and cars, and getting paid for it felt like a win-win. Most days, it didn’t even feel like work. But at the end of the day, work was work. It could get tedious, exhausting, and occasionally frustrating—especially when tasks piled up or involved jobs he didn’t particularly enjoy.

By the time Jason reached his floor, he was out of breath. The elevator was out of service again, as it always seemed to be, leaving him to haul himself up the stairs. He sighed as he climbed the final step, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. A bag of Chinese takeout hung from one hand, while the other fished his apartment key out of his hoodie pocket.

Unlocking the door, Jason stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen. He set the takeout on the small island and shrugged off his jacket, revealing a white tank top underneath. The jacket landed on the hook beside the door with a practiced motion as he let out a small, tired exhale.

Pulling out a stool at the island, Jason paused mid-motion, his eyes drifting toward the living room.

Something felt... off.

Maurice—the book he’d been reading last night—was missing from the coffee table.

Jason instinctively reached for the spare gun tucked inside one of the kitchen counter drawers and hoisted it, muscles tensing as his eyes darted around the apartment.

He started with the kitchen, opening cupboards and checking behind every door. Nothing. He moved to the living room, scanning the corners, behind furniture, and anywhere an intruder might hide. Still nothing. The bathroom was next—empty.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Jason’s sharp gaze flicked to his bookcase. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Maurice sitting in its slot, but not how he would have placed it. The book had been shoved in hastily, the spine facing the wrong way—a glaring mistake for someone with Jason’s sharp memory.

His grip on the gun tightened. Whoever the intruder was, there was a good chance they were still in the apartment. He would have heard the window sliding open; the old, rusty panes screeched like a dying cat every time they moved.

The air in the room felt heavier now, a silent challenge hanging between him and whoever thought they could outsmart him.

Jason’s hand finally wrapped around the cold, shining brass of the bedroom door handle, clicking it open with a sharp twist. He stepped inside cautiously, his gaze scanning every corner, his grip on the gun firm. He crouched down, checking under the bed, because, of course, that was a hiding spot anyone might try.

Nothing.

As he straightened up, the faintest creak sounded above him. His sharp eyes darted upward, narrowing at the wardrobe. His instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, he clocked his gun, the click echoing ominously in the still room.

Jason froze, lowering his weapon just enough to confirm what he was seeing.

It was Tim. Timmy. Timothy Drake. Timbit. Timbers. The Babybird.

Perched awkwardly on top of the wardrobe, one leg crammed against the wall, the other dangling in a position that had to be uncomfortable, Tim’s face was an unreadable mix of sheepish and alarmed. One hand was raised as if surrendering, while the other nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“…Hi, Jason,” Tim managed, his voice pitchinf slightly higher than usual, forcing an awkward smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jason blinked. Once. Twice. Then holstered the gun with a sharp sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as the adrenaline wore off.

“…What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Jason deadpanned. It wasn’t even a question, more a flat, resigned statement of disbelief.

“I… entered unannounced?” Tim offered sheepishly, both hands gesturing in a weak shrug.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, unamused. “You broke into my apartment.”

“‘Broke in’ is kind of a strong wo—”

“Get down.”

“…Alright.”

Tim awkwardly shifted, trying to maneuver himself off the top of the wardrobe with some semblance of dignity. Naturally, this resulted in him nearly falling face-first to the floor before Jason caught him by the scruff of his jacket, setting him down none too gently.

Jason crossed his arms, glaring. “Start talking.”

Tim started to fidget with his hands, his gaze darting around the room as if the walls might offer him an escape. Jason stood in front of him, arms crossed, brow raised, the very picture of impatience.

“I, uh…” Tim began, glancing at Jason’s face before quickly looking away. “I thought… I’d check your security?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “My security?”

“Yeah! You know, uh, just to see if it’s up to… Bat standards.” Tim smiled weakly, tapping his temple as if he’d just shared a brilliant idea.

Jason let the silence stretch, his deadpan glare unwavering.

Tim cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Okay, fine. I… might’ve been testing your locks because I… I thought maybe you could use an upgrade?”

Jason’s lips twitched, not into a smile but something more dangerous—a smirk that promised he wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t think to ask before pulling a B&E?”

Tim let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you could’ve said no, and then it would’ve defeated the purpose of—”

“Tim,” Jason interrupted, voice low and steady, “stop bullshitting me. Why are you here?”

Tim hesitated, wringing his hands together. His shoulders slumped, the fight leaving him all at once.

“It’s just… everyone’s busy. Dick’s out of town, Bruce is off on one of his big missions, and Damian…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, Damian’s just Damian. You know how he is. He’s been in full ‘demonspawn’ mode lately, and I just couldn’t deal with it tonight. I needed a break, and I guess I thought maybe—”

Jason raised an eyebrow, cutting him off. “You thought breaking into my apartment was the solution?”

Tim shifted uncomfortably, still avoiding Jason’s gaze. “I didn’t really think it through, okay? I just… didn’t want to be by myself. I didn’t know how to ask, and you're not exactly the let's grab coffee and talk our feelings kind of type. I just... want to hang out with you..."

Jason stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned, left the room, and grabbed the bag of Chinese takeout from the kitchen island.

Tim hesitantly followed Jason sheepishly, still fidgeting his hands.

“You’re lucky I bought extra,” he muttered, tossing the bag onto the coffee table. “Sit. Eat. And next time, just knock.”

Tim sank through the couch with a sheepish grin as Jason popped open the takeout, the smell of fried rice and lo mein filling the air. The tension between them had eased, but Tim was still jittery, clearly unsure how to proceed now that the awkwardness had subsided.

“So,” Jason said, digging into the food with gusto, “What exactly did you expect me to say when I walked in and saw you breaking into my place? ‘Oh hey, Tim, welcome to my humble abode—make yourself at home’?”

Tim paused mid-bite, his mouth open in surprise. “Well, I mean, if you had said that—”

“Don’t test me,” Jason shot back, rolling his eyes. “I’d have thrown you out faster than you can say ‘bat-shit crazy.’”

Tim snorted, nearly choking on his rice. “Okay, okay, fair. I deserved that. But hey, at least I'm not trying to steal your stuff, right?”

Jason shrugged with a grin. “That’s the bare minimum of respect you can expect from me.”

[wchswift]

hii hii HEHEHEH this is so brain rot but i need a story where logan is a big time cuddler (i know he gives the best hug ever 😭) maybe he keeps that only to reader!!

ଓ IN HIS ARMS

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: logan is a big time cuddler, but he saves all his tender, comforting affection just for you.

word count: 1.3k

content: fluff, established relationship, implied sex, post-sex cuddles.

a/n: hiii, sorry it took me so long to write it 😭 I may have changed a little from what you asked, but I hope you like it <3

── english isn't my first language :)

Everyone around the mansion was well aware of Logan's grumpy reputation. He was the gruff one, all hard edges, and sharp looks, the not-friendly and indifferent expression to keep people not so close. To most, he's the Wolverine—reserved, intimidating, and always prefers little interaction. But of course, he had his exceptions, like you. You knew better.

Because behind closed doors, Logan was yours, and he’s the most touch-hungry man you've ever met. You know the man beneath the scowl who would hold you close until the rest of the world disappeared if he could. Deep down, he was the type who wouldn’t readily admit it, but he absolutely adored cuddling.

No one would believe it if you told them, but Logan is the best cuddler in the world. There’s something about the way he wraps his arms around you, how his broad chest and strong shoulders make you feel so small and completely safe. It’s like being surrounded by pure strength, and yet it’s soft, too—his touch careful, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that only you get to see. God this man knew how to hug.

Right now, his arms are wrapped around you as you settle against his chest, his warmth seeping into you like the coziest blanket. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of life outside and the sound of his steady breathing. Nights like this—peaceful, undisturbed—are your favorite.

You let out a contented sigh, your head resting against the solid strength of his chest. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear, soothing and grounding in a way only Logan can manage.

“You comfy, princess?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, snuggling closer.

Logan’s hand drifts lazily up and down your back, tracing slow, soothing circles. He’s always touching you like this, his hands finding you almost instinctively, whether it’s to ground himself or to comfort you. Maybe it’s both.

“You’ve got the best hugs,” you murmur, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan chuckles softly, the sound a deep, rumbling vibration against your cheek. “Yeah? Don’t tell anyone. Gotta keep my image intact.”

You laugh lightly, shifting to look up at him. His lips quirked in a rare smile, the kind only you ever see. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s savoring the moment.

Logan doesn’t say it, but you know this side of him—the warmth, the tenderness, the way he holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world—is something he reserves only for you. Around the others, he’s all scowls and clipped words, but in private, he’s the kind of man who craves touch like it’s air.

He didn’t always show it, though. Logan wasn’t the kind of man to give away pieces of himself so easily. It took a while to get that part of him. You vividly remember the first time he hugged you like this, back when he still had walls up, back when you weren’t sure what you meant to him.

You’d been having a rough day—a hard mission that made you doubt yourself, leaving you shaken and overwhelmed. You tried to hide it from everyone, retreating to the quiet safety of your room. But Logan noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he appeared in your doorway, his expression softer than usual but still guarded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you nodded, trying to brush it off, but when he stepped closer and gently touched your arm, the dam broke. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him.

For a second, you thought he’d pull away—this was Logan, after all. But instead, his arms came around you, steady and sure, pulling you against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was the first time you felt the magic of the Wolverine hug. His hold was strong but not overwhelming like he was shielding you from everything bad in the world. His hand ran soothingly up and down your back, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. From that moment on, you realized that Logan wasn’t just a good hugger—he was the best. There was something about the way he held you like he could take all your worries and crush them with his strength. He didn’t need to say much; his arms said it all.

Now, it’s second nature. He doesn’t wait for an excuse to hold you—he pulls you into his lap while you’re reading, tangles himself around you when you’re in bed, and presses his face into your hair after a long day. His hands are always on you, whether it’s a comforting palm against your back, his fingers laced with yours, or his arm slung around your waist like he needs to keep you close. And you dare to say he loves it more than you.

After the sex, he’s especially clingy—not that you mind. Pulling you into his arms as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, he will wrap himself around you completely. His lips leave lazy, soft, lingering open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, hair, collarbone, cheek—anywhere he can reach. Each one feels like a promise, a reminder that you’re his. He let his hands roam lazily, tracing patterns on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You feel so damn good, princess” he’ll whisper, his voice rough but tender. And the way he holds you in those moments like he never wants to let go, makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

And the way he looks at you in those moments? It’s enough to make your heart stop. His usual sharp, guarded gaze softens, filled with a quiet devotion he doesn’t show to anyone else.

Around the others, he’s all grumbles and scowls, pretending he’s not the same man who just kissed you senselessly an hour ago. He keeps his distance—at least, as much as he can.

Even in public, though, there are cracks in his armor. His hand will brush yours under the table or he’ll rest his palm on your thigh. Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s paying attention, you’ll catch him watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

The others might tease him for being overprotective, for always keeping an eye on you, but they don’t see the real Logan. They don’t see how he softens when he holds you or how he presses his forehead against yours like you’re the thing that saved him.

“Love you,” he murmurs now, his lips brushing against your hair. His voice is quiet like he’s not ready to say it too loudly, but the words hit you like a warm rush all the same.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, those dark, stormy eyes soft in the dim light. “Love you too,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his jaw before settling back into his arms.

Logan presses another kiss to the top of your head, his hand slipping under the blanket to pull you closer. He holds you like you’re his anchor, his steady presence in a chaotic world.

And as you drift off in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and strength, the rest of the world feels small and far away—because with Logan, you’re home.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[maikhiwi00]

i love driftrod so much man. they really are everything to each other. like, i am a multishipper okay, so i do enjoy most ships/relationships/pairings etc whatever. i do like other ships involving drift and rod of course but there's something about driftrod that ugh. it gets me. they're best friends they're boyfriends they're fuck buddies they're idiots in love they're bros they're sugar daddy and baby they're partners in crime they're sparkmates (soulmates) they're girlfailures together they're married they're everything. seriously. they have the range. i bet they learnt between them how to kiss and probably how to interface. they trust and rely on each other so much. rod cares so much about drift's opinion and trusts his judgement. they want to impress each other so much. drift bought the lost light ship and gifted it to rod. the fucking ship man. i bet they keep count of their kills like a game and annoy each other when one had more kills than the other. drift spends so much time in rod's quarters. he took the blame for the overlord incident (either for rod or for the crew he still saved rod at the moment, and later rod took responsibility for it). i haven't finished mtmte/ll but i have printed on my brain that panel where rod says to drift 'i don't trust myself with words but you taught me there are many ways to speak to someone. read my aura, listen to my voice's timbre, look into my eyes. that way you'll understand how bad i feel and how badly i want things to be as they were.' man stop you're killing me. they seriously have everything. fluff smut angst etc. they love each other so much and they're beyond the romantic/platonic/etc planes. my brain chemistry has changed bc of them

[vaguely-concerned]

do you think arranging the little veilguard tableaus of npcs standing around together was fun. I think it would be fun. I would make up soooo many dumb intricate little stories for all of them while I was placing them around the map and no one playing the game would ever know about it. but I'd know. I'd know their stories

[arolesbianism]

Thinks abt Sif Odile duo looping au. When the two who can't read eachother for shit get thrown into the horrors together

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[bbyseok]

thinking about teen gojo who’s still learning how to control his powers… and just starts floating every time you kiss him.

you just started dating after he won your heart some time around your first year as jujutsu high students, and there’s not really a difference from when you were friends compared to when you’re now together but—

there are the closer cuddles during movie nights and the spotanenous hangouts now established as dates amongst other things, and of course, the kisses.

funnily enough, it was you who intiated the first kiss, even after his oh so bold and confident claims that he’d be the best boyfriend and kisser, despite never having been in a relationship before.

some might consider that your first kiss with gojo wasn’t so special, but it’s special to you.

it had been a convenience store run he had dragged you out on during the ungodly am hours. satoru rummaging for his newly bought sweets in the grocery bag, his tongue poking out of his mouth. his expression had lit up when he pulled out his candy, eyes flitting to yours and then-

you leaned in to press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

his snowy eyelashes fluttered in shock, staring at you like you had just strung up the stars in the current night sky overhead. the dim light from the convenience store casts a glow over your facial features, and it takes him a moment to realize that the curvature of your lips had just been on his. that you had kissed him.

and then he started floating.

you couldn't help but laugh and pull him back down and in for yet another kiss.

and it keeps happening every time you kiss him now. it doesn’t matter what he was doing before, as soon as your lips leave his, his feet leave the floor too — quite literally.

you’d think that he’s doing it on purpose, but he swears that he isn’t! it’s not his fault that his technique goes haywire whenever you bless him with a kiss!

it’s to the point where you’ve decided not question it now, and even the others don’t too.

“suguru and i are going off for our mission!” and suguru watches his best friend lean down expectantly towards you, tapping his lips with a finger, “can i have a good luck kiss, sweetheart?”

and you oblige sweetly with a hum, “have fun, you two. be safe!”

suguru’s hand is already outstretched to tug satoru down to the earth by his jacket once he starts drifting upwards. “c’mon, satoru.”

hell, he’s been half-asleep, still drowsy as you give him a kiss while leaving his dorm early in the morning before you’re caught by yaga, and gojo starts hovering off the mattress like an exorcism is taking place, the thin blanket slipping off his legs.

(“i guess you can say that you really sweep me off my fee- ow!”)

and while it’s ridiculous, you also find that it’s rather endearing.

but god forbid you start making out with him though. you’re not quite sure on what might happen whenever that comes around..

[lostalioth]

𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫

→ premise: sometimes logan’s age showed more than it normally would and so just once you called him an old man, affectionally of course. Well he was determined to show you he wasn’t one.

→ pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, nicknames [baby, sweet girl, princess], daddy kink, both reader and logan use old man as a nickname, oral [f receiving], unprotected sex, established relationship, slight overstimulation.

→ a/n: the pictures/moodborad above are purely for vibes :) you can imagine any logan pretty much for this fic i think. this is mt first time writing logan so sorry if hes out of character and sorry for any mistakes this was written and proof read at 1am.

Logan wasn’t the type of man to be insecure about his age, his body and face didn’t necessarily show it like how it did on others obviously. He was well aware he was way older than you, he was much older than most people. His age showed more with his taste in music and movies, even in some of the outdated slang he frequently used.

You were currently laid up in your shared bed with Logan. You loved being curled up in his lap, your head resting on his chest cuddled up against him. A cigar nestled between Logan's lips, him periodically puffing out smoke. One of his arms lazily resting over your body holding you against him. An older movie was playing on the tv in the background, the volume was high enough for you to hear it, however you could hardly pay attention. Your mind was too lost in how domestic and old timey it all was, the feeling making your heart flutter.

“You know this was my favorite movie, well one of 'em used to watch it all the time” Logan's gruff voice breaks you from your train of thought.

You look up at your boyfriend and smile softly, his gaze fixated on the black and white images flashing across the screen. You chuckle softly and reach up towards his neck to thread your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. An action that Logan has come to love and even crave on the days when life gets just a little too much.

“You're such an old man” your voice breaks his focus , it was teasing and full of affection as you said it. Logan could clearly hear it, and your statement was correct and didn't bother him, however he couldn't help the little plan forming in his head to mess with you. Shaking your head lightly you turn your attention back on the television.

“Ya’ wanna say that again sweet girl?” He leans his head down, all his attention now glued to you. His words came out almost mockingly instantly making your gaze snap back up to him. He grabs ahold of your chin so that your focus and your eyes stay on him. You knew that teasing tone of voice like the back of your hand by now and what it meant. It made the flutter in your heart drop to your stomach, his arm that was wrapped around your body tightens. You can feel him starting to grow harder against your thigh, making you squirm a bit in his grasp. You swallow hard, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Logan watches as your pupils dilate and that sweet smell that he's become addicted to fills his nose, giving away your own growing arousal.

“Cause i'm thinkin’ you just called me old princess” He cocks his head to the side in a teasing manner, his lips breaking out in a smirk. Still not being able to find your words you shake your head ‘no’ causing him to chuckle deeply. “No? cause i think ya’ did baby, yeah i think you called me an old man” His words come out in almost a growl as he leans forward, pushing you down on your back. His body now perfectly nestled between your legs as he hovers over you, pinning you down with his weight. His large rough hands holding onto your hips, one slowly drifting and pushing up the t-shirt you had on. A t-shirt that looked an awful lot like the one he's been looking for all week.

“Maybe i did.. but you are an actual old man Logan, you’re much older than me baby” Finally finding your voice you attempt to explain yourself, though you knew he wasn't actually upset by your comment. His strained cock pressed against your clothed cunt being more than an indication of that. Your damp panties and his jeans doing nothing to stop him from feeling the way your pussy was throbbing already from his teasing.

“Yea? Well ima show you just what this old man can do huh” He questioned, barely giving you a moment to answer. Wasting no time he has your shirt pushed up revealing your bare tits and his other hand pulling your panties down your legs. Sliding down your body and the bed he slowly kisses down your exposed chest and stomach until his head has made it between your spread thighs. “Logan..” you whine softly, your eyes glued to his every move as you grow more impatient. A rush of cold air hits your lower half when he finally rids you of your soaked underwear.

That damn smirk not wavering from his face as he grabs ahold of your thighs and nearly growls when his tongue finally laps at your pussy. “Fuck i dont think i’ll ever get over just how fuckin’ good you taste baby” his words come out a bit mumbled as his face is buried between your folds. “Lo..” you whine in embarrassment at his statement. Your slick had coated his face in seconds, though it was clear he could care less, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. Even biting the nub softly causing your hips to buck up against his face, his scruffy facial hair rubbing your inner thighs. He groans against you and grips your legs tighter pulling you closer to his mouth.

“Daddy…fuck!” You gasp softly and moan at the sensation and tighten your thighs around his head, Logan's favorite thing was to feel your plush thighs squeeze his head. His adamantium skull being able to take the pressure. You can feel him smile against you at both the name and the action. “Atta girl, princess. Such a good girl for ya’ old man” he praises, his deep voice vibrating through your body.

Letting your clit go Logan pulls away for a moment, dropping his grip on one of your thighs as well to bring his hand and spread apart your lips. Leaning his head back a bit he spits on your pussy, his saliva sliding down to your throbbing hole. “Fuck she always looks so pretty sweet girl” he hums in approaval and admiration at your pussy. His eyes finally lift back up to your face, he takes note of your already blissed out look. “No cuming til I tell you baby, ya’ got it?” He questions, a small smile on his face that was covered in you.

“Yes daddy” you whine, your voice coming out a bit soft as you were taking the time he was giving you to catch your breath.

With a small smack to the side of your ass he dives his head back down, sticking his tongue out flat and licking a strip up the center of your cunt. Growling and burying his face between your legs again he laps and sucks at your clit and folds. Your hips having a mind of their own buck up against his mouth, nearly riding his face. His hips rutting up against the bed of their own accord as well, his precum now leaking through his boxers a bit. His cock straining against his jeans as wonton moans and whimpers leave your lips. Your eyes screwing shut in pleasure as his tongue every now and then pushes inside you and his nose nudges your swollen nub.

You could feel your climax quickly approaching, pushing your fingers through Logan's signature tufts of hair and pulling his face closer. “Fuck- Lo…Daddy please” you moan out pleading with your boyfriend to let you cum. He squeezed your thigh and groaned roughly against you, you knew that was his way of saying ‘not yet’. You whine and tug harder on his hair causing him to let out a small muffled moan. He pulls his face away a bit and with his hand that wasn't squeezing your leg he slips two fingers through your lips, collecting his spit and your slick together. Continuing his attack on your nearly now oversensitive clit he slides his thick soaked fingers inside you stretching you slowly. The rough pads of them instantly finding that spot deep inside you.

“Daddy I don't- uh shit! I don't know how much longer I can hold on, please Logannn!” You moan and whine out his name as your hips thrust back against his skilled fingers and rut against his face. Your high teetering on the edge as you try your hardest to hold it back. “Cum baby, cum on daddy's face princess” he commands and in an instant your body responds and allows your climax to hit you head on.

A string of curses leave Logan's lips as he laps at your cum as it leaks out of you, broken whines and small moans leave yours as he draws out your climax a bit longer. Finally emerging from between your legs, his lips swollen and pink, the whole lower half of his face covered in yours and his combined mess. Heat floods your face a bit at the sight, though your boyfriends still got that smirk glued to his pretty face. The dynamic of you being nearly entirely naked and him still entirely clothed caused an ache to settle back in your core as if Logan hadn’t just made you cum.

He makes his way bad up your body, quickly pulling off his shirt as well as finally pulling yours up and over your head, definitely leaving you entirely naked now. Leaning down, pressing his crotch right up against yours, his clothed bulging cock nudging open your wet and sticky folds. His lips hover over yours as his hand slides up your side, the other brushing over your breast before it’s wrapped around your neck and pinning you back against the bed. He squeezes your neck softly making you let out a whimper.

“You were saying baby?” His voice comes out deep and a bit hoarse as he questions your previous comment again. “Not callin’ me an old man now are ya’ sweet girl, noo cause you cant even talk” he mocks, a small smile on his face as he rocks his hips up against your pussy, the rough material of his jeans stimulating your abused bundle of nerves setting it off again. Your slick creates a wet spot on his jeans the more he grinds his dick against you.

“Won’t do it again i swear daddy, you're not an old man” you whimper softly as your hands grab at his arms and hands, your fingers rubbing at his knuckles where his claws rip through the skin. When his fly zipper brushes your clit you let out a short moan and move to grab at the waist of his jeans tugging, trying to get him to take them off. Tears lightly coat your eyelashes as you bat them at Logan. He scoffs softly and shakes his head at you as he lets go of your neck to undo his belt and the buttons to his jeans, pulling off his belt and jeans. You watch with a sparkle of excitement in your eyes, your chest heaving in impatience, hands wandering his body and rubbing over his muscly arms and board chest. He tugs his boxers down his thighs as he grabs your legs, wrapping your thighs around his waist. His tip leaking precum is redden and twitching as he rubs it through your lips before pushing at your hole.

“Come on princess, apologize for it” he goes painfully slow as he pushes inside you. “Apologize nicely for calling daddy an old man” he grins and brings his hand up to your boob, brushing his rough thumb over your nipple. You gasp softly and whine, wiggling your hips both in protest and to try and get him inside you faster.

Realizing he won't keep going further til you apologize, you give in. Pulling him down and closer, you wrap your arms around his neck and look into his eyes. “I'm really sorry for calling you an old man Lo, i didn't mean it i promise. You're not an old man daddy” you whine and brush your lips softly against his. “Oh fuck, you’re so sweet on me baby i love it” he growls and thrusts inside you hard as his lips crash against yours. You moan out loudly the sound muffled in Logan's mouth as his hips snap against yours. His cock thrusting deep inside you, hitting that spongy spot making your brain go foggy. Kissing you hard and passionately as his hands roam your body not being able to stop himself from touching you everywhere, you're all his anyway.

“My sweet, sweet princess, takin’ it so good from your old man huh?” He groans and presses his forehead against yours as your hips bounce off his. All you can do is frantically nod and mumble and whine about how good he feels and say yes daddy. Your nails digging into his back and running through his hair.

Logan may be an old man but he was your old man and he definitely didnt fuck like one. He knew how to keep up with his sweet little young girlfriend.

→ a/n: hope you enjoyed my loves, PLEASE SEND ME LOGAN REQUESTS< MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND IM CURRENTLY OBESSED WITH THIS MAN

[itgetzweird08]

“You shouldn’t be up this late”

Bakugo’s voice whispered, filling the silence in the dorm kitchen. He was right, and usually you weren’t. You valued your sleep, often being one of the first in the class to call it a night. But tonight was different. Your thoughts, your heart, were restless. Despite following your nighttime routine, which was curated specifically to help you wind down and rest, you still found yourself tossing and turning. Not even your ocean sounds could help you drift to sleep. Thats why when Bakugo spoke, you sighed heavily and let your shoulders droop.

“Yeah. I know.”

He took a few steps toward you, leaning against the countertop. “So what’s got you awake?” You shrugged at him, watching the water in the electric kettle begin to form small bubbles. “Dunno…just can’t sleep I guess.” You looked over to him, taking soft note of his tired eyes and disheveled hair. “And you? You aren’t usually awake at this time either.” He shrugged right back at you. “Dunno…can’t sleep I guess” he echoed your words, and it made you smile just a bit.

You both knew why the other was awake, or at least you both had some inkling. Between how the ambush attack played out and Midoriya running away, neither of you have had time to really process all of what has gone on. You haven’t had time to think about how your lives had been flipped one eighty. But since Midoriya was back safe and sound, and there was no real information on the League or their next move, everything was at a standstill. That meant your brain was finally coming up to speed on what had gone on recently…and it was overwhelming. It felt like your mind was in over drive, thinking so many thoughts at once that it was causing you to lose sleep.

“…There’s a lot of water in this kettle. Would you like some tea?” Bakugo didn’t answer, just walked over to the mug cabinet and grabbed both of your designated mugs. Yours had your hero insignia, and he had his. It was Nezu’s Christmas gift for all of the hero course students. Bakugo opened the tea drawer, grabbing you each a packet of sleepytime zen tea before walking back over to you. You worked in silence then, enjoying each other’s company as you made your own cups.

Your relationship with Bakugo was unique. You admired him, even when he was a bit of an asshole at the beginning of the school year. You’ve enjoyed watching him grow and working beside him as a teammate. You were inspired by his tenacity and drive. You liked how smart and witty he was, and how he could be funny even when he didn’t realize it. It also didn’t hurt that he was actually pretty cute. And all of the same things went for you in his eyes. He admired your kindness and your courage. He was inspired by the way you had such a big heart but you were no push over, standing up to him when he got too rough with his words or during training. In his eyes, it was like you were one of the only people to give him a chance, getting to know him past his rough exterior. You two had gotten closer during the year, training and studying together sometimes. You began to sit next to him for lunch, stealing small pieces of chicken from his plate while he stole beef from yours. You were the only one with that privilege. Eventually, you became this unlabeled, unspoken thing. You didn’t have to confess your feelings because he knew, and you knew how he felt about you even if he’s never admitted it.

You softly sipped your tea, allowing the warm liquid to run down your throat and causing you to sigh. He stirred his own cup, watching the spoon go around and around. Technically, there was nothing else for you two to do in the kitchen. Technically, you could’ve parted ways right here and drank your own cups in your rooms. But you couldn’t bear to leave him. Deep down, you both didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Bakugo?” He looked up as you said his name. “Could I sleep over in your room tonight? I don’t think I want to be alone”

All he did was scoff, pick up his mug and began walking towards the staircase. When he realized you weren’t following, he scowled and turned to look at you.

“Let’s go brat. I’m missing out on my beauty sleep”

Part two

—————

Ps: im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.