#grave digging in the process

[the-l0ser-st4r]

anyways my headphones are being weird and they sound like a fuzzy radio station I'ma go kms now

[the-l0ser-st4r]

exactly :)

Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:

-weight

-appearance

-intelligence (or lack of) 

-skills (or lack of) 

-weird hobbies

-friends (or lack of) 

-body

-personality

-family

Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Pictured: Loop being extremely normal as they lay in their shallow (homemade) grave as they meditate on existence and also if they have annoyed the Researcher enough THIS time for her to murder them and bury them alive.

(Spoilers - they did not annoy her even CLOSE to that much.)

And there is the required reverse image of Odile arriving - she's had a LONG day (i.e. previous loop), and due to this it will take ten minutes before she even acknowledges the shallow grave Loop is laying in, as she was distracted complaining about what Siffrin just did to annoy her.

----

I'd say there's context for all of that, because like...there IS context? Here's the link to the series of fics that HAS that context even! But also...even with context...can't say that it's going to make any of this less weird.

Mostly Odile is looping because due to Loop's wish the universe got rewritten to make Siffrin's repression and emotional issues (the ones bad enough to get him stuck in a time loop in the game) 'someone else's' problem...or at least that's Loop's best theory atm!

Regardless, context or not, I'm quite happy with how the pics came out, and figured I might as well post them here too.

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[gxtzeizm]

the fact that me, as a fan of both lando and oscar without any bias (maybe a bit on lando but not that much), is going to witness both "oscar fans, lando antis" and "lando fans, oscar antis" posts all in my one dash 🥲🥲

also the fact that atp i couldn't even bother enough with this same situation on both lewis and george. now it happens on lando and oscar as well which got me like....

[marinusart]

Користування тамблером be like/Tumblr using be like:

Отже, що ми маємо: української мови як мови застосунку все ще нема (зате є російська, хто б сумнівався); людям помилково зносять акаунти і не відновлюють їх; художників, які викладають ЗАЦЕНЗУРЕНІ NSFW арти кидають в тіньовий бан, тоді як зграї повієботів штурмують особисті повідомлення і невинні теги; нове СЕО просто жахливе; проблемні особини усіх видів прекрасно тут почуваються... Тепер ще й штучний інтелект підключився. Без жодного попередження. При чому параметр, що запобігає використанню вмісту блогу для того ж тренування ШІ, був вимкнений з самого початку. Я про це взнала досить пізно. За цей час мене могли обібрати до нитки, і далеко не факт, що вони цього вже не зробили.

Хочеться просто взяти і знести акаунт до дідька матеревій, але я розумію, що це мені каже моя імпульсивність, та й не хочеться втрачати контакт з людьми, які важливі для мене. Тим паче що особливої погоди це не зробить. Але так чи інакше, я, скоріше за все, перестану постити на деякий час. Якщо зовсім не переїду кудись в інше місце (про що я замислювалася вже дуже давно, якщо бути чесною).

Коротше, поки що я лишаюся тут, буду відслідковувати ситуацію та шукати якісь рішення... Якщо тамблер остаточно не накриється.

So, what we have here: Ukrainian language is still not available as an application language (but there is russian, of course); people's accounts are mistakenly terminated and not restored; artists who post CENSORED NSFW art are thrown into shadow ban, while swarms of pornbots storm DMs and innocent tags; the new CEO is just awful; all types of bigots and other disgusting people are feeling just fine here... Now AI has also joined. With no warning, with that toggle turned off by default. And it was pretty late when I discovered it. I`m pretty sure my works were already stolen. They had plenty of time for it.

I want to simply delete the acc, but I understand it`s impulsive decision I can regret later, besides I dont want to loose people who are important to me. Its also kinda useless. But I`ll probavly stop posting here for a while. Probably Ill move to another site (I was considering this option long time ago tbh)

But I`m still staying here, watching and searching for solutions... If tumblr wont die completely.

[wowifinallymadeanaccount]

Current Moods after finishing Gen V:

[ilaria]

for someone so outwardly nonchalant about death and being seemingly aloof about people dying, ria cannot stomach it. like. it doesnt hit until shes alone and when she least expects it before the nausea and disgust (and sometimes grief if she knew them) creeps up on her enough to make her physically ill. all those dead bodies and she genuinely never develops a functional coping mechanism other than pretending it doesnt faze her. its compartmentalization but with very unstable foundations?? like filling a cup until it overfills and there’s just nowhere else all those feelings can go but out 🤠 and it just keeps happening

[the-l0ser-st4r]

people: oh ur so weird you go to bed too early, when do u have fun

me: i go to bed early cause i hate my life and i wanna die :D

[kaleschmidt]

Doing this impromptu rp w teen Naomi is so funny to me in a way. Like be her and the guy who's hiring you is a phone guy and reminds you so much of your dad (WHO IS DEAD). Okay now imagine him freeing you and your friend from a springlock suit after crushing one of the animatronics. Okay now imagine coming back the next night and he's DEAD.

[llovelless]

life is hard. living with the effects of messy childhood trauma that started at a young age feels nearly impossible at times. i am constantly ripping myself to shreds inside and self-sabotage at any given chance. but i’m trying so hard to tell 4 year old me (or 6 y/o me or 7 or 8 or 9 or 10 or 11 or) that it wasn’t her fault, trying to give her the space to heal and feel the emotions she literally could not feel back then for survival purposes… and well jeez! this shit ain’t no joke! and don’t even get me STARTED on the intergenerational trauma of my impoverished VERY RURAL pennsylvania family!

[fixated-cookies]

I have to you guys, I have to share my thoughts of Shadow Milk Cookie. I'm just thinking of him being ridden into oblivion, like I'm talking drooling and tears from reader riding him, and it's not like a dom!reader taking the reigns, he just underestimates how much they'd end up getting addicted to him. This writing was actually inspired by a shadowvanilla art from twitter

MDNI-SMUT AHEAD

like my mind's a mess right now, I don't have too much energy but this probably won't flow too well considering it's coming to me as I go, but he'd probably start off so smug, you straddling him with his cock buried in your cunt. he thought he was in control. He thought he could play the part—be the one to lead, to tease, to break you down at his whim. How foolish of him.

It was supposed to be his game. He was the one who toyed with you, the one who pulled the strings, the one who whispered deceitful nothings in your ear just to watch you shiver. He was the grand orchestrator of every little moment.

But now?

Now he’s the one unraveling.

Maybe his back arches against the bed, fingers clutching at the sheets like they’ll somehow anchor him, his breath coming in ragged gasps that hitch every time you move. His chest heaves, rising and falling in frantic rhythm, and his eyes—those sharp, mocking eyes—are now glazed over, unfocused, lost in the sensation. He wants to laugh at you, to taunt you, to spit out some venom-laced remark about how desperate you are, how you've lost yourself completely in this—but his voice fails him.

“You—you succubus!” he barely manages, voice shaking, cracking with something dangerously close to helplessness.his body betrays him. Every nerve is alight, every inch of him responding too much to you.His fingers twitch, his arms reach for you only to tremble midair, unable to decide whether he wants to push you away or pull you closer. His nails dig into his palms, the sharp sting barely grounding him. He can’t even breathe properly, can’t think, can’t—

“Ah—hahh…” The sound that slips past his lips is almost pathetic. It makes him burn with shame, makes his heart pound with something unbearable. His mind is spinning, drowning in you, you, you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He didn't expect the tables to turn, for the roles to be reversed so suddenly and so cruelly. And now? Now he's the one caught in the performance.

His body shudders, struggling to even prop himself up, his limbs feeling weightless yet heavy all at once. He’s never looked like this before—disheveled, breathless, so utterly unraveled that even he can’t mask it behind his usual smug facade.

But you—oh, you look worse.

You’re trembling, your thighs twitching, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. The heat in your gaze is borderline feverish, your flushed skin glistening in the dim light, lips quivering as you shift, so utterly and helplessly drunk on him.

"Again! Again!"

His lips part, but nothing comes out at first—just a sharp, choked inhale, like he’s struggling to process what you just said. Oh, this is bad.

Because the way you say it—so needy, so desperate—has something twisting deep inside him, his stomach knotting painfully as his fingers twitch involuntarily. "You—" His voice comes out ragged, wrecked, barely more than a whisper. He tries to speak again, but his breath stutters, and his head tilts back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as he tries—tries—tries to breathe through the sheer overwhelming weight of it all.

He was the one who led you here.He was the one who built the path, laid the bricks, spun the perfect, intricate performance that led to this exact moment.And now?

Now, he has to lie in the grave he’s dug.

His thighs twitch involuntarily, the lower half of his body so utterly ruined, drenched in the mess of your shared indulgence. Then you sink onto him again, your cunt tightening around his aching cock, that can't spurt anymore out for you.

And maybe, after a while, he just passes out. He’s completely, utterly spent. The moment it happens, his entire frame tenses, shudders—then slackens all at once. His head tilts back, his breath coming out in a soft, shaking exhale as the tension seeps from his body. His grip loosens, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. and he slumps

His eyes flutter shut, his breath evening out almost instantly, his chest rising and falling in deep, exhausted waves.

Just like that, he’s gone.

---

Shadow milk cookie? more like shadow milked cookie,ahhaha get it? That man needs to be ridden within an inch of his life I'm not playing,make him BEG

Anyways, is it me or am I not that good at smut tbh, like I feel like my work isn't as explicit as it should be? I feel weird typing things like cock, and genitals and all that but I loveee smut so much. I like to try to let the reader imagine it to their own imagination if that makes sense. I'm just scared of overusing smut terms hahah

[valtsv]

i love how gracelessly, painfully awkward corpses are. i love that the dead inevitably soil themselves with the waste products of living. i love that they rot with a stench that permeates even the strongest barriers; bloat and putrefy and take up space just to lie there, decaying and stinking. i love how uncooperative they are, flopping out of carefully arranged positions or having to be pried apart from rigor mortis death grips one stiff joint at a time; a literal dead weight to carry and entirely unhelpful and ungrateful throughout the whole process. i love that they refuse to stay buried, after all the toil of digging a grave and interring them within, returning in the form of grief and other hauntings so significant and ubiquitous that we have a specific word to articulate it. i love how death refuses to be easy on the living, in body or in mind.

[d-emeter]

Types of lingerie they'd go a little feral over — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

CW: mid/plus-size reader, photos of people wearing lingerie!, mentions of sex/sexual activities

Photos are not indicative of reader's body type/skin colour/other physical attributes! Just meant to be examples, but us bigger girls deserve some rep on here (but also why is it so hard to find cute pics of mid/plus-size girlies that aren't ads or extremely edited?)

All rights go to owners of the photos! I tried to crop out their faces as best I could <3

John Price

Price would love anything feminine. He adores when you play into his housewife kink, parading around the house in babydoll dresses and fur-lined robes (preferably sheer). He wouldn't even bother with taking the pieces off once he gets his hands on you, simply pulling and adjusting where necessary. Not above ripping either, but don't worry, he'll gladly buy you some new sets. Maybe he should get you some of those crotchless panties, poppet, would save him a lot of hassle.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

Listen, as much as he loves it seeing you all dolled up, there is nothing that gets him going quicker than you in some raggedy, hole-ridden comfy clothes, preferably when they're his. His boxers framing your plump ass so nicely, digging into your flesh a bit when you move and his shirt doing nothing to hide the jiggle of your tits while your nipples poke through the fabric. If he sees you like this, his hands are all over you in a split second. God forbid your shirt is cropped, showing off your soft tummy and the underside of your breasts — you couldn't pry him off with a crowbar.

(you cannot tell me Johnny doesn't own some dumbass boxers like this)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

In fear of repeating myself, I think Simon would also go a little dreamy-eyed over you in your comfies. Except, unlike Johnny, he loves those sweet little pj-sets you wear. He's still a little taken aback every time he comes home to you curled up on his — your — couch. The realization that he has something this sweet to come home to — that he has a home at all, hitting him like a freight train. Like Price, doesn't bother taking your pajamas off when he pounces on you. Just makes it easier for him to tuck you into bed after he's done with you.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Garters, belts, straps, buckles, the whole thing. And best believe he's the one picking them out, too. You'll randomly find boxes on your bed, the contents in different styles, colours, fabrics. He insists you model them for him, or send him pictures if he's deployed. The sets are an absolute nightmare to get into, but he'll gladly help you take them off, darlin'. Don't mind him though, if he snaps a photo or two in the process. Also loves it when you wear lingerie as part of an actual outfit. What can I say, the man loves showing you off (with the knowledge he's the only one that gets to see the full sets and everything underneath them later).

König

Anything resembling some cheap halloween costume from party city. It honestly doesn't matter to him what; sexy secretary, naughty nurse, you name it. Literally whatever. He will lose his mind a little if you go as far as to engage in some roleplay pertaining to whatever you're wearing — acting like he's your boss or your patient. Oh, a pair of animal ears can and will make his eyes roll back in his head. (He will, however, ensure that your outfits are of relatively good quality — they've gotta outlast a least a few rounds, Schatzi).

Philip Graves

Ugh, he's so nasty (affectionate). He wants you to look hyper-feminine. His perfect little all-american wife (even if you've never set foot in the usa, or don't yet wear a ring on your finger) in her hyper-feminine lingerie, waiting for her soldier to come home. Frilly bras, lacy undies and silky night dresses in white or pink or any pastel shade. He gets off on the innocence they exude — makes him want to ruin you. And then wife you up. Maybe give you a baby or two.

Alejandro Vargas

Corsets!!! Or anything somewhat structured, really. This man adores the shape of your body no matter what, and the way the corset only accentuates the curve of your waist and pushes your tits up so deliciously has him rock fucking hard. If you choose to add some thigh-highs to that with the plush fat of your thighs spilling over the edge you may as well have killed him. He also has this weird infatuation with the marks the corset leaves on your skin after you (or he) take it off.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra

This poor man nearly faints the first time you wear lingerie for him (and pretty much every time after that). It doesn't particularly matter to him what it is, but he does like it when you stick to the classics: simple lacy bra and panty set. He likes that it makes you feel confident and (relatively) comfortable, as your comfort is always his number one priority. He also just thinks the simplicity of the sets helps accentuate the beauty of your body, rather than distract from it.

Valeria Garza

Anything expensive. Like, crazy expensive. She has the money, amor, why not spend it on something she enjoys? She'll make sure you only wear the highest quality fabrics (and that goes for all your clothing, by the way, she likes taking care of her girl). There are diamonds glittering all over your body, highlighting all your curves and twinkling with every move you make, and a nice string of pearls disappearing between your folds.

(I couldn't find ANY photos of this type of lingerie on bigger bodies, my apologies. Rest assured Valeria will get everything custom-made for you — remember, only the best for her girl)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batfam reacting to getting called loudly by their full government name by their S/O?

I think I did this ages ago but I can’t remember shit half the time so that’s something 😂

Jason

Straightens up like a soldier immediately upon hearing your calls of ‘JASON PETER TODD!’ From your shared bedroom.

Dick and Roy -who were visiting at the time- would pat his shoulder in sympathies, telling him that they’ll dig up his grave to put him back inside after you were done with him, which earned them both a smack on the back of their heads from Jason; who was suddenly self aware of the fact that he had the habit of leaving his gun, magazines and other vigilante related things lying about in places where they most likely shouldn’t.

He’s not a mess by any means, it’s just that before you he wasn’t use to caring about where he puts his armour and weapons, but now that he has you he had become more aware of the fact that this habit was one that had been a little stubborn to die. He swears that he could shrug off bullet wounds, knife stabs, bruises, grazes, cuts and face down the worst Gotham could produce, but the second you call him by his full name: suddenly the six foot vigilante of pure muscle is now the most harmless man alive who has never seen confrontation before in his life.

Is wondering if he had forgotten an important date or anything of similar significance the second he heard you say:

'yeah sweetheart?' He calls out, semi- shitting it a little.

'Did you make me these paper roses out of old book pages?' you asked as you held out a couple of hand made paper roses that you had found at your bedside that morning clutched within your hand, a sweet smile upon your lips. Jason felt as though his soul had returned to his body as he knew your exclamation of his name wasn't out of anger, but instead surpise of his little gift that he had spent all night trying to make perfect. Some of the petals weren't perfect and a little odd but it still had the message that he wanted to convey, that he thought about you constantly and wanted to do something to show that.

'Yes i did chipmunk, do you like them?' He asks as he watched you look at them with blatant awe and love that he thought was more then they deserved, but he wasn't about to deny that you looking at his gift as though it was something special and unique, it warmed his heart. 'like them? Jay-jay i love them more then anything! I love you!' you tell him as you rushed over to smother his face in a plethora of kisses while being careful of not carelessly crushing the paper roses. Jason could only happily accept your affection as a smile climbed upon his lips at the sensation of your lips against his brow, forehead, cheeks, chin and jaw, happily in his personal heaven.

Tim

‘TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE!’

He’s looking in his calendar, nothing was noted that was of anything to do with either of you, nor was his reminders filled with anything that he could possibly be forgetting either, so needless to say that the smart Tim Drake absolutely flabbergasted for once in his life. So he’s left standing there really awkwardly, feeling like he’ll faint at any given moment from how overwhelmed he was by his own thoughts, just as you walked into the room and set your sights upon him.

‘I didn’t forget anything did I?’ He would say before he even processed it.

‘No.’ You tell him. ‘I was just seeing that you had less sleep last night than you did the night before. Were you helping Batman again?’ You asked as you crossed your arms over your shoulders as Tim let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding inside until you said that, thanking god for the first and only time for not forgetting anything.

‘Yeah.’ He replied.

‘What about oracle? Was she not available?’ You asked.

‘She was helping Steph and Cass on their mission.’

You hummed as you pointed at him. ‘This doesn’t excuse the lack of sleep, the eye bags are beginning to show again and if Batman comes asking again, I’m telling him to buy a map and use it.’ You warned before kissing him on the cheek and leaving.

Tim really did hope Batman didn’t need his help anytime soon, for his sake more so than anyone else’s, you were scary sometimes.

Dick

Is looking for Hayley in hopes that his dog would hold the power to prevent you from being mad at him.

The blue staffy only looked at him and waddled out of the room, as if able to sense when she couldn’t offer her human father any help, she had been the distraction for far too long and it was about time her human dad learned that if you were annoyed he’d have to face it head on.

‘RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!’

‘Yes dear?’ He would respond sweetly, mentally drenched in sweat and panic as he tried to recall if he had left a shirt on the floor, or put something where he shouldn’t, left a single dish unwashed or even let Hayley sleep on your bed; even though he knows you’ve done it on multiple occasions also. So he wasn’t and shouldn’t be guilty on that charge at all, you both couldn’t say no to your little blue fur baby.

‘Did you or did you not steal my fuzzy bunny slippers? I can’t find them anywhere.’ You asked and Dick looked down at his feet, only to find that he was indeed wearing your fuzzy bunny slippers. The floor was cold and he needed something to keep his feet warm and your slippers were the closest things he could find, so he looked back up at you with a cheeky grin and said: ‘guess I’m guilty as charged officer.’

‘You’re stretching them out you criminal!’ You cried as you smacked his bicep softly before pointing at him and adding. 'you owe me new ones.'

Dick shrugs as he holds you close. 'i thought when we started this whole relationship everything you own is mine, and everything i own is yours?' He teases, kissing the tip of your nose as though being cute was going to let him off of stretching out your slippers. 'So i'm doing us a deal by sharing slippers.' he adds and you couldn't help but rest your head on his shoulder to hide your smile, you loved your Dickie bird, even if he did strech out your slippers.

Damian

The least affect by getting called his full name.

So you screaming ‘DAMIAN AL GHUL-WAYNE!’ Didn’t really make him do anything more than raise his brows.

His brothers on the other hand were either awkwardly whistling or patting Damian on the shoulder as they quickly evacuated the room the second they heard your footsteps echoing off the hallway, saying that they’ll try and say nice things at his funeral, or just straight up telling him that he was a dead man.

Damian on the other hand knew he wasn’t, but even with that level of confidence he was wondering internally if he had left Titus, Ace or Jerry the fucking Turkey wander where they shouldn’t. He’s had his name spoken by his father, by the league of assassins, but when you -his beloved partner- does it, it brings another feeling that made him suddenly want to fear your upcoming wrath and pray to god for a smidge of protection from it.

'you left your sketch pad in the garden again.' You said as you brought him the sketchpad he thought he had lost, or had been stolen, and felt a sigh leave his lips when you didn't actually have anything to be mad with him at all. He smiled as he took the sketchpad off of your hands and checked it over in case of any damange, thankfully there wasn't ans that meant that his sketch of you from a couple of days ago was competely unscathed, for that he was happy and didn't feel the need to interogate his siblings anymore.

'thank you darling.' he says softly as he squeezes your hand.

[moonlight-prose]

hi! i recently read the grave of lust and fr stared at the wall after to process it because holy shit. the way you write logan is impeccable & beautiful. old man logan deserves so much more love, like he’s so FINE. that being said! i saw your requests were open for logan 👀 i have this hc that old man logan especially would be really into dry humping…& i’d love to read your take on that in a little drabble or whatever you’re up for!

SLOW

note: thank you darling!! i don't know what it is about that old man that makes me want to jump on him. and when he wears his glasses? i'm done for. sign me up for being his whore - IMMEDIATELY. also it's a drabble, but also i couldn't stop myself from adding that gif.

word count: 0.8k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, dry humping, old man logan who takes it slow in life, aching bones, sweat, again he's filthier when he's older.

He eases you through it. Each kiss soft and languid��his hands a heavy press against the meat of your hips. A long day spent outside left the both of you withered by the scorching heat of the sun. The weariness lingered on your bones, wringing you free of what little energy you managed to hold onto.

"We gotta shower baby," he mumbles, his words a soft puff of air on your cheek.

Sweat still clings to the back of your neck, sticky and warm. And Logan bets if he drags his tongue along your throat he could taste the salt directly off your skin. The sweetness of it, a drug he couldn't resist.

The many times you claimed to like him like this—sweaty and hot from a day's work—he laughed. Just another sugar coated jumble of words to make him smile, to give him something to be happy about. He started to believe you the second you clambered into his lap, sitting pretty and soft on his thick thighs. Fingers now a tight latch in his hair as he shifted you closer.

"Not yet," you whisper.

His argument is on the tip of his tongue—ready to release with a tap to your ass. Your hips dragging heavy along his cuts him off from every saying the words. The groan that rips from his chest is loud. Unhinged and desperate. And you smile into his skin knowing you have him right where you want him.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me one day."

"You're not dead yet old man."

He grunts, fingers a deep dig into your hips, and drags you across his lap again. There's no denying the delicious ache that begins to tug at his body at the feeling of you grinding on his growing cock. You whimper in his neck and tug at the back of his hair and Logan yearns to keep you right there for the rest of the fucking day.

Fuck taking a shower. He's only getting messy the second your own and naked for him to play with.

"Think you can cum for me bub?"

Working your hips over him in quick thrusts causes your legs to stutter, muscles pulling tight with al scream of protest. The soft heat of a building release teases at your cunt. A rhythmic pulse each time your jeans catch perfectly against your clit—his body strong and hard beneath you.

You wonder if he's leaking into his jeans. If his cock is that exquisite color of deep red that led right along the thick vein you could practically taste.

The sharp groan echoes in the small living room, his chest rumbling beneath you with each quick panted breath. Your lips find their way back to his in a wet and sloppy kiss you feel down to your toes. His tongue is a hot press inside your mouth—hips jerking up to meet you with each thrust.

Until you can no longer deny that you're about to cum right fucking now and you want him to do the same. Biting down on his lip, you suck it into your mouth as he fucks up into you like the clothes no longer exist. The barriers disappear, his touch isn't clutched into your t-shirt and yours isn't lost in his white beater. You can practically feel his cock plunge into your soaked cunt.

The thought leaves you panting, begging for more.

"I'm gonna–"

"I know," he growls, his hips a rapid drag along yours. "Let go, yeah? I'll fuck ya right after this."

His cock jolts in his jeans and that does it. You're moaning into his mouth, clamping tight around nothing, and trembling on his lap as if he'd just fucked your second, third, and fourth orgasm from you. It's debilitating how that sucks everything out of you. How muscles you didn't know were real now shouted at you in pain.

You pull back fast enough to see his eyes fall shut, lips parting in a hoarse shout as he grinds his hips up into you one last time. Spurting directly into the denim he'd have to chuck in the wash minutes after this.

The sigh he lets out is heavy. All the energy he had left to get in the shower, now withers into the couch cushions. And if he was a younger man, he'd fuck you on them minutes after this. He'd peel the clothes off your sweaty body and lick the mess between your thighs clean.

He'll be lucky if he can open his eyes to see you though.

"Nap?" you ask softly, head burrowing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. A place solely meant for you.

"Mm." He sighs again, hands sliding up your back. "Shower."

"Logan–"

"Then a nap."

The laugh you muffle against the skin of his shoulder is answer enough for him.