#// a little drabble

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ imagine you're wearing logans dog tags as you ride him. 18+

you're rolling your hips on him, riding him just how he wants. his firm, calloused hands grip your hips with purpose, digging into your flesh so hard it will surely leave bruises. he wants to leave bruises, evidence of how much he wants you, needs you. growling like a fucking animal as his cock slides in and out of you with ease, each slap of his hips connecting with yours earning soft moans from your lips and rough grunts from his.

he loves staring into your eyes while he fucks you, watching those pretty eyes of yours roll back into your skull - but not tonight. tonight he can't help but be mesmerised by the way his dog tags around your neck bounce each time he thrusts. the soft jingling of the metal fills his ears, adding to the sounds of skin on skin and ragged gasps.

fuck, they looked so good on you. his rough fingers trail across your lower stomach, snaking their way to the tags. the metal around your neck, a sign that he owned you, watching the metal coined with his name slap against your soft skin rhythmically.

"that's it," he yanks the chain suddenly, causing you to gasp and place your hands on his fuzzy chest to steady yourself, "atta'girl. . ." logan coos, as he pumps up into you, meeting your every movement. by now, he knows your wet hole is just aching to be filled. it started aching the moment you crawled into bed beside him.

every. single. night.

and you're his, you know you're his, you've given yourself completely to him. your hand grips around his on the tags as if solidifying this, silently granting him ownership.

logan grins, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

you looked so pretty with his name around your neck.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Kyle Garrick would be a sensual lover.

The type of lover who would use a thumb to caress excruciatingly slowly at your bottom lip without breaking eye contact.

First placing soft, wet kisses on your jaw, cheeks and marking your neck to have you anticipating the touch of his lips against your own. His words would be his greatest weapon, his accent dripping like honey against the shell of your ear to whisper sultry praises or filthy promises.

He'd bent down his face into yours in slow motion, like a dream, blurred, to ghost his lips over yours and then disappear as he'd pull back to observe your reaction with a wicked smirk, enjoying your desperate state to the fullest.

The type of lover to devote time to your lips, cherishing every kiss with slow and deep motions, discovering each crease with the tip of his tongue, just raw realness of the primal desire rushing through his veins.

Humming and sighing as he would get more impatient, his palms roaming all over you body to touch every curve and have you melt beneath his fingertips, the ferocious intensity of his lips having you gasp for air and a string of shared saliva connecting you.

Foreplay with him would last to the point where your panties would become transparent with slick, coming off onto the material of his jeans as he'd have you grind against his thigh, his palms guiding your hips and occasionally pressing you down before stopping to watch you desperately trying to hump his defined muscles.

The smooth timbre of his voice mocking your helpless tries at reaching your orgasm "Fuck, baby, you're so eager, aren't you? Go on, fuck yourself against me." His hands torturously slow reaching under your shirt to grope your breasts, his fingers rolling and pinching your sensitive buds to observe how your timid sounds would turn into shameless whines of his name.

The type of lover who would relish in teasing you, taking his time to worship every inch of naked skin without touching any sensitive areas, just to have you whining and begging for him to do so. Spending long moments kissing around your breasts, his hands massaging the soft skin as his tongue would circle around your nipple without paying it any attention, his free hand flat against your wetness to hear you plead for him to finally touch you.

The type of lover who would brutally violate your oversensitive core, caging you in with his weight to give you little movement before pulling back to observe his mess, thrusting unbearably slow to watch the way his girthy length slips in and out along with your slick before stopping all together just to watch you tremble and cry for his cock. He would smile, laugh even at your state, and then, without warning, pound back in to watch you turn into a helpless, crying mess.

[astayinwonderland]

No… but imagine Seonghwa, who always shows he is very controlled, lose it because of you.

~Seonghwa’s POV~ internal monologue | smutty thoughts so +18 MDNI

There you are again. This is the third time you get lost in the crowd. Dancing, drinking, you know how to have fun. I wonder how much fun you would like to have with me. You think I’m not noticing the lingering stares and the batting of your eyelashes, or the way you say my name just to entice me. Well, darling, it is working, and you know it is working because I can’t keep my eyes off you.

I need to keep playing this game you have orchestrated for the two of us. Now you are just in front of me, bending a little bit too far over the bar to ask for a drink. You want me to notice you are wearing lace lingerie? Love, you would look even better without it anyway, and with me pleasing your needy hole with my tongue.

Yes… I saw you staring while I licked the overflowing liqueur from my glass earlier tonight. I did that for you. How much longer will you keep me waiting, angel? The fire inside me can’t wait to consume you, fuck you, praise you. Oh! There’s that look again, the one I can’t say no to. You want me to follow you through the dark corridors all the way to my room. Is this why you insisted the party should be at my place? Do you want everyone to hear you screaming my name?

You just close the door and pull my face to meet yours.

“Would you make me yours?” your sultry voice almost making me cum in my pants.

“I thought you would never ask.”

[fanaticsnail]

(inspired by this post)

Benn Beckman needs more "x reader" fics. If anyone finds some, writes some or crafts some out of marble and stone with a chisel: tag me please. I will write more, myself, but I love reading him.

[thedarkivistwrites]

Ferdinand only dared to steal the occasional glance at first, but now he watches Hubert's hands quite openly, a foreign giddiness bubbling up in his chest. In truth, he knows he shouldn't be here, doing this. Any of this. It's messy, and uncouth, and he's enjoying himself too much.

He turns his face to the sun, warm on his skin, as the sea breeze ruffles his hair.

Mornings start earlier around the markets and the Enbarr harbour than they do in the palace, and so they sit on the pier practically unnoticed - the fishermen, the stallholders, the people doing their shopping - they all have better things to do.

A drop of juice drizzles down Hubert's pale wrist when he squeezes the lemon over the bowl perched precariously on his lap. The sea urchins are freshly caught, just split open, the raw core on display a shocking orange against their black, spiky shells.

"I assumed you would say that buying food from street vendors is a security risk," Ferdinand remarks, and finally tears his eyes from the other He laughs when he says it, but even he can tell it doesn't sound quite right. He truly needs to put more effort into sounding casual.

"Perhaps," he shrugs, "if you are a paranoiac with too much time on your hands. Or if you were known to do it regularly, at a particular place, and invariably ordering the same dish. Assassinations generally require a great deal of planning, which often exploits patterns and habits. Naturally, there's always the chance of an unplanned attack, but poison is rarely used in such cases." Then, with a scoff: "This much should be obvious to anyone."

His tone is cool, unhurried, and Ferdinand wonders if he should find it as comforting as he does, given the subject. His gaze drops to the bowl on his lap, and only then it dawns on him he failed to account for the fact he'll have to eat it with his hands. Of course, the unwritten etiquette of this environment permits it, but it still feels improper.

Hubert next to him doesn't seem to share his reservations - Ferdinand watches him out of the corner of his eye, wondering what broke through his customary fussiness. Slowly, Hubert slips his fingers down the edge of the shell and digs his fingers as deep as the sea urchin will allow before he yanks out one of the soft lobes within and brings it to his lips.

A shudder runs through Ferdinand. The breeze from the sea must be colder than he realised at first. Distractedly, Hubert licks his fingers, and Ferdinand looks away, but that's not enough to shield him from the faint, pleased hum coming from his side. He swallows hard, clumsily peels off his gloves and shoves them in the pocket of his coat.

He's familiar with the delicacy, Aegir being a seaside territory, yet the pleasurable shock of the sea urchin flesh melting on his tongue never loses its allure. He'd tried to describe the taste to Lorenz some years ago, but failed miserably - he'd fare no better now. Savoury, and briny, though not overpowering. Paltry, insufficient approximations. It tastes like memory. Like so many holidays before the start of the new year after time erased the day-to-day troubles and scoldings, leaving behind only some irretrievable sunlit ease. Ignorance, someone might say.

The taste lingers, even as his eyes flutter closed, even as he rests his head on his companion's shoulder.

Hubert allows it.

[reallygroovyninja]

Lexa and Clarke ambled down the quiet city street, their fingers lightly brushing against each other's as the world moved around them in a blur of muted sounds and color. As they passed by a myriad of storefronts, one in particular caught Clarke's eye, causing her to halt in her tracks.

It was a quaint art gallery, its window displaying an abundance of beautiful paintings. But one painting stood out to Clarke — a magnificent tapestry of colors, embodying emotions that spoke to her deeply. "Lexa, look at that," Clarke whispered, her voice filled with wonder. Lexa followed Clarke's gaze, and for a moment, both women were lost in the strokes and hues of the artwork.

The world around them was muted, the distant hum of the city blending with the subtle rustling of trees. Gathering her thoughts, Lexa turned to Clarke with a vulnerability in her eyes that wasn't often seen. "Do you ever regret it?" she asked hesitantly. Clarke looked at her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Regret what?" she probed. Lexa exhaled, searching for the right words. "Not pursuing your love of art," she finally voiced out. Clarke's gaze drifted away for a moment, lost in a whirlwind of memories and dreams left behind.

As they stood there, the weight of Lexa's question lingered in the air. Clarke took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting the moon's gentle glow as she met Lexa's gaze. "No," she replied with unwavering certainty, "I don't regret it."

Seeing the surprise in Lexa's eyes, she continued, "When I chose to follow you to Polis University and pursue medicine, it wasn't just about us or about abandoning my passion for art. It was a calling. Something deep within me knew that this was where I needed to be, what I needed to do." She reached out, holding Lexa's hand reassuringly. "My love for art will always be a part of me, but walking this path with you, healing and helping others, feels just as right."

The stillness of the street enveloped them, amplifying the sincerity and depth of Clarke's words. As they resonated within Lexa, a rush of emotions welled up inside her, a concoction of admiration, understanding, and overwhelming love.

She looked deep into Clarke's blue eyes, seeing not just the woman she loved, but a soul filled with passion and purpose. Overwhelmed by the profound connection and the gravity of the moment, Lexa bridged the distance between them.

Gently cradling Clarke's face, she pressed her lips onto hers. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared journey and the sacrifices they made for each other and their dreams. The world around them faded as they lost themselves in the kiss, a testament to their unbreakable bond.

As their lips parted, Clarke and Lexa remained close, foreheads touching, and eyes still closed. The cacophony of life around them — the chirping crickets, distant conversations, and soft rustle of leaves — seemed distant, as if the world had taken a pause to honor their bond. With a shared smile and intertwined fingers, they stood, ready to face the challenges and joys the future would bring. Both women had made choices, faced regrets, and confronted fears, but together, they found strength and purpose. And as they walked away, side by side, it was evident to anyone who saw them that they were not just two souls in love, but also partners on a journey of growth, discovery, and unyielding commitment.

[madhatterbri]

Ohhhh you know after Jey won, he took his title, got out of the ring and went over to Y/N to give her a big hug and she hugged him back

Now imagine Finn seeing that on TV

Oooooh the Irish lad would be bothered asf!!!

Y/N sat in her chair. Jaw dropped to the floor. He did it. Jey Uso finally won his first singles championship. She couldn't help but join the chants of those around the arena.

You deserve it!

Jey stood at a corner and held the championship high in the air. Y/N felt a few tears prick her eyes. She stood up and clapped. He smiled at her.

The camera showed as Jey made his way towards her. His arms wrapped around her. She wrapped hers around him. With her mouth close to his ear, she congratulated him. He thanked her and they went their separate way.

Finn pouted on the couch as he watched the scene unfold. He wasn't bothered. He wasn't. They were just coworkers. A smirk came to his face. Maybe he should show Y/N what exactly she has when she comes home.

[second-wife-playbook]

Last Drink (Coronis Drabble)

(tw; dark themes, mass murder)

The Marquette is cold.

The three siblings did not often gather for tea. It was often just the two eldest, talking of their lives, their plans, their social calendar. But once in a while, they sought entertainment for these tea-times. Someone to compare, to complain to, to chastise. There was only one easy target, one who could be plucked from her perch and summoned at will.

Coronis drank very meagerly from her cup and kept her eyes down. Even sandwiched between Stella and Andrealphus, she was trying to hide.

"At least Stolas can offer a nice place to live! Even if living with his dishwater-dull arse is about as exciting as watching paint dry-"

"Well that's hardly our little Cori's fault, now is it? The market for marriage is so slim these days, and it's hardly easy finding a match for someone on the older side-"

She was not there. That was what she told herself. I am simply not here. They already talk like she isn't sitting right in front of them.

I'm not here. She thought. I'm not...really here.

"Cori? Cori? Coronis!"

She snapped to attention. "Yes?"

"Weren't you listening?" Andrealphus made a disappointed look. "Do focus when someone is talking to you. Stella was just saying she had a nice idea for the ball next week."

Coronis swallowed hard. "Is that so?"

"Oh it's delightful." Stella smirked. "It's the most darling little game, and best of all, you'll be part of it!"

A cold lump formed in her stomach. She already had goosebumps from sitting in this room. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to play. "Is...is that right?" She muttered nervously. "What kind of game?"

"Just a little game of numbers." Her cruelty was keen and sharp-edged. Stella wore her edges beautifully, but that was what made them horrific. There was never a Goetia as dangerous as one who held grace and wickedness with a careless, lovely hand. "We're going to let everyone guess what your dowry is!"

Andrealphus chuckled. "Though if they undersell it, I think I'll take them up on the offer."

Something...

Pricked.

I have to play this game. She realized. And it's going to go too far. The siblings were already chortling at the idea of it. Making plans, thinking of how amusing it would be to see all those numbers put into place for a twisted game of profit and value. And I'm going to be sold like a cow for the lowest bid...going to be just another toy to play with.

The cup in her hand began to sweat.

The Marquette was a little less cold. But Coronis felt that perhaps...her mind was made up.

______

"Andrealphus, there's something I need to talk to you about."

The ball was only three days off. Plans were being made by the caterer. Coronis was certain the guests were clued into the secret game; she had been forced to sit through Stella's little get-togethers with her repulsive friends and heard a lot of sinister giggles gestured her way.

Andrealphus didn't look up from his desk. His youngest sister visiting the Marquette on her own was rare, but not worth diverting his attention. "Mm? Make it quick, I'm very busy."

"Do you mean to marry me off like you said?"

That earned one short glance.

Just one.

"You're overripe as far as brides go. And even if we're immortal, one does not want to risk their future with a spinster." He said with the most casual air. "I have done what I could when you were young enough for it, but even I cannot achieve miracles."

"But you're going to do it over a game?"

His face curled into a sneer. "What of it?" He snapped. "You haven't been an active participant yourself Cori. You can't go leeching off our parents and me for long. I've done what I can for you." And yet Coronis could tell that in his impatience and anger, that could not be farther from the truth. "Consider it a charming anecdote to tell your future children. You'll do well with anyone in attendance. Don't be so selfish."

Had Andrealphus looked up, he might have seen Hell's rarest sight.

Anger.

"....you will go through with it?" Coronis's tone might have hinted at her fury. "Whoever wins?"

"Yes, yes." His tone was impatient. Wishing she would go away. "Is that all?"

"....no. I only wanted to ask if I could purchase something for the engagement toast." She continued. Her voice was calm. "If you're really going through with it, we should celebrate it properly."

A huff, a sigh, and he turned his chair around to pay more attention to the paperwork of his principality. "Oh I suppose. I cannot exactly expect us to be looking cheap if we're celebrating a marriage in the family." Andrealphus puffed. "Go and tell the housekeeper to spare no expense. I'll have some money put aside for you to buy yourself a little treat."

Coronis watched his back with a long, long gaze.

You look so safe. She thought. Do you feel safe? Have you always felt safe?

"Thank you." She curtsied. "I'll find something worthy of the event."

_______

The ball arrived. Coronis was dressed a touch better for the event, and though Stella gave her a nasty look at the shimmery quality of her gown, she did resisted her natural urge to stain it or tear it to shreds. "Only the best for my little sister's engagement ball! Once we find out the winning number that is-" And shot her the nastiest smirk.

Coronis did not speak. She watched.

There was a big glass jar where people wrote their names and guessed the number. Everyone was laughing, laughing. I didn't even put a number in. Said one. I bet a couple of bottles of Chateau du Bachs.

That's too much! Laughed another. I just counted the change in my wallet!

The Marquette was growing warmer. Andrealphus held his ice magic thick and heavy, and stood by his ice sculptures. But something was too warm. He complained, brought a servant to turn the temperature down. It was still too warm.

Coronis watched him sweat.

The winner was about to be revealed.

Andrealphus took center stage, but found himself surprised. Coronis had indeed procured a white wine for the event, high-quality, vintage. One of the last strains of Nemeses Vineyards. Those grapes withered away and the vineyard with it over a hundred years ago, but Coronis had found some surviving bottles after all. Enough for the guests.

She poured it into his glass. There was sweat gathering on the sides, but the wine was so peerless and pure it was like liquid light, and shimmered prettily in his glass. "Why thank you-" He said, smiling and simpering prettily. "-now was all this so hard? I think the winner is going to surprise you."

"...yes I imagine so." She answered. Andrealphus raised an eyebrow. Did she always speak so coldly? "I hope you'll respect my request for a wedding gift when it's all said and done."

"Spoiled." He teased, but didn't elaborate. He could always say no, after all. "Well be a good girl and come with me."

They took to the center of the room, Andrealphus dinging his glass. "Come and gather round everyone! We've got a special treat, and a special announcement!" One hand lifted up his younger sisters. The glasses were being poured by imps, passed around. "Tonight announces the formal engagement of my darling sister Cori to a very special guest among us!" There was a ripple of giggles and laughter. They were going to find out the winner of the bet. "It breaks my heart to see her all grown up! A toast, all of us!"

The glasses were raised. Andrealphus drank his deep. The flavor was exquisite. So pure, so, so fragrant-

"Andrealphus?"

"Hmm?"

Coronis held her glass. It was still full. "I thought of what I want for my wedding gift?"

"Oh?" Why did she look so cold? Why did he feel so hot? "What is it?"

"....choke."

Andrealphus heard the shattering of many glasses before he realized he couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth to ask why, and black blood gushed forth from his throat.

The horror set in suddenly, like wildfire. Stella had been sneering, smirking in the front row, but now looked absolutely terrified as she squawked and clutched her throat, coughing black blood and bile, wheezing as her high voice was reduced to a whimper. Everyone was gasping, coughing, spitting, and the peerless icy floors were being besmirched in blood, spit and bile.

Andrealphus could not breathe. He felt his airways clogging up.

Coronis stood over him and tipped the contents of the wine over his head.

It burned.

It burned!!!!

"My contribution to the wine." She answered. She sounded so cold. So, so cold. "I thought a little holy water would spice things up."

You traitor! You bitch! He tried to scream, his bloody hands grasping at her dress. You've killed us, you've ruined us you psychopath you witch-

"Aaaaagghhh-"

The voice that came out instead was so tiny. So weak.

The edges of his vision went black. Coronis seemed to be relaxing, sighing as if she'd finished a particularly laborious task. "You've been pushing me for so long. You've been hurting me for so long." She said. It was almost mournful, and might have been mistaken for pity if her expression wasn't so pitiless. "Did you think I wouldn't retaliate? Not even once?"

You weren't supposed to fight back. Andrealphus thought, eyes bulging. You can't fight back, you can't.

He fell. The floor was hot and sticky with blood. The horrific sound of a hundred choking royals echoed around him. I feel so cold, I feel so cold- He thought, his body spasming in terror. -I don't want to die I don't want to die-

____

"Coronis!"

The Goetia snapped to attention.

"Yes?"

"Pay attention." Andrealphus said, a touch annoyed. "Stella was saying the next ball is going to be a week from now. Are you going or not?" He frowned. "Do tell me you're not going to hole up at Mommy and Daddy's house again."

What was that stare on her face? Andrealphus couldn't understand the stunned look, the utter surprise. Just where was her head going when these conversations were happening?

"S-sorry. I wasn't listening." She said. "I was...somewhere else."

She didn't finish her drink as it would turn out.

Andrealphus wondered what was wrong with it.



[dick-helmet-magneto]

blossoming romance writing prompts: Cherik, 15?

15. finding excuses to be alone with each other

When the idea of a road trip to find more people like them was first brought up, Charles found himself excited. That excitement only increased when Erik insisted that mutants should be discovered by mutants. Days on the road with just the two of them, sharing hotel rooms, long car rides with Erik. He had to wonder if that was what Erik was thinking about too.

He could have found out, of course, but that didn't feel right. Whatever was starting between the two of them was still new and he didn't want to risk it.

He felt nervous as the two of them set out on their journey, but the feeling didn't last. It never had around Erik, there was something about the man that set him at ease, no matter how much he insisted that he was dangerous and shouldn't be trusted. Charles never felt anything but safe around him.

Laughter flowed easily from Charles and it only lit up the car more when Erik would join in. There was something about his smile that Charles loved and wanted to see more, so wide and carefree, happy.

By the time they reached the hotel they were staying in for the first night, there was only one thing on Charles's mind. It wasn't something they had done before, both had been walking on eggshells around the new relationship that they were starting to develop. But Charles couldn't bring himself to wait another moment.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he pressed Erik up against it, kissing him deeply. Arms wrapped around Charles's waist and pulled him in closer, holding their bodies together.

Already, Charles couldn't wait for more to come.

---

It wasn't that Erik didn't appreciate the others, the kids, as Charles kept calling them, though Erik would argue they were no longer children. And don't even get him started on Moria.

It was more that he just enjoyed Charles's company more. There was a kinship there, an understanding. Maybe it was related to Charles's mutation, that Charles really did understand, or maybe it was that their ages were closer than they were to the younger ones. Or, maybe, it was something different. Sometimes Erik wondered if Charles had a darker past than he let on, but he hadn't managed to ask yet.

The point was, no one found it surprising when, after dinner, when they were all sitting around chatting and doing their own thing, Erik looked over at Charles, "Chess?"

The smile that stretched over Charles's face was priceless to Erik. "Of course, my friend," He replied, standing up as Erik did the same. They started off down the hall together and, as soon as they were out of the room where the others were, and out of sight, Charles's hand darted out, catching Erik's in his.

Erik looked over at Charles, giving him a secretive smile. When they reached the staircase, Erik leaned over, pressing a kiss to Charles, unable to resist the temptation of those red lips.

---

Fear was mounting in Charles but he couldn't stay away. It had been over a decade since he last had a moment alone with Erik and he wanted the chance to talk to him. And potentially make more bad decisions.

He stood outside the hotel door, wishing he had taken the time to shower, maybe shave and wash his hair before doing this. But then he hated himself because he cared what he looked like.

It was Erik, after all, and no matter how much he wanted to act like he didn't care, he always would. He always had. No matter what Erik has or hasn't done.

With a deep breath, he brought his hand up and knocked on the door. He had told Logan and Hank he wanted to talk to Erik more about JFK and what had happened. That was far from the truth. Sure, he was still angry, and Erik was too, even without his powers, Charles was certain about that. He really wanted to just see Erik, see how he was, and make sure everything was okay with him. A decade in solitary seemed terrifying and Charles had already had one drink too many.

Erik opened the door to his hotel room and the surprise on his face was clear to see. "Charles," He whispered, stepping to the side, and motioning for Charles to come in, which he did.

"How...how are you?" Charles asked, sitting down on the edge of Erik's bed while he closed to door and walked over to sit next to him.

"I'm fine," Erik replied but Charles didn't believe that. How could he? After everything Erik had been through, Charles refused to believe he was anything near fine.

"Erik, it's me," He whispered, "How are you really? Talk to me."

"Are you drunk?" Erik asked back, looking over at him, making a face as though he could smell it on Charles, which he probably could.

"A little. I still want to know," Charles replied, heading back and laying crossways on the bed, looking up at the back of Erik's head.

"I've been better," Erik finally replied as he laid back next to Charles, "But I've been worse too."

Charles didn't have to wonder to know that Erik was referring to the camps and Shaw. Instead of saying anything, he nodded.

Then Erik was leaning in, rolling over so that Charles was caged in by his arms. Then lips were pressed against his and he reached up, pulling Erik down so his weight was resting against the smaller man.

Once again, everything was okay.

---

The mansion was gone and Erik could admit that it was at least a little his fault. But the problem was that he didn't feel bad about it. There was nowhere he had felt more at home than at the school and he found that maybe home was what he needed after everything.

His family was gone, that was one home he had lost and with the school gone, it felt like he had lost everything. But Charles was still there and Erik was making the most of it.

They were all staying in tents while he and Jean worked to rebuild the school with some help from the others. And it just so happened he put his tent up right next to Charles's. So easy and convenient for the two of them to pick up on a tradition they had lost decades ago. Nightly chess games.

Things were going slow between him and Charles recently. Other than an occasional arm touch or shoulder squeeze, Erik thought that might be for the best. He needed slow, for things to be okay for a while. He still wasn't over the loss of his wife and daughter, after all, and, while he wasn't sure he would ever fully be over them, he wasn't ready to move on- or back?- just yet.

Charles seemed to understand that and was content with their stolen moments and quiet chess games, reflecting on a simpler time when they had such different worries.

With the family he had built, Erik couldn't help but feel like everything would be okay for once. But, of course, things that good could never last.

---

A home in Genosha. A place for mutants, a place where Charles could be himself, without the stress and pressure of the school. He couldn't help but look forward to it, even if he was hesitant at first. It was a place he could be with Erik and that was something he could never say no to.

There was something in the man he once knew to be angry and hurt, something softer and more gentle, he seemed to smile more, that bright smile Charles found himself striving for around four decades ago. That desire still hadn't gone away, Charles was still just as determined to see that smile and hear Erik laugh.

It was an added bonus when he first saw Genosha. An offer of a home that Charles expected to be rough terrain, and pieced together shacks. He was half correct, though he had to admit, it was as though everything was built with accessibility in mind and Charles had to bring himself to realize it was.

Erik had been planning this for years and Charles could have cried as he realized he was still wanted by someone. By Erik.

It felt like it had been years of them finding excuses to be together. Even still, it was for the point of Charles having a home, a place to stay. It felt like it no longer mattered, they had been in each other's lives for so long and had loved each other all that time. They no longer needed to come up with a reason. They lived together, they loved each other, there was no one else to think about, no concerns over the future, over mutant kind. They had their own little piece of paradise.

They finally had each other and a home that was built to last.

[dangerouslyclassyhottub]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Transformers (IDW Generation One) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Thunderclash Characters: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Megatron (Transformers), Thunderclash (Transformers) Additional Tags: Megatron just giving Roddy a hard time about his crush, thunderclash mentioned, Fluff, Post Lost Light 25, New Universe Series: Part 1 of The One Where...

[troolyart]

What if I suddenly turn up the codependency on Stanley and Simon?

Because think about it... They only have each other in there (Simon still doesnt know about Curator and Mariella cannonically) so something is bound to happen. What if Stanley locks himself in a place Simon can't reach? Would he simply reset or would the man spiral like he has in the past?

Or vice versa? Say Simon stopped narrating for a while...Stanley would be frantically trying to find him, signing the words "where" and "need you" over and over again until he finds his narrator.

Yes my au has lovey dovey moments with them, but keep in mind that they are technically trapped there inside the Entity with no escape in sight. Just the two of them and their minds slowly forgetting anything outside of the Parable. Everything but each other.

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ imagine logan is in a metal band. 18+

"oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" you cry out as he grips at your hips, thrusting into you deeply as you're planted on all fours on his dressing room sofa. he's got your skirt hiked up over your waist, panties pulled down around your knees. logan is hardly undressed himself, inched his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his aching cock.

he grins, "c'mon, only got a few more minutes babygirl, you gonna make me cum?"

you're gasping, hardly able to form a single thought from how hard he's fucking you and how loud the support act is playing from the stage. you wonder if their music is even loud enough to drown out your moans or the sounds of logan's body connecting with yours in deafening lewd slaps.

his hand snakes up along your spine to find your hair, yanking your head backwards and forcing you to arch your back as he drives into you. "that's it, arch that pretty little back for me."

it hurts so good, all of it. the ferocity of his thrusts, his tight grip on your hair - your thighs tremble and your mind goes blank, loving the way he uses you before shows, in between sets, sneaking you away to the bathroom at the afterparties.

and you don't mind being his stress toy. you love it. the anticipation of a gig approaching, knowing you're going to get your brains fucked out backstage while the audience calls his name. while you call his name with his cock buried deep inside you.

while he's on stage? you stand in the audience, feeling him leak out of you as his eyes connect with yours over the sea of bodies, knowing he's going to fuck you all over again as soon as the concert ends.

logan promptober day 3 - metal

[limpfisted]

omg, babe, gay hell felonies ❤️

He hums, adjusts the weight of his eye patch over the gnarled skin of his horn. It’s soft silk, emblazoned with the flag of Baldur’s Gate. Keep home with him always. Not Grand Duke, and yet at his big age of twenty-six, he still feels every bit the King of the pirates. (His Father told him he looked quite handsome, and Wyll took that as a measure of approval for the design, though he didn’t ask for approval in so many words, even as he hugged him goodbye.)

“I never thought my Father raised a criminal. But The Blade of Avernus bows to devils no longer. We’ll break every law, smash every chain, free every last prisoner and slave—and then grind Zariel to dust as grey and dry as her skin.”

“We will be worse than any demons. Bloodier, braver. We’ll be heroes.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to pickpocket,” he teases. Thankfully, I am already very good at drinking, swearing, and cheating at dice and cards.”

“… Don’t tell my Father,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. Ulder immediately began treating Wyll’s friends as if they were Wyll’s Flaming Fist “uncles” to check in on him and take care of him, keep him out of trouble. This has since led to no end of teasing from the group.

It’s as nice as it is unwanted. The push and pull of rejection and expectations. Trying to fall too hard into familar patterns. It is better than the silences between them Wyll always dreaded to the point of nausea as a child, still worse, now, so, so much worse. He was relieved when he left, the epitome of bittersweet. And he’s more eager than he can say to break somebody else’s laws.

This is going to be an awfully big adventure, and it’s one all his own. He can’t think of any people he’d rather have by his side.

Baldur’s Gate will be okay, he promises himself. Karlach needs him, Astarion….. well, Astarion he’s pretty sure is just having fun, but still. But even if all that wasn’t true… he thinks he might still be here. For himself.

It’s like Wyll, The Blade of Avernus, always says. Who else would have the balls to kill Mizora?

[ayyy-pee]

waking up freezing and shivering, teeth chattering every night because your husband is a blanket hog. you know it's not on purpose. he just can't help it. doesn't even know he does it most times. you'd think after years together you'd be used to it, but waking up curled into the fetal position as you try to retain even a smidge of warmth is something you don't think you'll ever adjust to.

so you reach behind you, feeling your spouses large form wrapped snug as a bug in your shared blanket and you grip onto the fabric. you pull as hard as you can but you don't manage to move him even an inch. you try once more...same result.

"ken..." you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. no response. "kento..."

he doesn't budge. you're tempted to just get up and go grab another blanket, but your husband, despite his seriousness, can get quite pouty when you do that. so you tap him hard instead sure to jab him in the spot you know is his most sensitive. this seems to do the trick as he grunts in response.

"I'm cold," you tell nanami and he sits up quickly, realizing what he's done. his pajama top hangs off one shoulder. his blonde hair is pointing every which way and sleep is heavy on his eyelids, threatening to weigh him down again any minute.

"I'm sorry, love," nanami speaks, voice rough and deep with exhaustion, but the sincerity in his apology clear.

then he's throwing the blanket back over you both. only he adds in a little extra warmth as he wraps his arm around your waist and throws a large leg over your body.

nanami buries his face in your neck, adjusting himself so that he can be as close to you as possible. only a few seconds pass before you hear his light snoring behind you. and you know the warmth you feel is from more than just his touch.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[gardenofnoah]

I think bkg’s baby gets your eyes and your temperament and he’s so relieved. He doesn’t say a word about it, ever, but when his daughter is 6 years old and some twerp takes her toys on the playground and she only cries, doesn’t try to explode his face off when he picks her up to walk her home—bakugou is so relieved it makes him nauseous. Because he wanted that anger to die with him—because with all of the light and hope and good you brought into his life, he’d hoped that it be enough to ward off that venom that he still feels the remnants of in his veins.

When his baby drops her head on his shoulder, tuckered out, he feels pretty confident that it did.