#instant mood lift

[finalwoman]

that all the while my mouth was saying go! my heart was screaming no! no! no!!! turn around and look at me, you'll find me on my knees, saying please... please!

[lunarheslwt]

Golden truly is that bitch!!! No one like her!! Harry put crack in that song fr that's my baby!!!!!!!!

[deliciouskeys]

Self-care is buying really cheap possibly age inappropriate shoes

18 USD at Primark. Sorry not advertising for them. Just like… amazed and happy.

[qsmp-yaoi-island]

Vod watched Ros cause I missed it earlier and I'm so glad owen is back 😭

[saetoshis]

listening to the haikyu s1 ost heals the soul 💓

[pilvimarja]

My Tarot for the day is filling me with such good vibes! ✨️✨️✨️

[daffodilsfortomorrow]

......

[hrts4lisa]

watching old Better Than Gold fancams and it's such a vibe every time they perform this song 🥹

[dilfsfordinner]

a/n- i might have severe baby fever, idk.

pairing- husband toji x fem!reader

——————————————————————————

Contrary to his name literally meaning “blessing”, Megumi was nothing short of a curse during bath time. He absolutely hated it, and he made it his tiny life’s mission to make sure his parents dreaded it as well.

“Megs, please just.. work with me here,” Toji pleaded, exhaustion brewing inside of him, his hands desperately trying to keep the squirming child before him tame.

You’d gone to run some errands, leaving Toji to attempt bath time alone, his previous confidence shriveling into nothingness the second he heard little Megumi cry as soon as he was dunked into the warm water. At three months old, he was the perfect child, quiet and happy, tame in every aspect of life, a fact that seemed to be nothing but false when Toji was the one left in charge of watching him.

Toji didn’t even think it possible for something to cry as much as Megumi did without passing out, but he had been proven wrong before, the wriggling thing in his hands wailing his heart out to try and convince his dad to let him out. “I’m sorry baby, but you did this to yourself,” he huffed, gently rubbing bubbles along his son’s belly, tiny feet kicking water up at him, Megumi clearly trying to escape the horror of his nightly bath.

You see, Toji would feel bad for his baby had he not been the cause for the bath in the first place, the mashed carrots he had for dinner ending up smeared down his face and front, far from the target of his mouth. Said carrots began to fade away from the whimpering Megumi’s skin, turning the water into a soapy orange. His little body fit perfectly in Toji’s large hands, the newborn scrunch still apparent as baby Megs’ legs squished up to his belly in a useless attempt at kicking his dad’s fingers away.

The crying problem only escalated as soon as Toji introduced a washcloth into the picture, Megumi squealing, kicking and writhing with so much force, he might as well have been a full-grown adult.

Without your seemingly ‘all-knowing’ insight when it came to parenting, Toji rushed to find his own solution, grabbing a used bottle of soap that appeared to be extremely bubbly, hurriedly pumping out the liquid into the water filled basin, praying that the mysterious substance would somehow, someway, quell the curse possessing his son.

It was almost as if Megumi was hypnotized or something, because the instant the familiar smell of his mother hit his nose, his screaming cries died down to nothing but little babbles, coos leaving him in a low, comfortable purr. You see, it wasn’t just any old soap bottle. No, it was the soap you had used to bathe Megs the night after you’d come home from the hospital after giving birth. Toji remembered just how surreal and peaceful the night was, so he could understand why the familiar scent would coax his baby into a severe bout of relaxation.

Finally quitting his incessant wriggling, Megumi relaxed in Toji’s hold, the smell of the soap slowly coaxing him into a sleepy state, his little nose wrinkling and eyelids occasionally fluttering open and closed. Toji hadn't noticed before but his tiny fingers began to wrap around his pinky finger, holding onto it in a playful manner.

“hm-” Toji hummed, finally understanding the cause of his son’s untamable mood. “You just miss mama, huh?” he murmured, gentle as he picked up a sponge, running the soft material along the cooing baby’s chest and belly, sudsing up his little body, taking advantage of the sleepy mood that seemed to come over the boy.

“Yeah.. me too,” was all Toji could think to say, honestly relating to the fit his son had thrown over missing his mother, Toji feeling the same way but without the screaming and crying to show it. Finishing his gentle cleansing, Toji leaned down to press a kiss on the sleepy Megumi’s forehead. "Let’s get you to bed," he whispered, hand cupping some water to rinse him with before he gently lifted him to his chest, head resting against his shoulder.

It was a breeze the rest of the night, Toji falling victim to sleep as well, he and Megumi alike in a sense that they both enjoyed resting more than anything. The couch was the chosen spot, Toji lying shirtless against the large piece of furniture, Megumi’s blue, fuzzy onesie warm against his chest as they dozed off, a large hand resting against the tiny baby’s back, holding him safe and sound even while unconscious.

He couldn’t explain it, but being alone with his child, his baby, kindled a feeling of comfortability, of pure contentment, in his chest, he knew that no matter how untamable or stubborn or confusing Megumi could be at times, he would always be his son, his little curse of a blessing.

——————————————————————————

[thesongoficeandfir3]

The coronation

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!reader

AU where the blacks won

Warnings: none, just Jace and his wife reader being cute before his coronation

You make your way down the long corridor of the Red Keep’s ancient castle halls, your steps echoes loudly off the stone walls and floor. You soon approach heavy oak door where two knights stand and upon seeing you they immediately pull the large doors open. When you walk in you are met with a scene that takes your breath away. There in the center of the room your husband Jacaerys stands, dressed in a long, heavy, and expensive red and black regalia, fit for a king.

When you entered the room you were met with the back of him standing still. He was surrounded by several maidservants who are busy adjusting and fastening every piece of his attire, ensuring they fit perfectly for this very crucial day. There are large glass windows in the room and the bright morning light cast a glow on Jacaerys who stands in the center as if the gods themselves are casting their blessings on him for this important day.

His red and black robes are a vision of opulence and power. The material is thick and heavy, a velvety red silk that drapes him gracefully. Sewn into the sleeves, are subtle but intricate designs of sea horses and dragons, to represent both of his houses, each carefully crafted out of shimmering black thread. The back of the robe is longer than the front, pooling on the ground behind him in a dramatic train.

Your own gown had matched Jace’s, something Jace was very insistent on when it came to the designs of them. You are not sure when it started, but sometime during the first year of your marriage you found a lot of your and Jace’s outfits subtly match whether it was a big occasion or not. Your gown though less elaborate than your husband's, it still a vision of beauty fitted perfectly for a queen.

As you silently stand behind him, he meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror he’s standing in front. A small smile dances across his lips and his dark eyes glitter with affection. It's the same look he gives you every morning when he kisses you awake.

Jacaerys holds up a hand, the gesture causing the maidservants to stop their movements in an instant. "That's enough," he says, his deep voice firm and commanding. "You may leave us."

They curtsey quickly and walk away, shutting the door behind them. Once they are gone, keeping your back straight as much as you could and your head bowing low you curtsey.

“My king.” you say with a teasing grin.

“Stop that.” he playfully rolls his eyes walking over to you. He places a hand on your chin with a tender touch, lifting your head and gesturing for you to stand.

“You look ethereal.” you whisper out, looking into his dark brown eyes with nothing but love and admiration.

“As do you my issa prūmia.” he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

He moves his hands down from your face to holding your hands squeezing them slightly.

“Just a little.” he answers, his shoulder dropping not realizing he was tense the entire time.

You notice this and move one of your hands to caress his cheek to help calm him.

“You should not be, your grandsire and mother were wonderful rulers and they passed everything they know on to you, so I have no doubt you will be just as good.”

He nods leaning into your touch, the warmth of your words and touch calming him a little, but still a small part of him is nervous.

“So does this mean from now on I have to bow when I enter every room you are in.” you tease hoping to lighten the mood.

“Hmm,” he pauses for a moment pretending to think. He then leans in slightly. “Yes, I think you will have to bow before me….Every…..Single……..Time. He says each word deliberately slow meeting your teasing banter

“Oh?“ you quirk and eyebrow feigning surprise. “Does that mean I must always call you my king as well?” you lean in closer causing your lips to be mere inches apart.

“Of course my darling,” he says reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear being very careful not to mess with the elaborate hair do, his fingers then trail along your jawline “I am your king, after all.” He smirks down at you.

“And I am your queen” your eyes had yet to leave his during your entire conversation.

“And a beautiful queen you are.” he presses his lips to yours lingering for a few moments before pulling away.

“And your child and rightful heir.“ you take his hand pressing it to your growing pregnant belly.

Jaceaeyrs feels a rush of emotion at the feeling of your belly under his palm, his eyes drifting down to where your hands meet before looking back up at you, His expression softens further. “Our child” he corrects a protective hand still resting on your stomach.

Your heart swells, though such a small gesture you can’t help but feel emotional that he said ‘our’ instead of his.

He suddenly kneels before you his fingers splaying on the swell of your stomach gently kissing it before resting his forehead on it.

“Our future king or queen.” He whispers out.

Your breath hitches at his unexpected action.

“J-Jace,” you stutter out. “This is unbecoming you are to be king” you say feeling extremely flustered.

He chuckles the sound deep and rich.

“Out there I am, but in here with you I am just a man who loves his wife and unborn child dearly” he plants one more kiss on your bump before standing. He places his hands on your hips bringing you close once more.

You reach out and grab the livery collar, each piece being one of the kingdom’s house sigil. You carefully place it over his shoulder before fastening the last button of the robe and smoothing a hand over his chest.

“Now then, let us get you to your coronation.” You smile

“As you command my queen.”

[mariasont]

GOOD LUCK CHARM - A.H

a/n: this came to me yesterday and i sat my ass down and WROTE

that should be me fr

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

warnings: just my babies being so infatuated with each other it literally hurts, hotch is a pining fool, i love him, i need him, i want to kidnap him to my basement

wc: 0.8k

Hotch was having a rough day. He had never put much stock in the idea of luck, favoring the belief that a path was carved from the choices made. However, if he were to entertain the notion of luck, he would concede that today, he seemed to be rather out of it.

A lot had gone wrong. For starters, he had stained his favorite white dress shirt with coffee this morning. This undoubtedly set the precedent for the day, he was sure.

As soon as he arrived at his office, he was greeted not by the familiar click of the lock but by a stubborn door that refused to budge, his key sitting on the side table in his apartment. This then led to him reaching out to the custodian for a spare, only to be intercepted by Chief Strauss, who, in her usual fashion, had a litany of critiques ready for the BAU.

The day had been steadily unraveling, and the realization that you wouldn't be in until lunch because of a doctor's appointment was the tipping point. Normally, all these minor irritations could be overlooked, but in your absence, he could truly grasp just how much he relied on you.

You handled a lot on his plate, if not everything. You planned out his schedule, answered his phone calls, you double-checked his paperwork. You consistently shouldered more than he ever asked, despite his repeated warnings about overloading yourself--warnings that he, admittedly, never listened to.

Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He found himself unwittingly watching the door, anticipating the bright burst of pink and the shimmer that accompanied you, but unfortunately that did not happen. Lunch couldn't come quick enough.

His vision began to waver, the words on the page melting into an indecipherable stew as he pressed a long finger into his temples. The lamp at the edge of the desk flickered capriciously. A mental note to replace it was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing need for an aspirin, prompting him to reach for the left drawer.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, fingers reaching into the space as he pulled the flimsy object from the drawer. It was a hot pink sticky note, its surface alive with glittery ink, smiley faces, and hearts. The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his back easing just a hair.

Aspirin isn't in this drawer silly! First one to your right! And don't take more than 2, okay? Between that and your scotch drinking habits your liver is screaming!!!!

He couldn't suppress the laughter that rumbled through him as he pressed the note to his desk. He turned to the drawer on his right, pulling it open to find, much to his satisfaction, the aspirin. Attached to it was yet another sticky note.

You found it!! So proud!! Hope your day is going amazingly! Don't miss me too much! :)

His heart thumped louder in his chest, a wave of heat blossoming across his neck as he carefully folded the sticky notes, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

When you finally came ambling into the office--your ponytail swaying, a pink ribbon securing it in place--he felt an instant lift in his mood. His jaw relaxed, fingers instinctively straightening his tie--a needless act but one that gave him a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful. You always did, but as he fingered the note in his pocket, he could feel his chest constrict just looking at you.

"Hi there, Mr. Boss Man," you sang out, voice as sweet as syrup as you glided towards him with an ease that defied that height of your heels. "The office didn't burn down without me, did it?"

"It came close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," you giggled, the bracelets on your arms tinkling like wind chimes as you wrapped them around your notebook. "You look stressed. Are you stressed?"

"I'm fine, just a headache." He paused, his hand absentmindedly reaching again for the sticky note. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Squeaky clean bill of health." You beamed at him, shifting your weight to your toes. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. Thank you." A grin was vying for control of his features while his hand found its way to his neck, pressing lightly in a vain effort to steady his racing pulse.

"You're so very welcome," you chimed, sending him a smile that nearly made the air evaporate from his lungs. "Also, I fixed a couple issues in your calendar, and I ordered you a new lamp, I noticed yours was broken. I hope that's okay."

More than okay. You were perfect. If he were a man who believed in luck, he would be inclined to think you might be his good luck charm.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

im not sure what it ia, but i LOVE the little remora. i love it i love it i lvoe it

it makes me insane id love to groom ghosts scales, and everyone elses scales. i want to clean soap up, even if he see's poor ol remora as a toy to play with, i just wanna scrub them all up!

(i love this already. i love mer's)

the more shark mer Ghost pushes you away the more you wanna take care of him so so bad <3

you find yourself pouting a lot at Ghost’s surly attitude, darting up and down his big scarred body, as he tries to nap. tries to, but can’t.

it has nothing to do with you. he has these bouts of insomnia. but they make his temper real short.

regardless! you insist he needs to let you groom him. it’s been days. you get twitchy when he makes you skip your daily grooming with him. the rituals. the rituals are intricate.

“i’m trying to rest, you little pest,” he growls. "come back later. or not at all."

you tell him (tartly) that he said that yesterday and the day before.

“i meant it then and i mean it now. go away before i decide to chase you off.”

like he would. he hardly exists during the day as anything but a grumpy seafloor log. you swear you’ve seen bottom-feeders start nibbling on him he’s so inert.

(nibbling on him is your job.)

you settle down on the sand next to him on your stomach. you don't touch him yet, but he's just within reach. you stare at his pale, scarred sharkshin with bright eyes, practically vibrating in place.

he can feel your eyes on him. worse—he can feel the impatient flicking of your tail fin agitating the water as you stare at him. how can such a small creature be so terribly full of want, he wonders. your anxious energy is like too much salt in his gills.

“i will bite you," he warns. “i’m not in the mood.”

rationally, you know he doesn't like to be touched sometimes, no matter how you insist he'll feel better once he's clean. and still your anxious mind won't calm down until you're absolutely sure you've made yourself useful.

you lay your palms on the silt, fingers inching silently closer to him.

he growls, low and dangerous. the one that means he’s run out of patience and is about to make good on his threats.

you jolt and flatten yourself against the sand in instinctive submission. you’re not a threat, see? you’re harmless. you’re basically just a little piece of seaweed, c’mon.

your instant compliance does nothing to calm him. if anything, the sight of your immediate surrender drives him to double down.

he grabs you by the by the nape of your neck and lifts you up to eye level. “i warned you not to touch me.”

your stupid little heart leaps because all his attention is on you now. you want to wrap your hands around his eagerly, want to reach out and touch his chest. but you can only get close enough to skim his chest with your clawtips.

the sensation only makes him tense.

you quickly bring your hands in and wring them, trying to stop being a bother. "please can i—"

he glares down at you, teeth bared. “no,” he snaps. cold, firm, immediate.

but the more he tries to repel you, the more desperately you want to please him. to get back into his good graces. you feel every bit the creature full of anxiety and neuroses he thinks you are--always trying to figure out how to feel useful and stay on the other mers' good side.

he can see that in your eyes—the desperate need to be useful. it’s what he hates most about you. he can't stand how compliant you are at this moment. how desperate. how eager you are to please even after he's been nothing but cruel to you.

he squeezes you. your body thrums nervously in his grip.

“you little parasite. what part of ‘don’t touch me’ is so hard for you to understand?”

all of it. you stare up at him with big, blank eyes.

“you can't get the simplest instructions through your thick skull, can you?"

you shake your head (kind of, best you can) in his grip as a shameless display of agreement. he’s right, you’re stupid. so stupid.

Ghost scowls. eager, willing to degrade yourself at the smallest fucking thing.

"don't tell me you're getting off on this.”

okay! you won’t.

at that, you see the look in his eye shift from anger to something more devious. your response is so quick and willing that he can't help but smirk.

of course. of course you’d comply. no matter how hard he pushes, how cruel he is, you simply ask for worse. you're a little masochist. a nuisance. worse, you’re his nuisance. you insist on being around him, on seeking him out every bloody day.

he tolerates your presence. that's more than anyone else gets. and you take the precious little patience he gives you and wear it threadbare??

he can’t abide that. he can’t let your audacity go unchecked.

"look at you," he hisses. "eager to debase yourself at the first sign of anger. don't you think that's just pathetic?"

you nod enthusiastically.

mindless creature. willing to let him treat you any way he wants if it means attention. pitiful.

"say it," he growls.

you do. you happily tell him you’re pathetic.

“that you are. finally, something sensible out of that pretty mouth.”

you’re wired—fucking blitzed at the mere implication of good girl in his tone.

“and you're my little parasite. mine to do with as i please."

your whole body wants to curl in delight, your tail twisting like an eel in the sand below you as he eases you onto your back.

his eyes rake over you. you are the picture of obedience and submission, all pinned down and ready.

“look at you,” he rasps. “so desperate to please me. you’d do anything i tell you right now, yeah?”

yes. yes. anything.

he leans in and puts his mouth to your ear. "then let me sleep."

then he’s gone.

you lay in the sand in blank, sexually charged confusion.

by the time you slap your tail into the sand to twist yourself up into the water, half-flustered and hot-tempered, you see the ends of Ghost’s chewed-up tailfins disappear into his favorite dark cave.

before you can give chase, the familiar shape of Soap passes overhead, and he's chuckling as he dives down to you.

Soap’s grin widens as he watches your face cycle through frustration, confusion, and irritation.

you can’t believe Ghost would do that to you.

“of course he’d do it,” Soap says. he saw the whole thing.

you bluster and he coos a little teasing sympathy at you, ushering you up into his arms instead. poor wee cuttlefish, he calls you. lays it on thick because he knows you're looking for a place to expend all that pent up energy now.

he whisks you away somewhere more private so you can tend to him instead. groom him all you want. tell him your troubles. maybe let him make good use of your compliant nature. he tells you it’s a good way to make Ghost jealous.

meanwhile, Ghost is finally able to snooze contentedly, dreaming of you, maybe. he does owe you a little thanks for that small catharsis you gave him.

...

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

[s4kura-tr3]

Hiya!!! I’m here again to feed more ideas >:)

My thought was JJK men if their s/o got hurt (interpret however you will, I’m interested to see what you cook up!!!)

If you do this, thank you for your time!!! If you don’t wanna/aren’t comfortable, that’s okay too!!! Have a good day/night!!!

It’s okay

An: ahhh it’s always nice to see your request! I don’t know why but I just decided that all the jjk men’s reader was hurt on the job (except for Sukuna and Toji)

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Tw: mention of injury, hurt reader, blood, angst?

(Another long one..)

Gojo Satoru

The call came in while Gojo Satoru was lounging in the hallway of Jujutsu High, long legs stretched across a bench and blindfold resting low over his eyes. He wasn’t worried—he never was—but the tone of Ijichi’s voice made him sit up straighter than usual.

“They’re hurt, Satoru. It was supposed to be a simple mission.”

Gojo froze. Just for a second. It was imperceptible to anyone else, but he felt it—the world tilting, the weight of the words sinking in. A familiar tightness pulled in his chest.

And then he was gone.

When Gojo arrived on the scene, the air practically crackled with his energy. Cursed spirits that had lingered moments ago were already fleeing—instinctively knowing that something far greater had arrived. He found you there, propped against a wall, one hand pressed to your side where blood was soaking through your uniform.

Your head lifted weakly when you felt his presence. “Gojo—”

He was in front of you in an instant, crouched down so his face was level with yours. You could see his eyes now—brilliant, endless blue, the usual teasing gone, replaced by something sharp and focused.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. His hands hovered, unsure where to touch you without causing more pain.

“Looks worse than it is,” you murmured with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I handled it.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t smile back.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

With a flick of his fingers, the cursed energy lingering in the area vanished entirely. The remnants of your fight—the spirits, the blood, the destruction—no longer mattered. His world was you, and you were bleeding. That was unacceptable.

He moved you carefully, his Infinity dropping just for you as he slid an arm around your back. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone almost reverent. “Let me fix this.”

You blinked up at him, trying to keep your breathing steady. “I’m fine, Gojo—”

“No, you’re not,” he interrupted, that usual playfulness inching back into his voice, though his grip on you was impossibly gentle. “And you know what? I don’t care how strong you are. You’re banned from missions without me now. Official rule.”

You groaned. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I can do anything.”

He carried you back to safety as if you weighed nothing. He never looked away from you, not even once, as if making sure you were still there—still breathing.

Later, when your wounds were cleaned and wrapped, you woke to find Gojo sitting beside you, his long frame crammed awkwardly into a chair. His blindfold was pushed up into his hair, his expression relaxed now, but his eyes betrayed him. There was no mistaking it—he’d been worried.

“You’re hovering,” you muttered, your voice still tired.

“Of course I’m hovering. You scared the hell out of me,” he said, though the teasing lilt was back. “You’re not allowed to do that again. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes. “Overprotective much?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he gazed at you. “Call it what you want, but you’re not just anyone to me.”

For a moment, the world felt still—so unlike Gojo Satoru, whose very existence bent reality. Here, though, in the quiet of your shared space, he was just a man who cared too much.

“You’re mine to keep safe,” he said softly. “So let me.”

And this time, you didn’t argue. Instead, you let yourself drift back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive—would always be there to catch you.

Geto Suguru

Suguru had always prided himself on his composure. No matter how dire the situation, no matter how chaotic the battlefield, he was calm, collected—a force of nature with unshakable purpose. But that resolve faltered the moment he saw you, crumpled on the ground, blood painting the dirt beneath you.

For a brief second, time seemed to stop. The world blurred, all sound fading away except the ragged pull of your breaths. You weren’t dead—he could tell that much from the cursed energy still flickering weakly around you—but you were hurt. Badly.

Geto’s usually languid movements were sharp as he crossed the distance between you in seconds. He crouched low, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for you.

“Why?” he murmured, his voice low and strained. His fingers hovered just above your skin, unsure if touching you would cause more pain. “Why weren’t you more careful?”

You forced a weak smile, blood staining your lips. “It’s… not as bad as it looks, Suguru.”

He didn’t believe you for a second. His eyes—a deep, endless black—burned with emotion, though his face remained calm. It was the kind of calm that preceded a storm.

“Stop lying,” he said softly, though his tone carried an edge. “You’re bleeding out, and you’re trying to joke about it?”

You flinched—not from pain, but from the raw intensity in his voice.

“I handled it,” you said, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to drag you into—”

“Stop talking,” he cut in, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard. His hands finally moved, one slipping behind your back to support you, the other pressing firmly against your wound. His cursed energy flowed into you, the warmth of it steadying your fading strength.

“I don’t need you to handle anything alone,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Do you even realize what it would do to me if I lost you?”

You blinked at him, the words catching you off guard. He rarely let his emotions spill like this. Suguru had always been the calm one, the one who carried the weight of the world with an almost unnerving grace.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, hisfocused on stabilizing you, his cursed energy precise and efficient. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t do this again. Promise me.”

You nodded weakly, your hand reaching up to rest against his. “I promise.”

When he was certain you were no longer in immediate danger, Geto carefully lifted you into his arms. His movements were deliberate, his touch impossibly gentle despite the power coursing through him.

The battlefield was eerily quiet now. The curses he’d summoned earlier loomed in the distance, awaiting his command. He glanced toward them, his expression darkening.

“Stay alive,” he said softly, his gaze flicking back to you. “Because if you don’t, I don’t know what I’ll become.”

And as he carried you away, the weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. Geto Suguru—the man who carried hatred for the world in his heart—held a love for you that was both fierce and fragile, and you knew he would destroy everything to protect it.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento prided himself on being a man of structure. Predictability, schedules, efficiency—those were his constants. They were the threads that held him together in a world that thrived on chaos.

But when he found you injured during a mission, those threads began to unravel.

The first sign that something was wrong was the blood—your blood—spattered across the cursed ground. Nanami’s grip on his sword tightened, his breath caught in his chest, but his footsteps never faltered. He moved with purpose, carving through curses without hesitation, eyes scanning the ruins for you.

And then he saw you.

Slumped against a cracked pillar, your uniform torn and blood-soaked, you were trying to push yourself upright, hands trembling from the effort. The second your gaze met his, you managed a weak smile.

“Kento…” Your voice was hoarse, strained. “You’re late.”

Nanami’s heart dropped, though his face remained stoic.

“I told you not to overdo it,” he said flatly, kneeling beside you. His voice was calm, his movements deliberate as he assessed your injuries, but his hands shook—just barely—as they hovered near your wounds. “And yet here we are.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though you hissed when he pressed his hand against your side to slow the bleeding.

Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. “You are not fine,” he replied, his tone edged with a frustration he rarely allowed to show. “Don’t lie to me.”

He worked in silence after that, his cursed energy flowing steadily as he stabilized you. He moved with surgical precision, the tension in his shoulders the only indication of his true feelings.

When your breathing finally steadied and the worst of the bleeding stopped, Nanami let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair.

“You shouldn’t have been alone.”

You looked at him, guilt flickering in your expression. “I didn’t want to slow you down. I thought I could handle it.”

Nanami’s eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s the last time you think that.” His voice was low, but there was an unshakable finality to it. “You’re not a burden, and I won’t lose you because you insist on acting like one.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. For all his composure, Nanami rarely allowed himself to be so blunt with his feelings.

He adjusted his tie—one of his many habits when emotions threatened to break through. “You’re important to me,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your hands, still trembling slightly. “Do you understand that? You’re not just a colleague or an ally. You’re… more than that.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the pain in your body felt distant.

“I understand,” you whispered.

Nanami rose to his feet, steadying you as he helped you up. His arm slid firmly around your waist, supporting you without hesitation.

“We’re going home,” he said simply. “No arguments.”

You leaned into him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

Nanami glanced down at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And you’re reckless. Someone has to keep you alive.”

There, in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, you felt it—the way Nanami Kento held the world on his shoulders and still made space to carry you.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t a man known for his calm temper. He was known for being ruthless, unrelenting, and dangerous—a man whose name alone sent shivers down the spines of sorcerers. Yet, there was one person who could tether the beast inside him—you.

But when Toji heard that you had been hurt, not by a mission gone wrong or an unavoidable accident, but by your own clan head, something inside him snapped.

The messenger hadn’t even finished explaining before Toji was on his feet, his movements sharp, predatory. “Who?” he demanded, his voice low, venomous.

The answer was spoken carefully, but it didn’t matter. Toji already knew where to go.

By the time he found you, you were sitting on the edge of your bed, your posture slumped as you clutched at your side. The bruises on your skin were faint now, evidence of half-healed wounds that still throbbed. You looked up when he entered the room, his towering frame filling the doorway.

“Toji…” you said softly.

His dark green eyes were wild—sharp and calculating as they scanned you. He stalked forward without a word, crouching down so he was at your level. You tried to wave him off.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing a small smile. “It looks worse than—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice was rough, his calloused hand reaching out to cup your chin gently, tilting your face so he could see you better. “Who did it?”

You froze. You knew that look in his eyes—the quiet, simmering rage that was far more dangerous than any outburst.

“It’s over, Toji,” you tried to reason, placing your hand on his arm. “Don’t—”

“Who?” he repeated, more forceful this time, his grip gentle but unyielding.

You sighed, looking away. “It was the clan head. They were trying to prove a point. It doesn’t matter now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Toji released your chin, his hand dropping to his knee as he leaned back, the weight of his fury filling the room like a storm cloud.

“It matters to me,” he said darkly, his voice low and lethal. “They thought they could lay a hand on you and get away with it?”

“Toji, you can’t—“

“Watch me.”

He stood abruptly, his broad frame tense with barely-contained rage. You knew what he was planning even before he reached the door. You tried to push yourself up, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated through your side.

“Toji, please! I don’t need you making things worse!”

He paused, his back still to you. When he spoke, his voice was quieter but no less dangerous. “Worse? You think letting them hurt you and walk free isn’t worse?”

“Toji…”

Finally, he turned to look at you, his expression softer now, but his eyes still burned with resolve. “I don’t care what kind of clan they are. No one touches you. No one.”

“You don’t have to fight all my battles.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I’ll fight them anyway.”

Before you could argue again, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with finality. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing that whatever the clan head had done, they were about to regret it deeply.

Toji didn’t waste time. He wasn’t a man for words—he was a man of action, and his message was always clear. When he arrived at the clan’s estate, curses and whispers followed him, the clan members eyeing him warily.

By the time Toji found the clan head, the tension was palpable. The clan head—an older sorcerer brimming with arrogance—looked at Toji with disdain.

“You dare step onto my grounds uninvited?”

Toji smiled, slow and predatory, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “Didn’t think I needed an invitation after you laid your hands on mine.”

The clan head barely had a moment to react before Toji was on him. It wasn’t a fight—it was a message. A brutal, merciless display of power from a man who made a career out of destroying sorcerers who thought they were untouchable.

When it was done, Toji stood over the defeated clan head, his voice cold and final.

“Touch them again, and I’ll tear this whole clan apart.”

Hours later, when Toji returned to you, his knuckles were bruised, his shirt stained with evidence of his work, but his expression was calm. He found you sitting up, waiting for him, worry etched across your face.

“What did you do?” you asked softly.

Toji shrugged, dropping down beside you on the bed. “Taught them a lesson. That’s all.”

“Toji…”

He turned to look at you, his gaze softer now. “They won’t hurt you again. I made sure of it.”

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. For all his rough edges, Toji was your fiercest protector, and in moments like this, you realized just how deeply he cared.

“You’re impossible..”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

And though you rolled your eyes, you didn’t argue. Because when Toji Fushiguro promised to keep you safe, he meant it—no matter what it cost.

Sukuna Ryomen

When word reached Sukuna that you—the Queen of Curses—had been kidnapped and hurt by sorcerers, the very ground trembled beneath him. His cursed energy surged, shattering walls as his four eyes narrowed in pure, murderous fury.

“They touched what’s mine?” he growled, his voice low and lethal, filling the air with the promise of death. Without waiting for an answer, Sukuna moved.

You sat bloodied in the center of a cursed circle, seals etched into the ground suppressing your power. Despite the sharp ache in your body, you glared up at the lead sorcerer with defiance, golden eyes gleaming.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed, your voice steady even as blood dripped from your lip.

The sorcerer smirked. “The King of Curses isn’t untouchable. He’ll come, and we’ll destroy him next.”

A deafening boom echoed through the chamber as the barriers shattered. The air grew thick with malevolence, heavy enough to choke. The sorcerers froze, their faces paling.

“Destroy me?” Sukuna’s voice rang out, cruel and mocking. The double doors burst open, splintering into nothing as Sukuna entered, his aura suffocating. His four eyes gleamed with bloodlust, his grin sharp and feral. “You’ve got guts saying that while you’re still breathing.”

Chaos followed.

Sorcerers screamed as Sukuna descended upon them like a storm, cutting through their bodies with a savage, unstoppable force. Limbs were torn, blood splattered across the walls, and their cries echoed until silence swallowed the room. Sukuna’s fury was absolute, leaving only carnage in his wake.

When the last body fell, he turned to you. His steps were slow, deliberate as he approached, his massive form looming over you. His eyes softened just slightly as they took in your injuries, though his expression remained sharp.

“Sukuna,” you muttered, trying to sit upright, though pain flared through you.

He clicked his tongue, crouching to your level. “You let them do this to you?” His clawed hand brushed against your face, careful despite his strength, his touch surprisingly tender.

“They had their tricks,” you smirked faintly. “It wasn’t exactly fair.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a dangerous grin. “Fair? I’ll show them fairness.” He reached down, breaking the seals binding your power with little effort, cursed energy flooding back into you like a tidal wave.

His hands slid under you, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. “They dared to harm you, my queen,” he muttered, his tone dark. “And they paid for it. I’ll make sure no one forgets.”

“You’re dramatic,” you teased softly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And you love me for it,” he shot back, his voice lighter but still edged with menace.

As Sukuna carried you out of the ruined chamber, the devastation he left behind spoke louder than words. The King and Queen of Curses were untouchable, and anyone foolish enough to challenge that truth would be reduced to nothing but ash.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi wasn’t someone who showed his emotions easily. He carried himself with a quiet resolve, choosing pragmatism over sentimentality. But when he found you—hurt and bleeding during a mission—something in him snapped.

He found you slumped against the rubble of a half-destroyed building, your breathing labored and your uniform torn, blood staining the ground beneath you.

“Y/N!”

The urgency in his voice startled you, and you forced a weak smile as you looked up at him. “Megumi… hey, you’re here.”

Megumi dropped to his knees beside you, his dark blue eyes scanning your injuries, sharp with both worry and focus. “What the hell happened?”

“Just… underestimated the last curse,” you muttered, wincing as you shifted. “It got in a lucky hit.”

He didn’t reply right away, his jaw clenching as his hands hovered uncertainly over you. He wanted to fix this—to take away the pain you were feeling—but he wasn’t a healer. The frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior.

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” he said finally, his voice low, though you could hear the strain in it.

You sighed, leaning back against the rubble. “It wasn’t supposed to be this bad. I thought I could handle it.”

Megumi’s hands curled into fists, his shoulders tense. “And what if you hadn’t made it?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. He wasn’t yelling, but the anger was there—anger at the situation, at the curse, and maybe even at himself.

Seeing the concern in his expression, you softened. “But I did make it, Megumi. You’re here now.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s not the point.” Slowly, he steadied himself, reaching out to help you sit up. “I can’t—” He hesitated, his voice quieter now. “I can’t lose you.”

The admission made your heart ache, not just from the injuries but from the weight of his words. Megumi rarely showed this side of himself—the one that cared so deeply it hurt him.

“You won’t,” you reassured him softly, placing your hand over his. “I promise.”

His eyes met yours, searching for reassurance. Finally, he nodded, slipping an arm under your shoulders to help you stand. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Let’s get you out of here.”

As you leaned into him, Megumi held you firmly, steady and protective. Even in his silence, you could feel it—the way he cared, the way he’d been terrified to find you like this.

And as you walked away from the battlefield together, he made himself a silent promise: next time, he’d be there before you ever got hurt. Because to Megumi Fushiguro, keeping you safe wasn’t just a duty—it was what mattered most.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori was always the bright light in a dark world—a person who smiled even when the odds were stacked against him. But when he saw you lying hurt on the battlefield, all that light dimmed in an instant.

“Y/N!”

His voice cracked as he sprinted toward you, his feet pounding against the ground. You were slumped against a wall, your breathing shallow, blood staining your uniform. At the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttered open, and you managed a faint smile.

“Yuji…”

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch. His expression was stricken—wide eyes taking in every bruise, every gash. “What happened? Who—what did this to you?”

You winced, shifting slightly. “The curse got a hit in. It was stronger than I thought.”

Yuji clenched his jaw, his fingers trembling as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to the bleeding wound on your side. “You’re losing too much blood. I need to get you out of here.”

Despite the pain, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. “It’s… okay. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” Yuji said firmly, his voice shaking. “Don’t say that. It’s not okay.”

His usual warmth had vanished, replaced by something sharper—something desperate. “You’re hurt because I wasn’t there fast enough,” he said, his eyes fixed on yours. “I should’ve been there to protect you.”

“You can’t always be everywhere at once, Yuji,” you murmured, trying to soothe him. “You’re not a superhero.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he burst out, his fists clenching. “I promised I’d protect the people I care about—and that means you too. I’m not losing anyone else, Y/N.”

The pain in his voice made your chest ache, more than any injury could. Yuji was carrying so much already—too much for one person—but here he was, breaking under the thought of losing you.

“Yuji,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face despite your weak state. “I’m still here. You didn’t lose me.”

His expression softened, his eyes glassy as he leaned into your touch. “But you could’ve…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t let that happen. Not to you.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Then just stay with me. That’s all I need.”

He nodded quickly, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. “I’ll get you to Shoko. You’ll be okay—I’ll make sure of it.” Carefully, he lifted you into his arms, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

As he carried you away, Yuji glanced down at you, his expression filled with quiet determination. “Next time, I’ll be there before anything touches you. I swear it.”

And you believed him—because Yuji Itadori didn’t break his promises.

[ahqkas]

hey so jow do you think Nightwing would deal with teasing his s/o and he accidentally hits a nerve and his s/o entire aura just becomes sad and they look at him so sad? What’s he do?

dick grayson / nightwing would immediately realize he’d messed up the moment he saw that shift in your expression. the teasing grin on his face would fade in an instant, replaced by wide eyes and a look of pure regret. he’s incredibly attuned to people’s emotions, and seeing your aura change from playful to sad—especially because of something he said—would hit him hard.

“hey, hey,” he’d say softly, his tone laced with worry as he moves closer, instinctively reaching for you. “i didn’t mean it like that. i swear.”

if you looked away or hesitated, it would only make his heart ache more. he’d tilt his head slightly ( like a kicked puppy ), trying to catch your gaze, his own eyes full of apology and concern. he’s not one to leave things unresolved, especially when it comes to someone he loves.

“i’m sorry,” he’d say earnestly, his voice dropping to that gentle, sincere tone he uses when he’s being completely vulnerable. “i didn’t realize . . . i’d never say something to hurt you, you know that, right?”

once you finally opened up—whether it’s about why his comment hit a nerve or just a simple “it’s okay”—he’d listen intently, nodding along and letting you get it all out. the guilt on his face would be unmistakable, but so would his determination to make it right.

to lighten the mood, he might add something something like this: “guess i’m not as smooth as i thought, huh?” but his eyes would stay serious, watching you closely to make sure the sadness was starting to lift.

later, he’d go out of his way to make it up to you—whether it’s with an affectionate cuddle session, a heartfelt gift, or just being extra attentive for the rest of the day. dick’s teasing may be part of who he is, but his love and respect for you come first. if he hurt you, even unintentionally, he wouldn’t rest until he knew you were okay again.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Beloved Mine

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Sam sends out an SOS that Bucky isn't in the best mood, so you see him to ease his mind.

Sammy: SOS. he's in a bad mood!

You read over Sam's text and snort. You quickly type out a reply and start to change from your pjs to some appropriate clothing.

On your way to Bucky's, you stopped by his favorite bakery, grabbing his favorite baked goods as well as a wide variety for his people. You also grabbed him a coffee and a drink for you as well.

Sammy: He almost shot the new guy in the foot. Please tell me you're on your way.

You: ETA 10 minutes.

Sammy: THANK GOD.

You giggle and continue to drive to Bucky's family mansion. At the gate, the security guard takes one look at you and immediately lets you in. You give him a pastry in gratitude before driving up the long gravel driveway.

You park beside Sam's car and hop out. The man at the door nods at you, opening the door wide for you to step in. You also hand him a pastry with a smile.

You head towards the back of the house where you hear a familiar, loud distant voice.

The closer you get, the louder the voice. You push through some of the men spilling out of the room until you're inside.

"-HOW MANY FUCKING MEN DO I GOTTA LOSE TO-honey?"

All eyes land to you. You give a sheepish wave, "Hi, sorry, is this a bad time?" You know it is but you feign ignorance.

Bucky sighs, running his hand through his brunette locks, "Just finishing up a meeting."

"Oh, I can wait-"

"No, no. It's fine. Think they all had enough of my shouting," he waves his hand, "Leave, you fuckers!" most of the people scurry out in an instant, not wanting to wait and see if Bucky changes his mind. A small group stay behind, Bucky's closest friends and confidants: Sam, Joaquin, Yelena, and Nat.

You approach them, setting yours and Bucky's drinks in front of him. You open the pastry box in your hands and hold it out to the four, "Take your pick!"

"You're Heaven sent!" Sam exclaims as he grabs a donut and shoots you a wink. You give him a smirk and a nod.

Joaquin grabs a danish, practically stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.

"Did you eat today, Joaquin?"

He shakes his head as he continues to chew the danish. You lift the box higher, "Take as much as you want."

He gives you a grin as he grabs two more pastries and follows Sam out the door.

"Ladies?"

"I'm good," Nat says with a shake of her head in decline.

"Hell yeah, donuts!" Yelena exclaims as she grabs the glazed twists. She hums in delight as she takes a bite, "Thanks, Y/N!"

You chuckle, "You're welcome, Lena."

The two women look to Bucky to see if he needed anything else. Bucky sips his coffee and waves them off and the two file out the door, closing it behind them.

You turn back to Bucky, "Yours are at the bottom," you place the pastry box in front of him.

Bucky's eyes narrow at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Who called you?"

"No one called me."

"So if I check your phone-"

"Technically, Sam texted me. He didn't call me."

Bucky scoffs and shakes his head, "Of course he did."

You walk over to the other side of his desk. He leans back in his chair and you sit on his arm rest, "Bad day?" You begin to run your fingers through his hair and he leans into your touch with a sigh, "Another shipment got intercepted. We lost some guys."

"'M sorry, baby."

"I'm getting real fucking tired of Hydra. And none of my people can find shit out! Anytime they snag one of their guys, they kill themselves before we get any answers. Fucking cowards."

You wrap your arms around Bucky's bulking frame, "You'll figure it out. You always do. Besides, I'm sure Lena and Nat have something cooking, right?"

"Supposedly, but they won't tell me what yet. They're trying to iron out the details."

"Just let them handle it in the meantime. Now, how about a treat?" you grab one of the pastries that you know he loves and he takes a bite. He moans at the taste and his shoulders drop in relief.

He washes it down with his coffee and he looks at you with shining blue eyes, "You really know how to make a guy feel loved, honey."

You giggle, and wipe some crumbs off his chubby cheeks, "Well, duh, I do love you," you peck his lips, "Ease up on everyone, will ya? I know things are tense, but they're all doing the best they can. You can't afford to lose more people."

He slowly nods, "You're right. Fuck, you know, maybe you should step down and take over, hm?"

You throw your head back and laugh, "Oh, please, I'd run your family into the ground! No one would listen to me-"

"Baby, a majority of my people listen to you already."

"...I don't know how to lead people or how the inner workings of all this," you gesture around you, "goes."

Bucky shrugs, "I can teach you. Besides," he takes your left hand, thumb grazing over the diamond ring on your finger, "you should start learning some things anyway."

"Let me just live in ignorant bliss until after the wedding, Barnes," you pat his plump cheeks and he grins at you, eyes soft and full of love.

[darnell-la]

Logan smut w/ a partner playing “hard to get”

Like pretending not to be in the mood as if she isn’t soaking wet for him

note: needy Logan Howlett y’all… Can’t get enough of him!

———

“C’mere, bub,” Logan spoke into y/n’s neck as he pulled her closer to him. Y/n groaned under her breath, softly elbowing his chest as she kept moving her ass up against his crotch.

“Baby, stop that,” Logan giggled in her neck as he grabbed her waist tightly, making her hips move how he wanted them to. “Got me so hard, I can’t even go to sleep,” Logan whispered.

“Logan, not right now. Tryna sleep,” y/n whined, keeping her eyes closed as his clothes cock rubbed on her ass cheek. Wearing a thing to bed was a routine when she wanted to tease him.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that tonight. I’m hurtin,” he admitted, feeling his cock harder with a leaky tip. She’s been moving around in bed for the last ten minutes, and though she does this a lot, he always thinks it’s not on purpose.

“I’m tired, Logan,” Y/n said as she stopped moving her hips. “Okay, okay, baby,” Logan felt let down, but stayed spooning her, hoping the list that built would go away over time.

After lying for maybe thirty minutes, he couldn’t help himself. It’s been too long, and he felt a bit of pain. He needed to at least stick it in.

Logan slowly and quietly pulled Y/n’s thong to the side, lifting his head up to make sure she was still asleep, and she was. So he thought.

The man grabbed his cock and shifted in bed until his tip lined up either heat. The man let out a slow groan, feeling better steady, but he needed more.

Logan pushed through the tight folds, struggled since her legs were closed, but made it through. “Fuck,” the man let out as he began moving his hips.

“Oh my his, Logan!” Y/n faked being upset as one hand gripped her waist and the other stroked the top of her head. “Ssh, baby — Just quick. Already gif me so close,” the man whispered as she pushed at his stomach.

“I said I was tired, Logan,” y/n said, barely using her strength. She always felt good when he slipped into her in the middle of the night. Her cunt would clench him in an instant.

“Baby, you know I can’t resist it. So fuckin’ tight and wet. I can smell you. Every night I fuckin’ smell your sweet juice,” the man spoke in her neck before giving her sloppy kisses.

Logan used the hand on her waist to pull her into his thrusts, causing small claps to come from under the covers.

“C’mon, just give me one, baby. One little orgasm and I’ll be done,” the man said, knowing his girl doesn’t like to wet the sheets. He’ll rub a dry one out of her.

“Spread 'em, baby,” Logan’s hand traveled down to her heat, trying to squeeze through her thighs. “I’m tired,” y/n tried saying without a whine, but failed. He felt amazing.

“Baby, open your legs,” Logan said in a more demanding tone. He loves his girl, but what he says goes, and right now, she isn’t listening.

“Mm mhm,” y/n shook her head, wanting him to take her organs from her. “Fuckin’ hell,” the man cussed as he parted her leg by himself and began rubbing at her bud harshly.

“Don’t know if it’s because you’re half in your sleep, but you fuckin’ listen when I tell you something, bub,” Logan said, now tugging on her hair he was just stroking.

“If I wanna fill this cunt before I sleep, ima fill it, do you understand?” The man asked her, making her nod quickly as her cunt throbbed. She could. It never lasted long once Logan handled her like this.

“Ah huh — Wanna listen now because you feel good? Flickin’ your bean so good, you can barely speak?” Logan asked as he looked over her head, seeing her eyes roll.

“Yeah, I know, baby. So fuckin’ good,” Logan snapped his hips, feeling her legs finally stiffen under his. “Let go, baby. Flutter around my cock. Need a feel you squeeze the cum outta me,”

Y/n’s let out a broken whine, finally cumming with a shake. “That’s it, that’s it,” Logan repeated, fucking her harder to chance after his own climax.

“Keep it up! Keep fuckin’ squeezing me!” The man demanded as his cock twitched. “Fuck, yes, baby,” the man cussed into her neck as he spilled in her.

Logan’s hands traveled to her stomach, gripping it tightly to pull her into him. He wanted to make sure he came deep. Every time they fucked, he wanted it deep.

After a good minute of Logan growling and telling Y/n how good she was for him, he pulled out and pulled her panties back in place.

Y/n slowly turned around, sore and filled. She placed her hand on the man’s chest and gave him a long passionate kiss.

“You’re so needy, Logan,” y/n giggled, making him let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, I just- I just need you a lot. You’re so good to me, y/n,” Logan said as his hand rested on her cheek, rubbing her skin.

“You’re better to me,” she smiled, making him shake his head slightly before going into how much better she is to him, and how he needs her to love his own life. All while rubbing her body, taking in every inch of her that is his. He was a lucky man.