#I have a couple more rough ideas

[salmadurka]

Hear me out - One Thousand and One Nights (-ish) AU for Dreamling! I have only a rough idea, some outlines and dialogues so far so bear with me. Gods know if I’m even gonna write it... Take this just as an idea

every 10 years a murder of raven show up over a village/town/place and one of them sit at the village square. This indicates a soon arrival of the King of the Nightmares, the King of Stories

someone in the village must be chosen to go to him and tell him a story (OR Morpheus chooses them, showing up in their dream!)

if they fail, the King is not pleased with the story, they either never come back or die within a week (their last week is filled with nightmares)

if the King is satisfied, he lets them go and grants them a temporary immortality. The storyteller is expected to visit the King in the next ten years and tell another story

most don't last a single night, some live for years before failing

there are tales about a couple of storytellers who lived long lives, telling the King stories for long years - like Nada or Calliope

there was a rumor/tale/legend that Calliope even had a child with the King. He grew up to be a wonderful bard and storyteller

 Morpheus travels across the land and realms so sometimes is not seen for decades or centuries. The true tales about him and this ‘arrangement’ can become 'just' tales, legends or just rumors the time he shows up again in the area

enters Hob!

he is chosen by the village cuz he’s already a pretty good at telling stories (maybe he volunteers a bit too?)

something-something the King likes his tale and makes Hob his storyteller!

decade after decade Hob’s stories pleases Morpheus

after a long time, centuries even, Hob starts to have the (for us known) suspicion that there is more to their meetings than just the sharing of stories - "I don't think our little meetings are about the stories and tales anymore. Not really. Yes, you enjoy them, oh King of Stories, but I think it's more about who is telling them to you. It's about the company.”

I’m still trying to fit the fight-aftermath and/or Dream’s capture BUT Hob would be mad at him at first but than would gradually decided come, every decade, to their usual spot to tell a story to no one (Dream would not show up but Hob would still have his immortality, for reasons)  

BONUS: every 50 years, after 5 meetings, Morpheus (has to?) asks the storyteller if they want to continue to serve him. They can leave and live the rest of their mortal life. However, he won’t ask them again for another 50 years and they can still fail afterwards (they are not protected even after serving him for so long)

BONUS: Morpheus keeps his distance at first. During the first meeting he’s just a dark silhouette sitting on the throne but as the time passes he becomes more open. Maybe he tries to keep the ‘King of Nightmares’ scary appearance at first but gradually gives up, stops give a fuck

[kyo-hiki]

thinking about him... <3

[solfinite]

i have loz tp on the mind

[growinguparo]

edit: hang on i'm remaking this post to add a correction

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: a digital illustration of Luz and Hunter from the owl house. Luz sits on the right with her hand on hunter's shoulder. Hunter sits on the left facing Luz. They're both in their designs from the end of Thanks to Them. Hunter has his eyes closed and is crying with a pained expression, while Luz looks on with tears in her eyes. The background is dark and the scene is dimly lit. The second image is a variation on the first image where a spectral version of flapjack sits on hunter's shoulder and Manny's hand in on Luz's shoulder. End ID]

Felt like posting something devious today. Do you think they'll ever talk about what they've lost? Bond over it? Mourn??? Grieve????

[animalinvestigator]

dark spore kids

[sheltershock]

I have a fun (fanfic) idea that builds around the idea that oh, Sasha is bad a levitation, but Milla is bad a marksmanship. Not just, that they’re bad, but that they’re so bad at it that they can technically levitate/psi blast, but they just do it so wrong it has no effect.

For example, Milla can concentrate a blast of energy from her mind, and she’s pretty good at targeting, but she doesn’t do any damage. It’ll just gently push the target, but only push it enough to where you need special tools to measure the change.

Meanwhile Sasha can create the lev ball and float, and it can exist for a long time without bursting, but it doesn’t suspend or lift anything. If you stand on the lev ball it can support your weight, but it’s stationary. It cannot move. So my idea is that they got assigned to be partners because they have mastery over their own skills and hopefully will teach the other how to actually have function in their powers. The reason they don’t work right is because they’re not in the right mental space and trying to use the opposite technique to achieve similar results.

That and trauma. Milla doesn’t like concentrating/focusing on her own feelings because a lot of her negative emotions is related to the fire, which she wrongfully blames herself for. She’d much rather let her emotions flow from place to place, intensity to intensity than have to face and concentrate on her guilt. Meanwhile Sasha doesn’t want to let his mind wander, because he knows what it’s going to drift to. He’s pretty good at regulating his emotions but not so much reflecting on why he is having an emotion, so it’s just a cycle. But ultimately, they’re both stuck in their ways because they’re secretly terrified of getting hurt again.

So naturally they’d both have to develop as instructors and their own personal relationship to make any progress on anything. They start out with an insultingly basic view of each other, but eventually grow realize how deep and interesting they both are as people. They both even start to realize how actually similar they are and realize their own faults by observing the other person. And the further their relationship goes the better understanding they have of one another and the ability to be vulnerable gets easier. They both admit that they’re afraid of hurting someone and (literally and metaphorically) falling, but they assure the other person that they’ll cover them and make sure they’ll be alright. At some point they both realize that this is the closest relationship either of them really have to another person, to trust someone enough to admit your dirtiest, painful secrets and not have the other person react in a way that only makes you feel worse.

This continues until the lessons get adapted into a way that they can improve and their skills actually become effective. Not good, just functional, below average if will. Milla’s blasts can actually do damage now, but she’s still not great at it. If the average agent can do three(3) damage per blast, and Sasha can do five(5) per blast as an expert, Milla can shoot for about one(1)-two(2) damage per shot. And Sasha can float and move quicker on a lev ball, but the average agent can do basic movements like moving diagonally, Milla can do elaborate flips and poses and stunts, but Sasha can only move in a straight line, and slow descent(in a straight line).

But after they teach each other how to use their skills, they’ve really honed how to work together as a team and thankfully get assigned to work together on missions all the time. So they can truly keep that promise of looking out so they don’t hurt anyone or fall.

[workingforitallthetime]

don't mind me dumping a little writing meta and planning in tags

[mejomonster]

To get good at telling stories... writing stories... one must... practice by writing stories ;-;

[shima-draws]

Old OCs? Can you tell us about them?

Not much to say honestly LOL like I mentioned in the tags I was super into dystopian YA romance novels in high school like The Hunger Games and Divergent and Twilight (which I guess isn't dystopian but?? I digress) so I wanted to try my hand at it. Combined with an adolescent Shima who had a crush on two different guys that were in the same stage musical as her I deadass just made a cringey Mary Sue OP self-insert protag (named Sierra) and the two love interests inspired by the boys I was enamored with to make a very cliched, very barebones YA book plot. LMAO

Basically this was teenage me's way of living out her fantasies of getting noticed by Pretty Popular Boys. That. That's it. That's really it. JKDASMASD

There wasn't much more thought put into the actual plot, I came up with two groups against each other called the Renegades (bc I thought that sounded cool) and the Adherents (which iirc I looked up what the opposite of a renegade was and that's what I got. So that's what they were called??) Idk why they were fighting. I decided they'd all have cool combat suits and that was as far as I got

I called the two male characters Nathan and Avery and had them be best friends. Pure self-indulgence had me deciding this would be a classic love triangle where both of them would fall for Sierra and fight over her. Sierra and Nathan were endgame bc I just liked Nathan more as a character. One thing I remember specifically was Sierra giving him the nickname "Natan" (pronounced Nay-tan) and I still kinda refer to him that way in my head kasdmlsfafd

If I were to reboot them now I'd still probably have Sierra and Nathan end up together just to satisfy child me but not involve a love triangle. OR just make Avery in love with both of them but cool with not getting involved. Slap an ace label on his forehead. Break the cliche lol

The reason I remembered them at all was bc I actually recently rewatched the Hunger Games saga :") Nathan is very similar to Peeta so when I saw him I was like OH MY GOD THAT'S RIGHT I had those old OCs in high school! And now here we are

[ub-sessed]

I am writing a little essay to post on Facebook about what I'm going through, workwise. This is a very rough first draft. I'm gonna post it here and let it sit for a day before I come back and clean it up.

(À mes followers francophones : Si vous voyez des erreurs dans mon texte, n'hésitez pas à m'avertir!)

Tourner la page

[English follows below.]

J'aimerais d'abord remercier tous mes collègues du plateau pour les presque dix ans de compagnie amicale et inspirant. C'est vous qui faites le movie magic, et vous le savez: Il n'y a rien qui est plus magique que d'assister à une équipe de feu dans le jus créer un nouveau monde au complet avec que leurs mains, leur imagination et leur collaboration. Personne d'autre ne peut comprendre c'est quoi travailler ensemble avec les gens comme vous-autres qui ont chacun leur propre super-pouvoir. Mes heures sur le plateau étaient les meilleurs de ma vie.

Là pour raison de santé ma vie est en plein transition.

--+--

I am intensely proud of the work I did as a script supervisor, especially of the sustained exertion it took to get that good at something that demanding, and in my second language! I feel lucky that I found my calling, that for almost a decade I got to do a job where I knew that once I got to set, all my other worries would disappear. When I was on set I was in my element, I was laser focused. I was my favourite me. I am grieving the loss of a career that I loved so much and that I worked so hard to build. (So hard. You have no idea how hard. How much effort I put into making it look easy.)

But now that I have finally acknowledged that I won't be able to go back to it, I find that I am enormously relieved. The fact is that in order to do what I did on set, I had to push myself to the very limit of my capacity when I was off set. Well beyond anything sustainable.

What a relief it is now to no longer be straining to be exceptionally good at something exceptionally difficult.

I have spent my whole life pushing myself outside of my comfort zone because that's the only way to really excel. But looking back I realize that the expectations I have set for myself have been absurd. That I have always pursued careers that were well beyond my physical capabilities, or that demanded inhumane hours, or required a level of self-discipline and self-motivation that were completely inappropriate to my temperament.

Script supervising was the closest I ever came to finding the perfect career for me, but even before I got sick, it was clear to me that the only way it would be sustainable was if I could always insist on having an assistant to do the paperwork. Very few script supervisors in the industry can demand that.

My whole life I have been told that I should be more ambitious, that something-or-other should be easy for me because I'm so smart, that if I just had the right attitude I could do things that I actually find nearly impossible. And my whole life I've felt like I was drowning.

Whenever I have tried to make a realistic assessment of my abilities and accept my limitations, I have been told that I'm being "too hard on myself" and that my "negative attitude" was what was keeping me from reaching my goals. But this misguided advice just made it harder to set healthy goals in the first place. I have spent the great majority of my adult life nowhere near my comfort zone. It was exhausting and stressful. These people were right that I should have had more self-confidence: then I would have believed that I know myself better than anybody else does.

It took being completely incapacitated by illness to realize that I have spent my entire adult life feeling inadequate for not meeting the well-meaning expectations of people with only the most superficial understanding of my situation. What a relief it is to no longer be trying to "live up to my potential".

I'm just grateful that I'm young enough that I still have a chance to build myself a life that actually goes at my own pace. A life where I put myself first.

[lvllns]

checks watch like oh guess it’s time for my monthly “is medieval studies right because greek is right there” breakdown

[whysamwhy123]

You ever have those periods where you're struggling to write much, and you're really questioning why you even bother with this in the first place, and you look at your main WIP and you're just like what is the point? Nobody wants to read this anyway so why are you wasting your time with this nonsense when you could be doing literally anything else?

And then, out of nowhere, you get a comment on said fic, despite it being months after it was posted, despite it being a ridiculously rare-rarepair, despite one half of the pairing not being on TV anymore, and it's a self-indulgent AU that you figured wouldn't appeal to most folks in the slightest, and then you realise that it's gotten a few more hits lately too and the comment is really nice and actually, this fic has more comments on it than a lot of your other stuff, and all of sudden, it's like...shit, maybe you should keep doing this?? Maybe you should just write the damn thing (when you can) and just have fun with it and who cares about the rest?

[clownfangs]

-

[toastsnaffler]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung