#enjoying tobacco

[ratwithhands]

Read right to left (Manga Formant) I actually have a lot more sketches of Kokushibo but this is only one that works without any context. I'll try to post more of him soon but I've somehow stuck myself into writing like 4 different AUs at the same time so it's gonna be slow 👁👁💦

Also bonus doodle from today:

[so-i-did-this-thing]

One of my cosplay traits - which extends to home decor - is to insert little details for whom I am the primary (if not only) audience, but nonetheless (I hope) inject a sense of authenticity into my projects, if not necessarily that of screen-accuracy.

And that is why an envelope of genuine business receipts from the 1940s recently arrived (Crow was very perplexed by the customs declaration), just so I could stuff one or two (which you can barely see in the back) into Siegfried's accounting system. 😅

Please take a look at the ones I did not use, some stellar ephemera here:

[heich0e]

Ooh will you pls walk us through your perfume/body wash/lotion collection?

fun fact i actually use gentle/unscented body products so all of my body wash/soaps/lotions/etc are not (or are negligibly) fragranced! my derm put the fear of god into me abt how it can irritate your skin, and since switching years ago i just haven't gone back! i like that it makes whatever fragrance i'm wearing smell cleaner and less muddied too. (my shampoo/conditioner/other hair product is fragranced so that still has a scent, so does my deodorant, and my laundry detergent. w that many scents happening on a regular basis i feel like there's rly no need for scented body cleansers imho.)

[preydefiler]

come smoke with me on my break <3

[unopenablebox]

i'm sorry but it's very funny to get mad that people are yelling at you for making a post actively socially shaming tumblr users for being too uncool to smoke, like you were trying to make the subject of those middle school dare PSAs real for the first time ever

[character-obsessed-fem]

what do we think of this one meeks fans...

(the picture on the left is the reference i used for the dress - i'm not sure if it's ACTUALLY 1920s fashion, if anyone can tell me what time it's actually from i'd appreciate it a lot :p)

[vvatchword]

Only Man: Bailout

It was six in the evening when Sinclair finally thought to grab a bite to eat. The press had been unusually delighted with him, swarming his workplace, his office, his walk to Point Prometheus. Worse than wading through a mud slick—and made him late to every single affair that demanded leaving the office.

“This is the second time you’ve paid Topside’s debt, and it was a real chunk of change,” said one journo. “Tell us, what brought about this kind of selfless behavior from one of Rapture’s greats?”

Sinclair dramatically dropped his jaw and scoffed.

“Why, how dare you, sir!” he said. “We may not have laws against libel down here, but…”

The crowd of journalists laughed.

“Don’t let it be said I did this for anything more selfish than a friend’s company,” Sinclair drawled. “Don’t tell me there isn’t some friend you wouldn’t bail out just for the pleasure of seeing them pleased.”

For sustenance that evening, he chose the Silver Fork, a five-star in Fort Frolic. The only other choice was Tate’s, and he wasn’t feeling that charitable.

He had only just sat down when he glanced up and saw Ryan striding toward him.

“Why, Andy Ryan!” Sinclair rose from his seat, eyes twinkling. “Fancy seeing you ’round these parts.”

They shook, but Ryan said nothing. All that spoke were his eyes.

“Won’t you sit down?” Sinclair asked, gesturing at the table. “I haven’t ordered yet.”

Ryan lowered to the booth opposite Sinclair, only looking down to find an ashtray.

“So, what brings you to this corner of the Fort?”

“You paid off Topside’s debt.” Ryan put his cigarette out. “Again.”

“Guilty as charged.” Sinclair settled back with his menu, legs crossed, one foot kicking.

“Sinclair.”

“M-hm.”

“What do you mean to prove with this Topside business?”

“Prove?” Sinclair lowered his menu, smiling. “Why, I just want to keep a good friend out of trouble, is all.”

Ryan’s expression rarely faltered; it did here. A faint flicker of disgust flashed across his face.

“He is a parasite.”

“He is a fool, and a very entertaining one at that,” Sinclair said. He turned to the waitress, who had just appeared. “I’ll take the Arcadia, red, 1953. Thanks, sugar.”

Ryan waved her away before speaking again.

“You can measure the greatness of a man by the company he keeps,” he said.

“So I hear,” Sinclair said.

“Does he value intellect? Ability? Art?” Ryan cocked his head. “Or is he a beast rutting in the field?”

Sinclair nodded. “Mm-hmm. Very true. How’s Ms. Jolene doin’, by the by?”

Ryan’s gaze snapped up. Sinclair smiled at him over the curl of his wrist. The silence between them stretched for an uncomfortable minute before Sinclair finally cleared his throat.

“Look, Andrew.” Sinclair dropped his foot and his smile, sat back, and gave him the most solemn, constipated look he possibly could. “The kid is harmless. And when I say ‘kid,’ I mean he’s a kid. He has no idea what he’s doing. He can’t do a thing to Rapture except make it laugh.”

“When he flaunts his freedom, the city does more than laugh,” Ryan said. “It sits up. It takes notice. And the darker elements…” He closed his eyes. “The darker elements cheer him on.”

“Who, Fontaine?”

Ryan’s eyes flashed open.

Sinclair chuckled. “Fontaine doesn’t laugh or cheer. At least, not conventionally. Now, he likes you pissed off—ah, if you’ll pardon the expression—but he doesn’t spend half as much time thinking about you as you do about him.” Sinclair pointed at him with his empty cigarette holder. “Look, Andrew, you’re lettin’ these nobodies eat you up from the inside out. And they’re nobodies, you get me? Nobody’s as big as you.”

“Fontaine is hardly a ‘nobody.’”

“All right, I’ll give you that. But Topside is.” Sinclair looked into his breast pocket, raised his brows, and tucked the empty holder into his mouth.

Ryan’s eye fell to his pocket, drifted up to his eyes. “You yourself, Sinclair… sometimes I wonder.”

Sinclair smiled. “About what?”

“Whose side you are really on.”

“Capital’s, naturally.” Sinclair shrugged. “Thought we came down here to avoid all that, ah… ‘side’ nonsense.”

“There have always been sides, Sinclair. There is the philosophy and there are parasites. There is the philosophy and there are those who make a mockery of it.” Ryan drew another cigarette from his pocket. Oxford brand. He had been their spokesman for a time.

“The philosophy is about the dollar, so I’m all about the philosophy,” Sinclair said. “Look, you have nothing to worry about with me, chief. I’m a sensible man. But I am just a man, with a man’s needs. Same as you’ve got, I reckon.” His accent turned dramatic, his smile sarcastic. “I’d like this boy’s friendship and I can’t have it when he’s dangling from a ceiling. If you take the trouble to paint him up into a bogeyman, well… I’ll just say it: that’s less about him and more about you.”

Ryan’s lip curled. “Are you saying I lie, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Oh, lord, no. Not you.”

“Then,” Ryan said, snapping his lighter, “who is the liar here?”

“If you want to find a liar, I’m sure you’ll find one,” Sinclair said. His own eyes had grown dark and shuttered. Ryan gazed upon the same cold and unreadable expression as his own. Neither man blinked. Their standoff was broken only when the waitress returned with a glass, sliding it in front of Sinclair. It was Sinclair who blinked first, turning with a light cough.

“Ah, thank you, honey,” Sinclair said. “You sure you don’t want a drink, Andy? I’m payin’.”

“No. Thank you.” Ryan waved the waitress away. “Tell me, Sinclair. How much of your money is wrapped up in Fontaine’s matters?”

“About the same amount as is wrapped up in yours,” Sinclair said. “Ask your friends at Mulligan’s. They give you that information already, I presume.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “You bought into Fontaine’s oxygen supply last I heard.”

“Oh, he’s gobblin’ things up right and left, chief!” Sinclair said, clapping himself on the chest. “And I’ve seen his delivery system. Just spectacular. Improves quality by every measurable standar…”

“Do you hear yourself?” Ryan asked.

Sinclair blinked. “Well, I’d hope so. I just put a helluva a lot of money in that thing.”

“Fontaine is taking the city.” Ryan said it to the table more than to Sinclair. He lifted his eyes. “And you are enabling him.”

For a moment, Sinclair was struck dumb. His eyes locked on Ryan’s, his mouth pursed up in what was trying to turn into a laugh.

“Pardon me?” he asked at last.

“Fontaine cares nothing for the philosophy,” Ryan said. “And he is poisoning this city one charity at a time. Surely you’ve seen it.”

“Andy, I must admit, I’m a mite confused,” Sinclair said, cocking his head. “Yes, he runs charities, but that’s his money. I’m not funding those. I’m funding the end to obesity and the latest synthetics for a pale complexion. Be reasonable, man. Ah, one second.”

Sinclair waved down his waitress, pointed at something on his menu, made a face, muttered something about the cook or the cut, and shooed her off.

“My apologies,” he said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t eat lunch. Are you sure you wouldn’t like…”

“Do you think he supports those wretches on his efforts alone?” Ryan asked.

“His money ain’t my money,” Sinclair said. “Once it passes hands it’s outta my control. I’m gettin’ what I asked for—the cure for, ah—cancer, baldness, even mortality—and a tidy profit on top all that—so why should I demand any more? Oh, I’ll say it, chief: this is unlike you. You gettin’ enough rest down there?”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Ryan asked softly. “Do you not see the city transforming beneath us? There could be no Lamb without Fontaine. There could be no Topside without Fontaine.”

“Andy, what the hell…”

“There could be no poorhouses, no orphanages, no bread lines. Already I see their little signs: ‘Ryan Does Not Own Us.’ For instead of raising themselves, they seek to degrade me. And if you believe they will stop with my head…”

“Let me stop you right there,” Sinclair said. “Now I read your essays on the philosophy. I even read your attempts at fiction, god bless your soul. And I’m tryin’ to think of a single instance where honest businessmen were cowing others into givin’ ’em more of a hand than they deserve. You should remember them, seein’ as you wrote it: those were the villains.”

“You accuse me of offering bribes?” Ryan spat.

“What do you mean by asking how much of my money goes into Fontaine’s coffers, then?” Sinclair asked. “Tell me, Andy—you’d rather I pour all my money into Arcadia? Well, Demeter’s been pushin’ 30% more O2 than Arcadia for the last six months. More O2, faster, with better CO2 scrubbers, better moisture entrapment and recycling—hell. You name it, they’ve built it. I’ve started running it through my Drop locations and it’s startin’ to look like air quality is better down with the homeless than it is up in Apollo. Look, I’d be a fool not to invest. Hell, you’d be a fool not to look into his tech.” He threw his arms open. “Why, I figured all this was the aim of the game. As I heard a wise man say once, ‘The strong will not be constrained by the weak.’”

Ryan sighed and rose slowly to his feet. “I understand your folly now, Augustus.”

“Oh, do tell,” Sinclair said, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and jamming it into his holder.

“You believe in the dollar and nothing else,” Ryan said. “Not human integrity; not the narrow path.”

“I don’t believe in metaphysics, it’s true,” said Sinclair, and snapped his lighter. “And I thought you were the same.” He blew out a stream of smoke.

Ryan laughed soundlessly, mouthed his cigarette.

“Someday, perhaps soon, there will be a reckoning,” he said. “I will be watching you, Sinclair.”

Sinclair cracked a smile, leaning back in his booth. “Hope you like what you see. But if you don’t, do feel free to stop by for a chat. You know my door is always open.”

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[kilianromero]

Chesterfield (1934)

[dykethevvitch]

golden birthday today! impulsively decided to go to a music show and I'm having a great time

[rosariesforfreaks]

ah i wish smoking felt as good as it once did

[costis]

Putting a cigarette in an incense holder and meditating with it

[gilssimo]

Miss Violet Winters:

Please do not re-post - I worked very hard on this - INSPIRATION: Porphyria's Lover Written by Robert Bowing

I remember the day I first met Miss Violet Winters. She sat precariously poised reading Poe’s ‘Raven’. Her full and luscious brown curls were pinned in perfectly place under her navy-blue headband. Her pale skin was an elegant backdrop for her thin, black glasses and full lips coated in a neutral soft pink hue. She wore a conservative navy skirt with a white blouse, both of which were a little too big for her. 

(trust it gets better ;)

Miss Winters was young, educated, and well-versed in society's mannerisms. She cooked with her mother every Sunday night while her father blew rings of tobacco and listened to Beethoven’s symphonies flow forth from the brass flower of the gramophone. 

She was elegant and natural, like a walking, talking porcelain doll that every man aspired to possess. 

Her home was a quaint slice of paradise with vibrant hydrangeas, roses, and other remarkable specimens that adorned the property. A wall of burnt orange maple trees bordered the heavenly scape. She would sit in the garden on her spotted picnic blanket and scribble her latest revelation in her leather notebook while I watched from the grazing fields next door. The sheep fed as the Loon and Woodland Thrush praised the sun's evening glow from the comforts of the lake and shaded pine trees of the cool Autumn’s eve. Between the hours of two and five, I could watch Miss Winters scribble down her thoughts and dream of the day she would be mine. 

During those heavenly hours, I fantasised about us as newlyweds that had moved into her parent’s cottage, sleeping in the same room and raising a family together. On weekends we would drive down to the beach with the children and spend our days rolling in sand and sunshine. 

Oh, how we were happy here. 

She was pure and innocent like a white rose among a world of thorns. Anyone who should dare touch her would only taint the eternal glow that brightened even the darkest places. 

I am her servant.

My heart has known no content for many years. Miss Winters is an unattainable object that only corrupt men would strive to attain. It sickens me how they would ruin her – God, how trapped and alone she would feel. 

***

It was a somber day. The incessant rain bombarded the ill-prepared earth, pouring down to the offbeat tune of booming thunder, merciless to the rage of the lightning. My hair stood at arms from the comfort of my pores, defending my skin against the harshness of the raspy air. Darting across the drenched dirt road, I stumbled through the public library arches and moved toward the front desk to return a book I had needed for school. 

The wind hollered and yowled in protest against the rain. Tucked away in the safety of the library catacombs' an ember gripped my bones, surrounding me in familiar warmth. Miss Winters was sitting with a sizable novel resting in her hand. The weather was harsh, yet she somehow looked more beautiful in the dull lighting.

My body was glued to the bookcases as I shuffled closer to her table. Words could not describe her beauty as she sat reading in the flame's feminine glow. 

My focus on her broke when a shaded figure approached her from the depths of the catacombs. Ayoung gentleman entered; the chesterfield coat and matching vest accentuated his tall frame, he had a leather briefcase, initialled J.S., was gripped in one hand while a spiffy top hat rested in the other. Something about how the band of the top hat complemented the gold pocket watch and made him look refined. His eyes appeared to be a cobalt blue, boarded by a pair of thin and rounded gold frames. He seemed elegant in his mannerisms, a kind soul that would make every woman's heart swoon. 

Looking back, I caught her glancing at her watch. In a poised manner, she began to gather her things, preparing to brace against the cold. I grasped my courage with both hands and stumbled toward her table, this was my chance to make myself known – to gain favor with her. I would finally get the chance to tell her how much I need her, how much I long to make her check blush under my burning kiss.

“Good evening, Miss Winters…” is what I would have said had he not greeted her while she put on her coat, preparing to brave the harsh elements.

No!

I will not. I can’t, she doesn’t know I’m here, she will leave me. No, not after everything I have been through. I’ll be damned if I go back to that retched farm alone. I need her. To feel her hair running through my fingers, her lips on my neck, her waist in my arms. She is to be mine; I have loved her more than time could allow. I want her - I need her. 

He would only ruin her. 

The thought of her with someone else, tainted by the world’s impurity broke my brain. My rose color glasses turned red as she walked out the door with him. 

Before I had known what I was doing my feet were moving faster than ever before, but before I could reach her, I was stopped by an unholy sight. This stranger had gently kissed her gloved knuckle and bid her goodnight, leaving her at the library’s doorstep – alone. 

No one could understand my pain; to watch her every day grow more elegant and purer. Miss Winters was a single white rose among a world of thorns.

hope you enjoyed - trying to figure out if I am any good - thanks guys 🥰😘

[nothingweirdhere]

i’ve been taking a bit of a break from vaping but i was bumming cigarettes (or taking drags off someone else’s) all night and fuuuuuuuck why is something so bad for you so goddamn good

[languagendersex]

hey fam. if you're having a bad day, listen to the 20 different covers of "colors of the wind" with me. i'm stoned and crying bc i love everything and everyone.

"you can own the earth and still all you'll own is earth until you can paint with all the colors of the wind"

i'm not crying you're crying

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things