#i will be feral until may

[wallflowers-garden]

thrawn fans, how are we feeling on this magical day

[deus-and-the-machina]

you know the contrast between how Vergil is presented vs thinking too hard about Vergil’s story is pretty funny. Man’s reputation is this iconic badass, the pinnacle of what video game rivalries can be, the coolest guy to play as, the guy who breaks every game he’s added to,

and then you go to the story and like. man’s lost his free will and autonomy at 19 and then came back a fractured man half of which was a lovecraftian eye beast the other half of which was a chronically ill goth man. and then he reunites and hes in like his 40s now I believe but legit the last time he was actually in a game where he wasn’t being mind controlled when he was 19 which is both sad but also thinking about how this guy who’s considered one of the top badasses of gaming has never really lived life outside of being a teenager.

Anyways this is the secret comedic potential of post DMC5 for Vergil because not only has the human world probably changed a fair bit in terms of technology, if he’s sticking around Dante he’s gonna actually have to learn in depth how taxes and grocery shopping work. Amazing.

[causenessus]

feeling like tumblr is a job BUT IN A GOOD WAY like i sign on after my actual job onto my work (tumblr haikyuu smau writer hobby) computer (my home computer on it's last dying breath) to answer emails (reblog all of my moot's wonderful works) and write up reports (my own chapters LMAO)

[fluffypotatey]

I have been thinking about down bad Wukong and Macaque, and I don’t know. I got to get this out of my head.

When they were young Macaque had shown to be quiet (whether from shyness or being a big introvert who knows), as shown with the brotherhood. Or that he wasn’t big on relationships or expressing his feelings. Which makes me believe when Macaque was young and gotten feelings for Wukong, he hid his down badness/feelings. He would still show them but in quiet little ways that might be missed, like making sure FFM is stocked with peaches or make sure if Wukong really wants to do something if not find a way for Wukong or both of them to bail. The older Macaque, or the Macaque now, is much more open and into relationships, as well as a bit more expressive than his younger self. Meaning when his and Wukong relationship starts getting better again, he doesn’t really try to hide his down bad behavior (unless someone is there with them, but even then it’s obvious and he’s not putting a lot of effort into hiding it). Even if their relationship doesn’t improve much, he probably not going to hide his down bad behavior. He’s just going to throw a punch in their to show that they are not friends, and he still haven’t fully forgiven or moved on from Wukong killing him.

For Wukong’s down badness it’s the opposite of Macaque’s. Young Wukong was loud and proud of it. Macaque feeling hungry? Wukong go to opposite side of FFM because Macaque’s favorite food is there, and bring it to him. Macaque is feeling cold or lonely? It’s cuddle time, we’ll worry about the fact we’re doing this on a pathway later. Young Wukong would go so far to show his down bad behavior, that he will tell Macaque ‘love you’ as he leaves the room regardless of who’s in there. And that’s before kind of before he realizes he has feelings for Macaque (and probably before forming the brotherhood. (The down bad behavior also got worse during the brotherhood)). During JTTW happens Wukong has the realization that he could tone it down and still show he’s down bad/have feelings or care about/for Macaque/someone in more quiet, meaningful ways. Which makes older/current Wukong be a bit quieter and not that expressive as his younger self (it’s the exact same but he’s not going to do big grand gestures nor do it every hour of the day). When Macaque and Wukong relationship improves, Wukong would show his down bad behavior in subtler ways. Like if he’s sees Macaque sleeping in a tree, Wukong would make sure he’s comfortable and maybe lay a blanket on him. Or when Macaque gets into fights/battles Wukong would make sure he’s okay and treat any injuries he could at that moment. If his and Macaque relationship had not improved, then he would be even more subtle about it that not a lot of people would notice. Even Macaque wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t think about their recent interaction deeply. That makes him wonder if Wukong had changed or it’s just the same old Wukong.

This was longer than I was expecting. Hope you enjoy reading it, or the ideas.

i did enjoy reading it, thank you anon 🥰💖💖

also, this is just me, but i like to think that Macky isn’t aware of how obvious he is showing it. he is more open to the idea of relationships (mostly platonic ones thanks to MK), but actually identifying that what he is doing is him showing affection? he would probably blame it on trying to stay civil. maybe he is more aware that his feelings never truly faded away, but Macoddle is unaware of how down bad his condition is

meanwhile, Wukong wasn’t aware in the past but now is fully aware of it. or at least recognizes what his behavior means quickly. and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. he wants them to make this new acquaintanceship/ally-ship work. so he takes note quietly and shows it subtly in a way he hopes respects Macorís’ boundaries

[kirby-the-gorb]

[josephslittledeputy]

WIP... Oh shit, its actually Wednesday??

Tagged by @wrathfulrook @clicheantagonist @marivenah @cassietrn @the-silver-chronicles @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and I thiiiiink that's it... sorry if you've tagged me & you're not on here, its been a hot minute since I've posted a wip wednesday & my memory is basically Swiss cheese

Tagging anyone who wants to self indulgently share a WIP! Feel free to tag me, I love to read new stuff :)

**Also terribly sorry in advance cause this turned out to be a bit longer than I thought it would be**

WIP 1: OG Verse - fun times with Celeste & Gabriel

He has to resist the urge to throttle her, lest he ruin the inside of his house filled with years of carefully handpicked items, ones he held a certain fondness for. "You ruined my life, Celeste. Or do you not recall?” "Your life?" She tilts her head in mock curiosity. "What life? The one where you were sent anywhere they told you to go, like some mongrel with a barely slackened leash?" “Excuse me?" “We can pretend otherwise. Keep up the illusion that your life was marvelous, picture perfect even. But we both know the truth, don't we?" She takes a step closer. “You were nothing but the High Council’s defanged pup. Cluelessly doing their bidding before I freed you. If anything, you should be thanking me." "Thanking you?" He clenches and unclenches his fist in an attempt to suppress his anger. "Hate me if you must, fight me even, but do it later. Right now we must get out of here. If they do not know where I am yet, they soon will. What do you think will happen once they realize one of their precious dhamphirs has been under their nose this whole time?"

Celeste truly is the nicest individual you'll ever meet :))

Including this little snippet from Gabriel's pov as well cause idk, I just really like it

Unbidden worry strikes him. He listens, waits, and when his ears pick up the sound of soft, even breathing he lets out a breath of his own. Celeste and the baby were still there, unharmed, perhaps even sleeping. It brings an odd sense of comfort, reminiscent of times long forgotten, times he didn’t want to remember. If he did, he’d have to remember what brought them to a halt in the first place and he had a job to do. Grief and old wounds had no place here, at least not at the moment. Kicking his boots off, he treks into the bathroom and gently closes the door behind him. It’s a simple design: Shower to his left, toilet to his right, and a sink with a mirror above it directly across from the door. Leaning against the sink, he ruffles his short, black hair that's shaved on the sides and traces his fingers over an old, faded scar. It runs down almost the whole length of his face, going over his left eye and stopping just shy of the corner of his mouth. Overlapping it is another, only this one goes across his face horizontally, over the bridge of his nose and from cheek to cheek. The only thing that remains of the old Gabriel are his blue eyes, once full of life and mischief, now faded and dull. Turning away from his visage, he heads toward the shower and turns it on, stripping down while he waits for the water to heat up. He doesn’t need a mirror to see the multitude of scars and tattoos that adorn his body. Aching for another drink—if only to dull his senses and lingering memories once more—he curbs the yearning and steps beneath the water.

WIP 2: They Watch From The Pews

Willa squirms, trying to dodge cold fingers that reach out to trace over the letters, caressing them with a sadistic fascination that makes her stomach curdle in disgust. Disgust quickly transforms into a desperation to get away once he finally reveals the knife kept hidden behind his back. “Usually I’d peel the sin off but… I think this will suit you much better, don't you?" Pressing the tip of his blade into her skin, he teasingly drags it across her skin. "Tell me, Deputy, how did you feel when you got the news of Samuel's death?" "Chipper." She spitefully answers with a sneer. John heaves a dramatic sigh and presses the blade down harder, prompting tiny beads of blood to bubble up as he traces over the letters of her tattoo. "You can make this easier for yourself, you know." "I've heard that before. Got me a bullet to the leg." "Because you ran. My men only acted accordingly." "Fuck you and your men, pussy." "My, what a mouth on you." He tuts and makes a deeper cut. Her teeth sink into the leather in her mouth, denying him the satisfaction of hearing her make a noise. Without pause, he moves onto the second letter, brows scrunched up in concentration as he goes over the lines again and again. It isn’t until he’s on the last letter that she finally breaks with a muffled groan. He stops, lifting his eyes from his work. “Comfortable?”

John & Willa are bonding so well. Truly, I think they're starting to get along!

[mutalune]

me when people hate on aos trek:

[thatdeadaquarius]

THE TAG ABOUT ABYSS GOD?? I'D READ IT!! <3

AHFALALODHAAKLL FOAMING AT TEHMOUTFH SOMEONESAASKEDDDD HSAJDOFJSJAHSHSB!!!!! THANKS YOSUFORASKING

ME: going feral and losing my goddam mind over my Genshin Fill-in Lore / God Reader AU

My Followers (wow!!): confused, afraid, watching me spiral into insanity and niche nonsense-

ANON, IM SO SORRY BUT IM GONNA MAKE THIS SHIT A SEPERATE POST BC ITS JUST TOO BIG TO CONTAIN IN ONE ASK I FEEL LIKE

LIKE IT NEEDS ITS OWN POST, PLUS THAT WAY U CAN CHOOSE TO CLICK AWAY IF ITS NOT WHAT U EXPECTED/GET SMTH DISAPPOINTING AS AN ANSWER TO UR ASK

I WOULD TAG U BUT UR ANON, SO LOOK OUT FOR SMTH ON MY BLOG TITLED

"My Big Fat Genshin Fill-in Lore/God Reader AU"

OR SMTH ALONG THOSE LINES, ALSO ILL TAG IT "genshin au" "going feral" "genshin brainrot"

BASICALLY, I MAKE GENSHIN LORE HAPPIER AND SIMPLER, INVOLVE ANCIENT LORE GODS MORE, CELESTIA/UNKNOWN GOD IS A WORLD CONQUEROR, THE ABYSS ISNT ALL BAD, AND SINCE MIHOYO HASNT REVEALED ENOUGH LORE FOR GENSHIN FOR THIS IDEA TO BE MORE CANON, IM BASICALLY FILLING IN GAPS AND ITS AN AU AT THIS POINT

Honestly, now that I think about it...ya'll.

I think I've been hyperfixating over this AU for 2 years now.

..

...

...💀

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

[starlooove]

Actually hate girlboss Steph malewife tim shit bc most of the time it’s literally just another facet of “he’s so cool and interesting” while she’s just there

[lonestarss]

ok so no cynari canonization today... im fine /hsrs

[austerulous]

Valentine’s Day is coming, so give this a ♡ for a smooch. Feel free to specify muse(s) if you like.

[kelpiemomma]

i really need to draw khan and emmet hanging out bc they would be such buddies. ingo hates how quickly they bonded bc khan took one look at emmet, at how excited emmet is to battle, and seemed to Immediately like him (it only bc khan had already bonded w ingo, but like hell will he ever admit that. that proves he has emotions! he has to hide those.) khan & emmet battling each other. khan takes over for ingo sometimes on the multi trains except he and emmet get so into battles that they need a chaperone to keep them from getting too rowdy bc somehow (???) they've managed to destroy a couple of train cars??? khan challenges the subway himself (he battles using himself but also his pokemon. he'd rather battle using himself, but ingo and emmet get awfully concerned when he faints so he stops doing it so much). khan and emmet discuss battle tactics (khan insists "offense is the best defense" and "go balls to the walls immediately on attack" and emmet argues for better strategizing and well rounded move pools) and help each other train, offering suggestions and tips and "hey, let's try this maneuver" or "i think it would be better if you did this move first".

not that they don't enjoy an off day, but they definitely bonded well over battles.

[seilon]

pro tip: do not take four stimulants at the same time unless you want to vibrate so hard you tear your molecules apart and phase into different plane of existence

[milo-is-rambling]

I FOLDED ALL MY CLEAN LAUNDRY 💪💪💪

[gunebuggiesprompts]

Why do I do this to myself? *sigh* guess it's time for me to try this out.

-

It was originally a warm sunny day, with the sun shining and a few clouds lazily drifting across the sky. Danny and his two best friends, Sam and Tucker, had made plans to go to the park and hang out for the rest of the day. They had plans to make this day count as a good day for this summer, as it was the last one until highschool, and everybody knew highschool sucked. 

The trio were just about to head out, all of them dressed for the warm weather that had a small cool, relaxing breeze. Tucker was wearing his usual red beret, but instead of his usual long clothing, he wore a yellow t-shirt and some green cargo shorts. Sam was still dressed in all black, her goth appearance kept by her dark attire, though she made sure to bring one of her hats to try and keep off as much sun. Danny had his typical red and white t-shirt, but this time he wore shorts as well, not feeling like burning up from the weather. 

Everything was perfect, they knew everything they were going to do. Get some ice cream, maybe go to the waterpark or the arcade (most likely the arcade because they liked the air conditioned space of the inside), and then go to Nasty Burger for lunch. It was going to be a fun day, ideal for their last summer before teenage hell.

Then it started to rain, and not just a slight summer drizzle, but a full on storm. All of their plans were ruined, Danny’s thoughts just as sad as his soaked hair dripping all over his face. They had gone to get ice cream, the sun still bright in the sky, only a few clouds big enough to block its beaming display. The dark clouds that began to roll in were sudden, and incredibly fast, like they were made just to ruin Danny and his friend’s day. He wasn’t even able to make it out of the park before the onslaught of water drowned him.

Sam, whose hat was sagging from the amount of water it was holding, became immediately aggravated. Danny didn’t blame her when she yelled at the sky, cursing the rain. He still didn’t blame her when she went storming off, mumbling that she was going home, her make-up running down from the rain. Tucker wasn’t too far behind. He already didn’t like being outside too much, and would rather be inside tinkering with some new tech than hang out here in the rain. Danny left with him, feeling downcasted by the random storm ruining all of their plans. Can’t he ever just have a good day to hang out with his best friends?

Now Danny was in his room, sulking for an hour, before deciding that he needed to find something to do. He was already getting antsy just sitting down doing nothing, and although he couldn’t go outside, that didn’t stop him from hopping onto his computer.

He booted it up, the screen light coming to life after a second, and he began to wonder what he should do. His brain went blank, and he found that it was hard to come up with something to busy yourself with when your previous plans were thrown out the window. This left him to try calling up Sam or Tucker, to see if they would like to play videogames or something, maybe mention the new update on Doom.

Turns out, Sam was too busy brooding and fixing her make-up and Tucker had started a project and would be MIA for the next few hours at least, leaving Danny to his own devices. He groaned into his hands, racking his brain for something, anything to do. The rain was making a constant thrumming, which would usually provide a sense of peace for the boy. Now it seemed like it was teasing him, reminding him that he was stuck in the house because of it.

Danny turned his head and glared at the window, imagining that he was staring at the being who was causing his current misery. Then he stopped and thought to himself, was there a being that controlled the rain? He knew there were gods in multiple religions and beliefs that had gods like that or something similar, such as Thor or Zeus, but he didn’t know much else other than that. To be honest, he never gave it much thought before.

These thoughts led to what would be Danny spiraling into an hour (more so likely several hours, but Danny lost track of time) of researching and reading about gods and goddesses. He would find one, read through it and where it originated from, then find more in that same belief. That would then cause him to find more otherworldly beings like those ones, and he would deep dive into those. Continue to repeat the cycle and now you have Danny who is in the deep rabbit holes and small corners of the internet, finding new information that he may or may not remember later. It sufficed his boredom though, and solved that particular itch in his brain, so he didn’t particularly mind.

Then he found something that really interested him, a certain god who has been seen repeated in several remarkable pieces and times of history, from stone tablets all the way to renaissance paintings. The god’s name had changed a bit over the years, some translations being a little wonky or misunderstood, but the being was mostly referred to as Phantom. Apparently Phantom was the god of ghosts and most things afterlife wise, which Danny found very interesting. Partly because his family were ghost hunters, and partly because Danny had always wondered about what happens after you die, especially if you turned into a ghost.

He did a deep dive of Phantom and learned a lot of cool things about him. Such as how some people not only depicted Phantom as a god but also a king, or more accurately, the Ghost King, and that was a really cool name. He also had “powers'' or ghostly abilities, some of them even going beyond what people reported as “normal” ghostly advantages. The god could fly, go invisible and intangible, create ice and use said ice in various ways, shoot something called “ectoplasm” (he heard his parents talk about it before, but he found it hard to focus on what they was saying when they started to go on long rants), possess people or what historians refer to as overshadowing, has strength way beyond that of a human, and so much more that Danny felt like his brain was going to explode from how powerful this god seemed. Which made sense, because that was what Phantom was, a god.

Phantom was known to be witty and brave, taking on challenges all the time. Though he was also known to be a diplomatic and kind god and served his ghostly subjects with care and thought. The paintings and engravings of him didn’t really stay all too consistent, whether it was the various art styles or innovations in art in general, but there were a few things that did stay the same. He had white hair, green glowing eyes, and either wore a royal-like robe or an odd looking suit, both showing up in different iterations of him.

No matter how much research Danny did, it felt like he couldn’t find enough. He continued to read articles, books, sighting accounts, and pretty much anything else he could find.

It was in this extensive search that he learned that Phantom had essentially faded, becoming a distant memory, most of his sources coming from outdated and old documents. People had stopped believing in Phantom, and therefore he stopped existing too. Nobody ever really talked about him anymore, if at all, almost as if he never was there to begin with. It disheartened Danny, because he really liked this Phantom god, but now it seemed as if he just became a phantom to everybody’s memories.

More DP Brainrot

AU - Fenton and Phantom are two different beings, and Phantom is seen as like a kind of ghostly god seen all throughout history from stone tablets to renaissance paintings. well the summer before Danny's freshman year he discovered info on phantom and then hyperfixated on it. after his research spiral, Danny decides Phantom was a super cool dude so when he finds out phantom essentially faded because people stopped believing in him (like gods in pjo) he was disheartened. while babbling about how cool and nice and amazing Phantom had been to Sam and Tucker, Sam offhandedly remarked that Danny should just become Phantom's priest or something. Danny is immediately completely on board with that idea so he like idk wiki how's how to become a priest- My point is Untrained Magic User!Danny with Phantom as his patron with Danny being gifted essentially all of Phantom's powers as thanks for being the first to believe in them in centuries and unintentionally becoming the second coming of Phantom would be PEAK chaos. and you can even make it a DCxDP Crossover, with Constantine stressing tf out over this feral kid and his menacing Eldritch patron hovering out of mortal sight behind him.

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.