#sorry :']]] ♡♡♡

[puphoods]

[willgraham-manwhore-moved]

Thinking of that chapter in Red Dragon where Hannibal writes Will a lil note after Will gets stabbed in the cheek. OOUGGGHH MY BOOKS WILL (I also think about you so much ❤️) aaach my books! What a little freak (lovingly)

[jung-koook]

jungkook showing and talking about some of his tattoos ♡

[11/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡

[zmbiesuga]

“Oh, you are nasty,” Iwaizumi almost seethes, his eyes following the condensation on the plastic bottle while it drips down the side, “grape flavored water?!”

His words catch you off guard, lowering the bottle with a confused look on your face before your eyebrows furrow together more, “Yes, Hajime, grape flavored water,” you respond with an eye roll, “is there a problem with me hydrating myself after our run?”

“You know there’s perfectly good, normal water in the fridge too, right?” he scoffs, he’s still in disbelief. And it’s not because you’re drinking flavored water, more so because of the flavor of water you chose.

Oh. Now you get it.

“I’m aware of that yes,” you hum, a shit eating grin beginning to form on your face, “but I’m also aware that there’s a whole pack of flavored waters that will be left untouched if I do not drink them, because you can’t help a good deal at the grocery store.”

“I would drink them if they were any other flavor!” he protested quickly with a slight pout of his own.

“Oh, you are such a liar,” you rebuttal quickly, “name one flavor you enjoy, because I can name about six right now that you don’t.” 

“I like…” he thinks for a moment, sucking on his teeth while he roams his brain for an answer, “...I, uh…blue raspberry."

You two have had this argument over and over again. Ever since you were teenagers, Iwaizumi has had a certain distaste for actual fruit flavored things. You’d think an athlete would actually prefer the artificial flavors that at least taste like healthy food, but no.

“Not a water flavor,” you hum cockily, crossing your arms over your chest, “and blue raspberry is nastier than grape by a mile.”

“You are a sick, twisted individual,” he scoffs, waving his finger at you in playful disappointment, “I am ashamed of myself for letting you get into my pants, let alone my heart for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh hush,” you hum amusedly, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck to pull his body flush against yours, “you said for better or for worse.”

“Mm, I also said in sickness and in health,” he responds with his own hum, his arms wrapping around your waist on instinct, “and you are definitely sick in the head for liking flavored water.”

His nose brushes against your own softly for a moment before he connects your lips with his in a tender kiss. A soft groan leaves his throat, unable to stop himself from running his hands along your sides as he deepens the kiss. Before he pulls away with an absolutely disgusted look on his face.

“What…?” you ask innocently through bated breath, with a soft giggle and smile.

“...You taste like grape.”

[sceletaflores]

all's fair in love and viscera...

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader wc: 6.7k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!

logan wants to spar...

You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.

It’s funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.

Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.

Logan's blood is something entirely different.

The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.

Logan’s blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.

It's like nothing you've ever encountered before—hot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.

You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.

Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal that’s deeply ingrained in his being.

The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.

Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.

You don't look at him, but you can feel his gaze—an intense, almost palpable thing.

“Figured you’d be down here,” Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.

You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you don’t want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.

You like Logan too much, more than you should.

Every time he’s near, you’re intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. It’s like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close. 

“Come on, kid. You can’t ignore me all night,” he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."

You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Logan’s standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

That smirk—it's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.

“Didn’t know you were the begging type.” Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.

Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.

Your form falters, just barely, but it’s enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.

You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.

“Trying to,” you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.

"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.

"It’s not my fault you’re here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.

"Looks to me like you’re always at your least chatty,” he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.

"It's late,” you reply tersely.

"Yeah," he says. "It is late."

The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.

"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.

“Yeah, well,” you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. “Some of us don’t need all the beauty sleep."

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."

You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“Babysit?” He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.

"What do you want, Logan?”

It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.

Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like it’s igniting the tension in your body, and Logan’s only making it worse the closer he gets.

He stops a little less than a foot away from you. It’s too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.

Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.

He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Logan’s already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.

You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."

Logan chuckles wryly, “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. It’s always the way he says it—rough around the edges but with a softness that’s almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.

"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.

You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."

You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.

"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.

That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension that’s been building since he walked in. You’re not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.

Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.

Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.

"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Logan’s eyes are locked on yours.

Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."

You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.

"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"

Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.

But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.

"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."

Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."

He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punches—left, right, left—each one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.

You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldn’t expect.

"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.

Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.

There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.

With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.

There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.

But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore. 

You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.

The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.

The scent of him—earthy, electric, and utterly intoxicating—growing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.

It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you don’t need to think—you just move, letting your instincts take over.

Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.

All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.

"Gotcha."

You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all really—but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

The whole room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Logan’s eyes, the heat of him against you.

Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.

For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.

Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.

Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.

The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.

You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.

Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.

"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."

It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.

Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.

Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.

You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.

Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.

But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse point—the touch sends a jolt through you, as if he’s touched a live wire.

“Don't,” he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. “Don't stop now."

Logan’s other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesn’t try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “I can take it. Give it to me.”

The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way he’s willingly surrendering to your control.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.

If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.

Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.

Logan’s breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.

Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.

The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.

Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Logan’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.

Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Logan’s eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.

In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Logan’s body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.

You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.

His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.

Logan’s breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.

None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between you—the way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.

You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.

"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head. 

Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. You’ve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.

You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.

"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.

"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.

It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.

He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.

"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to cross.

"I need you,” you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free “I need everything.”

Logan’s eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.

The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.

The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Logan’s groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

Logan is relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.

Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldn’t work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.

Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where they’re locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.

“Logan,” you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. “Could eat you all night.”

“Logan, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.

Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Logan, please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache that’s still throbbing deep inside you.

Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.

Logan’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.

“Still with me?” he asks, his voice is softer than before but there’s still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. “Yeah...I’m here.”

“Good,” he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure. 

It’s a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips. 

You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his back—needing to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way that’s as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You can’t help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. “Please, Logan,” you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. “Fuck me, I need it, please–.” 

He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. 

You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. “Yes, please, just—” Logan doesn’t let you finish. 

With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace. 

You don’t have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. It’s only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same. 

Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where you’re stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him. 

“You like that don’t you?” Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. “You like getting fucked like this, princess?” He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, “I can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it." 

He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, don’t you? Getting me all riled up like this."

You can’t respond, can’t speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.

The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Logan’s body.

The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.

“Fuck,” Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.

You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Logan’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.

"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.

He’s fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You can feel the way Logan’s cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know he’s close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.

You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger that’s almost feral. 

And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. It’s everything you’ve been craving, everything you’ve been trying to resist. And now that you’ve finally given in, it’s like a dam has broken inside you.

Logan’s growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. It’s so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips don’t slow, still pumping and fucking like he’s trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.

The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.

Logan’s hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like you’re floating through the air, completely weightless. 

You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Logan’s body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs. 

But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Logan’s eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.

There’s a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something else—something new and unspoken. You’re both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Finally, he reaches down slowly, like you’re a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.

“What do you feel,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.

The question catches you off guard. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation—a chance to confront whatever’s swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.

"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."

Logan’s eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. “That makes two of us.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023

day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4

[nottsangel]

definitely feel like art would be the kind of man to bring his hand to your mouth and cover it to keep you quiet whenever he’s fucking you somewhere in public… i need therapy gn

omg but imagine going lingerie shopping with art… he tries so hard to control himself, but how can he when you look so fucking good in all those pretty lingerie sets that hardly cover anything? he can feel his pants grow uncomfortably tight as he eagerly says yes to every set that you show him because yes, you do look very stunning in all of them, but at this point he’s just thinking with his dick, his rational thinking gradually fading away. with his head tilted slightly as he’s licking his lips, he’s nearly drooling at the sight of your tits sitting so perfectly in the red lace bra and the tiny underwear you’re wearing barely covering your ass.

“art? are you even listening?”

“oh, uh— sorry, baby, what were you saying?”

and not even five minutes later you’re facing yourself in the mirror with your hands pressed against the cold glass while art holds your hips in place as he steadily slams into you. it’s becoming harder and harder to be quiet as you bite your lip to stifle any noise but a loud moan that you desperately tried to suppress inevitably slips from your swollen lips. “baby, you really have to be quiet, okay?” art urges in a soft voice but he already brings his hand to your mouth, knowing that you won’t be able to keep silent anyway. you helplessly drool all over his hand, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of his fat cock brushes perfectly against all the right spots deep inside of you. “that’s it baby, that’s my good girl. god, look how pretty you are.”

ੈ♡˳

[i-write-sin-not-tragedy]

This is their dynamic. I take no criticisms.

This was created thanks to @tv-fucker ♡

(This is intended platonically for angel plz and ty)

[jkvjimin]

JIMIN & TAEHYUNG ↳ are you sure?! | episode 3 for @jung-koook ♡

[disgustinggf]

substance abuse? i could never i love substances

[kmpshitposter]

The lone wolf

[darby-rowe]

🗝₊˚⊹♡ — thinking of daughter of hephaestus!reader awkwardly trying to flirt with luke castellan

luke first approached you in need of a new sword after some child of ares completely shattered his old one.

at first, you were confused as to why luke chose you specifically. but after the initial confusion wore off, butterflies immediately flared up deep within your tummy when the realization hit. luke chose you.

of course, you tried to rationalize the decision. all the other hephaestus children who were on blacksmith duty clearly had busier workloads. you, on the other hand, had your schedule cleared.

but still... the way luke smiled so politely at you, spoke to you with a gentle respectfulness — you were almost convinced he was thinking of kissing you. almost.

usually, your clients would leave and come back when you were finished, but luke stayed and watched your every move. asking you questions, humming in agreement and nodding his head, keeping his eyes on you. the whole exchange had you on edge, but every time you cracked a joke and heard him laugh, your already tense muscles loosened up just a smidge.

luke watched in awe as you hammered the glowing metal into his desired shape. you made it look so easy, and you didn't even flinch when some of the sparks caught on your uniform.

"and this... doesn't hurt? like at all?" luke asked as you handled the metal forged from fire.

and all you could do was smirk at him, sweat appearing on your hairline. "not at all, pretty boy,"

you gulped as those words left your mouth, but luke didn't seem to mind as he let out a breathless chuckle and looked down and away. was he... blushing?

you took the nearly-finished piece and plunged it into the bucket of water sitting off to the side, hearing it sizzle and watching the water boil almost immediately.

"sounds like a benihana's!" you commented, voice raised over the sound of sizzling metal. your face burned as luke looked at you with confusion and your face fell. "you never... been to a benihana's before?" luke shook his head, and you wanted stick your head into the forging fires.

when you handed luke the finished product, his face immediately lit up. taking a step back, he began to test it out, and you watched with slightly parted lips as you took your front-row seat for luke's swordsmanship.

"this is incredible," luke said, genuinely. "thank you so much. you're a life-saver,"

before you could say anything else, luke was already off to who-knows-where, but not before he's stopped by a couple of aphrodite girls who began to ooh and ahh at his new toy. dressed in all pink, smelling like luxury and springtime.

you pressed your lips together tightly before forcing yourself to swallow down the lump in your throat.

no time to feel like shit about yourself. you have to get back to work.

series masterlist.

[linolinoing]

♬ king gnu — don't stop the clocks ♬

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

man wears a coca cola shirt ONCE and look what happens

[pwinkprincess]

hai! your toji fics are SO SO good! i was wondering if you could write toji with a size and/or corruption kink and shy reader? like she covers up her face and can barely make eye contact without blushing

/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ ˎˊ˗ theyre roleplayin toji bein her dads bsf ! jus wanna add that so it makes sense ^_^

you felt so so dirty. especially with a guy that’s years older than you having his rough hands wrapped around your neck while his cock bullies its way inside your dripping pussy. everything felt so deliciously wrong. he’s so strong, he’s easily pushing your body deeper into the couch cushions while he practically lays on top of you and pounds your pussy. the couch shuffles and creaks with every movement, and for a brief moment you wonder if it’s going to break. 

you let out a loud moan when he hits a spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. you wish you could hold him, grab him, something一anything. your movement is limited due to him having both of your wrists pinned to your back. he only uses one hand to keep your limbs restricted, a subtle reminder of how much bigger he is than you.

“t-toji! t-this is so nasty! ah!” you dramatically kick your feet against the couch. you pretend to put up a fight, trying your ‘best’ to scramble away.

“i see the way ya’ look at me when he’s not lookin’.” toji chuckles in your ear. the tip of his tongue darts out to trace the outline of your ear. your body shivers under his, your stomach’s clenching and you can’t help but to swallow your spit roughly. “‘s okay. ‘mma give it t’you.” he continues his teasing while plummeting into you.

you can only whine at his words. you feel so small under his muscular body, and with him restricting you, the feeling grows tenfold. his hips smack against the fat of your ass while his thick dick throbs inside of your sensitive walls. 

you push your own face into the cushions. everything felt so overwhelming. he’s the biggest you’ve had, ever. and for someone so strong and big to be on top of you dominating and degrading every inch of your body felt good.

“nooo, sir. d-dunno what you’re t-talkin’ ‘bout.” your words are muffled and slurred. toji can barely hear you from the sound of your skin slapping together.

he frowns to himself before he’s suddenly sliding his lubed dick from inside your dripping pussy. you’re quick to look back at him with a pout on your lips. usually, you would’ve been grateful for the small break toji provided but it was just getting good.

“tojiiii.” you drag his name. “f-felt so good. why-why'd you stop?” you say while sitting up from your previous position. you're embarrassed to admit that him even though he's your source of pleasure.

“can’t fuckin一”he cuts himself off by sighing. he runs his fingers through the strands of hair that stuck to his forehead from sweat. he looks down at you, you’re sitting so pretty and pliant with that adorable pout on your glossy lips. “stand up.” he tells you.

with a curious glance thrown his way, you stand up. “what are you doi一eek!” you squeal when he suddenly grabs you. he turns your back to his chest, and with a forceful hand, he presses down on your mid back, forcing an arch into your back. you can barely breathe when he slips his cock back inside you. he grabs your arms and pin them behind your back, you feel absolutely dizzy from how fast he switched positions.

“feel good?” he asks while slowly rocking his hips into you.

“mhmm!” you hum. your hum grows louder as he takes your confirmation as approval to speed up his movements. you grow more vocal as he pounds into your pussy, your body shakes with how hard he connects with you. all you can think about is how full you are.

he uses your pinned arms as leverage to make sure you don’t fall forward. “shit.” he mumbles to himself. the new position has him digging deeper into your walls, he’s so deep that it almost hurts.

you’re not sure if you’re moaning or screaming, maybe even both. your brain is officially jumbled as he fucks into you like he hates you.

“yeah, cum for me, girl. hurry before your daddy comes back.” he slaps your ass a few times as his voice drops.

 you can only let out something incoherent as you try to focus on taking his rough thrusts, and breathing.

[satrs]

Fever.

✎ A/N; BACK FROM DA DEAD!!! (I'm sorry y'all, was busy afff these past months have been toughhhh ;( Happy to be back tho!! <3)

☓ SYNOPSIS; You're camping deep out in the woods with a group of friends? Didn't you hear the news about the madman running around town?

☓ TAGS; ADULT CONTENT (18+). MDNI. NSFW CONTENT. implied Noncon(?). unprotected intercourse(sorry). threats. petnames (doll, pretty). gunplay. slighttt yandere toji. breeding kink(?). dirtytalk. just, crazy stuff, ya.

☓ FEATURING; Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader

☓ WK; 4.1k

Shit!

No literally. You stepped on it again. Shit. God, these annoying branches are all up in your face and oh my God, was that a bug on your shoulder just now?

Shit. Shitshitshit.

That's how the whole day will presumably work out.

Why did you agree on this again?

Maybe, the peer pressure was just too much and honestly, at first, the trip sounded fun. Until you woke up to the new talk around town - some psycho was out on the loose, roaming around town. What did he do? A Bank robery maybe? Or Murder?

Regardless on what crimes he carried on his back, the chilling headlines on the news kept you up at night, debating on wheter you should go on this trip or not. In the end, you felt bad to cancel at short notice. So, you pulled yourself together and, despite everything, went.

"What kind of shitty shortcut is this? We've been walking here for ages and there is no camp in sight," You snap, hands braced infront of your face to protect it from any obstacles on your way, while carefully stepping around any alarming hindrence on the sully ground, "just shit."

You sigh at the returned silence, boots stomping into the oozy mud as you stare daggers into their backs.

"C'mon, we're almost there. Don't be such a crybaby."

You scoff, offended, stopping in your tracks, earning the attention from the three figures infront of you. "What does this shitshow got to do with me being a crybaby?" Your hands wirl around the darkening area, highlighting your surroundings. "We're in the middle of a damn forest, the sun is setting and we didn't even reach the camp yet." You let out a breath the the three pairs of eyes on you, wiping the dirt of your face before you continue. "Plus, You know we're three girls and one goose, alone in the forest, with some sick fuck around here somewhere, right?"

"That goose you're talking about is your friends boyfriend. Also, that psycho can have nothing on you all when I'm here." You cringe at his remark, setting rythm into your steps to move forward, rushing past the group to reach the campsite swiftly.

Paying the calls from your aquaitances no mind, you move on forward, stumbling over some outgrown tree roots, cursing under your breath. "For fuck's sake", you curse, hands gripping the backpack hung over your shoulder to hunch your back over and pull it up to ease your hike.

The path got rockier and steeper and with each step you took, you wished you just stayed at home. Your head is hung low, heavy breaths escaping your mouth.

You soon lift your head at the shadow forming infront of you, eyes scrunching to deciver the words written on the broad wooden sign mere meters away from you-

'Sunshine campsite'

Finally, salvation. Sighing in relief you gather your last strength to step into the area, quick to seat yourself on an empty wooden bank next to some tents. Your friends hot behind your trail, following suit.

"See? Wasn't that bad now was it?" one of your friends comment, earning a sharp glare to the side, causing the group to laugh in union.

It didn't take long for you to settle in, making aquaintances with the few other campers around and even managing to set up your tents before the sun finally sets.

You come back to the gathered group after a quick shower in the communal bathrooms near the receiptional office, streching while scanning the area for your friends, one of them steps into view, and their pleading look does not go unnoticed by you.

"Alright! tents are up and ready! Who's gonna get the wood for the campfire?" You could already feel all eyes on you, groaning in annoyance as you stomp off into the darkness, careful to still be in sight of your friends.

"Bullshit", you mumble, bending over to grasp some suitable branches in your arms. "We could just get in our tents and get a fucking rest, but no, we gotta have a campfire."

Despite your warnings that the fire could get out of control or worse, catch the attention of unwanted guest, your friends still insisted on having a cozy chit-chat by the campfire.

Lost in your thoughts you unconciously trail off the path from the campsite, finding yourself in a darker part of the woods, infact, darker than you anticipated.

At a sudden breeze of air your instincts kick in, body stiff as you examine the area for any danger, beathing quickening as you imagine every possible outcome of the situation.

This could be the perpetrator from the news, probably a killer, targeting you as his new victim. Or it's just a sudden hit of fresh air, happening to brush past you in a whiff, the most plausible explanaiton.

"Need a hand?"

Your eyes widden at the man infront of you, sharp eyes inspecting your form. He was tall, almost hunching over you, his broad shoulders nearly blocking your view completely.

"G-god, fuck" Perplexed, you jump back in terror, heart racing in your chest as all the materials you gathered fall from your hold, right before the feet of the intimidating man.

"Relax, doll. M' new 'round here too. Preparing to roast some marshmellows, huh?" he says in a low tone and you could've sworn you saw him somewhere before.

Not letting your guard down you fixate your eyes on his every move. You notice his face as he steps into the moonlight, a clear scar accomodating his grin, adding to his terrifiying nature. His hair black as the night, rich emerald hues sharply slit in concentration, with his muscular build and aura screaming danger.

Even though he seems nice, bending down to reach for your fallen branches, even offering to carry it to the campsite for you, everything inside of you screams for you to just run.

Even though chilling, he's handsome in his own way. If you met under different circumstances, you for sure would concider him an eyecandy.

"Still iffy bout me aren't ya?" his snicker is oddly soft, almost comforting of some sorts, causing you to slightly let your guard down.

"Can't blame ya with that killer 'round these parts." Your hesistant, reaching for some smaller branches on the ground, eyes still focused on the raven haired. "Killer?", you question, fear spreading throughout your body. So your suspicions were right. He's a murderer.

The stranger clicks his tongue, nodding as he proceeds to head back to the campsite. "Yeah." He breathes out. You follow behind him, intruigued as you await for him to continue. "Heard he killed a bunch of people."

"Like, an assasin?" you question, failing to notice the sly smirk on his face, showcasting his sharp canines. "I guess."

It didn't take long for you to reach the fireplace surrounded by your friends. They notice the stranger right away, throwing any suspicious thought away once they see the both of you interacting in a casual manner.

"Is that her boyfriend?" she cuts her lovers thought off, scoffing, "No way, she's been single. He's probably got a tent here somewhere. Think I saw him earlier." They nod in agreement, quick to greet the both of you as you explain how you met the man you didn't even know the name of.

"M' Toji." He introduces himself, "Saw the pretty one all by herself picking up wood. Thought I'd lend her a hand." Flustered by his compliment you lightly cage your lower lip between your teeth.

"Nice to meet you, Toji." A light giggle escapes you at his infatuated look, "I'm Y/N."

Lip wiping over his lips, he nods, grin still prominent on his lips. "My pleasure, Y/N."

Maybe this whole trip wasn't such a bad idea at all.

"Wanna stay with us?", one of them suggested, causing you to scold them in embarassment. He hums in thought, placing the wood into the pit. "Ya got any beer?"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Damn, didn't have one of these in a while." He gulps down the last bit of liquid in the bottle, finishing his second bottle.

You chuckle, a small blanket spread over the both of you. The others already bid you both goodnight, exhaustion of the day having a toll on them, the fire lowly dying down, offering a comforting feeling.

You find yourself in a nice conversation with the raven-haired male, growing more attracted to him by each minute passing. Your thighs touch each other, and he pauses, seductive eyes scanning your body for further action.

And you do just that, earning a whistle as you swing on his lap, shutting him up with your lips against his. His hands find comfort on your hips as you grind them down his growing bulge, earning an amused hum from the stranger.

Even though this is unlike you, so what? Why not just make the best out of this shitty day and might as well end it with a bang? There is not much that could go wrong, except for a killer turning up, that is.

In a bold action, your hands began to roam down his defined chest before his hand firmly gripped yours as you reached the waistband of his trousers, catching you off guard.

"What if I'm the killer?"

You pause, confused by his question. Eyes crinkling as you let off a nervous laugh, playing into his 'joke'.

"Well, would you kill me?", you tease, his apparent grin turning your stomach in unease. Great, you found yourself a jokster.

His hand caresses your hip in thought. "Dunno," he answers, both hands back on your hips as he presses you further down on his bulge. "Depends."

You chuckle, your hand sneaking past the waistband as you grip onto what seemed to be the raging hard on, your puzzled expression causing him to let out a snicker. "And? Cupped a feel?"

You freeze as your fingertips reach the barrel of what seemed like a gun, heart racing. Your brain reacts faster than your body, urging you to break free of his hold and run to the emergency hut as fast as you can, but he beats you to it.

In a blink of an eye, you wince as your back comes into contact with the harsh ground.

Scream. Scream! Do something!

"Shhh, shhhh", something cold is pressed up against your temple, a tear threatening to fall from your eye as you realize the gun to your head, "Don't wanna wake ya friends, do we?"

You panic, his crazed grin pushing you further down the hole of despair, until he pushes the barrel against your head in a warning. "Do we?"

You nod hesitantly and slap yourself mentally. You should've known it from the start. Toji. Toji Fushiguro, infamous assassin. The crazed man on the run from police wanted. The man who's all over the news is now in front of you- or, rather, on top of you.

"Should'a kept ya hands ta yer self, pretty." he snickers, urging you to get up while his hand firmly holds your hip, leading you away from the tents, right into the small wooden hut.

"Please", you try to reason, your breath turning irregular as you press yourself into a corner, eyeing the threatening device in the assassin's hand. "I- I won't rat you out or anything, just," he watches in amusement as you try to talk yourself out of the situation. "Please. Don't kill me." You whisper with your eyes screwed shut, almost wincing at the sound of him approaching you further.

He's dead silent, empty hand reaching up to caress your collarbone, dark emerald orbs soaking in your form. "Kill? You?"

You flinch at his chuckle. "Ya think I did all this shit just ta kill you?" His deep voice lets your hair stand up straight.

You gulp, eyes wavering between him and the gun handing low in his hand. "I want the same thing you do. Ya jus' happened to stumble upon this good ol' thing here." He waves the gun up in front of your face as you stare at him, speechless.

"Oh? Did I ruin the mood?", he humored, biting back his laugh once your eyes snap at the gun heavy in his hand.

You muster up the courage to look up at him, only for his shark eyes to stare directly back down at you, trapping you in his hold, one leg finding its way between your legs.

"What'cha want, woman?" His voice is low. Dangerously so, even, hungry eyes preying on you. "Piss the fuck off", he spits, head poking in the direction of the door. "Orrr", voice inked in amusement, "see what ya would miss out on."

A ton of emotions wander through your body at the moment - fight or flight? Submit? What to do?

His leg inches up further, adding slight pressure to your clit as you contain a moan between bitten lips. Fuck it.

Was there really anything but your life to lose? And if you were going to end up dead, you might as well make the most out of it.

Doe-like eyes staring up at the criminally handsome man, catching his gaze as you search for something—anything in those dark, mysterious hues, intrigued by his offer.

"Aaatta girl", he grins once you ease your composure, bulky arms quick to lift you up, causing you to instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, hands dapped around his neck as you gaze at him in a daze, admiring his handsome features up close. Could a man this handsome really be a killer?

He looks around, eyes squinted, to scan around the dark sector until he spots the table in the middle of the small space, pushing off the phone in a hurry to make room before carefully placing you on your back.

"Beautiful", he breathes out, admiring your figure through the rays of moonlight that shine through the window, emerald orbs lusting over your exposed skin, shirt slightly rode up and shorts exposing your plush thighs.

He quickly positions himself between them, mouth attacking your neck with love bites as his hips roll into your heat impatiently, earning a whine from you.

You let out a cry once his hands roughly fondled your tits, action showing clear desperation. And by his almost animalistic growl against your neck once you free his hard dick from his trousers, you can tell that he indeed didn't feel the touch of a woman in a long time.

Suddenly your mind clouds with lust, eager to show this man—this - this criminal who's above you, rutting his hips into your clothed heat, what he missed out on during his incarceration.

"Fuck, doll", he hisses, cock head caught against your clothed pussy. Slim hands find their way around his neck while your legs firmly lock him in between your legs.

More, more, more. You have to feel him right now, or you might faint from the lustful smoke clouding your mind.

Desperate movements of your hips erect a low growl from the man, his green orbs snapping down to the moist stain on your shorts, eyes slitting as a fat grin spreads across his face.

"Sweet little cunny of yours needs some tough love, huh?" Quick hands find their way to his pants, swiftly pulling out his painfully hard cock, small huffs eliciting from his lips as he gives his length a few pumps, before snap!

His rough hand tear your shorts alongside your panties to the side, impatient to get a good look at your drenched pussy. And he sure does, catching your glistering heat all ready for him, clenching around nothing as if begging him to fill you up with his ridiculously fat cock.

You nod, an embarrassing whine escaping from your lips. All hot and bothered, you wiggle in his hold in an attempt to at least feel his raw length against your exposed folds. He caught onto your antics, pushing his fat tip through your puffy folds, causing your breathing to pick up. "Yeahhh? Want me to fill your lonely cunt up, hm?"

Head turning to the side in embarrassment, you mumble out a weak 'yes' as you buck your hips up, longing for his touch. He only barks out a laugh, slapping his head against your pussy before smearing his pre-cum all over your wet pussy in a mocking manner, grin never wavering as his sharp eyes lock with yours. "What's the magic word?"

You whine once his thick mushroom head nudges at the hood of your clit, shaking your head from side to side and puffing quick breaths as your hands dig into his shoulders.

It's been a while since you had some fun, sex at that. All the guys just seemed so dull and full of empty promises. But then why do you seem to put your trust in this stranger?

Toji, a man who you shouldn't even think of associating yourself with, now a small inch away from burying himself into you, literally.

"P-please, Toji. Wan' you to f-fuck me," you state, shame and guilt consuming you because, why the hell are you doing something so iniquitous with a convicted criminal?

But all doubt disappears from your mind once his cock teases your entrance, pushing past your damp folds painfully slow. The air trapped in your lungs with your stomach sucked in, you squeeze your eyes together, trying to accommodate the almost uncomfortable but nostalgic stretch.

"Thaaaat's it", he breathes out, thumb flicking your clit to ease your pain, hushing your worries away, "taking me so well, doll. Almost there."

His head falls in the crock of your neck as he bottoms out, rough fingers gripping the fat of your hips, his sounds muffled by your soft skin.

He pushes his hips back before picking up a steady pace, pushing the air out of your lungs with each snap of his hips, bulling his cock deeper and deeper into you.

This is so damn wrong, but he also felt so damn good inside of you. Reaching your sweet spot by simply bottoming out must be the crime for which he'd be found guilty tonight.

With your legs sprawled out for him, he increases the rhythm of his hips, grin growing broader with each whine he robs from your lips.

Not trying to displease him, you try your utmost best to keep your sounds in, but it was hard to do so with your hands pinned over your head and his prominent veins grazing your walls, leaving you breathless.

"Never told ya to shut up, doll", he teased, one hand pinching your clit, earning a yelp from you. "jus' need to keep it down, yeah? Or I'll have ta stop." The man only snickers at your pleading whimper, hips bucking up into his at his slowing pace, begging him to keep going.

Amused, his grin widens threateningly, bulky hands hushing their way to the soft flesh of your tits, twisting your nipple between his digits. "That's more like it."

Longing desire washing over him, he can't help but hunch over to cage your swollen bud between his lips, eyes sensually rolling to the back of his head. Fuck, he can't even remember when he last had such mind-numbing pussy like yours, sucking him in such a greedy manner, making the sole movement of his hips a challenge to overcome.

Groaning at the mean chokehold you have him in, his movement stutters as he curses under his breath. "C'mon, don't give up on me now, pretty." Trying to mask his crumbling facade, so close to succumbing to his ecstatic end himself by smacking his palm against your poor abused clit.

There's no way he could just let you go after this, not because you recognized him as a wanted assassin, no, it's because of that dangerous, dangerous pussy of yours, that could have anyone whipped in an instant, just like it did to him.

You'll need a big, strong man like him to protect you from this evil and corrupt world, right?

"Toj- nghhh, Tojiiii-!", you hiccup in between his harsh, almost punishing thrusts, his tip prodding at your womb, causing you to feel lightheaded.

"Yeahhh? Fellin' good?" You nod eagerly, locking your legs around his muscular waist with hard, tension arising in your lower tummy.

Amused by your contorted faces, his predator-like eyes never leave your form, making sure to inspect your reaction with each push of his hip and each tasing touch of his hands to get out of you.

"M-mhmmm, fuck!", you mumble under your breath, eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the intense feeling of his veins grazing against your walls and the harsh jolts of your body against the dark wooden table, creating a faint creaking noise.

"So pretty, such a pretty lil' pussy ya have on ya-fuck!", He's rambling at this point, eager to see you coming undone beneath him, see your face twist into the cutest expressions he's ever seen, and swallowing your precious whines and wails about how it just felt, "Good, s-so good!"

And he gets to witness just that, once your pussy clamps down on him with one last thrust of his, back arching off the wood as you sob and weep from the intense wave hitting you in an instant.

He may or may not have lost his sanity at this point or somewhere before, but he couldn't care less as his lips attacked yours like a hungry animal, a deep growl escaping him as he felt his balls tightening, shooting out his thick, white juices deep inside your cunt.

He braces himself as his orgasm hit him harder that expected, years of pent up frustration being washed away by your comforting snug tunnel. "Take it, doll, fuckkk! Greedy pussy of yours gonna be the death of me."

You shriek, feeling thick spurts of his white fluid mixing with your juices, even leaking from your aching hole once his thick shaft abandons your weak hole, glistering mix of your juices dripping on the dark wood.

"Chop chop, time for our second date, doncha think, pretty?", he muses, a low, dark chuckle following suit. Before you can even react or calm down from the blissful orgasm, he covers up the mess between your legs, adding a playful smack to your clothed heat for good messure and lifts you up into his arms like a groom would his bride, swiftly stepping out into the cold wild.

Terrified but also fascinated, you gaze up at him, inspecting the heavy scar adoring the side of his lip, trying your hardest not to lift your fingers to trace along it.

You're quick to snap out of it once you hear what seems to be a car door swing open before you find yourself on the man's lap in the driver's seat.

Perplexed and confused, everything around you seems to be completely still once you find his eyes back on yours, the cold barrel of his gun visible in your peripheral.

"If ya keep up the good girl act, I'll eat ya pussy up, how does that sound?" Your eyes widen at his blunt statement, embarrassment washing over your body because, if you were being honest, the idea doesn't sound that bad at all.

"Aight", with one quick tap to your behind with the barrel of his gun, he urges you to hurry into the passenger's seat, "let's get movin', doll."

He closes the door behind him, starting the engine with one hand while the other taps the gun on the rear.

You gulp at the sick feeling inside your tummy, but you don't know if it was his cum seeping out of your hole, or if realization finally hit you.

You're in a vehicle, stolen by an assassin who just so happens to have a soft spot for you. But who knows how long that infatuation of his will hold on?

Heart beating rapidly in your chest, you feel a shudder crawling down your spine once the car sets in motion, clueless to where you two were headed.

As the possibilities rush through your mind, your gaze flickers between the road and Toji, and you don't know if you're more scared of his intentions or his reckless driving.

Will he kill you? No, of course not. The fun has just started. He himself is curious about what you might do. A smirk creeps up his lips at the mere thought of spending more time with such a pretty thing as yourself. How amusing.

"Awww, baby. Don't sulk like that", he reaches his gun over to brush a strand behind your ear, clearly in a mocking manner, startling you from your racing train of thought,

"We're goin ta have a whole lotta fun together."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

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