#♡god reader

[sorcerous-caress]

Im curious and i thought this was funny, instead of redeemed durge just being brought back, what if they were turned into a demi god of life. What would Astarion think if their new demi god partner just went up to him and was like "How's it feel to bump bones with a demi god?"

That would be the biggest irony of fate, honestly. A lesser god of life with an undead lover, especially since the gods purposely ignore all undeads existence since they deem them too tainted and without any soul the gods don't care for you.

It also begs the question, would Durge change like how Gale changed when he became a god? Would they even still love Astarion the same way when the power dynamic shifted so absurdly? Astarion makes it clear he wants an equal and not a protector, yet it's hard not to give your lover favours as a god of life.

I think that's spawn Astarion's best ticket to curing his vampirism. Maybe you'd need to steal someone else's soul, or ten, but those numbers are nothing for a god if it meant your lover is alive again, showered in Corellon's light again add rejoined the cycle of rebirth all elves are promised since birth.

Astarion would more than appreciate it, he would feel as if he owed you his life twice now. Yet I see that shifting the already unfair scales of the power dynamic.

Of course god Durge can make Astarion their chosen, extend his life beyond immortality if they wished to. Afterall a god of life, even a lesser or demi-god, would be widely popular when each creature breathes with life.

An ascended Astarion might be more of a problem, his soul is truly gone beyond repair. Not a single trace left just a hollow trophy of his past self, of what he can never be again.

You're not the god of death. What right do you have to bring him back if Withers says no? Would Astarion even want to be brought back? Or would he be blinded of all the power he suddenly gained, think he can also use you, a whole god.

I always thought that there wasn't much difference between gods and undead really, both lack souls, both can never love like mortals do, both are not included within the cycle of life.

Even the god of life may not join the living, much like the undead. At least you and Astarion would still have that in common.

[grimmweepers]

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: OCT 17TH

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zhongli x fem!reader | 𝐜𝐰: established relationship but reader finds out his true identity! morax!form, draconic!form mention, human!reader, sex with a god, hair pulling, creampie, nipple play, rough sex, reader wears a nightgown, he calls you 'small in his hands', reader is implied to serve rex lapis, maybe ooc, 2.8k wc 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This was completely different from the first time you shared beds with him.

Back then, Zhongli had been soft and gentle, undressing you with such tender care until nothing remained but bare skin and bones. You remembered his warm amber eyes, his featherlight touches, and how he gave so much of himself to you that it left you dizzy and breathless. 

But this was something else entirely. 

It wasn’t that long ago when, to you, he was just a consultant at the Funeral Parlour—a Liyue nobleman who was well-versed in Teyvat’s history. He had been courting you since the last Lantern Rite (perhaps longer if you had paid attention) and you were more than content with the consultant, admiring him just as he was.

Then, after retiring his gnosis—and you still struggled to fully grasp what that meant—he finally confessed.

Overnight, he went from a funeral consultant to Rex Lapis and no matter how many times he explained that he was technically no longer an Archon, it didn’t change the fact that he was still an immortal who had witnessed Liyue from infancy.

And you slept with him!

The memory sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of realising how the Lord of Rock had practically begged for you to get on top that night. That same feeling returned now as you prepared to sleep with him again. 

You basically asked for it, though. 

When he revealed his identity to you, you had some questions. The first was if he had a real form, to which he replied: I have many.

Then the second question—or rather, request—was to see one of these forms. He was happy to oblige, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… forward.

I’m not being forward, he defended himself, My skin is part of my form. It just so happens that I have to adjust my attire for you to see it properly. 

But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Zhongli—” His name now felt strange on your lips as you stared, spellbound by his new appearance. You were so captivated that anything could have rolled off your tongue and you wouldn’t have noticed… or cared.

He truly embodied every depiction of Rex Lapis you’ve ever seen.

“Is something the matter?” He asked as if his arms weren’t adorned in glowing geo patterns, as if his physique wasn’t carefully carved by millennia as a leader. He stood over you while you sat on the edge of your bed and you gulped at the vitality in his features. 

He looked larger—more youthful, even.

“What do I—” You hesitated, wondering if your question was foolish. “What do I call you?” 

He cupped your jaw the way he always did, though now with bare hands darkened by power that you could barely comprehend. “You can choose whichever name you like,” he replied. “It doesn’t change who I am to you.” 

Your mouth went dry. It was frightening how much more irresistible he seemed like this.

“Morax,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

His brows lifted slightly, but he stayed silent.

“Morax,” you repeated, louder this time. You knew calling him ‘Rex Lapis’ would have been more respectful, more appropriate, but after seeing him in this divine form, with barely a towel wrapped around his waist, you knew that respect had already been thrown out the window. You would ask to be forgiven but what difference would it make if the god you pleaded to stood right before you in compromised garment?

“Interesting choice,” he chuckled as he pressed his thumb to your lips, “Now, lie still and let me enjoy what belongs to me.”

Those words sank in like branding on your skin—what belongs to me.

He was slow with you at first, hovering over you as you lay back. The silk of your nightgown clung to every curve of your body which left little to the imagination and Zhongli was so engrossed with his view, that the lust in his eyes made something inside you stir. You had to look away, your arms instinctively moving to shield your flushed expression.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you found yourself at the mercy of a man so many prayed to.

Gently, he pulled your arm away, “Why do you turn from me, my love?” He tilted his head, studying you like prey, but the tenderness in his voice reminded you that the ghost of your sweet Zhongli was still there, lingering beneath this form. 

“Are you regretting your curiosity?”

“I guess… seeing you this way makes me a little… shy,” you said, though you didn’t believe your own answer.

Before you could say more, his mouth was on yours, fierce and reassuring. It took the air right out of your lungs. You barely had time to recover before he started trailing softer kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. 

“Shy?” he repeated against your skin, “After all we’ve done, you’re still shy?” He slid his hand up your sides, tangling his fingers between the fine silk. “You may be skilled at keeping secrets but not from me. Tell me the truth, my sweet.” 

You opened your mouth to respond but you couldn’t stop your back from arching at his touch, which was very much an invitation for him to tear off the delicate fabric from your body. When he did, it left your chest exposed to his hungry gaze, earning him a small gasp and a deep ache pooling between your legs. 

“You’re so small in my hands,” he mused, fingers tightening around your throat for a brief moment. "And yet… you offer yourself so willingly."

You had offered yourself to a god.

You had offered yourself to a god.

“Do you understand what you’re doing?”

A shudder tore through you as he took both breasts into his hands and sunk his teeth between them, leaving you little marks made from canines you had never seen before. When you suddenly felt his hard bulge pressing against your core, you realised the towel around his waist had already been discarded. How could you even respond to him?

“This excites you, doesn’t it?” He murmured into the crook of your neck, grinding against you. He didn’t give you a chance to speak when he pried your legs open with one knee. “Have I ever told you how intoxicating you smell when you’re like this?” 

Harder than before, he bit into your neck and you found your fingers tugging on his hair.

“You can… smell me—?”

“I can sense you,” he corrected, “And I know exactly what you want from me." You could certainly tell he was pleased with himself yet instead of pushing you away, it only drew you in further.

With a single motion, you hooked your finger around the pin holding his ponytail in place, and pulled—freeing his hair so it cascaded down over his toned muscles.

He looked perfect. Divine. It was your way of confirming what he already knew—that you wanted this, wanted him.

Zhongli’s eyes glowed in the dim light and there was no mistaking the godly aura of Morax residing in him. The air seemed heavier under the weight of his presence. You were suffocating.

A deep growl elicited from his chest as he pushed the tip of his cock against your underwear, teasing your entrance. You whimpered at the way he bullied you, desperately pulling him in for another feverish kiss to satisfy at least one need.

This one was hungrier, messier. His groan vibrated through your mouth as his carbon-black hand slid back to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. 

Each twist and flick of his tongue felt like a silent demand: Give in. Yield.

In this state, a picture cleared. Zhongli's hands were everywhere—tangled in your hair, between the valley of your breasts, dipping into the areas you ached the most. This side of him was primal, gluttonous, and possessive. Every touch felt forbidden—blasphemous, even. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say you weren’t enjoying every sinful second of it.

Finally, Zhongli parted from the kiss, his breath heavy as his eyes stayed locked with yours. For once, he allowed himself to make you completely at his will. 

The head of his cock pressed harder against your entrance, the flimsy barrier of your silk underwear doing little to dull the intensity of his lust. He was desperate to feel the warmth inside you. You were already soaked, and he knew it—he could feel it, smell it, and it drove him wild.

“My dear,” he said, sound impatient now, “you know I admire you, right?”

“I do,” you replied too quickly.

“Good. Because I don’t want you to be mistaken.”

“What do you mea—”

Before you could finish, he pulled your underwear to the side and let his cock glide against your folds. Your hips moved with him, coating his shaft with your wetness, and that was enough for him to forget about taking it slow. Groaning, he shoved his blunt tip inside you and it left your thighs trembling. Your body felt like it was on fire, jerking back as his length stretched you out, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly, “Oh my—” you gasped.

Had it been that long since you last did this, or was this form accompanied by godly… benefits?

With his head thrown back in sheer pleasure, he let out a throaty grunt, almost salivating at the way your walls pulsed around him—like your body had been made just for him. Somehow, sex felt even better in this form and it had him feral enough to hold the sides of your hips, fingers digging into your flesh to anchor himself between your legs. “That’s it,” he growled, “Take every inch.” 

He started thrusting—hard—the sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the walls. Your breasts bounced in rhythm, and he was so entranced by the sight he could cum on the spot. Every second, he was ripping moan after moan out of you as he fucked you into the mattress. 

“Morax,” you called out, your voice shaking while he pumped in and out of you relentlessly, “So… good. I want more…” You ran your hands across his chest, feeling the quickening of his breath. His face shifted into a predatory look and you realised that he was losing himself as much as you.

“Then come here,” he groaned through gritted teeth, spoken exactly like someone who had never been defiled.

He didn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he flipped you to your stomach, left your ass in the air and your legs hanging off the bed—your toes barely even touching the floor.

You braced yourself for his unyielding pace, but he surprised you with a tender kiss on your shoulder, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

The unexpected affection made your heart swell so you wiggled against his crotch, inviting him for more. He chuckled, almost pityingly, knowing full well what he was about to do next.

You couldn’t even catch your breath before he pushed back inside you, hissing as he indulged in your warmth. You swore you were well-behaved but somehow this felt like a punishment. He, who was so deceptively gentle a moment ago, found your hair and tugged it into his fist, drawing a sharp yelp from your lips.

Once he started moving at the same unforgivable pace, each thrust forced his name out of your mouth. “M-Morax— Mor–ax,” you were barely coherent and it riled him up the more you said it. It surely wasn’t the first time hearing someone call him that but in this context, he wasn’t going to make it his last—especially if it was you.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice resonant, like the rumbling of the earth itself. 

“Y-Yes…”

Although, you weren’t sure what you expected when you asked to see his form but you knew what you were receiving now was the primal strength of something foreign to you.

His heavy cock stretched you so deliciously, filling you so completely that every nerve in your body screamed with pleasure. You clawed at the sheets as you creamed rings around his base and the wooden bedframe groaned with each erratic thrust.

His movements were undeniably getting sloppier and his breaths came in short, guttural huffs. “Feel- how- deep I am inside- you?” he rasped, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. “You’re taking it so well.” You couldn’t see it but you heard a grin dancing behind his voice as he pushed deeper.

Your feet were lifting off the ground with each thrust, leaving your ass stinging from the relentless pounding. When you felt his free hand snake around to cup your breast, fingers squeezing your sensitive nipple, you practically melted. “Thank you… Ple—,” you whined, the only words you could really manage.

But that was enough for him.

Zhongli’s grip on your hair tightened as he pulled, forcing your head back while his other hand dug into the soft flesh of your breast. The pain mixed with pleasure sent your vision into a blur of white. It shouldn’t feel this good but you could feel your orgasm coming despite being nothing but a ragdoll in his powerful hands. 

His body trembled as he chased his release, each thrust growing more urgent as he drove into your G-spot. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through your body until finally, your climax hit like a tidal wave. Letting go of your hair, you collapsed against the mattress. It was too much so it left you biting into the sheets, a cry ripping from your throat as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock with each spasm. “I-I’m—ahhh—cumming!”

“Just like that,” he groaned while your body tightened, savouring the way your body responded to every thrust. He was unable to think about anything else aside from the feeling of your muscle clenching and pulsating, “So tight—keep going. You’re perfect like this.”

With one final snap of his hips, you felt him pulse between your walls, his balls tightening as he emptied deep inside you. Thick ropes of hot milky cum filled you, his cock twitching as he buried himself to the hilt. Your name rolled off his lips in a low, drawn-out grunt that was raw and animalistic, a sound that made you delirious enough to go another round just to hear it again. 

Even after he finished, he stayed pressed against you, fucking his cum back into you with lazy, satisfied strokes, filling you over and over until there was nothing left to give. 

“I’m… full,” you whispered shakily, still feeling every inch of him inside you.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Yes and no. If getting tossed around meant you were fine, then sure.

"I'm okay," you breathed.

"Good girl."

When he finally pulled out, you went completely limp, rolling onto your back while a thin layer of sweat left your skin glowing.

You could feel Zhongli doing the same, his body mirroring yours as you both lay there, chests heaving, struggling to catch your breaths. After a moment, you turned to face him, both of you blinking at each other under the light.

“This… wasn’t what I meant when I said show me one of your forms,” you managed to say. 

“Are you complaining?” 

You let out a soft sigh as you stared up at the ceiling. Even after all this, he hadn’t lost his sarcastic sense of humor. “No,” you admitted, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks. “It’s just that… well, I think I might’ve enjoyed you—the real you—a little more than I expected. A little more than what’s appropriate, perhaps.”

You couldn’t help but dance around the memory of all the offerings you’d given Rex Lapis throughout your life. Was this his gift in return?

“Oh? Pray tell, what is it that you enjoyed so much?”

You hesitated but the way he looked at you made it impossible not to answer. 

 “I liked… the way you moved…" you felt slightly embarrassed to continue but he nodded for you to go on, "You were rougher on me, but it made me want more…”

While you spoke, you noticed subtle changes in him. His pupils began narrowing into thin slits, and his golden irises seemed to glow with an ethereal light. The sharpness of his fangs became more pronounced, peeking between his lips. His fingers, which had been tracing circles on your arm, now felt a little sharper, almost claw-like.

“And… your strength,” you gulped as you watched his transformation. “It was… overwhelming. I couldn’t resist it but I didn't want to. I felt safe.”

A low, rumbling growl emanated from his chest, his hand sliding possessively to your waist. It made your stomach flip.

“If that’s the case,” his voice was deeper now, almost a purr as his newly revealed tail coiled around your thigh. He leaned closer, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. 

“Why are you trembling?”

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

dividers: @/astrumaur

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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

[b1mbodoll]

jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan jake groan

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

⋰ ⋱✮ minors dni — suggestive ✮ ⋰ ⋱

♡ notes; been thinking about davids clark since the trailer — movie not out until july be damned, i had to write something

⋰ ⋱✮

Clark Kent is easily amused, throwing on a little red lace was more than enough to get a blushed reaction out of him, happily crawling into his lap as soon as his laptop was out of the way.

Superman is harder to read, harder to get ahold of. the second he was in the suit he gained a determination even the passionate, mild-mannered journalist couldn’t grasp.

Of course it didn’t usually make much difference to you, only really seeing the superhero side of him on a screen or in the paper the next day, but it was intriguing. call it curiosity, fantasy, greed even — you couldn’t help but wonder if that side of the man you cared so deeply for was doing more than just protecting you. what if he was holding something back?

you worked up the courage to say something about it when the familiar headline came across the tv; Superman saves! he looked as charming as ever, smiling and waving at the crowd of cameras and heads surrounding him. he was looking right at the camera intentionally, like he was looking right at you.

the blue and red covering him accompanied by the still somehow well-kept hair looked better every time you saw it. the reporters lucky enough to be there were going on and on about how incredible it was but truthfully it was hard to pay attention. the lack of breathlessness, the way he played it off as not a big deal like he didn’t just save the city again, the size of him towering over everyone else, all of it had you completely dazed.

you were all over him as soon as he stepped through the door, standing up on your toes to reach him for a kiss.

“hello to you, too.” a big hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you away from your impromptu attack on his own, tilting his head at you when you frowned in protest.

“I’m all sweaty and gross, let me take my suit off first, alright? then you can kiss me as much as you want. promise.” he punctuated his words with a kiss on your head, unnecessarily picking you up for just a second to move you out of the way before you tugged his wrist to stop him.

“wait, I actually- kinda wanted to talk to you about that.” you let go of his wrist as quickly as you’d grabbed it, anxiously clasping your hands together as he turned back towards you.

“about..?”

“that.” you pointed to his suit like it was obvious, nervously looking up at him.

“my suit? what about it?” you nodded, collecting the words in your head that seemed much more rational when he wasn’t standing over you.

“i think you should keep it on.” he didn’t seem to quite understand what you were getting at, large hand moving over his face in thought as you searched for a way to say it without flat out begging him to keep the suit on and bend you over.

“keep it on.. for you? like, here?” he looked around your shared apartment, eyes wandering over the living room like he was looking for clues until he got back to you, dancing around your words.

“just for a second? you’re always so.. i dunno, different, when you have it on.” you were speaking to him like you’d just gotten together this morning, your eyes stuck on the way the fabric shaped his arms.

“yeah, that’s sorta the point, honey. that’s just to protect my identity, to protect you.” he crossed his arms when he noticed the direction of your pointed gaze, daring you to say just what you meant.

“i know, but don’t you think that’s still you? like that’s just some deeper part of you?” it was glaringly obvious that you really just wanted him to throw you around a little bit — rough you up for the sake of your own filthy desires, but he wanted to give you time to rethink it, and just as bad, he wanted to hear you say it.

“what are you asking?” he stepped closer to you, boots not yet discarded by the door creaking the hard wood floor under them.

“i want to see it. to feel it- that part of you, i mean. i just.. don’t want you to feel like you have to hold anything back from me, clark.”

“sweetheart. that’s real nice but-“ he was trying to avoid the obvious; he didn’t want to really hurt you. it was hard enough avoiding deep bruises from his hard to manage strength just being clark, letting go completely seems almost irrational.

“you’re a lot stronger than me, i know. i can handle it. let me show you, please?” you took his steady hand, your own shakier than you’d like to admit — but you weren’t scared. you’d thought about it for so long it just excited you, clark was always so gentle and sweet with you — and you loved it! but he’d also do just about anything you set your pretty little mind on, and this was no exception.

“that’s really what you want?” he was just about as close as he could get now, listening intently to your heartbeat speeding up as his hands closed around your waist.

“please.”

[sunrisemill]

YOU’RE KIDDING ME ?!??!??

I’ve never been so breathless before at just the SIGHT of a man

Clip from this edit <33

[hoffmansgirl]

what the fuck he's actually insane?????!!!!!! my god

[uravitypng]

i've spoken about "just the tip" denki but i haven't spoken about taking off the condom while fucking denki. (dark content)(something written late at night so there's bound to be some mistakes, i just had to get this idea out here)

denki is a sleeze, you've known that since you've met him but you can't help but be drawn to him. every time you see each other you feel like the sexual tension grows.

one night you end up underneath him after the whole evening of him staring at your breasts. your skirt is pushed up and he's practically ripped off your shirt. his clothes are gone just as quickly as yours and you watch at he runs his hand through his hair, making him look more attractive than normal. you stare at his lean body and pretty face, you gaze at his happy trail that matches the colour of his hair and the precum on his boxers where you can see how hard he is.

it makes him grin wide as he watches you looking at him. he could hardly hold it against you when he's doing the same to you, wanting to leave hickeys and bite marks all over your plush body and run his hands all over your soft body. "kaminari do you have a condom?"

he pauses for a second before saying he does. you don't catch his annoyance in his tone though. one second he's saying he has a condom and the next he's going over to his pocket and taking one out, ripping the packet open with his teeth. denki grabs your face and kisses you passionately while simultaneously entering you harshly, making you gasp in the kiss.

after a while you truly feel like this is the best sex you've ever had, his cock feels so good inside you and he's teasing you just enough to drive you crazy. he kisses all over your body and gropes your tits, making you shiver and flush. you're sweaty and cock drunk, unable to even be able to form sentences.

denki watches as your eyes roll at the back of your head and knows he has an opportunity if he acts now, the next time he moves out of you he quickly takes off the condom and throws it behind him before thrusting back into you again, he instantly groans loudly as he feels your warm wet walls wrapped around him with no barrier and his pace starts to get sloppy.

you don't notice the difference already feeling fuzzy and dumb on his cock. he watches your body jiggle and how your face scrunches up in pleasure, with your head tipped back and sweet noises coming from your mouth, filling the air. denki's holding on tightly to your love handles, definitely leaving you with bruises. a couple more thrusts and he releases his cum inside you to the hilt, shoving his cock in you as far as he can. this time you feel something and have a fleeting thought that he's came in you but ignore it because you saw him put the condom.

next thing you know he's lowering his body and leaving kissing in his wake while he fingers you before he starts eating you out. you gasp at the sudden contact, first having two fingers rubbed against your upper walls and the next having his tongue flicking your clit making your grab his hair tightly and him to moan against your pussy. he stays there for the next hour, making you orgasm multiple times. as his own cum drips out of your pussy and he slips his tongue inside of you tasting himself causing you to grab on tighter to his hair. you never realised he came inside you, disposing of the condom before you noticed.

[ginevrapng]

imagine spending months flirting with remus and he reciprocates but there is a slight age gap, not big enough for you to even think about or other people to think about but he overthinks it and worries he's too old for you, that you're 'wasting your youth' and you should be 'spending time with people your own age'. obviously you think it's rubbish but the thing about remus is he can be hypocritical, he says all this stuff but flirts with you anyway, it's very confusing.

one day he just snaps at you, you've been spending the night at 12 grimmauld place and everyone else has gone to bed, it's just you two and you flirt a bit, no more than usual and that's what shocks you so much at his outburst. "I'm not your boyfriend," he says coldly, in a tone that you've never heard him use directed at you before.

a shiver runs down your spine and you feel like all the warmth leave your body, you hated the way he just talked to you, dismissed you like that. after a moments silence you reply to him quietly, "i never thought you were."

"i never said it was your mistake," he mumbles back softer than before. he gets up from his chair and leaves the room without saying another word.

[xxgoldie]

Ok but the idea of lighter joining you in the shower thinking he's gonna get some coochie but then it turns into you asking him to help apply a hair mask and he gets to watch you shave and whatnot and it's not sex but it's incredibly domestic (plus he does get to stare at your tits...) and it feels like something besides his dick grows a size that day. lighter loving to watch you take care of yourself and put all those products he's always running errands to pick up for you into use. getting a whiff of your hair products when you're snuggled close, being physically incapable of a) keeping his gloves on and b) keeping his hands off your legs when they're freshly shaved and moisturized. finding amusement in your little skincare routines and just shrugging and letting you do as you please when you insist on putting some of your moisturizing sunscreen on his face.

I KNOW RIGHT like I was thinking abt several characters when I made the post but let's be real, deep down it's always Lighter,,,,,, I'm just so soft for him in little domestic moments

gotta tease him a little like "it takes effort to be this soft and kissable, since you've been reaping the rewards you may as well start helping". n honestly he's a little bewildered but he can't say no to you when you're clothed, let alone naked and inches away in the cramped shower. getting him involved w every step, whether he's helping or ur also applying the product to him. having him massage a scalp mask in for you and he's a natural at it, it feels like you're at a spa - we've established he's good with his fingers n I think that has a wide variety of applications, including massages. n getting him to use your shampoo and conditioner for once (hate to say it, but I feel like he's a 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash kind of guy just for convenience. in this respect I could fix him tho).

he's honestly surprised how much he enjoys the non-sexual nudity. normally, as soon as your clothes start coming off he can't keep his hands off of you, but despite his original intentions, he doesn't feel much need to shift the mood (tho as you said anon, he is absolutely staring at your tits the whole time). the lack of clothes feels less sexual and more vulnerable, not performing or putting on a mask, just enjoying the intimacy of the mundane and making it special. he slots perfectly into your routine. with every new product you pick up (he is still astonished at how many of them go into this), he's learning a tidbit about you, another tiny puzzle piece falling into place.

another thing is I think this would hit so hard in a fwb-to-lovers situation (a trope which I think suits him so so well). just, one of those first moments where the two of you can start thinking about 'what if there were strings attached?', the sort of thing that makes him realise that shit, maybe he's a bit in love with you. mmmmm I will never stop thinking about him.

[sorcerous-caress]

I saw some discussion in another ask about whether Durge becoming a god would remain the same person, and I felt like sharing some stuff I read which I found really interesting- about ascending to godhood and "mortal" partners specifically.

Becoming a god, you are aware of everything going on in your domain, you can always hear and process the prayers of your faithful. The lack of need to continue indulging in food, sleep, etc, make it hard to still appreciate those things like one once did. And by comparison to just your baseline existence, it's underwhelming in the first place- again, constant prayers, higher power, higher understanding. In the end the person described it like having a pet, essentially. You love your pets and your pets love you, undoubtedly, but there are a lot of things you cannot share with them, because they wouldn't understand it or be able to appreciate it like you do. Just the edge of a god's consciousness, knowledge, awareness, would probably be intensely underwhelming to a mortal. A god wouldn't truly be able to meaningfully explain their existence to a mortal, etc.

Also the thing of immortality itself and how it seems to affect people's perception pretty directly, like elven lifespans do. You can become pretty detached to the concept of time compared to mortals or others who have shorter lives. What's a few decades translating an ancient language, when you've got eternity to do whatever you like?

I feel like those differences would be a non-issue, or even enticing to some (i mean. i think some people would be okay with the "pet of a god" position.) but it's certainly not for everyone. And what if you, as a god, do an oopsie and forget to dote on your mortal lover for a few years, because they aren't in your plane, and you had to attend to your faithful, or other manners of godly business?

I've wanted to ramble on about this for ages, hopefully this is alright lol. It's been swimming around in my brain, I just find the psyche changes so interesting. Good food!!

-Tressym Anon

Good food indeed

Side note: does that mean elves are the most spoiled pets ever with their owner gods forming an entire pantheon just for their precious little pointy eared guys? While humans are akin to a stray racoons dumpster-diving and scrounging for scrabs because no god would ever take them? Is that what Corellon doesn't want his precious pets to associate with humanity and their rabies?

Anyway someone should call animal control on Lolth. There's probably a huge poster on the gods' meeting room door reminding everyone to not feed the wild racoons outside their homes and don't even attempt to domesticate them, Mystra looks the other each time she passes by it.

But yeah, this is a very well written explanation of what it would've felt like to be a god. No wonder Durge is going to change beyond compression, even ascended Astarion would just seem like an exotic pet to him, like how some people keep tarantulas.

But one thing tho, I think their views on mortals are even lesser that of a pet.

If Mystra, a good leaning neutral god wanted her favourite pet to kill himself just for her forgiveness, it's wild to think what the evil aligned gods would require of you.

Maybe ants? Dolls? I mean you also don't fuck your pets so it is confusing a bit. Gods both can be attracted to us but also act as if we're more worthless than dust.

Some gods gamble with mortal souls, others keep mortal friends and walks in their mortal form a lot. It's like a 2D person being asked to imagine the third dimension, something that looks very simple and makes sense to us could be utter nonsense and impossible to even comprehend to them.

Dolls might be the best description honestly, sentient dolls. I'd imagine playing town management games to be the closest experience to being a god, years can pass like seconds to you but you also can slow down time to experience it minute by minute.

You see the people that you guide and order around and you acknowledge them as people but they all seem so small from high above, their efforts so meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

But you can get down on their level, maybe even have a small chat to them one to one, flirt a bit or sleep around. Then vanish back up when another task needs to be done as they get reduced to another number in your count of followers.

And here I was debating writing a god Gale au with a reader who ends up going back to him after ascending Astarion and regreting it, thinking a god surely is more responsible and respectful of them than a legit vampire lord.

It is funny to think that Gale has the potential to become the most toxic out of all of them, I mean we have all saw Bhaal's punishment for Durge if they fail to become his slayer, what he would reduce his favourite child to.

The line between good and evil must be very blurry when you're sitting up high. Or maybe mortality straight up just doesn't exist, it's action and reaction instead.

[leaentries]

just thinking about dad!nico being so protective and dominant when it comes to his wife and kid. always taking charge, helping lead them, constantly taking any burdens and making sure they always have everything they could ever want. and then just showing him how much you appreciate him for all he does.

kissing every inch of his thick muscle and worshipping his body bc he deserves a reward for taking such good care of his family. slowly taking his leaking cock into your mouth before finally riding him until he can’t think properly.

“mommy’s so proud of daddy”

“let me worship my big, strong man.”

“always so strong for us, let mommy take care of you.”

+ probably knocked you up again with how much he came inside you

[sceletaflores]

no logan actually has me in a chokehold, all I can think of is him being away for a mission but you’re so needy for him that you grab one of his flannels and ball it up and shove it in between your legs and then basically humping it to get off, and maybe he comes back early from said mission and you don’t hear him come in so he’s just watching you for a while before he’s had enough and decides to take matters into his own hands, btw love your writing keep up the good work!!💕💕

nat’s note: i read this and immediately had to put my phone down and walk away to breathe for a second. your mind is so beautiful anon, thanks a bunch for sharing! hope you love it <333

|| feat. logan howlett x fem!reader || 18+ SMUT MDNI ||

Six days is a long time.

Six days without Logan is almost unbearable.

The first three days were fine, nice even. You had the whole house to yourself, free to sprawl out on the couch and binge watch the guilty pleasure shows he always makes fun of.

The quiet was a welcome change—you could really relax, could sit with your thoughts.

Then day four rolled around, and things changed.

You started to notice the little things—the leather jacket he left slung over the back of the dining room table chair, the way the bed felt too big without him, how cold you were at night without him plastered to your back.

By day five, the quiet wasn’t soothing anymore; it felt empty.

You missed the sound of his voice, missed his scent melded in the sheets of your bed, missed the warmth of his body next to yours.

And by day six? Well, six days without Logan wasn’t just lonely anymore—it was a special kind of torture.

It wasn’t just the emotional closeness or the comfort of his presence you longed for—it was the rough scrape of his stubble on your skin, the way his body pressed into yours, heavy and demanding. The way his voice dropped when he growled your name, hands gripping your hips with a possessive edge that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t just miss him, you craved him.

It was settling in an unbearable ache, low in your stomach. A constant thrum that served as a reminder of just how much you missed his touch.

You didn't realize just how spoiled he'd gotten you. You haven't gone a day without at least four orgasms all year. Logan made sure of that, enforces it like it's a house rule he'd die before breaking.

You’d gotten too used to the feel of his hands roaming over your body, the way his lips traveled from your mouth down to the space between your thighs, the way his cock brushes against that special spot inside you each time he slides home in your pussy.

Your body longed for him in a way that made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. Every thought seemed to circle back to Logan, to what it would feel like to have him here, right now.

The worst part—no amount of toys or creative use of your hands was enough to soothe that ache. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to satisfy yourself; nothing worked.

The frustration was unbearable.

You blame that for your lapse in judgement when you made your way into your shared closet.

It was completely innocent at first, just you looking for something to wear to bed.

You only happened to trip over a shirt Logan must have left strewn across the floor before leaving. One of his favorites, a worn down brown and red flannel you'd seen him in countless times.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you bent down and scooped it up, burying your face in it. His scent—earthy, woodsy, and unmistakably him—hit you like a freight train as heat began to pool between your legs.

Suddenly, it was like Logan was there, surrounding you completely, teasing you with his absence. The ache deepened, twisting into something even more unbearable.

It was almost too much. That raw desire you’d been trying to hold at bay snapped its leash, and suddenly, the thought of going to bed wasn’t even an option.

You were already soaking wet by the time you made it to bed, greedy lungfuls of Logan's scent enough to get you there in no time.

The flannel was warm in your hands, the roughed up fabric felt oddly comforting against your fingertips and the skin of your cheeks.

As you settled onto the mattress, a thought crept in. Wicked and indulgent in a way that made your ears burn with shame and your stomach swirl with heady arousal that fanned the fire raging between your legs.

Before you could stop yourself, you slid your panties off, your body already tingling with anticipation

You pulled the shirt between your legs, pressing it against your dripping core, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a vice.

You moaned at the feeling, the first rush of relief flowing through you like water through a desert. The friction, the smell, it was almost like he was in bed with you, touching you, guiding your movements. But no matter how nice it felt, it still wasn’t enough.

The ache was only just lessened, the thrum of need was still there, undeniable and persistent.

With a whine, you leaned back on the bed, knees bent, legs spread wide, and you started to rock your hips against the fabric. Every movement sent delicious waves of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t the same. Not quite. You needed more—needed him.

Your fingers gripped the flannel tighter, dragging it harder against your aching clit. Eyes squeezing shut, you let out a desperate moan, hips working so fast the bed frame started thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the fantasy of him—of him under you, of his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer. His voice low and gravelly as he whispered filthy things in your ear.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you were so lost in your thoughts, so caught up in the moment, that you didn’t even hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the heavy footsteps making their way through the house, getting closer and closer.

But when the door to the bedroom creaked open, your eyes shot wide, and there he was.

Logan, home a day early.

He’s stood in the doorway. His sharp gaze locked on you, jaw clenched tight. His eyes darkened, filled with lust and something else—something dangerous.

Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, but your body refused to stop moving, hips still grinding slowly against his flannel as if they have a mind of their own.

You expect him to say something, to scold you, maybe—but instead, a slow, dirty smirk spread across his face.

Without breaking eye contact, he crosses the room, shedding his leather jacket with a deliberate slowness as he does. He drops into the chair sitting in the corner of your bedroom, legs spread wide as he leaned back, watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I didn't say to slow down," he growls, the edge in his voice making your stomach flip. "Keep going, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

The command in his voice was irresistible. Your body responding before your mind could even catch up, hips rolling against the flannel faster again, a soft whimper slipping from your lips. The friction feels even better knowing he’s watching, eyes dark and heavy with desire as he sees you fall apart.

"Logan, please" you gasp, hips moving faster.

"Please what, darlin'?" he hums.

"I don't- ah! Anything, please," you rush out, eyes glued to the obscene spread of his legs, where his strong thighs stretch the thick denim taught.

Logan shakes his head with a dark chuckle. "No, you wanna get yourself off without me you do it. Can't have your cake and eat it too, baby."

You whine, high and loud as tears burn at your waterline, threatening to spill down your cheeks. "I can't," you sob, voice tiny and pitiful in the quiet of the room.

"Don't be like that, princess," he chastises, clicking his tongue at you disapprovingly. "Know you can come just like this. Bet that pussy's been drippin' for days, huh?"

You nod pitifully, biting down on your lip as your legs starting trembling on either side of the balled up shirt.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice dripping with lust. “So needy you couldn’t even wait for me, huh? You missed my cock that bad?”

You nod again breathless, the pressure building between your thighs becoming unbearable as his words wash over you.

“Bet you were thinkin’ about me, weren't you?” His voice drops, rich and syrupy, and it crawls over your skin like a slow burn. “All this time, wishing it was me between your legs instead of that fucking shirt.”

Your movements grow more frantic, eyes dropping to his lap, zeroing in on where his thick cock presses against his thigh, tenting his jeans lewdly. Your mouth waters, lips dropping open with a quiet moan as you imagine him slipping between them, fucking your throat and making your jaw ache.

“Such a dirty little thing,” he purrs, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “You like putting on a show for me, don’t you? Gettin' off starin' at my cock while you fuck yourself with my shirt? Goddamn, I can see how fuckin' soaked you are from here.”

The flannel was soaked now, wet and clinging to your folds as you desperately rub yourself against it, your body trembling with need. Every roll of your hips makes you more desperate, more sensitive, pleasure coiling tight in your belly and almost ready to snap.

Your moans grow louder, filling the room as you chase your release, the rough fabric of his flannel dragging against your swollen clit in all the right ways. Logan watching you—making you do this—had you teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in sharp pants.

His voice was a constant stream of filth, each word sending shock waves of pleasure straight to your core.

“Atta' girl, that's it,” he rasps, his voice rough and commanding. “Come for me. Drench that shirt, baby. Make a mess of it. I’ll fuck you right after, promise.”

You were teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling with need as you rock against the flannel harder, faster, desperate for release.

"Come on, baby," he goads, leaning forward in his chair, eyes burning with something feral as he licks his lips. "If you get it nice and dirty for me, I'll wear it for you."

That was all it took. The thought of Logan walking around in his shirt after this, the fabric soaked with your essence, staking your claim on him, has you coming.

Your body shudders violently as waves of pleasure crash through you, pulling you under. Your back arches off the bed, hips jerking erratically against the flannel as you cry out his name, hot tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

Logan growls in satisfaction, eyes locked on you, watching as you tremble and gasp through the aftershocks. He stands from the chair, slow and deliberate, stalking toward the bed with a dark gleam in his eyes as his hands drop to his belt.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, voice thick with desire as he climbs onto the bed, caging you in with his body. His lips brush your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn, baby. And I ain’t even close to done with you yet.”

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

a/n: wow this really got away from me lmao...it was not supposed to be so long ANDDD sorry for the low-key fade to black ending but I had no idea how to end this heheh okay bye love you!

[diorchids]

would you be willing to write about ares from pjo🙇‍♀️

mentoring.

᯾ CONTENT WARNING: pure smut, age gap, mentor!ares, virgin!reader, oral, penetration, choking. 𐔌 ᥩྀི. ˔ ، ꒱

you dreamt of him often, and he clouded your thoughts during the day, but you’d never thought of your mentor in this way. 

“but you want it. you’re tired of these--these boys. you need a man,” you sat up straight as he said those words. they were almost enchanting, convincing you to take the extra step.

his head cocked to the side as you drooled all over his cock, occasionally gagging as you forced yourself to take all of him in one go. “probably not as big as this, hm? biggest dick you’ve ever had, that’s for sure.” this was mentoring though. this is how it goes. if you want to be the best, you have to, in his words, “be prepared to take it on the chin.” 

ironic.

your spit-soaked lips wrapped around his thick, meaty cock as your tummy fluttered at the mere sight of his face, damp and dazed. your fingers cradled his heavy balls, squeezing and pulling the warm sacks as he pushed himself deeper into your throat. the control he had over you was delicious. thick, calloused fingers wrapped tightly around your neck as tears pooled in your eyes, delicately rolling down your face.

he dragged his swollen cock against your wet cunt, dripping in your warm, sticky arousal. in all honesty, this was better anything he’d ever had. stripping away the innocence of a girl such as yourself. him being the one to take it; it was just perfect. 

“you’re real tight, y’know that? practically chokin’ me,” he spoke as you cried and whined at the pure assault as he held your waist in his hands, rubbing and soothing your stomach which must’ve been aching. “please--hurts!” you said, feeling the ache and stretch of his cock drawing in and out of you. "you can take it, doll, you'll take it."

it's what a good mentor does. he's doing you a favor.

[http-tokki]

one more please- choso kamo

~ tattoo artist!choso kamo x fem!reader ~tags/cw: mature content, smut, explicit language, established relationships,choso being a lil freak and having a thing for your legs ~ wc: 1.1k ~ not proofread. posted at 2am

Choso has a weird thing for your legs. not your feet, your legs; from the top of your thigh to your ankle, your boyfriend was obsessed with your soft skin. always touching you in some form or another (whether it be soft strokes up the expanse of your plush thigh or absent-minded tracings of the lines that make up your tattoos) his fingers are always ghosting over your skin in tender touches, but tonight, there is something different about him. a man possessed, desperate, feral.

As per usual, Choso has your legs slung over his shoulders as he bullies your poor pussy with his fat cock. he often jokes that this position is a two-for-one; he gets to touch your legs and watch as his cock disappears in you, creamy white rings accumulating at the base and dripping down your cunt and onto the towel below, spurring him to keep going and pump you full. on a good day, he couldn't get enough of you but today, there has to be something in the air or the planets and stars because Choso is relentless in his need to be within you.

"Cho, baby, we can, hnng, take a break if you, hmph, need one." you are barely able to get the words out as your body jolts upwards at a particular sharp series of thrusts. "you've cum, fuck, three times already." you grip onto his muscular arms, nails digging red crescents into what untattooed skin remained.

Choso shakes his head. "need one more." a hand wraps around your calf. "please, princess."

You nod, staring up at your gorgeous boyfriend and marvelling at how utterly feral he looks. His hair is mused and hanging to his shoulders in soft, freshly washed waves. His cheeks glow red in the dim light, and sweat covers his skin in a celestial glow. His mulberry eyes are trained on the spot where you two are connected. His jaw is slack as drool begins to collect on his tongue.

"You're drooling." you point out, giggle turning into a huff as he fucked into you again.

choso opens his mouth further, sticking his tongue out as a signal for you to do the same. a fat glob of saliva is dropped from his mouth to yours, the taste of menthol, coffee, you and him mix on your tongue as you swallow. That action seems to wake your boyfriend up as he turns his head to the side, begins to kiss across your ankle, and bites on whatever skin he can find to purchase.

"toy." he blurts out, words mumbled as he continues to kiss down your leg. when you don't react to this strange outburst he clarifies with a rushed "Get your toy, I wanna feel you cum with me"

you blindly reach out to the bedside table, fingers scrambling to find the small but mighty vibrator that had been both yours and Choso's best friend since the first time you had sex. it was hard for you to finish sometimes, medication inhibiting that part of your brain but somehow, you finished quicker and easier with a little help. (at first, you were worried choso would feel icky about it, like he would feel emasculated that you could only finish thanks to a vibrator but that could not be further from the truth. choso had managed to get you off with his fingers and tongue just fine so what was the issue with adding a little help when he was a tad preoccupied?)

the silicone brushes against your fingers and you're clicking it on, holding it against your clit as you feel yourself being split open once again. two hands wrap around your hips, tilting them up ever so slightly in the way that choso knew had you seeing stars.

"I need you to cum, please princess." choso starts to pant, jaw clenching as he tries to hold off his orgasm. "please, baby, please." his pleas are stretched out, words failing him as his head starts to swim.

You feel the familiar tightness in your stomach, fingertips buzzing with heat as you turn up the speed, knowing you and him are teetering on the edge and you both need that final push. you can't form words, only whimpers and moans and the occasional head nod as you slap your hand over your mouth to stop the cry that wants to rip through you.

"you gonna-?" he can't finish the sentence but you nod feverishly, brows knitting together as you feel white-hot pleasure shoot through you.

Choso curses, hips stilling against you as he spills into your spasming pussy. his cheeks blaze red, mouth dropping open in a cute 'O' before he clenches his jaw again, shaking as he empties his balls. you feel warm, tingly and floaty, like you had just swallowed starlight and it was now flowing through your veins when suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your calf. Your legs, still on Choso's shoulders, tense and your calf cramps.

You swearing, trying to grab at your leg to stretch out his muscle but your boyfriend is so lost in his world he doesn't notice until you start to cry his name, pushing at his arm to allow the room for your leg to lay flat.

choso is instantly terrified. concern replacing ecstasy in a second as he clocks the pain cry as opposed to the pleasure cry and he pulls back.

"What's happening?" his hands fly to your thigh, unaware as to what is going on. "Did I hurt you? Are you okay? Baby, what's wrong?"

you shake your head, no answer in your answer and cry out. "I have a cramp."

you flex your foot, feeling the muscle spasm as you cry and wait for the pain to subside. Choso relaxes beside you, now aware he has not unintentionally hurt you, and replaces your hands on your calf. strong fingers rub tenderly at the muscle and when only you stop whining and hissing, does he put your leg down.

"Better?" he asks and collapses onto your chest, resting his full weight atop you.

"Much," you nod and begin to card your fingers through his hair. "You good?"

Choso nods, a smile creeping on his face until he is beaming. "So good." burying his head into your chest, you feel his teeth nip at your breast and arms tighten on your waist. words immediately after sex are minimal between the two of you. For a few minutes after, there is nothing but the sound of rushing blood in both your minds and you need a few seconds to gather your thoughts before speaking in full complete sentences.

minutes pass and there is nothing but the sound of your breathing and occasional sighs of contentment until Choso pipes up. "I lied."

you humm your question.

he grins sheepishly at you as you feel his cock stiffen against your thigh. "I think I need one more."

[mncxbe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭...

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: age gap relationship, old men fantasizing about their younger colleagues, itty bitty smut, dilfs

Men who are reluctant to ask you out because they don't wanna come across as creeps. They know how unusual it is for a man their age to be interested in a younger woman, but they just can't help it. You're so pretty, cheerful and kind, their little ray of sunshine.

Men who know you're at their beck and call and always make the most of it– be it for asking you to bring them a coffee or simply helping them write a report. Anything just to hear you say "yes sir" in that sweet voice of yours.

Men who can't wait for your birthday so they can finally spoil you rotten with gifts, claiming that it's only natural for them to give you something since you're working so hard and doing such a good job. A little token of gratitude. They love watching you unpack your gift, feigning surprise when you tell them it was exactly the thing you wanted. They hit you with a "Oh really now? That's just wonderful. I'm glad to hear you like it" as if they haven't observed you carefully over the past few months and know everything you like and dislike.

Men who feel guilty when their pants tighten as they watch you bend over to pick something up from the floor. They can only imagine how wonderful you'd look bent over their desk with your panties moved to the side– your pretty cunt sucking them in so snuggly.

Men who think of you a bit too much when they're alone, who do their best not to touch themselves out of respect for you but still end up failing miserably. After a hard day at work the only thing that relaxes them is dirty thoughts of you. They always play it cool the next day at work, as if they haven't moaned your name as they came in their fists last night. and the night before that. and the night before that.

Men who eventually notice that you're also interested in them and feel like they're on cloud nine. All their dreams come true when you start giving them little hints– a lingering touch here, an invitation to a bar after work there– but they don't want to rush things. Nah, they take things slow and make sure you're aware of how much you mean to them before even dreaming of laying a finger on you.

Men who are the happiest they've been in years when, after a few weeks of taking you out on dates and treating you to dinner, finally spend the night with you. They make it all about you, really. For once, they set aside their own selfish desires and focus on giving you pleasure like you've never felt before, making use of the many years of experience they have.

Men who love it when you cum for them– it really gets them going. It's soul soothing: watching you melt into the mattress and babble out some sweet nonsense about how good they make you feel. They're so gentle and caring in bed because you're just too precious, but they will gladly spice things up if you want it. Trying out new positions? sure. Toys? on the table. Anything for their pretty darling as long as you keep calling them sir when they're deep inside you.

Men who're already looking for engagement rings less than a year into the relationship. You've got something good going on, so why not? It's not like they're getting any younger. They're more than willing to spend the rest of their life with you, if you want so too, and they aren't going to waste any time to put a ring on your finger.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐞, 𝐅𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢, 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮, 𝐅𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚, 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 (𝐣𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞)