#hope you like reading nonny

[teddybeartoji]

hi mickey!!! i have some suguru thoughts i wanna share 😁 i think suguru is such an affectionate and sweet boyfriend.. he's so soft spoken with you, leaning down, practically PURRING into your ear when he talks.. and he's really touchy, always has to have an arm around you, and when you're both at home you best bet you'll always be on his lap or beside him or underneath him or on top of him 🤭

when you're both on the couch he purposefully sits in the middle, manspreading like crazy and refusing to move so you'll be forced to sit on his lap :3 his big arms will wrap around your waist and not even a few minutes in he's already peppering your cheek with soft kisses.. how are you even going to finish the series you're watching at this rate if he's always doing this ?! you're not complaining though.. especially when his hand slips inside your shirt and he starts gently kneading your tummy with his big warm hand teehee

thats all .. cuddly suguru 😁 runs away

OH MY GOD NONNNIEEE!!!!!!!!!!! SUGURU IS THE SWEETEST FUCKING BOYFRIEND EVER I LOVE HIM SOOOSO FUCKING MUCH!!!!!! AND YOU'RE SO RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING BTWW!!!! he is suuuuper super soft spoken i really feel like he never raises his voice ever like not even when you do happen to have a fight yk?? and the purring into the ear thing ohhh my godddd.... he knows exactly what he's doing too he loves to see you squirm lmao aand yesss!!!!!!!!! he always wants to be close to you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lets you rest your feet on his lap while he's reading!!!!!!!!!! and i feel like he really really loves holding your hand too,, he doesn't really say it but he looooves it!!!!! it makes him feel so safe<333333333

SITTING ON HIS LAPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111 HOOOOLY FUCK MY EYES JUST ROLLED BACK INTO MY HEADDD I NEED THAT SOOO BAD!!!! ohhh and he just loooves holding you there like he absolutely adores pulling you flush to him like that,, his chest is against your back and he's kissing your cheek and resting his head on your shoulder. maybe he's even reading the lines out with you just to fluster you some more yk? he's a little shit like that but we love him!!!!! cough he might uhh move you back and forth a little on his lap too cough HE JUST LOVES TO SEE YOU GET A LITTLE EMBARRASSSEDD OKAY HE LOVES IT SO MUCH HE THINKS YOU'RE SOOSO CUTEE>:333333333333

[fivefeetfangirl]

omg hiii!! hope ur doing good 😊 re ur tags on the post about reading a lot of time travel fics lately 👀👀 do you have any recs ? I feel like ive devoured the trope there arent any good ones left 😩

Hi nonny!!

Based on your ask it seems like you've probably read more time travel fics than me haha I just started like 3 weeks ago. And these are what I've read so far (I would rec them all, they're all very good):

crossing lines by sometimeswelose which is about s1 dean getting transported into s15. read the tags on this one tho!

in this louisiana bar by fleeceframe where s10 cas travels back to s1 dean. in the next part s10 cas travels back to s4 dean

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe where s15 cas travels back to pre-series dean

I haven't read this one but been recced it, time has come today by teen_dean where 19 year old dean from 1998 is brought to 2020 to help with a hunt

If you have any recs for me feel free to send another ask <33 or if anyone wanna add to this post, please do!

[chaotic-orphan]

Heyy, really sorry to bother you! Sooo, I want to say I found your blog in (I believe) 2023, and have been on and off tumblr since. But, every time I rejoin on a new account and (for some reason) can’t for the life of me remember your blog name each time (but, like, I’ll recognize it instantly if I visually see it), I always find it in the same exact way. Every time I go hunting for the not-quite-forgotten blog, I always stumble upon a specific eventual piece of yours. And that's your “AMOW Winter Whumperland 2023” posts. Without fail, if I’m either actively looking for your account again or indirectly stumble upon you again, I ALWAYS get redirected back to these easter-egg-coated posts. Like, it’s a tradition for me to stumble upon those works and be like “oh, my! Why is this soooooooo awe-inspiring and familiar?” And then I’m like… "OH it’s my long lost blogger that I love." And it’s like weird cus whenever I stumble upon this winter whumperland post I don’t check the user before reading it and so it’s like I’m reading it for the first time, yet it's also so familiar- (and just to note I’m IN LOVE with your writing, like I would get down on one knee for your writing). 

Okayyyy, so sorry I got off track there and this is becoming a dangerously long ramble built off run-on sentences. But I just want you to know I loveeeeeee your writing [and you 💍] so much. 

So what I really wanted to ask is if you could add the AMOW to your master post? It’s totally, 100% fine if there’s a reason you don’t want to or whatever- But, sometimes it’s a little tedious to have to scroll all the way to 2023 December, but like I can always like all the Whumperland posts and go to my likes to avoid that- idk! I think I just wanted an excuse to glaze your writing. But, for real, like look at it like this—how about an analogy! (I’m trying to get better at writing them, and need to explain this to you so you can understand my complicated thoughts, so without further ado-)

Pretend your written pieces of the Winter Whumperland event is a Fish. Now, let’s say you’re the Fishing Rod, and I’m the Fisher. Okay, so: Fish (Winter Whumperland), Fishing Rod (you), and Fisher (me).

The Fish is swimming through the ocean, when a fishing hook dips into the water. Except, the fish doesn’t see the hook, it sees the bait attached to the hook. Naturally, the Fish nibbles on the piece, and then bites down onto the sharp instrument. It gets stuck and tries to pull away, to pry itself out. The Fish is really tugging onto the hook, threatening to push the Fisher [me] overboard. The Fishing Rod [you] is the only thing keeping the Fisher connected to the fish. The Fisher really wants this fish though. It’s not just tugging on the hook, it’s tugging at the Fisher’s heart strings. The Fisher’s need to win this fight in order to get their prize is a great one. Now, after quite a fight, the Fisher finally pulls the Fish onto the boat deck. It’s a beauty. The truest beauty the Fisher has ever laid eyes upon. The Fisher, naturally thinks that the Fish—such a hard catch to reel in, but such a beauty to experience—should be put on display for everyone to see. [display = master post]

You’re the tool (now that I’m reading this back, that sounds so subjugated) used to grab my attention towards this written piece of yours, aka Winter Whumperland. You’re the one who brings the Fish to me. And I’m the one who indulges in this Fish. And because of my already-forming endorsements with this fish, I want to, as the Fisher, put it on display. Aka, put it on your master post.

Does that make sense? Sorry, i know that was a horrible analogy, but I was struggling for my life to make it make sense. And it turned out soo much choppier than i was hoping for, but I don’t know how to fix itttttt. Conclusively, my main objective of this rollercoaster of a ask is: 1) To marry y- For you to include Winter Whumperland into your Master Post. 

Now, if you literally don’t want to, just know that I literally won’t be upset or take it to heart. Like, if anything, I really just want you to know that I love your writing, and it’s been something that keeps wrapping around my throat and pulling me deeper into its claws.

On another note. I. have. missed. so. freaking. much. of. the intoxicating fear series. Like omg. I have soooooooo much catching up to do. I think (I could be wrong, timelines are so hard to keep track of) I had deleted my tumblr account around the time you had written "Intoxicating Fear (VI)." I hope you know when his ringtone started playing, I cringed back so hard into my pillow. I like actually felt the fear, and had the whole hand on my mouth and retracting myself from the screen moment, because omg??? Like that whole scene was a freaking masterpiece. It should get an award, seriously. Some credit where it’s due. Because hello?? That was phenomenal? You should get everlasting praise? Like, you literally just wrote the best piece of literature I could have ever read?? Like, am I going insane, because why am I the only one that’s understanding the value of this art work laid out so casually in front of me? (jkk, lol- I know others loveeee that series a lot! I just wanted to glaze for a moment-).

Though, like, I remember vividly you had written that chapter in IF, and I was waiting with EXCRUCIATION for you to update it, like omg. And you’ve posted on it SO much within the year I was off tumblr, I don’t even know where to begin- Because I HAVE to read stuff in one sitting, or else I’m gonna forget other parts, cus like I have the memory of a goldfish. So, I have no idea when I’m finally going to get around to reading the full thing in one go. 

And also, omg. I NEED to thank you for something else. So, I recently ate up your Vendetta series. Like my plate is empty with how tasty that story was. You set the chapters up so perfectly, that when I got to the chapter with Superhero, I literally was shocked at how incredibly executed it was. Like, the execution was a different breed of literature. Because, honestly, I didn’t realize up until that point that you’d submerged me so deep into the story, and that I’d made such a connection with the story, like- how do you not notice something like that? It was so subtle, and it hit me like a wave, or, like- like a truck. 

But, anyway, while the pleasure of reading that supernatural sensation did wonders to sedate my hunger, it also introduced me to something else. YOU introduced me to something else. Thank you so so SO much for the indoctrination of Gladiator by Jann. I have NEVER heard of that artist or song in my life, but my golly, am I glad that discovery was dug up from underground. Because I’ve gone on to favorite like five of his songs, and they are now the 65th to 70th songs in my spotify playlist. Likeeeee-

Also! I was very pleased to read the updates for The Stranger. I think my top three favorites of yours is: (1) The Stranger, (2) Intoxicating Fear, and (3) Vendetta. I have yet to read your other works, but sadly, I find myself in a reading slump more often than not, and that’s probably why I haven’t read your whole Master Post at this point. Though, most of all. I’m sorry for this ask. Like, you literally don’t even have to respond. Like, I would NOT be offended. Like, I just wanted to fan girl and rave about you because I don’t think you understand how much I love you’re writing. Like. I don’t even know. There’s fireworks exploding outside my room right now, and I’m just saying, those fireworks are a dedication made just for you (that sentence doesn’t even make sense?? I don’t know what I’m saying anymore??) Anyway, I’m actually so so sorry I flooded you with this- It was NOT supposed to get to this length. This was nottttt intentional. I was only supposed to write: “Hey, I really love your Winter Whumperland event posts! Could you add it to your Master Post so it’s more easily accessible?” But, I think my purpose here was lost in the abundance of losing my train of thought and getting off topic- Like- I don’t even know what possessed me during the action of writing this to you- I honestly feel really bad that I just poured my heart out to you like this- Like, if you’re getting this, it means I closed my eyes and pressed send. Because this is diabolical, even by my standards. Honestly, this must just be the product of mommy letting me stay up for new years 🤷 (that’s a joke; a poor attempt at humor)

Sorry, again! 

(Happy New Years!!) -From your girly 💍

Omg, I’m looking at this now, and I’m so sorry. This is honestly embarrassing, but there’s no turning back now- 😭

I’m so so so so so so sorry for this “ask.”

AHEM!

Do NOT apologise for the length of your ask, I laughed so hard reading it and my heart swelled and I was so happy and proud while I read your rant— Thank you for closing your eyes and hitting send, thank you so much, it was such a pleasure to read and hear your thoughts on everything in my writing and I am so happy that you like my stories so much, so thank you, it was such a New Year’s gift to me🥹🥰

But yes!!! I will put Winter Whumperland into the Masterpost now!! I didn’t realise it wasn’t there already, thank you for pointing it out 🙏 the blog is chaotic but we are wrestling in some organisation this year😤 so thank you for your help ahahahahahahah!!

And for your rant, I am— you don’t know how inspiring it is to see you speak so passionately about my writing and it’s just like — GAAAHHH, I… thank you so much for this, I don’t think I can express it enough🥹🫶

I woke up in 2025 and this is the first thing I read? I think it’s going to be a good year😌

P.S. Intoxicating fear is veryyy long now ahahahaha, so don’t worry about reading it, and the stranger!!! Yes the stranger got updated last year (we can say last year now ahhahahahaha) and Vendetta😔🥺😩 Vendetta is getting an update in the next week or so, I am working on it atm and god, poor Hero… anyways!!!

P.P.S. Thank you for your rant, and all your tangents, it was truly delightful Nonny, and I hope you had a great Christmas and a very, very happy New year!!! I hope your year is full of joy and laughter

[dimdiamond]

Ange drawing tintin https://youtu.be/lbCrxfW4g4w

That night Tintin and Ange slept in the master bedroom and Haddock slept in the garden.

He kept laughing all night and he was lucky they couldn't hear him from outside.

Jokes on him, though, because Ange went years later to art school.

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[threewaysdivided]

awwww 😭😭😭😭

Did you write a review on the legendary teen Titans series? (Aka what young Justice could have become if they weren't overly ambitious)

What's your opinion on Paul Dini as a writer?

(Follow up to these two previous asks)

Sorry nonnie! 😅

It seems that we both tripped down a rabbit hole of doughnuts.

I assume you’re talking about the Teen Titans 2003 Animated TV Series?  In that case, you might be thinking of another user – I haven’t personally written any reviews for it.  I do have a lot of fond feelings towards the show, though; it was my first real introduction to DC Comics alongside the Justice League/ JLU animated series.  My Tumblr has a Teen Titans tag where I share art, meta etc. and I do have some thoughts about specific plots or narrative elements – you might also see me make occasional reference to it as an example on some posts in the writing advice tag.

Just for the sake of expectation management, I should explain that my Tumblr isn’t really a traditional “review blog”.  And yes, I know that probably sounds a bit crazy considering the frankly unhinged amount of YJ analysis I’ve written, especially since I’ve been blogging less about other stories in the last year. Burnout, what can you do? 

Really I’m more of a writing/ story-analysis blog.  Sometimes I might write a semi-review style post where I try to break down and articulate a particular technique/ element/ execution/ implication of a narrative in order to understand what it’s doing well or why something isn’t working.  As I said in the very first Frustrations with YJ essay, I think storytelling is fundamentally about communication and understanding.  I got into fandom as a fan-reader turned fan-writer (AO3 wink wink), and before that I worked as a casual English tutor.  I want to learn from the ways different narratives succeeded or failed at communicating their stories within the restrictions of their medium(s) so that I can better find, discuss and even tell stories myself. 

Because of that, I’m also a big proponent of the Death of the Author approach to media analysis.  Let me copy the definition over from that first essay real quick:

DEATH OF THE AUTHOR This theory posits that, because commercial art is created to be consumed, not just created, the audience’s interpretations of a work should be considered as just valid as the creator’s.  The work must stand on its own and creators cannot micro-manage their audience’s response to it. 1.  A creator’s intentions and biographical facts (political stances, religion, etc) should hold no special weight in determining the validity of an interpretation. 2.  Save for re-releases/reboots or new entries, the creator cannot and should not attempt to retroactively insert information or interpretations that were not present in the original text.

I generally don’t look too deeply into or follow the specific people behind (non-fan) works.  This isn’t always the case – if I like a specific author’s style I might look up their body of work to read more; some stories are clearly rooted in their creators’ specific opinions or experiences, which makes for interesting context; and sometimes I like to learn about the behind-the-scenes methods/techniques/production woes of a bringing a specific story to life – but mostly I put the priority on what I can learn from the final product.

As I’ve said before, commercial storytelling is the result of more than just one person.  Under the right conditions I think a rank amateur or complete hack could produce something amazing and, if faced with enough production headaches, a usually-excellent creator could end up outputting utter drek although I expect that drek would at least be creatively interesting.

The questions that interest me more are: what was this narrative trying to communicate?  what techniques were used/ creative choices were made?  how well did it succeed?  could a different approach have been used? and, what restrictions/limitations/priorities could have led to the final creative decisions?  To me, information on a creator’s circumstances provide context for narrative analysis.  Since I generally don’t know them I try not to postulate their actual intent too much, only the potential intent suggested by the story.

SO WHAT THE HECK WAS I DOING WITH YJ, THEN? What happened with Young Justice is actually an outlier for me in both regards because of how baffling flawed the series ended up being.  Back in the pre-revival days I paid a lot of attention to the textual canon of Season 1 because I had started writing a fanfic based on it and wanted to do the story justice (heh).  The result was I went into the later seasons with a lot more awareness of the canonical details and storytelling techniques – and (like I said in the final Invasion case-study) I ended up being blindsided by how instinctively bored and annoyed I became just a short way into an attempted Season 2 rewatch, despite the fact that I was actively trying to study it. 

The reason I kept coming back with more and more posts is that I never felt like I had successfully grasped or articulated why I had such a strong and unexpected negative reaction.  I think it’s a similar impulse to what Dan Olson cited as making the Nostalgia Critic’s Parody of The Wall so weirdly compelling: there's a confusing contradiction between the level of work required to implement the sheer amount of stuff that Young Justice tries to include, and the absolute thoughtlessness of how sloppily that stuff was actually executed. A multi-season, multimedia story like Young Justice is a long-term project: there are too many layers of production involved for the end result to be made in a brief flash of impulse or accident. It needs some sort of sustained creative motivation to drive it… but I could never find a coherent creative intent that would satisfyingly explain the decisions on display.  Never before or since have I seen such a promising launch be followed by sequels so fatally flawed as to strip away every component of the original’s creative identity.  There’s a reason I subtitled that masterpost A Massive Failure of Narrative.

This is also why I went after lead-showrunner Greg Weisman a bit, despite not usually doing that.  The choice to exclude (or consciously excise) over 70% of the critical narrative substance and sequester it away in non-textual social-media /ask-blog retcons means that you cannot escape engaging with Weisman when trying to engage with the later seasons at any level of depth.  As a Death of the Author proponent this ticked me off just on-its-face, but it also meant that he and those seasons are inseparably intertwined.  Regardless of whether it was a conscious choice arising from his sense of creative entitlement, or simply a case of narrative incompetence self-selecting for a primary audience with a high tolerance for media-illiteracy Nigerian Prince Email Scam-style, the end-result is the same: Weisman gouged holes his narrative and left it to suffocate while he sucked up all the oxygen in the room.   Then, later, as I encountered people from other fandoms whose narratives had been similarly decimated by Weisman, it became impossible to ignore how inseparable his personal flaws are from those narrative failures.  As I alluded to in the last ask, you can separate the original seven Harry Potter texts from their author: Joanne Rowling and her politics could evaporate tomorrow and it wouldn’t change people’s ability to enjoy the story as a standalone work (in fact, the absence of her modern politics might make some of the more unpalatable flaws easier to accept as honest oversights rather than ominous foreshadowing).  Meanwhile, Young Justice is such a disaster because the later seasons stop being about the original story and increasingly become about Greg: his failures at basic storytelling, his disinterested misunderstanding of his own characters, his weird fixations, his patterns of reactionary prejudice, casual double-standards, deeply disturbing attitudes about consent and power, and a self-righteous entitlement that resents being held accountable.  Unlike Harry Potter, you can’t put Young Justice S2+ in a bubble. The problem at the root of every other problem with Young Justice is that it doesn’t have an actual narrative... and in the absence of a coherent central narrative, the text itself has become the story of Greg Weisman's terrible creative choices. His self-indulgent proclivities pervade every step of the later seasons' broken theming, bad pacing, warped characterisation, contradictory lore, intra-textual hypocrisies, over-stuffed cast and weird fanservice: baked-in at a level that cannot be ignored or rationalised away.

It makes me empathise a lot with how Hbomberguy said he felt on discovering the recent James Somerton stuff: it’s not fun to stumble down a rabbit hole of learning that a prominent figure in one of your communities is sucking up air via association with work from their less-credited colleagues, then using that air to present themselves as an ally, dominate the narrative and delegitimise valid criticism, all while spreading their own prejudiced agendas, refusing to change their behaviour and continuing to profit.  That’s why I felt the need to explicitly point out some of the clearer patterns of reactionary bigotry and hypocritical non-apologies in Weisman’s work – I wanted to make sure the evidence was at least available somewhere outside of Weisman’s carefully-filtered reputation-protecting PR statements.  People put pieces of their lives into communicating something that will hopefully be worth the pieces of life their audiences invest in return -  I find the idea of someone exploiting that trust for gain to be deeply disgusting.

Now, with that exceptionally-overlong context provided: Paul Dini. 

The disappointing but predictable answer is that I don’t really have an opinion on him as a writer.  Having looked up his credits, I recognise a lot of works that I personally enjoyed (including the cancelled-after-one-season Tower Prep).

I really like Batman: The Animated Series, both for the human element it brought to heroism and the tone it set for the following DCAU (colloquially Timm-verse) generation of animated series.  Justice League was one of my first introductions to the main DC roster, so that set a lot of my core understanding of their characters.  I find Harley Quinn, especially her early B:TAS/ DCAU story-iterations, to be compelling in a way that’s equal parts fun and tragic.  There are some parts of the DCAU that I find a bit silly (a couple of background ‘ships that make me go whaa?) but I think I was really lucky to grow up during a time when the DCAU and second-order series inspired by its tone and storytelling ethos (e.g. Teen Titans 2003) was the childhood DC experience for kids my age.

That said, I don’t know enough about the story behind the works in Dini’s credits to feel confident in speaking about him as a writer.  Just looking at his resume, he certainly seems like a passionate and prolific creator who did a lot of very influential work.  At the same time, however, I don’t know how much of that was Dini himself, how much was his frequent co-creator, Bruce Timm, and how much his works may have been adulterated by the influence of other, less-visible members of the production and editorial teams who worked alongside him.  It can be convenient to elevate one or two prominent members to Great Man status as an easy shorthand for discussing works they’ve been involved with, but that can come with the risk of crediting or platforming the wrong people through mis-attribution or just plain projection. 

I’ve learned my lesson on blind-lionisation after being thoroughly let down by all the Weisman nonsense, the same way others have learned from being let down by creators they previously idolised (Supergeekmike did a really good video covering this which also includes discussions of Death of the Author and Authorial Intent).  Without doing proper research into and comparisons of Dini’s work, I wouldn’t feel confident making an assertion about his personal skills as a creator.  I greatly enjoy many of the stories he’s been credited on, and can recognise the influence those stories had in shaping a generation of DC fans (and writers)… but while I’m happy to talk about the writing of those stories, it feels a little irresponsible of me to talk to the character or intent of a real person without knowing more about them.  I’m not making that mistake again.

In the meantime though, I do want to talk more about actual writing.  I’ve been taking it easier this year lockdown and job burnouts finally caught up to me and it suuucks, man but I'm hoping to pick back up in 2024.  I want to finally get back to working on my main fanfic so I can share the companion meta without spoiling people.  I have thoughts about some possible meta-textual metaphors in Across the Spider-verse.  I might do a case-study piece exploring why the years-long timeskip in Arcane Season 1 worked really well while others haven’t.  And there’s an ask about a canon-divergent-post-Season-1 Young Justice episode premise that’s been burning a hole in my inbox for at least 5 months now.

So yeah.  More writing breakdowns to come.  In the meantime, I previously wrote a Frustrations With analysis of how My Hero Academia’s story struggled following the Hideout Raid Arc if you’d like to check that one out.  There’s also this big compilation of links to my Young Justice and Danny Phantom meta (plus recommendations for fanfics and other stories), and you can check out the writing advice tag for general storytelling discussions.

Hopefully that makes up for the drought of Teen Titans content!

[ficsforeren]

HIIIIII KANA i know its a bit random but i just wanted to tell you that your work is literally my favorite ! i love every single thing you write , i always come back to it! 🫶🏻And congratulations on your pregnancy , take care💜

n-nonnie...

THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAAAAA

[endious]

Have you seen David Near's updated drawing of Jeff on his insta? It's from June of last year. I love him he's so cutesy patootsie (I know he would absolutely stab me on the spot if I called him that)

-🍓<@:)

YES I HAVE AODOAMDME I GO CRAZY WHENEVER I GO AND LOOK AT HIM BCUS HES SO ! ! <3 trust me he’d kill us both if he saw us walking down a street and would tell us to fuck off if we spoke to him </3

[bunicate]

hi mimi diff nonie here but how do you know if youve orgasmed >< like i feel my parts getting all wet n sticky but i just dunno if thats it... T—T

'm so sad cause i js wanna feel good !!!!

uwaaa I feel so >\< tht u bbies r coming to mi abt these stuff . feels like a fun witl sleep over :3 but also btw I’m not at all like sex expert or anything , I haveeee veriiii litl experience however I do masturbate . . like alots ^_^ so tmi tmi tmi tmi tmi

with an orgasm . at least for mi . . there’s just no way for me not to know. the best way I can describe is like a steady escalation until smthn snaps or pops. an orgasm for mi is like a still moment of like . . . a burst of pleasure. my body tenses and my pussy twitches . . like a lot and it’s very leaky . naturally I know it’s coming when I speed up whatever I’m doing which is usually pinching my nipples and rubbing my clit faster and faster and then you just KNOW ! ! if ur unsure . . chances r u didn’t orgasm .

[dykerica]

Could you please elaborate on either your transfem or lesbian Ethan Morgan headcanons? I love them!

OKAY IM ANSWERING THIS UNDER THE CUT BCUS I GOT TOO EXCITED AND RANTED A LOT SORRY !!!

(also these became more like serious gender things rather than silly goofy ones so if you want those instead hmu)

first! i hc ethan as autistic + lesbian basically 100% of the time, and i switch between transfem + transmasc depending on how i'm feeling tbh

for both of the gender hcs i stay with ethan never feeling a big connection with his birth gender growing up and also not really understanding the insanity surrounding feminine vs masculine gender roles / stereotypes / actions etc (this is where the autism hc gets relevance). so i think child ethan was extremely gender apathetic which leads to a "more masc" presentation in general because people tend to view neutral = masculine when it comes to things about gender.

i do think (going the transfem route) ethan realizing she's a girl/girl adjacent is like kinda chill almost? its probably a realization that happens closer to highschool if not during her freshman year, because while i don't think ethan would ever be presenting super feminine i do think she's always admired it / loved it from afar basically. i do think eventually it just kinda clicks for her, lots of relief about like no longer feeling the need to be a Macho Man but also some like "am i not girl enough bcus of all my stereotypical nerdy guy interests?" this is when ethan is introduced to the existence of the magic the gathering -> trans girl pipeline and it's def a process but i think the fact she's never really understood why certain things are gendered makes it a bit easier. she's a girl and she likes girls <3

i don't really see ethan ever presenting super feminine, like she'll grow her hair out and go on E but she's not really wearing skirts and dresses around town UNLESS she's playing dressup with jane bcus jane got SO EXCITED to play dressup with her big sister that ethan just couldn't say no. also i don't know if there's like an already existing widely spread transfem ethan name hc (?) but im fond of eve personally.

FOR THE TRANSMASC LESBIAN HC: i think ethan being aware he's transmasc is something on the outskirts of his mind since childhood, especially once Jane is born and there's a very stark difference between their behaviors as "little girls". However i don't think ethan was ever like "oh yeah im not a girl im a MAN" which leads to this weird like "okay im not a man but im super comfortable presenting more masculine and im not really a girl either but i still feel slightly connected to "girlhood" despite never really doing it quote unquote right". this is when ethan discovers the amazing concept of BUTCH LESBIANS, so he changes his name / pronouns and goes on T. like he's very girlboy, boygirl even, girl who is a boy who is a girl who is a lesbian. his first crush was on Thorn from the hexgirls, also Daphne, also Gwen from TDI. Benny and ethan have to promise each other to never like the same girl ever again bcus they almost killed each other in middle school over who got to ask her to a dance. Anyway boydyke lesbian Ethan is a grey area but its also very important to me i love him very much <3

[lit-in-thy-heart]

I just discovered your blog and your merlin fics on archive of our own! They're so good and I really love your aus - especially the coffee shop ones (who doesn't love a coffee shop au, let's be real) :-) What's a fic that you've always wanted to exist but either can't force yourself to sit down and write or desperately want someone else to write first?

Hello there!! Please know this has made my night and I'm glad that my fics have been bringing you a bit of joy <3 costa criminals my beloved, they're so much fun to write and, good news anon, I have got another one in the series partially written and a rather chaotic follow-up planned, I'm just currently jumping between about 4 different wips so the posting process is a little slower than usual

Oooh that's a great question! One fic idea that I've had for two years now but have never been able to sit down and write past vague vibes is my Gwaincelot Bridgerton AU (posted about here and here). There are a few Merthur ones on ao3 and some general Regency AUs, but Gwaincelot could be so much fun...I've just never got around to actually writing it 😅 another one is a merwaincelot assassin au that would be cool but, again, I've just never found the time for

Thank you for dropping by anon, hope you have a great day! 💜

[chrollogy]

don’t ever feel guilty for not writing atm i already admire you so much for starting a new series so soon after your first one while also dropping fics here and there take your time and enjoy yourself in the meantime im incredibly proud of you <3

nonnie :(((( i am sobbing so much this is what i really needed to hear tonight <3 thank you for your kind words, i will cherish them a lot :> you are the sweetest ever and i hope you know ilysm !!

[stunie]

i just started kaiju no 8 and i gotta say! i get it! i love it! i wanna be kafka’s lil wife 😭 -🥟

YESSS YOU STARTED IT !!!!! it’s good isn’t it!!

[ghostedeabha]

imagine like simon goes into some sort of surgery and has to be put under anesthesia, and when he gets out hes like still high asf on it 💀 and hes being a lil silly goose

okay this is such a cute idea omg, this is 100% based off that tiktok audio where it's like "my wife wouldn't like you touching me like that" "i AM your wife."

thank you so much for the request nonnie, a forehead kiss for you MWAH MWAH

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 563

warnings: none really, lots and lots of that good ol fluff, mentions of surgery, goofy simon, maybe a little ooc simon (he's high so it's fine)

a/n: i hope this is okay, i'm feeling a bit rusty with my writing but i've finally got back some motivation and energy to do so after the past two months of low energy and bad mental health. if you guys want to know a bit more about it and my mental health (i don't see why anyone would but lmao) let me know, i don't mind making a post about it if you guys want an explanation of some sort or whatever. anywho, sorry this is so short but i hope you still like it!! <3

a/n 2.0: i recently applied for a part time job at a bookstore so y'all pray for me that i get this job because i want it so bad. i am just gonna decide that i WILL get this job, because why wouldn't i?

simon had been out of surgery for just over an hour now, being a soldier you 'd think perhaps he was going under surgery for some kind of wound he had inflicted upon him on the battlefield but no, he was just getting his tonsils removed after a bad bout of tonsillitis ended up with him developing really bad tonsil stones.

so here you were, waiting by his bedside for him to wake up. the doctor and nurses reminded you just as he had gotten out that he may still be a little, well loopy, off of the meds depending on how quickly he woke up. you waited in a chair at his bedside, reading a book when you heard the blankets of the bed rustling just a little.

looking up from your book you see simon starting to wake up and you reach out to grasp his hand, only for him to rip it away from you when his eyes were fully opened.

"uh, si? you okay, hon?" you ask gently, maybe he just wasn't feeling too well after waking up, or perhaps he wasn't wanting physical touch, that happened quite often and you always respected that space he may want when he wanted it.

"don't call me that." simon said, voice hoarse and scratchy from the surgery, he sounded a little angry.

"what?" you questioned, this wasn't like simon, you couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you speaking like this to him.

"i'm taken."

"i know." you replied with a short laugh.

"you should be touching me like that then."

it hit you then, he was woozy from the meds and didn't recognize you. the realization made you laugh a little more. you decided to have a bit of fun with this high version of your boyfriend.

"sorry about that simon. wanna tell me about your partner?"

"oh, (name)? they're amazing, you know they're so pretty. and they're funny too. they always know how to make me feel better, i miss them." simon replies, ranting and raving on and on to you about his partner, about you.

"you love them a lot, don't you?" you ask him with a smile, it felt so nice to hear all these lovely things about yourself, your boyfriend clearly unfiltered by the effects of the anesthesia he was under.

sure he definitely said sweet things to your face, but something about hearing it when he was basically high as shit made your heart pound a little more.

"i love them with my whole heart." simon replies, a goofy little smile on his face.

you can't help but reach out to gently caress his face at those words, body filling up with some much adoration for the soldier in front of you.

"hey! what did i say about touching me. i have a partner!" simon scolds, trying to dodge your touch.

"simon, love... i am your partner. it's me, (name)." you reply with a laugh.

simon takes a good long look at you when you tell him this, he stares at you, looks you up and down before letting out a soft and quiet "oh."

you begin to hear the beeping of his heart rate monitor speed up, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he stares up at you.

you couldn't help but laugh a little more at this. what a sweet idiot. your sweet idiot.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet.

farmhand!sevika x farmer’s daughter!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you find a woman in your barn who looks suspiciously like the fugitive who remains wanted on your town's bulletin board. but you've always a soft spot for the strong ones.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, outlaw!sevika, farmhand!sevika, farmer's daughter!reader, reader has curly hair, reader is in her twenties, reader is feral for sevika but tries to keep it cute, soft!masc!reader (i'm not sure if she counts as masc in this but that was the intention! i said soft bc there are times where she dresses overtly femme in the beginning), muscular!reader, strong!reader and sevika is insane about it, touch starved!sevika, soft!sevika, sevi getting praised and spoiled as deserved, petnames, non-sexual intimacy, seduction, dirty talk, praise kink, strength kink, you manhandle sevi like a mf, begging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, tribbing, face riding, nipple play, reader waxing poetic about sevi and pretty she is, dom!reader, pleasure domming, sub!sevika, bdsm elemetns, dom/sub, power play, subspace, implied switch!sevi, mommy kink (specifically mama!). notes: guys i'm so fucking PISSED because tumblr deleted the fucking ask that made this even happen. but nonnie please know this is for you and i hope you love it, mama. also this got a little crazy. did not intend to write sub!sevi but then i was possessed and saw the light.

The morning mist hasn't burned off yet when you find her. In the barn's half-light, dust motes swim like sparks around the stranger's sleeping silhouette, her broad shoulders rising and falling against the hay. There's dried blood on her knuckles, you notice, but her hands are curled gentle as a child's against her chest.

Your daddy's shotgun rests steady in your hands, barrel aimed low but ready. The wild dogs haven't raised any alarm; they're curled near the woman like she belongs there. You watch her breath, take in the way her mouth hangs a little open like she’s aching to feed. Moths flutter against the high windows, their wings catching dawn's grey light.

"Daddy's gonna want to know why I didn't shoot you," you say softly, your voice carrying in the hollow space. 

Your short hair tickles your jaw as you tilt your head, studying. You’ve chopped it for the summer and the heat you applied to it is lifting. You can feel the curls right bursting around your cheeks.

There's something about the woman's face - even in sleep, it holds a story you've seen somewhere before, maybe on that board in town square you've trained yourself not to look at too closely.

The stranger's eyes open - dark and steady as well water. She doesn't startle, despite the gun trained on her. Just watches you like she's reading something written in the air between you both, her gaze catching on the way your corset top pulls tight across your chest, the intricate lace trim exposing your shoulders to the morning air and accentuating the swell of your breasts. 

"Would you have?" the woman asks, voice rough with sleep and something else. Her accent isn't local - has too many edges.

Your lips curl. 

"Ain't shot a thing yet that didn't deserve it." 

You shift your weight, dark jeans whispering against your boots. The corset suddenly feels more revealing under the stranger's gaze, dawn light playing across the ropy back. "You got a name?"

"Sevika." A pause, heavy as August air. "You always dress up to do barn chores?"

"Only when I've got a feeling about something." You step closer, morning light catching in your hair like a halo, shotgun lowering just slightly. You can smell gunpowder and road dust on her, underneath the hay. "Kitchen's got coffee on. Might even have some bacon, if you can convince me you're worth feeding."

Sevika sits up slow, careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild thing. Her shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with scars and something that might be tattoo ink. "That an invitation or an interrogation?"

"Guess that depends on what kind of answers you give." 

You rest the shotgun against your shoulder, turning toward the barn door, letting morning spill across your exposed skin. You don't look back - don't need to. You can feel Sevika's eyes on you like a physical touch, can hear the soft grunt as she stands.

The horses shuffle in their stalls, steam rising from their backs. Outside, a rooster crows - late, like always. Everything's waking up slow and sweet, the way summer mornings do. 

Your pulse thrums steady in your throat. There's danger in this - in the way Sevika's boots fall into step behind you. But you've never been one to let fear stop you from taking in strays. Even ones that look at you like they'd like to devour you whole.

As you walk, you can tell that she’s drinking in the sight of the farm as strangers tend to do. The acres go for miles, the sky straining and stretching across its great, green rolling body. Most of the buildings—the farmhouse, the barn, the bustling chicken coop—were built raised by your mother’s hands. She was an architect romanced and rescued by your father, though you suspect she did the rescuing more than him. 

You shimmy a hand down the downy back of one of the newest calves, nose scrunching with affection as he moos back at you. Eventually the house looms before you, the windows popped open and laundry swaying outback despite the expensive machine your mother couldn’t do without.

“You comin’?” You murmur, and Sevika blinks from where she’s been watching you stand in the doorway, your back well-muscled and strong. 

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

The screen door snaps shut behind you both with a familiar whine. Morning floods the kitchen through tall windows—your mother's insistence on "proper light for proper cooking"—and catches on the copper pots hanging above the island. The coffee pot gurgles its last, right on time.

You set the shotgun in its place by the door, muscle memory, though you keep half an eye on Sevika as she takes in the space. The kitchen tells its own stories: your mother's architectural drawings spread across one end of the table, your daddy's mud-caked boots by the back door, fresh-cut flowers in a Mason jar that catch the light just so. The dishes on the side of the sink are speckled stone, sanded and glazed by the artistry of your older sister. The washing machine hums through the wall, keeping time like a heartbeat.

"Sit," you say, gesturing to the worn oak table. It's been scratched and stained by three generations of family suppers, and something in you stirs at the sight of Sevika pulling out a chair—this stranger inserting herself into your history. "Less you'd rather stand."

She sits, those capable hands folding on the tabletop. Her shoulders are still coiled tight, ready to run, but her eyes follow you as you move through the kitchen's familiar dance. Two mugs from the cabinet (your favorite and daddy's backup), bacon from the icebox, cornbread left from last night.

"Sugar?" you ask, though you've already reached for it. The container clinks against your rings as you set it down.

"Black's fine." Her voice is softer in here, like the domesticity of the space has gentled her edges. But when you lean past her to set down her mug, you catch a whiff of leather and gun oil beneath the barn hay. Your curls brush her shoulder, and you feel more than hear her sharp intake of breath.

You take your time settling into the chair across from her, adding three sugars to your own coffee with deliberate movements. Your mother would be appalled at you entertaining company in just a corset top, but there's something thrilling about the way Sevika's gaze keeps catching on the lace trim, on the exposed line of your collarbones, the rise of your breath.

You let her observe because you’re doing the same. Sevika is gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that sinks deep inside of a woman and wears her out. Her grey eyes are like two beacons and they remind you of the deer you’d beg his father not to shoot. The ones you would run after, flapping your arms to get them to scatter.

 Her face is almost ridiculously romantic, with a strong nose sitting pretty in the middle that reminds you of royalty. Her eyes are never-ending, a pit that gapes into who she is. Her skin is textured, as it gets when you’re (allegdly) living on the edge of the law. You can tell she’s older than you without her saying it. Something about her radiates maturity, the same as your mother who’s practically seen the world rise and fall. 

"So," you say, watching her over the rim of your mug. "You gonna tell me what brings a woman like you to sleep in my barn? Or do I need to go take another look at that board in town?"

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't flinch. 

"Would it change your mind about the bacon if I did?"

"Depends." You lean back, let your chair creak against the floorboards. Through the window, you can see the laundry dancing on the line, your mother's favorite dress a splash of yellow against the morning sky. "On whether you deserved what put you there."

Sevika's fingers tighten around her mug, and you catch sight of old burns across her knuckles. "Most things ain't that simple."

"Most things worth protecting ain't either." You slide the plate of cornbread toward her, a peace offering. Your voice softens; you were never good at acting hard. "Eat something, sugar. Then we'll talk about what kind of work needs doing around here, if you're planning to stay.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise at the endearment maybe, or relief. When she reaches for the cornbread, her sleeve rides up, revealing more of that tattoo. It looks like a snake, or maybe a dragon, curling up her arm. You wonder how far it goes, what other stories her skin might tell.

The washing machine clicks into its spin cycle, and somewhere outside, your daddy's truck rumbles to life. The morning's moving on, and there's work waiting. But for now, you let yourself sit in this moment: the sun warming your bare shoulders, the quiet sounds of Sevika eating at your family table. 

“I suspect,” she says, her throat bucking as she swallows, “that your parents will have a bit more sense about hiring a fugitive for farm work.”

You shrug, pick a corner off the cornbread on her plate.

“Everyone out here is struggling. We all need someone or something. The only reason we’re faring slightly better is because this place was paid off as an anniversary gift by my grandparents.” You glance out the window. “Plus, I’m my daddy’s favortite. He tends to listen to me.”

There’s something sad about the way you say it, as if it aggrieved you to be so loved. But the moment passes and you’re looking back at her, lips full and curved like the moon. 

“It’ll be good for us,” you decide and she lets it go. “Get seconds if you’d like, sugar. I'll intercept them.”

“I’m older than you,” Sevika rumbles and you hide a smile, cock your hip out as you grab a basket for the chickens. 

“Doesn’t make you any less sweet on the eyes.” 

At that her head ducks down and you laugh, the sound clear and bright like a bell. 

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

With that Sevika finds herself hired as a farmhand under the stern eye of your father and the knowing eye of your mother. The work is honest and she relishes being able to lose herself in it, settle into the rhythm and flow of this little world your blood has built.

She doesn’t know what to do with you however.

Now, Sevika has lived several lives at this point. In fact sometimes she awoke in the night under the strain of them, the urge to run stampeding from where it sits behind her teeth and under the flat of her tongue. She understands on some level that women find her attractive, brooding. She’s unsurprised at the hints you keep dropping over the weeks. You probably find her intriguing, see her as a means to rebel with her older age and criminal nature.. (“I’m literally in my twenties, Sevika. ‘M not a baby.”)

At least that’s what she thinks at first. But then, she begins to doubt herself and overanalyze your rather…creative attempts to satisfy your coveteous nature. 

The first is when she wakes up one early morning, the sky slurred between cotton candy pink and a warm lilac, to find you taking a bath in a two-bit shining steel contraption of a tub. Your body is trembling, but you seem at peace. Your curls are heavy and swollen with water, made longer by the weight of the moisture. She watches your back flex as you move, takes in the hidden strength of your arms and peeking thighs. Your muscle takes her aback, makes her stomach warm real down low.

She should move—your parents will be up soon—but you’re just so captivating when you’re kissed by the dawn. The water sloshes as you pour it over yourself, the underside of your breasts flashing as you soap down. And then you turn, peeking over your shoulder and gazing at her with faux-bambi eyes as you trace a hand up and over your chest to get your back. 

She feels warm, teased in a manner that makes her throat squeeze and her hands clench. She doesn’t know what to do with this, doesn’t know how to naviage this eager rabid want that you show her so openly. And it just doesn’t stop.

But what really gets under Sevika’s skin is the kindness that you insist on bludgering her with, especially when no one’s watching. It’s genuine, unexpecting, and claws at her skin with tender phantom fingers.

Just the other day, Sevika had been unable to successfully ward off a duo of wolves and three sheep had been lost in her efforts. She’d apologized gruffly and repeatedly until your mother stepped forward and cupped her chin with a firm hand, telling her to “fuck off with this bullshit because it wasn’t intentional and you tried your best.” What was with you women and nurturing her?

After, Sevika had gone back to where the lasty wooly body lay—the small innocent bones of a lamb. She had felt sick at the sight because the lamb wasn’t a lamb in that moment; she’d seen something else. You saw the lean figure of her body as it bent over in some sort of grief, distraught at the sight of the dead animal beneath it. 

Sevika, You had said with shining eyes. Are you alright?

Sevika had looked at you long and hard before making a noise from deep within her throat. Turning swiftly, she tried to block you off from the sight.

I don’t think you’ll want to see this, she’d muttered and you’d settled your hands on your hips. 

I’ve lived this long before you were working here, you reminded her.

Sevika’s face was still broken in an open expression of confusion and remorse when you moved forward. Carefully, you swallowed the bulk of her body into the warmth of yours. You weren’t nearly as big, but you held your own and you held her fast. The two of you stayed just like that, with your hand tucked neatly behind her head as you steadied her. 

Now, she watches as your broad shoulders dip as you kneel to pick up the limp body of a fallen chicken. These goddamn wolves needed to be dealt with.

It’s in their nature, sugar, you’d told her.

“Wait,” she calls out and you turn to look at her, your cheeks apple-full under the thicket of your lashes. 

“Hmm?” you say back, your voice curious.

“Put gloves on if you’re gonna touch it. It probably had some sort of disease.”

Sevika walks closer, grabbing a spare pair of gloves she usually keeps for the other town boys who your father has helping him throughout harvesting week. She holds them out, those dark eyes glittering like grey moonstone.

You look up at her then, curls haloed around your soft face. They’re still kept short, dust your dimpled chin. You look so young and probably always would, the baby fat clinging to your cheeks like the hands of a lover. Sevika continues to gaze down at you, firm and unrelenting, and you smile gently as she eventually looks away. 

You’re not moving fast enough, so she crouches down and takes your hands, sliding each glove on and making sure the fingers fit. She notes that your nails are square and glossy, painted an icy pink. You watch with an affected air, scooping the small body up when she finally lets go. 

“I’m sorry,” You say to the glassy eyes of the hen and Sevika’s heart seizes.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you, gentle and understanding. 

You glance at her and then back at the animal you hold.

“No need to apolgize, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you help me dig a grave for her?”

Sevika doesn’t know if it would really be worth it to bury it, but you’re a little sad and so obviously cold in your oversized cotton tee and denim shorts. Your skin lights up with the mid-afternoon sun and Sevika can see all of your goosebumps and the fine dusting of hair.

“I—sure,” she agrees and You nod, walking away and trusting her to follow.

Before you begin to lead the march, you turn back and cup her elbow. 

“Thank you, sugar.”

And that’s all. She wants to fucking eat you.

You continue to unravel her expectations like cotton thread.

You catch her before dawn another morning, when the sky's still tender with sleep and dark like the evening is loath to leave. She's checking the fence line, and you appear like a vision with two thermoses of coffee and your father's old flannel draped over your worn dark green longsleeve. When you pass her the coffee, your fingers linger on hers longer than necessary.

"Thought you might be cold out here, sugar," you say, and the endearment makes her throat tight. She's not used to being the one called sweet things.

You settle beside her on the fence, close enough that she can feel your warmth. The morning fog rolls across the fields like a dream, and Sevika finds herself watching the way it catches in your hair and the bones of your fingers, how it makes you look ethereal and solid all at once.

"You don't have to keep doing this," she says roughly, though she cradles the thermos close.

"Doing what?" Your voice is innocent but your eyes are knowing.

"Taking care of me. Bringing me things. Being..." she gestures vaguely, unable to name the way you make her feel seen.

You laugh, and she shivers. "Sugar, has it occurred to you that maybe I want to? That maybe I see something in you worth cherishing? That I’m just being genuine?"

The word ‘genuine’ hits her like a physical thing. She ducks her head, unused to this kind of naked affection, but you just reach over and touch her jaw with gentle fingers.

"You're allowed to let someone be sweet on you," you murmur. "Even if you're pushing forty." 

There's teasing in your voice, but your touch is reverent. Sevika wants to protest—about the age difference, about her rough past, about how someone as bright and whole as you shouldn't want someone as weathered as her. But you're looking at her like she’s the human version of the Promised Land, and all her arguments die in her throat.

"I don't know how to do this," she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?" You're stroking her jaw now, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

"Nothing. I need to get back to work."

You lean back, let her go. 

“If it’s about learning,," you call, your voice trailing after like smoke, "the good thing is that I'm a real good teacher."

The next time I’m in town, she thinks, I need to buy a pack of damn cigarettes.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

From then on, you start to learn her tells. Like how she always positions herself between you and any perceived threat, how her hands flex when she's trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there anymore. How she startles, less now, when you're gentle with her.

You catch her in the barn one afternoon, trying to wrap her own ribs after a particularly rough day breaking the new stallion. Her knuckles are white with the effort of reaching around, face drawn tight with pain she won't admit to.

"Sugar," you say softly, and she freezes like a spooked deer. "Let me help you with that."

Her eyes dart to you, then away. "I've had worse."

"Ain't about what you've had." You cross to her, boots quiet in the hay. "About what you deserve now."

You take the bandage from her callused fingers, and she lets you - that alone feels like a victory. This close, you can see the way her breath catches when your fingers brush her skin. Like caring for her is its own kind of violence.

"Lift your arms for me, darlin'," you murmur, and something in her expression cracks when you call her that. Like she can't quite believe the sweetness in your voice is meant for her. But she obeys, raising her arms slowly, letting you wrap her ribs with careful precision.

"You don't have to-" she starts, but you shush her.

"I know I don't have to. Want to." Your fingers trace a scar on her side, old and silver in the afternoon light. "Anybody ever just take care of you, Sevika?"

She doesn't answer, but the way she trembles under your touch says enough. You secure the bandage and let your hands linger on her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin above her jeans.

"Well," you say, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, right where that dragon tattoo curls toward her neck, "better get used to it. I take good care of what's mine."

Her sharp inhale sounds like thunder, and when she turns in your arms, her usual swagger is nowhere to be found. Just vulnerability, raw and beautiful as a sunrise. You cup her face in your hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and she leans into your touch like she's starving for it.

"When did you decide tha?" she asks, voice rough. "That I’m yours?"

You smile, soft and sure, and smooth out the furrow in her brow. "You were mine the moment you settled onto my land, sugar. Just took us both a minute to catch up."

And maybe you came on too strong, ‘cause she yanks herself back and straightens her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

You sigh, loud and irate. She’s so fucking—

“No problem, honey.”

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

It happens during the last heat of summer, when the air sits thick as honey on your skin. You're in the barn, having just finished moving hay bales—work that would've taken twice as long if you weren't so used to it. Your blue and white bandana top clings to your chest, sweat stealing out from under it, and you can feel Sevika watching you from where she's meant to be fixing the tractor. You arch your back a little more, make sure to display the way your little rose-bud panties poke over the worn mouth of your lightwash, knee-length jean shorts.

You've caught her looking more and more lately. Noticed how her eyes track the contraction of your arms when you're lifting feed bags, the way she startles when you easily hoist yourself into the saddle. Like she can't quite reconcile your soft curves with the strength beneath them.

"You gonna fix that tractor, sugar?" you ask without turning around, smile curving your lips when you hear her shift. Your desire is practically shaking the bones of your teeth."Or you just gonna watch me work?"

Her throat clicks. 

"I’m—I'm nearly done."

You hum, reaching up to stack the last bale. Your shirt’s knot loosens a little ‘round your back, exposing the dip of skin, and you hear something metallic clatter to the floor behind you. When you turn, Sevika's staring at you with those storm-grey eyes, wrench forgotten at her feet. There's grease on her forearms, sweat at her temples, and she's looking at you like she's finally ready to break.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently, crossing to her. Your bare feet are silent in the hay.

She swallows hard when you reach her, especially when you grip the tractor's edge on either side of her, caging her in with arms that could just as easily lift her. "You know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?" You lean closer, letting her feel the strength in your body. "Tell me what I'm doing, sugar."

Her hands flex at her sides, like she's fighting not to touch you. 

"You're driving me crazy," she admits roughly.

“Oh,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “Do I make you nervous, baby?”

She flushes, tries to scramble back, and you laugh, soft and low. 

"Driving you crazy, huh? Only fair. You've been driving me crazy since I found you in my barn." You trace a finger down her jaw, feeling how she trembles. "The way you look at me when you think I can't see. The way you try so hard to be good, to keep your distance." 

Your other hand finds her hip, grip firm. You squeeze them in warning.

"I've seen how you watch me work. You like that I'm strong enough to handle you?"

She makes a broken sound, head falling back. "[Name]."

"I've got you," you murmur, and then you're lifting her onto the tractor's edge like she weighs nothing, stepping between her legs. Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, and her hands finally, finally come up to grip your biceps. "Been wanting to do that for weeks. You know you gotta tanline right here?"

You finger the thin edge of her boxers from beneath her jeans, 

"Christ," she breathes, fingers tightening on your arms. "You're gonna kill me."

“Are you religious? That’s cutesy,” You smile, pressing closer until you can feel her heartbeat racing against your chest. "Nah, sugar. Just gonna take real good care of you." Your hands slide up her thighs, feeling the way she shivers. "If you'll let me."

She answers by pulling you into a kiss that tastes like summer storms and surrender, and you smile against her mouth. You've got her right where you want her—trembling and warm in your capable hands.

"That's it," you whisper when you pull back to breathe, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Let me handle you, mama. Just like you need."

And Sevika, who's spent years being the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who protects—she lets herself fall into you, lets herself be gentled by your hands. Maybe this is what surrender feels like: not a defeat, but a coming home.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

Your most prevailing thought is that you’re pissed you didn’t get to see Sevika like this earlier.

Her back arches beautifully, her chest rising with pleasure as you hold her down on the floor by the hips. Your mouth is relentless, suckling at her warm pussy with fervor. She tastes sweet and she’s so soaked, her arousal dribbling out of your mouth and onto your chin. You hum as she roots a hand in your hair, tugging harshly as she grinds down in tight little circles. 

She’s whimpering, high breathy sounds that you’re determined to keep streaming from her slick lips. She’s still quiet, as you expected, but Christ does she want it. You let her use you, sliding your hands from her hips up to cup and grope her tits. Her nipples are erect, so hard and pretty and pointed toward heaven like she’s trying to tempt God. She’d probably succeed. 

The sun slips through the slats of the barn and it illuminates her skin, the brown of it so warm that you almost feel as if you’re both on fire. You slip your tongue into the tight clutch of her cunt, gently dipping back and forth so that you’re fucking her on your tongue, and squeeze her ass in silent demand. She digs her nails into you, moans loudly, but still doesn’t heed.

With a groan of irritation, you clutch her ass with a grip of steel and begin to bounce her on your face until she starts to see the bigger picture. Eventually, she’s moving on her own—fast and uncoordinated as that bright spiral begins to coil in her stomach. 

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Just like that. Please.”

You pull away, spread her apart.

“I know, mama,” you murmur and then dive back in.

Her thighs come up around your head and you let her crush you, shaking your head like a dog in heat as you nurse and lap at her pussy. Above you, Sevika twists one of her nipples and you feel her body tense in response. You bring a hand up to rub at her clit, and she jerks. 

When she cums, she’s so bright and beautiful—like a star imploding onto itself. Her legs fall open and she lets out a low whine, like an animal, her hips still circling as she attempts to ride it out.

“Hold on, mama,” you tell her. “I’m gonna give it to you.”

You move quickly, undressing completely and laying your body against hers. Your tits push into hers and she nuzzles into your neck, mind still hazy. You soothe her, digging a thumb into her lower back as you slip two fingers into the meat of her. She lets out a strangled yell at the overstimulation, but you hold her to it.

You fuck your fingers into her, until the squelch is more than obscene, watching as she shakes and writhes alongside you. You use your other hand to guide her to your mouth, kissing her messily as you introduce a third finger to her pussy. 

“Oh,” she moans, low and raspy, and you coo at her. “Oh, shit. Holy—holy fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby? You have to tell me what you like.”

“I—mmm. Yes. Yes, it feels good. I need—I need—”

Sevika trails off, eyes wide and watery. You roll over, tucking her under you while you continue to finger her. You raise one of her legs, widening the angle, and she squeals. You laugh lowly into the seam of her neck before sucking the skin between your teeth, biting down and bruising her.

“What do you need, mama? More?”

“Yes, but—,” She blinks, attempting to clear her head. “I want you too. I want you to finish with me.”

“With you or on you?” You watch her face as you ask, eyes following the twitch of her brow. “Maybe in you?”

That makes her shiver, and you smile as you sit up. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” you mutter as you manhandle her into how you want her. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

She shivers again and you pull her up, drawing her against your chest so that your tits are once again pressing up against each other. Carefully, you extend her strong legs over yours and inch forward until your clits catch. The friction is insane and your mouth drops open along the same time that Sevika goes ramrod straight. 

You dive right in, fucking up so that your cunts slide and swallow each other. She’s so creamy, her previous orgasm sliding down her thighs. There’s a moment where your control dips, where she’s the one ramming the two of you together and leading you up so that you can grind harder until she stutters again.

Then it’s back and you’re holding her down, spreading her even further open as you rub your pussy roughly against hers. You need her to stay down, need her to take what you choose to give. Sevika is beneath you, trembling and open mouthed, and you stick two fingers down her throat ‘till she’s gagging wetly around them.

“Oh m’God,” you moan, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re such a fucking slut, mama. Jesus.”

That does it and you feel her pour into you, thick and warm. You follow shortly after, rocking and pushing down against her as you chase the feeling. She’s sobbing, a hand coming up to grip at her throat as she tries to match your movements.

You slow, come to a stop, and stroke her face as you rise off of her. Tenderly, you kiss at her cheeks and eyelids as you sush her. 

“I know, baby. You were so good. Such a good, perfect, strong woman. Hmm?” You kiss her temple. “You did so well, mama.”

She’s shaking, so you hold her until she’s less far away. You want to get up, get her some water and maybe something to eat but she’s holding you captive. Sevika turns into you, body big and curved like the moon come to earth.

The afternoon light paints everything gold, and you know you’ve got work waiting—always do, on a farm. But for now, you just continue to hold her. Somewhere outside, those wild dogs are keeping watch. 

© hcneymooners.

⚚ special taglist: @blackdykegirlblogger @gaysevika @lovelifelaughsakuna @thesevi0lentdelights @rios-st4rs @16novvs @rottngrl3 @namuranguinhos @pllduniverse @swordfemm4 @alexthewalex @baeumonde

[healmydesires]

Ok so the recent post that you made on my filthy thot Logan how about you take the led of dominance one night instead of Logan and he absolutely loves it

a/n: nonnie, this is sooooo hot. I kinda had to adjust it a bit tho <3 hope you don’t mind! thank you for sending this!!! 🩷 mwah

you got my attention ꕤ (l.h)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

summary: Though Logan lets you take control and show your appreciation, in the end, you're still the one begging for him.

genre: smut (with some fluff in the end tbh) (18+ mdni)

word count: 5,8k

warnings/tags: established relationship, same universe as this fic, porn with barely no plot, reader is described as shorter than logan, lap dance, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom logan, sub!reader, use of handcuffs, slight choking, dry humping, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, slight orgasm denial / edging but it’s short ngl, overstimulation, face sitting, doggy, rough sex, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk. some daddy kink? breeding kink fuck sorry. I wrote this while I’m on my period lol. lots of pet names. this is high key filthy. reader has hair, no further description though. after care. this is not beta read sorry!

this goes without saying, but if you don't like it don't read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

You're sitting on the bed you share with Logan, waiting for him to enter the bedroom where you're dressed in soft, pastel lilac lace lingerie. You've been intimate with Logan many times before, so you know what to expect, but this time feels a little different. Your heart is racing, and you're feeling a bit anxious. Logan usually takes control in the bedroom, but tonight, you've been wondering what it would be like if you were the one to take the lead.

If there's one thing you love doing, it's teasing Logan. You thrive on the thrill of acting out just to get a reaction from him, and you enjoy being a brat more than anything. You love being submissive, and there's nothing you'd rather be. 

But the thought of making him feel like you're in control, even if only for a few minutes, gets you all hot and bothered. You know Logan might take back control quickly, but just having that moment of power excites you.

You’ve always thought that stripping for Logan or putting on a show would be something fun to try one night. The idea of showing him how much you appreciate him by dancing to sensual music while he sits back on a chair or the couch, watching your body move, excites you. Just thinking about it makes you feel hot and turned on.

Logan’s entrance pulls you out of your thoughts as the door swings open. His eyes lock on you immediately, taking in the sight of the delicate lingerie clinging to your skin. “Hi, pretty girl,” he says with a playful smile, clearly appreciating the little fabric you're wearing. 

The lingerie you’re wearing is a lilac set with turquoise and lilac flowers embroidered onto the lace. The cups of your balconette bra are pretty transparent unless it’s for the floral details at the top to the middle of the cups, barely covering your nipples. You can see his eyes travel from your chest to your waist as he takes in the elastic band, covered with the same lace pattern, of the suspenders. His eyes linger a bit too long as he takes in the small thing that barely hides the curves of your ass. A matching thong, the elastic band sitting just below your suspenders. Logan’s eyes wander from your covered core to your shoulders as he notices the lilac see through robe with lacy details hanging off your shoulders loosely.

“Hi,” you manage to respond, your voice soft and trembling. Your cheeks heating up as his intense gaze travels up and down your body, sending a wave of warmth through you. For a brief second, you feel the familiar pull to submit, to let him take control like always. But then you remind yourself to stick to your original intentions.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Sticking to your original plan, you clear your throat and muster the courage to speak, despite the stutter. “C-could you, uh, sit in the chair?” You ask, nervously. Logan raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your request.

An amused smile then tugs at the corners of his lips as he nods briefly, surprised but clearly understanding what you're trying to do. “Are you asking or telling?” Logan teases, his voice smooth, challenging, and dripping with amusement.

The playful tone sends a shiver through you, momentarily shaking your confidence. You know he’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll follow through. Swallowing the nervousness building inside you, you take a slow, deep breath, determined to stick to your plan, no matter how intimidating his presence feels right now.

His response makes your heart pound in your chest. Mustering up every ounce of confidence you can find, you lock eyes with him and say, “I said go sit in the chair.” The words feel foreign on your tongue, definitely out of character for you, but there's a spark of amusement in Logan's eyes that encourages you to keep going.

You can tell he’s entertained by this rare side of you, and though it feels strange, the thrill of his reaction pushes you to stick with it. His eyebrow raises slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and for a moment, you feel a rush of control that excites you even more.

Logan never takes his eyes off you as he makes his way to the chair in the corner of the room. Settling into it, he leans back, his posture relaxed, yet his gaze remains sharp and unwavering. You watch as takes off his shirt and pulls down his jeans, exposing his hard cock pressing against his boxers. The look he gives you, despite your attempt to take control, makes it clear he still holds the power. His mischievous eyes silently tell you he could end your little fantasy whenever he chooses, effortlessly reminding you of who’s really in charge, even as he watches you with quiet anticipation.

Logan watches you walk towards the closet, opening it before you kneel down on the soft carpet in front of it as your hand tries to reach for something inside the closet. His eyes travel to your ass, observing your curves, how plump your ass looks. The way your cheeks squeeze the barely there material between them.

You can practically feel his eyes burning into you—more specifically, your ass—because you know exactly where he's staring. The heat of his gaze makes you bite your bottom lip in anticipation. After rummaging for a moment, you finally find what you’re looking for and stand up slowly, making sure to give Logan a lingering view of your curves. The sound of his low groan reaches your ears, sending a thrill through you. You close the closet doors and turn around, carefully hiding the vivid pink, silky handcuffs you picked up along with the lingerie just days ago.

Keeping the handcuffs tucked behind your back, you walk slowly toward him, not quite ready to reveal your little secret yet. As you reach him, you lean down to plant a soft, teasing kiss on his lips. It ends far too quickly for his liking, and a deep grunt escapes his throat as you pull away, leaving him wanting more. Your hand trails lightly from one of his shoulders, across his chest, to the other, the soft touch of your fingers making his skin feel like it's on fire. You can feel the tension radiating off him, his body almost trembling from the contact, as you circle behind him. You know he could moan from just the simple touch, and the thought of having him on edge excites you even more.

You take the handcuffs, the sound of the metal clinking behind him making Logan’s ears perk up. You hook one around his wrist, half-expecting him to protest, but when he remains silent, you continue and secure the other cuff in place. You lift your head to his neck, leaning down to press a soft kiss at his pulse point, making him moan as you finish up behind him. Walking back to face him, you notice a playful smile spread across his face, a look that makes your heart race.

“What?” you ask, mirroring his amused expression, but a sudden wave of self-consciousness washes over you as you realise he’s not taking you seriously at all.

“Nothing, princess,” Logan shrugs, his grin widening. 

You roll your eyes at his nonchalance. “Sure.” Normally, on any other day, Logan would have you pinned beneath him or bent over his knee, spanking you until your skin is flushed and raw. But tonight, he finds it endearing to watch you take charge. So, instead of resisting, he decides to lean into it. In fact, he’s more than willing to let you explore this new dynamic and see just how far you’ll take it.

Then, you lean down and plant a soft kiss just beneath his ear, eliciting a deep groan from him. “Now sit back and watch. Let me take care of you,” you whisper seductively in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. With that, you glide toward the desk, feeling the thrill of anticipation coursing through you as you search for the perfect song to dance to. 

A smile spreads across your face as you finally settle on a track that feels just right. Pressing play, the smooth beats of "Sway" by Majid Jordan fill the room, setting the mood with its sultry rhythm. As the music envelops you, you can sense Logan’s eyes on you, filled with a mix of curiosity and desire. The moment feels electric, and you know it’s time to give him a show he won’t forget.

You stride toward the bed, positioning yourself right in the center of the room, directly in front of him. As the singer begins to croon the lyrics, you let the robe slide down your shoulders, pausing just at your elbows, deliberately teasing him with each movement. Swaying your hips slowly to the beat of the song, you lick your lips, feeling the heat of his gaze on you. 

With each deliberate motion, your hands glide slowly up and down your chest, accentuating your curves as you keep your eyes locked on his. You circle your hips, letting the rhythm guide you, fully aware of the effect it has on him. The air is thick with tension, and you can feel the desire radiating from him, fueling your confidence as you embrace the moment.

Temptation, conversation, I hear what you sayin'~♪ 

You lose yourself to the song as you move your body closer to his, still keeping a good distance between you two. 

“Baby girl, you’re so hot…” Logan groans as his eyes admire your body, his eyes flicking back and forth from one place to the other like he doesn’t know where to look.

Playing safe but we're losing our patience~♪ 

With each sway (literally, like the title of the song) of your hips, you move to the rhythm of the song, feeling the music pulse through you as you notice his gaze tracing the curves of your body, lingering over every dip and contour.

The combination of his awestruck expression and your confident movements sends a thrill through you, urging you to keep going. You enjoy the way he watches, almost hypnotised, as you revel in the moment, fully aware that you’re in control.

Doin' things that my body is cravin'~♪ 

Your fingers wander from your hips to your backside and you squeeze your cheeks softly as you give Logan a show. The moment he sees you touching yourself like this, a low moan escapes his lips, and you can’t help but bite your own in response, revelling in the effect you have on him.

The pleasure of his gaze fuels your confidence, making you feel even more desirable. You relish the way he watches, captivated and hungry for more, as you continue to tease him, lost in the thrill of the moment.

So amazing the way that she moves~♪ She's my favorite dancer~♪ 

Seductively, you slowly turn around, then you sink yourself to the floor. Once on your knees, you crawl steadily towards him. As you’re slowly making your way to him, you’re never breaking eye contact as you smile up at him. 

As you draw closer, you rise up onto your knees, your hands gliding along his ankles and tracing up to his thighs. You gently spread his legs wider, making room for yourself between them. Logan's breath hitches in his throat at your boldness, and you can’t help but smile coyly as you bite your bottom lip, savouring his reaction. 

Your hands continue their journey, moving from his thighs to his hips and then to his waist, feeling the heat radiating off him. Slowly but sensually, you rise in front of him, each movement deliberate, exuding confidence and allure as you prepare to captivate him even further.

“You’re breathtaking…” he moans your name while your lips move to ghost over his lips. You feel and see his squirm against the hold of the handcuffs.

You smirk as you hover your hips over his lap. Using the music to your advantage, you move your body to the rhythm of the song, making sure to emphasise on your movements. Your arms around his neck as you slowly lower your lower body on his lap, sitting down, your heat against his clothed cock straining against his underwear. Pressing your needy and throbbing clit against his dick. His eyes are gazing into yours, all you can see is lust and desire. You grind against his crotch making Logan groan at your movements. Finally you lean down your lips against his, swallowing his moans in your mouth. 

“You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” He whispers breathily against your lips as you continue your little performance, swaying and grinding your hips against his. You hum with a smile before you capture his lips again. 

His mouth moves against yours, slow and passionate. He parts his lips slightly to catch his breath. Your tongue sweeps across Logan’s lips making him gasp, tongue wrapping itself against his a moment later, hot and wet and steady as you taste his mouth and kiss him deeply.

Your tongues slowly swirl and dance against each other as your hands wander all over his body. You feel your core clench around nothing and become even more wet the more you grind against him. You whimper at the feel of him bucking his hips against yours, wrapping your arms around his neck and initiating a hungry kiss. The thong you’re wearing surely ruined by now, clinging against your wet folds.

Soon the music would fade into the background as all you can focus on is him. Logan’s leaning his head forward as much as he can, wanting so badly to grab handfuls of your ass while slipping his tongue into your mouth. He moans into your mouth, biting and sucking on your bottom lip. 

You begin to rock your hips against his, dragging your core over his crotch, the friction sending pleasurable sensations coursing through you. However, a wave of self-consciousness washes over you, leaving you unsure about how to proceed. Despite this uncertainty, you continue the movement, instinctively seeking relief for the ache building in your core. 

Logan notices the hesitation in your movements, his perceptive gaze catching the flicker of insecurity in your eyes. He starts to thrust his hips against yours, urging you on. “Good girl, you can do it,” he says in his low, deep voice, the words igniting a whimper from your lips as you pick up the pace, guiding your hips a bit faster in response. 

“Need you, kitten. Please, I need to feel you. Take these panties off,” he pleads, his tone dripping with desire. You shake your head, refusing to comply, which only draws a chuckle from him as he watches you squirm on top of him.

“I don’t take orders from you. I’ll choose when I want to take them off,” you retort, feeling a thrill of defiance as his eyes wander from your face to your soaked panties. The big wet spot at the front betrays just how much you want his cock filling you up, pushing deep inside and making a mess.

“Just you wait until I’m out of these,” Logan replies, maintaining that boyish smile that makes your heart race. You hardly care about his playful threat; instead, you steady yourself on his shoulders and keep grinding your clit against his clothed cock. He’s right about the panties, but you’re not about to let him dictate the moment. Reaching down, you push the fabric aside, letting your pussy lips glide against him, the contact sending shivers through your body. 

“Oh, kitten,” he moans, captivated by the sight of your arousal dripping down onto his underwear. “Look at you.” His low, sultry voice sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the sensation of his throbbing cock against your wetness nearly overwhelming.

“Feels so fucking good,” you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as waves of pleasure wash over you.

As the pressure builds toward your orgasm, you suddenly stand up, discarding the delicate lingerie that clings to you. As you’re undressing yourself in front of him he can’t help but growl. You glance at him cautiously, as he stares at you hungrily. You’re longing for him to taste you but feeling a hint of embarrassment about taking the initiative. It’s as if he can read your mind when he says, “Go ahead baby girl, let me taste you.” His encouragement sparks a rush of confidence within you, urging you to take control and fully embrace the moment.

His choice of words only heightens your arousal, making it feel as if he’s the one compelling you to act. Logan's cock is oozing with precum, and you can feel the dampness spreading on his underwear as you hook a leg over his shoulder, bringing yourself closer to him. 

You stretch a bit uncomfortably in this position, but any discomfort fades away the moment he leans forward and licks from your entrance to the top of your clit. 

A loud moan escapes you as his warm, wet tongue finally makes contact with your pussy. You sigh into the sensation, your eyes fluttering shut as you tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself as you urge him deeper. His tongue glides up your folds, skillfully exploring your puffy lips, occasionally pausing to plant soft kisses on your clit. He encircles your clit and sucks, pulling whimpering pleas from your mouth.

Logan groans against you, sending delicious vibrations coursing through your body as you tug on his hair, lost in the pleasure. You find yourself grinding your hips forward, desperately seeking more contact as your arousal drips down into his beard.

“That’s it, good girl, use my fuckin’ mouth,” he moans against you, taking your clit between his lips and sucking gently. He alternates between sucking it in and releasing it, the repetitive motion making your head spin. “Taste so good.”

“Fuck, Lo—” you whine as you grind yourself against his lips.

Each flick and tug sends you spiralling, and you begin to whine, yearning for his large fingers to fill your tight little hole. Frustration simmers beneath the surface as you slip deeper into that precious sub headspace, becoming acutely aware of his restrained hands. Logan picks up on your shift in mood immediately.

“Please, Lo,” you cry out, desperation lacing your voice. You need him so badly it borders on painful.

“Please, what?” he retorts, then dives his tongue into your clenching hole, making you gasp. He groans, fucking your little pussy with his tongue, his nose brushing tantalizingly over your clit. “This is what you wanted, ain’t that right?” 

“F-fuck, ah, I’m gonna c-cum,” you gasp, urgency spilling from your lips instead of a question. The relentless contact of his nose against your sensitive clit pushes you to the edge, and your pussy contracts around his tongue, releasing a wave of pleasure. You scream his name repeatedly, tugging at his hair with a mix of urgency and desperation, your ears ringing as the world around you fades into bliss, unaware of the metal cuffs breaking free.

You can feel his hands on your skin, the heat of your orgasm squirting out of you, painting his mouth beautifully as he continues to feast on your cunt. You breathe heavily as Logan moans loudly at the sweet taste of you, feeling both blissed out and utterly exposed.

You’re still coming down from your high when suddenly, you yelp in surprise as he lifts you with ease, your trembling legs instinctively wrapping around his body. In one fluid motion, Logan throws you onto the bed, and a whine escapes your lips as you feel the familiar neediness surge within you, your pussy so slick and wanting for more.

He pulls his boxers down, letting his erection finally spring free. Logan’s thick and big cock is so hard, dripping with precum and you almost whimper at the sight of it. He then makes his way up to the bed. Situating himself between your legs he smiles deviously. 

Oh—

“Get on your hands and knees for me, kitten. I’ll show you who’s in control.” 

Your cheeks flare up furiously at his request, you feel your body trembling with excitement as you flip on your stomach, getting on your hands and knees, your face down on the mattress as you raise your ass in the air for him. Logan groans when you wiggle for him, spreading your legs a bit more for him exposing more of your pussy.

You bite your bottom lip and can’t help getting even more aroused as you think about finally having him inside.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby. All dripping wet for me,” he whispers to you and you feel his fingers sliding up and down your slit and then opening your folds for him to see.

You wanted to tell him how he’s the only one that can do this to you, how much you love him, but then he grabs both of your ass cheeks in his hands, parting them as he quickly leans down and licks up your exposed pussy, catching you completely by surprise making you almost fall on the bed, your arms almost giving out on you.

You feel your inner walls clenching around nothing as he keeps licking up and down and sucking on your clit. When you whine, his tongue swirls around your entrance.

“F-fuck, s-so sensitive. Da-daddy please, oh—”

But then he pulls his lips away from your lower ones and you whimper desperately at the loss of the feeling of his tongue, only to have him kiss your lower back and up your spine, hands sliding up and down your body.

“Please,” you whine pathetically.

You can't see it, but he's smiling down at you, shaking his head as he revels in his victory over the battle for control. “What happened, baby? Suddenly you need my help?”

You shake your head yes rapidly, not caring how desperate you look. “Please, please, I’ll be good for you, please. I’ll be your good girl.” 

“I thought you wanted to be in control,” he pokes fun at you, his hips not touching as he places soft kisses down your back. You wish he was fucking into you already. You start to whine when you feel his thumb press into your clit. He doesn’t move it at all, just applies slight pressure and lets it rest there. “But you need your daddy, don’t you? You need me so badly. Pathetic little kitty.” 

“I-I do,” you gasp, frustrated by his unmoving thumb. Your body is trembling in anticipation. “Please daddy.” 

A moment later you feel him grind his thick cock against your dripping heat, you’re aching for him to fill you up. A loud moan fills the room along with your whines, with a strong grip on your hips a second later he eases the tip inside, making you gasp as your whole body trembles. 

“Please…” You whine desperately as you feel him halt his movements, a small portion of the tip only inside you. Wiggling your hips you try to push back against him but the strong hold that he has on you makes it hard for you to move.

“Patience baby girl,”

You whimper as he finally slides more and more of his thickness inside of you. You squeeze your eyes tightly as he fills you up. The pressure of his cock deep within your walls overwhelms you while you clutch the sheets below you in tight fists.

“Take it, princess. Take daddy’s cock.”

Then his massive cock is completely splitting you open. Logan thrusts his whole length into you, black dots cover your vision at the feeling of it. Your pussy pulses around him as you struggle to adjust to his size.

“Ah, fuck!” Tears are already dripping down your face onto the mattress. His cock is so big, long and hard and he makes your pussy and tummy feel so full of him. 

You whimper at the new angle, struggling to accommodate his impressive girth. It feels as though your pussy can never fully adjust to his size. As your walls squeeze around him, trying to adapt, Logan uses more force to push deeper, stretching you further. The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, as it feels like you’re being torn open, split in half by his thickness.

“Oh, sweet girl. I’ve got you,” he soothes and starts moving, fucking you at an impossible pace. The sound of your ass slapping against him fills the room along with both of your frantic moans. His heavy balls are hitting against your clit with every thrust. The feeling is heaven on earth. 

All you can answer with are moans as they slip off your lips. Your mind goes blank as all you can do is focus on the feel of him stretching you, filling you up, so overwhelmed with bliss already. He thrusts deeper inside you, earning whines and moans as you continue to cry out his name. You try to tell Logan, breathlessly, about how good he makes you feel. The sound of your pleasure fuels his desire to fuck you better, urging him to do more. Logan picks up his pace, thrusting into you quicker, harder, hitting the spot that has your body going numb.

You claw at the sheets, burying your face into the mattress to muffle your screams. The air is all stuffy around you as his hips move faster, you whine as you try to push back your hips against his to take more of his thick cock. He moans at the sight, kneading your ass as he tries to bury himself more inside you, the tip hitting your cervix instantly. Your eyes roll back inside your head as you dig your fingers more into the bed, you mewl against the sheets at the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

“F-fuck fuck fuck, this feels so goooohhhood daddy, p-please more…”

“Yeah? You love being filled with all of my cock don’t you?” He grunts as he slaps your ass once, making you cry out in pleasure. Your moans grow louder with each movement, blending with the slick sounds of your pussy meeting his dick over and over again. The sounds mix along with the little noises of pleasure escaping your mouth. 

“Does that feel good, pretty girl?” Logan asks as he leans down his body closer to yours making him hit your cervix repeatedly. You whimper and tremble underneath him as you nod, he moans against your ear as he whispers close to you. “Does it feel good? That I’m fucking you like this? Just the way you like it.”

“Yes, daddy. Fuck, please… Can I please cum?” you ask this time, completely out of breath. 

“No, you little brat,” Logan growls, picking up the pace even more. He grabs you by your hair, jerks your head up and pulls you back towards him. “Patience.” 

The delicious thrusts of his cock don’t falter as he presses your back into his chest. He wraps a strong hand around your throat, and the other arm holds you steady by the waist. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you whimper repeatedly, your body trembling with need.

“Oh, I know you can,” he says aggressively. “I know you fuckin’ can. And you will.” 

He grinds his hips in circles, and you nearly scream from the overwhelming sensation. You desperately try to hold back the orgasm that's building rapidly, clenching your pussy tightly around his thick cock. He lets out deep moans at the feeling of you, fully aware that he’s close to cumming but wanting to savour your pussy for just a little longer. Logan slows his pace slightly, giving both of you a brief moment to catch your breath before he picks up the rhythm again, quick and rough.

“Look so pretty when you’re stretched around my cock, fuck, bet you look pretty full of my cum too.” Logan cursed when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up, kitten, make it all nice and full,” he promises.

The head of his cock rubs against your walls deliciously, snapping you out of your small daze as you nod frantically. “Yes, yesyes please. Fill me up daddy!” You’re whimpering with every thrust of his cock. 

“Tell me who’s in control and I’ll let you cum,” he says slowly into your ear, grip around your throat tightening a bit and making the feeling that more intense.

“You, Lo,” you manage to get out, “Always you.”

“Cum on my cock then,” Logan gives you permission. Another few thrusts is all it takes to send you over the edge, shouting out his name as your ears ring from the pressure. You’re on cloud nine as you let your body relax and feel the brutal pounding of his cock. It drags inside of you so perfectly, hitting every sweet spot you have. Your needy cunt is clenching, throbbing, and milking his cock while you cum all over him.  Logan groans in your ear as your walls spasm around his cock, milking him for his orgasm, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised. “This pussy was made for me. So fuckin’ tight wrapped around me.” 

Your cum drips down both of your legs, coating his cock and balls, quickly forming a wet spot on the sheets beneath you. As the waves of your orgasm wash over you, Logan talks you through it, whispering dirty nothings in your ear. He gasps as you pulse around him, desperate for him to spill his load inside you, needing to witness him fall apart.

“Ah, shit—” he rasps, thrusting deeper, the bulbous head of his cock hitting your cervix with delicious force. “Are you going to take my cum like a good girl? Let me fill you up until you’re a messy little thing, hm?”

You shiver at his words, your mouth dropping open in awe as you close your eyes, completely lost in the sensation, nodding eagerly. “Please, please.”

Moments later, you feel him unravel against you, and soon his cum starts to shoot deep inside you. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “Such a good baby girl.”

As his thrusts come to a complete stop, he pulls out of you, and you let your body fall limp against the mattress, feeling utterly drained. Soon Logan wraps an arm around you, effortlessly spinning you around to pull you against his chest. He kisses you softly, and you moan at the taste of yourself still on his lips. As he pulls away, he gazes down at you with soft eyes and a charming smile, the warmth of the moment enveloping you both.

“Sorry for ruining your little plan,” Logan teases gently, a playful glint in his eyes.

“No, that’s okay,” you reply quickly, smiling up at him. “I figured I’d give it a try… but I feel like I’m not that great at it.”

He shakes his head, leaning closer. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweet girl. That was so fuckin' hot. In fact, I might want you to try it again.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes brightening at his praise.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Maybe next time, I can teach you a thing or two about taking control.”

“Really?” You smile happily, your fingers running through his messy dark hair. 

“Mhm,” he hums, his heart swelling at your excitement.

Biting your lip bashfully, you shrug, looking up at him with a shy smile. “I much prefer having you in control, though.”

“That so?” Logan smirks mischievously, his hands beginning to wander all over your body, reigniting the familiar heat between you.

“Yes, you’re so hot when you’re dominant,” you giggle, leaning up to cover Logan’s face with playful kisses.

“Oh, just when I’m dominant?” he teases, smirking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Logan, you know what I mean!” you pout, continuing to pepper kisses all over his face. “You’re always hot!”

Logan chuckles, his deep voice vibrating through you as he gently cups your cheeks with both hands, trying to capture your lips. Once he does, he presses a series of quick, light pecks against your mouth, grinning widely. You giggle against him, the sound filling the space between you both as he keeps chasing your lips, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment.

“I love you so much, baby. You mean everything to me,” Logan murmurs against your lips, his voice low and full of emotion. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him closer as his warmth surrounds you. 

With a gentle roll, Logan shifts your bodies, laying you down so your back sinks into the softness of the blankets and pillows. His lips never leave yours as you feel yourself getting lost in the kiss, his hands still cradling your face, his thumb brushing tenderly across the skin under your eyes. 

“You’re everything to me too, Lo,” you whisper, your voice soft and full of affection, a smile tugging at your lips. “I love you.”

You’re both basking in each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy between you settling into something warm and peaceful. The earlier rush of passion has given way to a serene calmness, where even the soft rhythm of your breaths seems to sync together. Logan’s fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, and you feel completely at ease, wrapped in his embrace. 

Then, just as you’re lulled into this tranquil moment, you notice a familiar gleam of mischief in Logan’s eyes. His hands slowly slide down to your hips, fingers pressing lightly against your skin in a way that sends a subtle thrill through you. He caresses you slowly, and the soft strokes make your body stir. 

With a playful grin, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “Another round?” His voice is teasing but full of intent, a promise of what’s to come. You feel the shift in his energy, playful yet laced with the kind of desire that tells you he’s far from finished with you tonight. 

“Logan!” you giggle, giving him a playful push, but he only grins wider. In a swift motion, he pulls you close again, silencing your laughter with a deep, passionate kiss. Your playful giggles soon turn into soft, breathy moans as his hands roam your body, and yours do the same, tracing the familiar lines of his muscles.

The night unfolds in a tangle of kisses and wandering hands, the air between you charged with love and desire. Every touch, every kiss, is a reminder of the bond you share, and the passion between you feels endless. The world fades away, and all that remains is Logan. His touch, his gaze, and the warmth of his presence pull you in, leaving you completely lost in him.

thank you for reading <3 mwah