#this is just the. the very rough bare bones of what this is

[goblinontour]

Playground Love

principles and piercings

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, talking, that’s it, the kid is mentioned but not present

word count: 4.9k

The sound of the door seemed to echo through the empty house, punctuating your frustration. You slammed it behind you, exhaling a rough, irritated breath. “Fuck.” The word left your lips in a low groan, half-lost in the rumble of thunder that chased you inside. The rain hadn’t just soaked you – it had become a cold, unyielding second skin, seeping through your sweater, tracing icy rivulets down your neck and arms. Each drop felt like a reminder of his refusal to leave the house this morning, his insistence that you go instead. All because he insisted on playing his brooding poet routine. Stuck inside like a house cat that could no longer bear the sun, playing reclusive vampire. As if the world outside these walls had become foreign, too bright, too sharp for him to tread.

The sky was a dense shade of grey, heavy with clouds that looked like bruises on the horizon. The air had smelled thick and metallic, almost electric, as if the storm carried something more ominous in its folds. And yet, he’d chosen to stay here, curled up in his warm little corner, lost in whatever book had captured his interest this time, entirely detached from the reality you had to walk through alone.

As you shrugged off your drenched coat, it landed with a damp, resigned thud on the hallway bench. The boots took more effort, sticky from mud and pooling rainwater, but you tugged them off and let them drop, watching as small puddles began to spread across the floor. Normally, you’d tidy it up, make sure the mess didn’t creep into the house. Today, you let it lie there, like a silent reminder of what you’d endured.

You made your way through the silent house, feeling the warmth of it slowly seep into your bones. And that’s when you spotted him, his little mop of hair barely visible above the couch cushions, the tips messy and almost comically unkempt, contrasting with the stillness of the room. He sat in his typical lounging position, legs tucked under him, shoulders hunched slightly, a small crease on his forehead as he concentrated on the words in front of him. His headphones were big, cocooning him in sound, book in one hand, and a cup of tea cradled in the other, the soft tendrils of steam curling up like wisps of smoke.

You could tell from the slight furrow in his brow and the relaxed set of his jaw that he was somewhere else entirely, lost in a place he always retreated to. He hadn’t noticed you – he never did, not when he was like this. You watched as he flipped a page, moving as if in a trance, his thumb tracing the corner of the book’s edge in a habitual, absent-minded way, like the very act of reading was a ritual for him.

You stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, half-amused, half-annoyed. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, you thought, a mantra fighting against the urge that was rising within you. But his hair looked so irresistibly soft, so inviting, and that little voice inside you – the one that always wanted to shake him out of his dreamy, unreachable state – was louder today. He’d been distant for days now, and this simple, innocent moment of solitude felt almost selfish, given the morning you’d had.

He deserved a jolt back to reality, you reasoned. A reminder that you were still here, dripping wet from the storm he had refused to brave.

You let your hand hover just above his head, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, to see the finer details of the little dark waves framing his face. And then, with a quick, almost mischievous swipe, you tangled your fingers in his hair, giving it a deliberate tousle.

Perfect. Just enough to pull him out of his own head.

The reaction was immediate. He tensed, his whole body freezing for a split second before he jerked just enough to spill a splash of tea over his fingers. He whipped around, tugging off his headphones with a startled look, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of surprise and irritation that slowly shifted to something softer when he saw your dripping clothes, the slight smirk on your face.

“Really?” he murmured, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his lips.

“Really.” you replied, letting the word hang in the air, as if daring him to argue.

He looked down at his tea-stained hand, holding it up with an exaggerated sigh as if the sticky mess were some grand tragedy. His fingers curled, studying the small streaks that glistened against his skin, almost contemplative. He opened his mouth, maybe to complain, maybe to tease, but you cut him off.

“You could’ve done the school run.” you said, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable edge. “It’s just rain, not lava.”

He looked back at you, his eyes widening a fraction, a bemused expression flickering across his face as he processed your words. “I hate the rain.” he said, the statement soft, almost gentle, as if reminding you of something you’d forgotten about himself.

You shrugged, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the lingering dampness that still clung to your skin. “I hate a lot of things too.” you replied, though your voice softened as you watched him. “But I went anyway. Because she wanted someone to walk her in.”

He seemed to take that in, letting it settle in the silence between you, his gaze dropping to his tea-stained hand, then back to you, the smallest trace of guilt flashing across his face. You reached out, took his cup, and wrapped your chilled hands around its warmth. He watched as you took a long, slow sip, savouring the taste of the drink you hadn’t even made, letting the warmth seep into you while his eyes lingered on you with something like quiet regret.

The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling low, but in here, in this small, still room, everything seemed to slow down. The two of you sat there, tangled in a shared silence, an unspoken understanding hanging heavy between you both. The rain might still be falling, but here, wrapped in his gaze and the faint aroma of tea and damp wool, you almost felt warm again.

Without a second thought, you sank down onto the couch beside him, invading his space, still damp and dripping. He could feel the cold fabric of your clothes sticking to his leg, but he didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to settle deeper into the cushions, unfazed, watching you with that quiet, stubborn gaze of his. The book, the well-worn Nabokov novel he’d been pouring over for days, slipped from his hand and came to rest on the coffee table, forgotten in favour of this small exchange.

He didn’t say a word as he reached for you, his hands curling around your ankle. With a practised focus, he began pulling off your damp socks, his fingers deft but gentle, peeling the fabric away like it was some chore he’d taken upon himself long ago. His thumb brushed the arch of your foot, lingering just enough to send a warm spark up your leg. You knew what he was doing, you could feel the unspoken offer in his touch. You’d come back from the rain, chilled and annoyed, and he would be the antidote to all of it, the warmth to counter your cold.

“Despair?” you asked, nodding at the worn paperback now lying on the table.

“Yeah.” he replied without opening his eyes, pressing his thumb deeper into the soft skin of your foot, working out the tension that had gathered there from the cold walk.

“Again?” you asked, with a bemused little smile. You’d watched him read Despair more times than you could count, seen the way he lingered over certain passages as if trying to unlock some hidden truth buried in the sentences.

“Well, it seems so, doesn’t it?” He looked up, a sly glint in his eyes as he took in your expression, the corners of his mouth quirking into the barest hint of a smirk.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “You gonna go through with it this time?”

“What? My own murder?” His smirk widened.

“I could do it for you, you know.” you said, feigning an air of indifference. “You couldn’t even get your kid to kindergarten – I doubt you’re qualified for something as ambitious as self-sabotage.”

He scoffed, but you saw the amusement flicker across his face. “Probably not.” he muttered, his voice dropping to something softer, almost pensive. “I’d mess that one up too.”

His hand shifted, his fingers pressing insistently into the sole of your foot, kneading, coaxing the tension out of you with a subtle, possessive touch. He watched as you shifted under his hands, his gaze steady, challenging. And as his fingers pressed, you pushed back, just enough to test his patience, to feel the resistance in his grip. His eyes darkened, a silent warning in his gaze.

But why would you listen to him?

You pressed harder, a slow, playful pressure against his hand, and he raised an eyebrow. He tightened his grip, his thumb digging in with renewed insistence, letting you feel the full weight of his focus as he worked, as if he could undo more than just the aches in your body, as if he could unearth something deeper in you, something he knew you were holding back.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your cheek as he murmured, “You think you could manage it?”

“What, getting rid of you?” you asked, your tone light, though you could feel the intensity thickening the air between you, wrapping around you like the rain-soaked clothes clinging to your skin.

He tilted his head, his lips curving in that knowing way of his, a slow, calculating smile as his gaze travelled over your face, settling somewhere just beyond your eyes. “Well,” he said softly, “you seem pretty adept at destruction. Thought I’d be spared for a bit.”

His thumb pressed deeper into the arch, his eyes flicking up to watch your reaction, to see if you’d break first, if you’d turn away or push back again. But you held his gaze, the words catching somewhere in your throat, held there.

“That so?” you said, tilting your head as you watched him, your voice low, as if you were offering him something far more dangerous than he was ready for. 

In the dim light of the sitting room, shadows played across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the unruly hair that fell across his brow, the softness that lingered at the edges of his mouth even as his eyes held that impenetrable gaze. You could feel it gathering, the way the air seemed to hold its breath between you, as if it were waiting for one of you to give in.

But he held steady too, unwavering. He let his hand drift up, his fingers brushing your ankle with a gentle insistence that made you want to shiver. “You don’t want to be in charge of my destruction.” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You like having something to fight against.”

“Oh, do I?” you countered, feeling the pull, feeling the tension draw you closer to him, like a thread strung taut between you both, waiting to snap.

He leaned back, his gaze unreadable, but his hand remained on you, warm and grounding, as if he could keep you tethered to him. “Yeah.” he murmured, a smile just brushing his lips, like he was sharing a private joke with himself. “You love the fight.”

He closed his eyes again, pressing his thumb in one last time, a lingering pressure that seemed to say he knew you better than you’d ever admit, that he saw the dark, hidden corners you tried to keep from him. You felt it – the quiet ache that simmered between you both, like an unhealed bruise, tender and waiting for the next touch.

“So…Poppy-” you began, voice careful, trying to ease into what you wanted to say. The words were still a half-formed thought in your mind, and you were searching for a way to soften them, to bring them up without triggering one of his spiralling, introspective rants that would turn a simple conversation into a storm.

But he interrupted before you’d even figured out how to say it. “What? Did she want me to walk her?” He said it with that same, quiet self-reproach, already trying to shoulder a blame that hadn’t even been cast. That was the way he worked – always a little too ready to bear the weight, to assume that he’d fallen short.

You let out a sigh, more exasperated at the rain than at him. “No, you’re fine, Al.” Your hand slid over his, prying it gently from your foot, which he had clutched a little too tightly. His fingers held on tight before finally releasing, almost reluctant to let go. You pulled your leg back, shuffled into the corner of the couch, and leaned into it, letting your back slump down, finally allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of it. Your feet came up onto the coffee table, as if claiming that little space for yourself, unguarded and tired.

You patted the cushion beside you, a soft, wordless command. “Sit.”

And he did, moving closer, his gaze subdued, that obedient feline quality settling back over him, turning him soft and pliable as he folded himself to rest his head in your lap. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling rather than meeting your own, though you knew he could feel the quiet gravity in your touch, the way your fingers began moving through his hair, each pass aimed towards calming him. The warmth began to seep into your skin, radiating from him, taking the last chill of the rain from your bones.

He lay still, his face turned upward, shadows pooling beneath his eyes as he stared with an intensity that seemed directed at something only he could see. His voice, when it came, was soft, raw, like he was sharing something fragile, something he wasn’t sure you’d want to hear. “I got better, right?” His tone was almost tentative, like he needed the words to land softly, like he was testing their truth. “I know I was…pretty bad at this when she was littler. And I had that whole…thing.”

He trailed off, but you knew exactly what he meant. Those times he’d tried so hard to keep hidden, when the house had felt more like a place you both haunted than lived in. The times when his silences had grown so deep, you worried they might swallow him whole. But he’d pulled through – though not without scars, not without shadows that still lingered.

“And I think…I think I was depressed.” he continued, his voice almost a whisper, as if naming it gave it too much power, as if he could scare it off by speaking it quietly. “But I don’t think I am anymore. I’m better, aren’t I?”

You nodded, letting the gentle motion of your hand convey your answer. You could feel his breath shift, his body relax as he let himself trust in the rhythm of your touch, let himself believe in what he couldn’t see from his place in your lap. “But I just- sometimes I feel like I need a break, you know? Like I need to step back, just for a moment, so I can keep being…better.” He sighed, and it sounded almost like a confession. “I’m sorry you had to go through the rain and everything. I should’ve gone. I’ll take her tomorrow, I promise.”

He promised.

The words hung between you, solid and steady, a commitment you could feel resonating through his voice, through the weight of his head in your lap, through the way his hand drifted to rest on your knee as if he needed something to hold him there. And you knew he meant it, even if you could also feel the fragility in his words, that lingering hesitation, the quiet plea beneath the promise. He was asking you to trust him again, to…believe. In this version of himself, the one that was still trying to figure out how to hold the weight of all the things he’d once tried to escape from.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. Your fingers continued their slow rhythm, threading through his hair, smoothing it, grounding him, answering his unspoken question with each gentle stroke.

The storm outside had settled to a quiet murmur, the rain drumming softly against the window panes. He reached up, his hand curling around yours, guiding it down to his chest, holding it there like he needed you to feel his heartbeat, the steady proof of his presence, of the life he was still fighting for, day by day. The pulse thrummed beneath your fingers, warm and steady and real.

His eyes drifted closed under the weight of his quiet admission. You felt something ease inside you too, some small place that had held itself closed for too long. Maybe you didn’t need words all the time. 

“She wants to get her ears pierced.” you said, finally finishing the thought that had been lingering. You’d been wondering how to say it without sparking one of his reactions, but as soon as the words left your mouth, his head snapped toward you, his face already set with that familiar, stubborn frown.

“No.” he replied flatly, as if the answer were obvious and non-negotiable.

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or protest. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” you asked, voice edging with challenge, but you could tell by the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed that he was digging his heels in. 

“My say is no.” he repeated, his voice low and unyielding, like that was all there was to it. You could tell he was ready to defend his stance, even if he hadn’t thought it through entirely.

Your hand stilled in his hair, and you saw his mouth twitch in offence as he noticed the sudden absence of your touch. “Why’d you stop?” he muttered, almost wounded.

“Maybe my say is yes,” you shot back, leaning into him slightly, challenging him with a small smirk. 

“Well, I don’t want her to.” he answered, sitting up properly now, his full attention at play. His eyes were serious, like he’d decided to double down rather than let this slide.

“You sound like my father.” you retorted, the words slipping out before you’d fully realised what you were saying. The expression on his face faltered for a moment, and he looked almost chastened, but then his defences rose again.

“Oh, come on, don’t say that.” He rolled his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh, though you could tell he didn’t want to come across as unreasonable.

You relaxed back into the couch, giving him a softer look. “She saw mine this morning, you know? She was looking at my nose and asked what it was, and she said she wants pretty earrings in her ears, like some of the girls in her class.” You could still picture Poppy’s face as she’d gazed up at you with wide eyes, all that wonder and excitement. It had surprised you, the way she’d connected that small detail to something she wanted to experience herself.

“I thought you took that out?” he asked, his voice softening as he leaned closer to you, his hand finding its way back to your knee, thumb rubbing circles into the bone. “I always loved your septum ring.”

“I did take it out, but it didn’t close up. This morning, I just thought I’d try, and it went in easily. I’ve been wearing it up-”

“You should wear it again.” he interrupted, his tone softer, and you caught a hint of that wistfulness he never let show. “The silver ring. The thin one. That was my favourite.” 

You shook your head, trying to deflect his sentiment even as you felt yourself soften. “I don’t care what your favourite was.”

“Oh, really?” he said, smiling with that hint of mischief, the edge of his mouth quivering as he tilted his head to look at you, challenging you in his own quiet way. He shifted, closing the space between you, and his gaze held you, pulling you in like it always did, no matter how many times you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let him win. 

“Okay.” he murmured, as if conceding, but his smile stayed. And as you slid back into the couch, he moved easily, resting his head in your lap again, his body finding its way back to that comfortable position as if he’d never left. His hand came to rest over your knee, anchoring himself there, his eyes glinting with amusement as they drifted back to your nose. 

“I can see it now.” he teased, his voice low and playful as his hand drifted upward, his fingers reaching closer to your nose.

You leaned back, feigning exasperation, though you couldn’t quite hide your smile. “Don’t stick your fingers up my nose, Alex.” you warned, but the laughter was already threatening to break through.

He chuckled, eyes glimmering with that irrepressible mischief. “Oh, come on.” he said, brushing your hand away with a playful insistence. “I think I’ve stuck myself up enough places inside you for this to not be a problem, babe.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but he was faster, his fingers brushing against your nose, nudging the ring down so it was visible. The small, silver balls glinted beneath your nose, a sudden reminder of a version of you he hadn’t seen in a while.

“There it is.” he whispered, his eyes soft as he took you in, his thumb brushing lightly over the silver ring as if rediscovering something precious. Then a glint of mischief flashed across his face, and he grinned. “Hehe, two little balls hanging…looks familiar.”

You rolled your eyes, amused, exasperated. “Oh my god, Alex. You are so mature.” But you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, warmth spreading through you as you tried – and failed – to keep a straight face.

He reached up, brushing his thumb over the bridge of your nose. You felt yourself melt slightly as he tilted his head, studying you with those eyes that somehow managed to see past everything.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost shy in a way that felt rare, “you look more like you, with this. Like the you I fell in love with.” His eyes traced your face, lingering over every familiar line and curve. You could feel his hand warm on your leg. “I mean, not that you aren’t you now, but…I don’t know, you look like you’re a little more…alive.”

You felt a flush creeping into your cheeks, not entirely sure what to say. But the honesty in his face held you there, kept you from pulling away as his fingers brushed over the small silver ring again. You reached out, brushing your fingers along his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips. His eyes closed for a moment, savouring the simple contact, and when they opened again, there was a softness there, a vulnerability that he kept hidden from the world but shared with you in quiet moments like these.

“Maybe,” you said softly, fingers still resting against his cheek, “Poppy just wants to feel a little more like herself too. Maybe that’s what this is really about.” You watched him take in your words, saw the faint flicker of realisation cross his face as he thought it over.

He leaned his head back, his eyes gazing up at you with a quiet acceptance, like he was finally willing to meet you halfway. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, holding you there with him, not pushing or pulling, just resting.

“Maybe…” he murmured, unsteady, as if he was still letting it sink in. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. “I just don’t want her to be in pain.” he mumbled, his voice softer now, almost as if he were talking to himself rather than you. His eyes flicked to your nose, and then away again. There was something distant in him, reluctant and protective, like he was working through the idea in real-time.

He finally looked back up at you. “Does it hurt?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice, as if he were asking for the first time.

“A little.” you admitted, feeling the gentle throb where the ring rested, a reminder of the time it took to heal, of all the small aches that came with wanting something and sticking with it. “But I think she can take it. She’s a big girl now.”

He nodded slowly, but his lips pressed into a thin line, reluctant to fully agree. “Mhm…” he murmured.

You tilted your head, raising a brow. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.” He tried to brush it off, but you caught the way his gaze drifted, a small crease forming between his brows. He looked like he was holding back, wrestling with some unspoken worry.

You waited, giving him space, until he finally let out a soft sigh, his shoulders sinking as he leaned back against the couch. “I know she’s growing up. And I know you think I’m being...old-fashioned, or whatever.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I just– she’s so small. So…I don’t know…I don’t want her to be hurt. Or regret it later.”

A slight smile tugged at your lips, and you brushed a strand of hair out of his face. “You realise that’s why they make the small, safe starter studs, right? It’s not like she’s going to get a septum piercing or go full rock and roll in kindergarten. It’s just earrings, Alex.”

He gave you a sheepish, lopsided grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. It’s just…she saw your ring, and suddenly I could see her all grown up, making her own choices, and it just hit me. Feels like I just blinked, and now she’s already asking for things I don’t know how to give her.”

You took his hand, feeling his fingers relax under yours as you squeezed gently. “She’s going to be okay, you know. She’s smart. And stubborn – she’s got that from you." 

“Hey.” he scoffed, pretending to be offended, but his smirk betrayed him. “I’m not stubborn. I just have strong…principles.”

“Right. Principles.” you echoed with a grin, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I think maybe the real problem here is you’re just not ready for her to need things from someone else besides us. She’s growing up, Alex. And it’s going to hurt a little – for all of us. But she’s brave, and we’ve done a good job with her.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing his face. “I guess…I guess I don’t want to mess it up, you know? She’s…she’s so full of life, and I don’t want her to lose that because of something I say or do.” He looked at you, his eyes soft and uncertain. “I want her to feel like she can be herself. Even if I don't get it, or even if it's something I never would’ve done.”

You nodded, brushing his hair back, letting him feel that you were there. “Then let her be herself. Earrings or no earrings, she’ll still look at you like her hero. The way she always does.”

He smiled at that, a little shy, a little boyish. “You think so?”

“I know so.” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, watching his face soften as you did. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, you just sat there.

After a beat, he let out a chuckle, low and soft. “Fine. She can get the damn earrings.” he muttered, a reluctant smile creeping onto his face. “But I’m holding her hand the entire time. And I’m not leaving her side, even if it takes all day.”

“Deal.” you replied, your own smile mirroring his. “And afterward, we’ll let her pick out whatever sparkly, obnoxious earrings she wants. Even if they clash with her clothes for a month.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Perfect. And I’ll make sure to tell her how much of a trendsetter she is.” His tone softened, and he took your hand again, holding it tightly. “Thanks for…everything. And for reminding me. It’s easy to forget sometimes, but…I trust you, you know?"

You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because no matter how big she gets, we’re in this together. For every scraped knee and every new little piercing.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. And there, with his breath mingling with yours, he murmured, “Our little girl. She’s gonna be amazing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, certainty settling back over you both. “She already is.”

a/n: pretty boring I guess...but I like it! got the idea from these requests x & x. also I feel like I was channeling @futuristicanoe in this. idk. their fic has been on my mind a lot these days and it seeped into this.

[mycological-mariner]

🌤️ for the fic asks!

Cutting out descriptions etc. So I know the original ask said “PIECE of dialogue…” but it’s not. This is for a short fic I came up with, just kicked around the idea. I’ve not posted it, it’s just on my laptop.

Spoilers for The Flight of the Heron.

“Has he gone?”

WHO?

“Ardroy, did he get away?”

I HAVE NOT CROSSED PATHS WITH HIM YET.

“I see. That’s good. He’ll be safe, now.” […] “May I ask, sir, who you are?”

GUESS.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I see. I suppose there are some tells. […] Was it worth it, in the end? Was it an honourable death?”

[…] FEW HAVE THE PRIVILEGE TO DIE IN THE ARMS OF THEIR GREATEST FRIEND. BUT THAT IS JUST IN MY EXPERIENCE, OF COURSE.

“Friend… […] Are those mountains on the horizon?”

I AM AFRAID SO.

“They might almost look like… like the ones surrounding Loch na h-Iolaire. They can’t be, surely?”

NO, IT IS LIKELY THEY ARE NOT.

“Well, what is beyond this desert? Surely you can answer me that.”

I CANNOT.

“I have to walk there on my own?”

YES. ALTHOUGH, I HAVE KNOWN SOME TO HAVE WAITED.

“Waited for what?” […] “I don’t know if I’m ready, just yet. It has been a long night.”

I CAN IMAGINE.

“May I wait here a little while?”

WAIT FOR WHAT?

“A friend.”

TIME DOES NOT EXTEND TO HERE. YOU MAY WAIT LONGER THAN YOU EXPECT, MAJOR WINDHAM.

“Good. I hope it is a very long time indeed. […] “I do not know what lies beyond this desert, nor do I know for how long I must walk until I have discovered it. Perhaps it is oblivion. I should like to walk alongside my friend. We never had a chance to simply walk together before…”

EVEN IF THERE IS NOTHING?

“Yes.”

VERY WELL. YOU MAY STAY HERE FOR AS LONG AS YOU WISH. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, I AM QUITE BUSY AT THE MOMENT AND MUST LEAVE YOU. […] YOU ARE AN HONOURABLE MAN, MAJOR WINDHAM. GOOD DAY TO YOU.

“Good day.”

[mystra-midnight]

The Devil and I

summary: logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. and he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the earth revolved around the sun.

warnings: 18+ only. dom!logan. rough sex. messy sex. spanking. tiny hint of anal play.

words: 1.8k.

notes: i am not even sorry. not one bit. this was inspired entirely by this post by @i-spit-on-your-garage and dedicated to her also. thank you for sharing your horny thoughts with me.

"That's it, baby, taking me so well."

Logan's voice was a gruff growl against your ear, crawling up his throat and over your skin like whiskey, full-bodied. His breath, warm and tinged with a hint of smoke, sent shivers down your spine. His large hands kneaded the flesh of your hips as he dragged you against his pelvis again, the sound of skin hitting skin loud, leaving your arse stinging from the impact.

You'd never given much thought to his body until now. What had started as harmless flirting—a dirty fantasy about fucking the mutant called Wolverine—had taken a turn. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive; in fact, Logan was the epitome of a woman's wildest dreams. He was tall and impossibly strong, his muscles rippling under your fingertips. But what surprised you most was his weight, the heaviness that came from the adamantium skeleton beneath his warm flesh.

Logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. And he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the Earth revolved around the Sun. 

That's why he kept you in this position: on your knees, face pressed into the mattress, hips raised, your slick folds stretched around his girth. Logan relished seeing his women like this—whiny and cock-drunk, the perfect plaything for his pleasure. Your voice was muffled, fingers digging into the sheets so tightly they hurt. You could barely make a sound as he thrust into you, each powerful stroke forcing gasps from your lungs. He didn't mind.

Your entire body trembled when his hand moved up your sweaty back, each fingertip tracing the delicate curve of your spine with deliberate tenderness. The sensation was electric, a shiver-inducing journey that left your skin prickling with goosebumps. He paused at each vertebra, applying just enough pressure to make you arch before continuing his path upward. When his fingers finally reached the nape of your neck, they didn't simply rest there—they curled possessively, his grip firm and unyielding, as if he was claiming ownership of your very being.

He pinned you against the mattress with effortless dominance, his weight pressing you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your ear, a tantalising promise of what was to come. His presence was overwhelming, a dark force looming over you like a stalking shadow, enveloping you in his warmth.

Somehow, you managed to suck in a shaky breath, a soft whine escaping your lips as he turned your face towards his, and then his lips crashed into yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss was made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring every corner with a desperation that matched your own. His teeth grazed and nipped, a blend of pleasure and pain that sent jolts of heat straight to your core. Saliva mixed and smeared, creating a mess neither of you cared to clean.

As he slowed the piston of his hips, switching to a slow deep grind that had the crown of his cock abusing that sweet spot inside your pussy, your eyes rolled so far into your skull that, for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw your own brain. It was like he was carving his way into your guts and hitting the back of your throat. "Lo-gan!" You gasped as a sob welled in your chest, your tears finally falling, leaving streaks of mascara and eyeliner down your cheeks. "M-more, faster, please," you begged.

He tutted mockingly behind you, each sound dripping with condescension and the unmistakable arrogance of pure male dominance. Before you could react, his open palm came down hard on your arse, the sudden, stinging impact tearing a surprised shriek from your lips. The sharp zing of pain cut through your already-burning skin, sending a fresh wave of moisture surging through your core. The sensation caused your inner muscles to tighten around the length of his shaft, gripping him firmly as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt.

He stilled for a moment, savouring the feeling of being completely enveloped by your slick heat. Without warning, he spanked you again, the loud crack of his hand against your flesh echoing through the room. You hissed at the sharp sting, your pussy clenching around him. He growled in response, the sensation of your tight walls driving him wild.

"Greedy girl," he grunted against your ear. His hand came down again, delivering another hard spank that resonated through your body, the sting of it sending a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your clit. His hand lingered there, palming the globe of your arse as he admired the perfect handprint he'd left, the outline of his fingers vivid against your flushed skin. He could feel the slickness coating your inner thighs, the evidence of your arousal mixing with the sweat on your skin, dripping from his balls as he thrust hard into you.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the wet slap of skin against skin as he thrust into you, driving deep, setting a fast pace. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice a rough, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep squeezing me like that, and I'm gonna blow right fucking now."

Logan's gaze remained fixed on your arse, his cock twitching inside you at the thought of what it would be like to actually fuck you there. The idea consumed him, driving him to act on his desires. With a growl, he slipped his thumb into his mouth, wetting it thoroughly before bringing it down to your tight hole. He smeared his spit around your sensitive entrance, groaning deeply as your pussy tightened around him in response.

"Logan!" you cried out, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless plea.

His grin widened at the sound, his expression smug, and he tightened his grip on the nape of your neck, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. “You gonna let me fuck you back here next, bub?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You moaned wantonly, nodding as you pushed back against him, meeting his powerful thrusts halfway and impaling yourself on his thick cock. “Gods, please, I want it so bad,” you begged, sounding like a common whore.

“Atta girl.”

This was all he said, his voice so arrogant and condescending, before grabbing both your hips tightly, steadying you, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin. The force of his thrusts was maddening, driving you to claw at the sheets, your body teetering on the brink of orgasm embarrassingly quickly. Your walls clamped tightly around him, each movement sending you closer to the edge. It felt like a thunderstorm was tearing through your head, igniting every one of your nerves.

You could hear him grunting, feel the droplets of sweat dripping from his hair onto your back and how his fingers bruised harder into your hips, holding so tightly that your bones were sure to bend and break. But none of this registered in your mind the way it should have. You were lost in the moment, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure about to ruin you.

"Gonna cum—right there, right there—please, please, Logan. I need to cum. Fuck me—ah, harder, fuck, fuck—Logan!"

He was wild and feral—an animal.

Without warning, the air was punched out of your lungs as the orgasm struck you like a bolt of lightning, turning your blood into electricity and your limbs into live wires. You came hard, crying out a pretty symphony of his name as pleasure wracked your body. At the same time, he bottomed out, burying himself balls deep and filling you completely, shooting thick, ivory ropes of cum deep inside you, coating your walls.

Fisting a hand in your hair, he wound the silken strands around his fingers, using the grip to force your face back down against the mattress. His hips ground against your arse, rocking gently back and forth, his movements sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. And as he came with a guttural growl, his release surged into you, hot and overwhelming, flooding your still-fluttering walls.

The fullness was almost too much, his cum filling you completely until it had nowhere else to go. It began to seep out, slick and warm, trailing down the seam of your pussy where your tight grip on his cock created a barrier. Warmth spread through your body like fire racing through your veins, an intoxicating heat that intensified as he filled, fucked, and possessed you entirely.

His teeth sank into your shoulder in a savage bite as you panted his name in sweet nymphomania, wriggling beneath him, his weight comforting—like a heavy blanket. Logan's tongue followed, laving over your flushed flesh, soothing the sting left by his canines. He growled deeply, savouring the taste of you as his abdominal muscles flexed and his cock ached, twitching inside you with every pulse of your body.

When he finally began to pull out, you couldn't suppress the whine that escaped your lips, the sound filled with a sense of loss. The feeling of emptiness was stark, save for where the head of his cock remained nestled just inside your snug walls, a final intimate connection.

Logan sat back on his haunches, taking a moment to admire the view before him. Your arse was flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, marked by his handprints and the forceful impact of his hips. Thick ribbons of cum dripped from your swollen folds, which were slick with the evidence of your release. The mixture of your arousal and his seed connected you to his cock in a vivid tapestry of desire, each drop falling to the mattress below.

He watched as the thick fluid dripped from both of you, creating a small, glistening pool beneath your bodies. With a rough but affectionate touch, Logan patted your arse, the force making it jiggle and your hips twitch involuntarily. His satisfaction was evident in the low, gravelly tone of his voice. "That felt like a good one," he remarked, a hint of pride lacing his words as he continued to drink in the sight of you, thoroughly used and utterly beautiful.

He snapped his hips forward, rutting into you with surprising vigour, filling you again and relishing in the wet squelching that echoed through the room. Each thrust forced his cum to leak from your well-used pussy, the slick evidence of your coupling escaping with every movement. You gasped, the sensation almost too much to bear, your hips wriggling as though to escape the overwhelming pleasure that teetered on the edge of overstimulation. But Logan only laughed as he thoroughly enjoyed how your body remained so tightly wound, so damn sensitive and ready to take him.

His stamina, just like the weight of his skeleton, was a marvel. It shouldn't have been surprising, given his mutation. His body was in a constant state of peak performance, always regenerating and healing. Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett had never been a one-and-done type of man; he was relentless and insatiable.

"Hope you don't think we're done, bub," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise against your ear. "'Cause we've got all night."

[captn-duck-gremlin]

Like it all started when you and some friends decided to do some urban exploration, visiting a broken abandoned military base. Now while there your friends are of course being dumb, touching things with bare hands, no face coverings to protect them from whatever harmful things could be in the air, respect for the possible dead is on floor level with them. You on the other hand, you got gloves, a face mask just in case, you're apologizing to anything you bump into. You did the research, this place went down from an unexpected attack, so there might be a corpse around somewhere (or lingering spirit). You give a short prayer to anything that looks like a corpse, regardless if you follow in those beliefs or now; you just want to be respectful to the dead. And yes, this place is haunted. Obviously. Now the important part, at one point or another 4 damned souls have clung to you. You dont notice at first, you barely feel that buzz that you're being watched. But the first unnatural thing to happen to you starts in a dream, a weirdly detailed dream. You're a housewife in the 50s. Cute summer dress, lovely home, nice street. But it feels too real, the patterns on the walls stay perfect no matter how long you stare at them, you can read lines from books you've never seen before, you look at your hands and they don't look distorted like they usually are in dreams. Then a man walks through your front door like he owns the place, you don't recognise him. At all. Yet he speaks to you in such a nice rough voice from his cigars, calling you such sweet things. Treating you like his wife. Then after what felt like hours from playing housewife you wake up, confused to hell and back. You brush it off until the next night, where you're sucked into another oddly very detailed dream, but its so different. From housewife in the 50s to maiden in the ye old times. The man is different, instead of tough, friendly bearded husband, you now have dark knight with skull markings. Helmet stays on at all times, but despite the rough and scary armour and vibe, he treats you like you're the finest silk, the sweetest flower, like you'll shatter if he so much as looks at you wrong. And after living through that you wake up once again incredibly confused. Is this what the backrooms feel like? You don't know, you don't want to know. Night rolls around once more which you dread and sure enough another weird dream with a new life. Now, at a farmland on the outskirts of an old styled town, you got chickens, goats, two cows, some ducks and a bulky husband with a silly mohawk. You don't know what year it is, what century you're at, at this point you're just rolling with it. Husband got a nice accent, Scottish you might think it is. He's absolutely spoiling you, treating you like a princess for no reason. Not like you're complaining. After that dream, you wake up contemplating that you might be losing your mind. But no, you're just being haunted by demons who like spending time with you through your dreams. Moving on. 4th weird dream, this feels further up into recent years, maybe 2000s. Cute husband, looks like a sweetheart, is a sweetheart. His skin is darker from the other ones, but not like you could tell with Sir Skull and Bones. He has a smooth voice, could probably sweet talk a bear. Time with him was almost too sweet. You swore his pupils nearly went heart shaped when he looks at you. And like the rest of them, you wake up confused. And thats just how your nights go, things in the day go.. strangely.

Oh and quick reminder, don't run from them.

[simonbrain]

it settles deep into his chest—the love he has for you. he depends on you more than he'd like to admit, always by your side no matter what you're doing, his large, warm hands resting on your hips while he watches you complete the most mundane tasks over your shoulder.

it eats at him, the need to devour you whole, bones and all. he barely masks the snarl on his face when he catches a whiff of your scent, calloused hands twitching as he holds himself back from squeezing your soft skin the way he wants to, his jaw clenched as his mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into your neck and shaking his head like a dog with a bone.

while he doesn't want to hurt you, there's no way he can love you without being a little rough. a little mean. it's not in his nature to love someone so gently; all the softness has been beaten out of him by the cruel hands of life.

that doesn't mean he won't try, though.

you kiss him so sweetly, with soft lips pressed to his, and he learns to relax into the kiss instead of pawing at your thighs, eager for more. he learns to control the urge to swallow you until there's nothing left and settles with pecks on your mouth until you're giggling.

you cling to him while you nap together, and he learns to melt against you and let go of that paranoia, the voice in the back of his head hissing at him that something will go wrong if he falls asleep.

you cup his cheeks when you sense him retreating to the dark corners of his mind, thumbs caressing over the scars and looking at him with the softest gaze he has ever seen anyone spare him, and he learns to reel himself back in. there's no trail of the hate or disdain he was expecting, no judgement whatsoever; just concern and warmth on your sweet face.

while he learns from you how to be gentle, you learn from him how to be greedy. you want him to consume your very soul.

you're not afraid of him tainting you. you're not afraid of the hands that have murdered countless people. you're not scared of the way he looks at you sometimes, like he's trying to engulf you just with his gaze alone, or the way he grabs at your supple body, like he's trying to merge with your being, or the way he kisses you, like he's trying to steal every bit of air from your lungs and hoard it for himself.

he's learning how to love you the way you deserve, but if you push back against him, taking something for yourself instead of being his sweet, thoughtful girl? if you bite back at him with more cheek than he's used to? if you kiss him back with more teeth than sweetness? he won't complain.

to know that you crave him as badly as he craves you? it sets his heart ablaze.

you always manage to surprise him, teaching the old dog new tricks.

[shotmrmiller]

Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

[ervotica]

hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

[bunnys-kisses]

show-off (simon's version)

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, dirty talk, filthy, missionary, rough sex, mask kink, clothed sex, crying kink

price's version | johnny's version | kyle's version

simon loved his precious girl. he had been calling your "the missus" for months now. the task force was honestly surprised that simon managed to find someone. especially someone so.... cute? innocent? sweet?

the boys remembered one time you went all the way to base with a container full of homemade cookies because simon would be on base during his birthday. you somehow made your way onto base with no proper identification that would allow you on base. somehow you figured it out and ended up surprising simon with it.

so to get a video message in the group chat on a sunny afternoon was a bit of a surprise to price, johnny and kyle. simon never sent videos, he barely sent messages that were more than a word long.

so a lengthy video made the rest of the task force very interested.

"there's the pretty bird." simon cooed. you were all giggles as you tried to shield your face from the camera.

"si, stop it!" you giggled as you felt your cheeks grow hot under the lens of the camera. you were both outside in the backyard.

the task force knew about the high fence that protected the property you called home. even if someone could hear the both of you, it would take a lot for them to see it. the camera panned down to the sight of the skirt of your sundress pushed up to your waist and your panties were around your left ankle.

wasn't simon a gentleman letting you lie out on a checkered blanket. you had a smile on your face as the camera was pointed to you. the sound of simon undoing his belt, it was dropped by your head soon after.

your expression made it clear that simon had taken his cock out, your eyes went wide and the movement of your throat as you swallowed.

"tell the boys what you're lookin' at right now, birdie?" he asked, he let out a soft groan as he started to stroke his lengthy cock. he was situated at about seven and a half inches, almost eight if he was painfully hard.

you replied, "um.. hi, captain price, sergeants mactavish and garrick! i hope you're liking this video!" god you sounded so painfully cute. (by this point johnny had always came once, but he was working himself for a second round). you looked at simon, "it's embarrassing!"

"c'mon. it's nothing they haven't seen before." simon chuckled.

you made a face, "what are you doing when i'm not around?"

simon reached for you with his free hand and rubbed your soft cheek, "i mean in the showers, lovie. no one is takin' me from you."

you pouted, "good."

"now tell the boys what you see. give them a nice visual before i fuck you." simon's voice was soft. soft in a way that the rest of the team didn't even know if it was possible.

you looked up at the camera and held onto the bottom of your dress skirt that was bunched up around your waist. you looked embarrassed as you said, "si is wearing a green t-shirt and camo pants, he has his gloves with the bones on them, and his mask."

"do i look good, lovie?"

you nodded meekly, "you look very good, si!" you blushed more and smiled up at him. he used his free hand to put around your neck delicately, he wasn't choking you, just holding you. you leaned into his touch lovingly.

"but you're prettier, lovin' a dog like me." he laughed as he grabbed you by one hip and shifted your hips up. your cunt rested in his lap up against his cock. he tilted the camera down to get a good look at your glossy pussy.

he rubbed his impressive cock up against your pussy. how could something so big fit inside something so small. it was nothing short of a miracle.

"like that, lovie? like when i film ya for the boys?" simon chuckled as he stroked his cock and tapped it against the top of your pussy, "make ya open up for me."

you whined, "simon!!"

he chuckled lowly before he pressed his cock into your waiting hole. you made a low groaning noise as you clutched into the blanket under you. the wet noises sounded like a dream as you whimpered loudly.

simon kept the camera on your face and bouncing tits as he thrusted against you. the sounds of sex rang through the video as simon pleasured you. of course you looked like a sex goddess, your rightful throne on his cock.

you rolled your hips as he filmed you, his free hand on your bent knee as he moved against you. your cheeks looked warm as you panted heavily. the pleasure coursed through you.

"like what you see, boys?" he asked as he got a close up of your face as it was twisted with pleasure, "pretty little thing." he chuckled.

"si! please!' you whimpered, as you met his thrusts. they weren't extremely fast but they carried power that made your breath get caught in your throat. like he was moving your organs up with each thrust.

simon looked down at you, you couldn't read his expression due to the mask. you hated to admit but the thing was very attractive. it left him so mysterious as he rubbed your knee and held the camera in your face. he watched you with a knowing gaze, he knew what his teammates were thinking right now.

price was probably watching this with his morning coffee, johnny was stroking his cock like it was a lifeline, and kyle was casually watching it, monitoring your every facial expression. regardless the video would be in steady rotation in the task force 141's spank bank.

simon felt a surge of pride in his gut as he continued to fuck your sweet pussy, earning more sweet noises from you. it was adorable, you sounded like a dream to him. you were just the cutest thing ever, he couldn't even put into words how adorable he thought you were.

"pretty girl." his tongue was filthy, "everyone thinks you're the sweetest thing since sugar. but i've seen the damage you can do.' you love how big i am. you always said the bigger the better, even when it stretches your little cunny." you covered your face once more and he chuckled, "show me your face, lovie."

you slowly pulled your hands away and looked at the camera. he made a pleased noise as he continued to fuck you. you felt amazing wrapped around his cock. like a sexual fantasy come to life, it was arousing.

sometimes the arousal in you was so intense that you ended up tearing up. your bottom lip wobbled as he buried his cock into you, his balls gazed your ass as you took every last inch. you wiped your tears but simon only put the camera further in your face to get the best view of his crying little angel.

"poor girl, poor mrs. riley." he purred, "gettin' bullied by her hubby's fat cock."

you whimpered, "please, si." you felt your back arch as your heart thumped in your chest. the back of your sundress stuck to your sweaty back.

simon was a hungry man, a greedy, hungry man. he loved that his teammates are going to get off to the sounds of him fucking you. it wasn't long before the video's stabilization became a little off because simon was nearing his orgasm.

your clothed breasts bounced with each thrust, them almost tumbling out of the front of your sundress, and your tongue peeked out from your mouth as you panted heavily. it was arousing to the point where simon could feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"most beautiful thing ya ever seen." he said as his pace staggered and with a few thrusts, he pushed his cock all the way inside of you.

simon afterwards too his cock out, it was growing soft as he pulled out, a dribble of leftover cum came out.the camera for a brief moment showed your used cunt.

then the video ended. and there was an additional message from simon that read, "this isn't me sharing. i was just showin' off."

[zarnzarn]

Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

[shroomdreams]

needs of the flesh

the doctor finds himself extremely aroused by your casual nudity

cw: afab!reader, fingering, pussyjob, spooning -> prone bone, creampie, slight overstimulation, bro is jealous of a game, usage of ratio's first name

ratio just cant help himself.

how do you expect him to act, when you kick your legs in the air while laying down on your stomach, swaying your hips as you played on that infernal console of yours?

why werent you dressed yet, anyway? shouldnt you be in your pajamas by now? either way, ratio lets out a dreadful sigh as he begins disrobing himself. you dont look up from your game as you called to him. "hey hun, rough day?"

"yes," ratio replies, joining you in bed and pulling you close to him, scowling when you adjusted your body so his chest meets your back, effectively making him spoon you.

you and that stupid game- dont you see that he wants your attention as well? "must you play so late in the night?" he muttered, nibbling your neck as his hands began to roam your body. he gripped your hips, palmed your legs- and yet you continued to play.

"i just got to the final level, veri." you replied, seemingly unaffected by his touches. ratio huffed. the hands on your hips began to move again, this time towards the intimate space between your legs. your breath hitches as ratio cups your pussy, squirming when he keeps his hand there.

"veritas-" your grip on the console nearly falters when ratio's middle finger began rubbing your clit, legs trembling from the sudden pleasure. ratio groans into your ear, grinding his hips to your plush ass, a hard pressure poking you. it isnt all that often ratio initiated intimacy with you- whatever happened must have really pushed him over the edge.

"ill give you a challenge," ratio whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "if you can finish that game despite my actions, i'll let you continue in peace. but-" you whimper as he dipped his finger inside your folds, feeling your warmth flutter around the digit and wetting it with your juices. "if you lose, you'll have to answer to me the whole night. are we clear?"

you won't lie, it turns you on to feel the neediness emanating from your boyfriend. you nod. it wouldnt hurt to play along.

the next minutes or so went smoothly at first. despite ratio's fingers pushing in and out of your cunt, you managed to play up until a decent chunk of the level. however, ratio starts getting a bit impatient. you let out an 'eep' when he suddenly removes his fingers and lifts up your leg, sliding his hard length over the lips of your pussy. ratio sighs and groans, feeling the warmth and wetness of your cunny coating his cock in slick. the console in your hands nearly slip at the newfound sensation, body trembling as ratio deliberately teases himself. he wont stick himself inside just yet, theres still a challenge to win.

its not like you can concentrate that well at the moment, however. feeling ratio's length rub against your cunt, the tip just barely grazing your clit-

"v-veritas!" you cry out, your console slipping out of your grasp and falling onto the mattress. ratio wastes no time, slapping the tip against your clit a few times before aligning the head to your entrance. ratio lets out a loud groan as he immediately plunges deep inside, one hand nearly crushing your hip while the grabs at your neck. the walls of your cunt quickly get stimulated by the rough pace set by ratio, his cock barely leaving your warmth as he groans all sorts of filth into your ear, making you gush around his cock. your moans are drawn out of you as you near your climax, ratio's length consistently hitting that one spot over and over again.

ratio groans when he feels your walls constrict him, a creamy ring forming at the base of his dick as you moan and cry out his name. "see what you do me?" he growled, stuffing himself deep inside and rolling his hips. you gasped in short breaths, barely having time to relax when ratio pushes you back on your stomach and starts pounding into you again, his hips smacking against your ass in a lewd cacophony of noise. you grip the sheets as you wail into the pillows.

"mine, all mine- hnngh~" ratio gritted out, gripping your hips tight as he watches his cock disappear into the gooey warmth of your pussy. "you'll come apart for me over and over again," a sharp thrust into your pleasure spot has you seeing stars. "ill make sure of it- ugh~"

"veritas, i'm gonna-! i-i'm!"

"together-" he gasped out, leaning his whole body over you, hips a bruising pace as he chases both of your highs. a loud groan spills from ratio as his release coats yours walls, nudging his cock deep inside your pulsing warmth, your own orgasm covering his lower abdomen with an abundance of slick. ratio flips your positions so you end up laying on top of him, his cock still nestled deep inside. though your lungs burn for air, you cant help but messily kiss his flustered face. going all shy after fucking your brains out... thats just like your silly boyfriend.

"why were you naked, anyway?" ratio asks after you both catch your breath. you shrug.

"i dunno, i just felt like it. but if youre going to do this everytime i decide to be nude for whatever reason, then maybe i might just do it more." you giggled, tracing a heart on his chest.

ratio doesnt answer, instead holding you close and thrusting his hardening cock into your sensitive pussy.

you didnt get to finish your game after all.

[juuuulez]

📰 | first times.

you make lip work for it, and the first time you have sex he’s surprised by the intimacy.

like, lip is a fast and rough kinda guy. tammy said it herself: jabby (LOL!). when you first go out, like on an actual date, he’s confused when you won’t fuck him. why? you had fun, right? but you tell him not yet, you don’t wanna rush this, and it’s weird… lip spends the night debating whether or not a bone is really worth it, but eventually decides yeah: he wants this.

so the first time it actually happens, you’re slow with it, kissing over his face and neck while lip’s hands are pawing at your clothes. his rough hands pull at your buttons, your jeans, quickly trying to remove whatever fabric separates you. it ends with you, naked, on his lap. when you undress him, it’s slow, kissing a path over each inch of skin exposed.

“th’fuck taking you so long?” he’ll rasp, but doesn’t make a move to hurry you, despite how long he’s been waiting for this.

and you’ll smile against his skin, licking a long stripe up his sternum, lips sucking at the tattoo on his chest. he’ll grunt, hands squeezing your hips, but your gentle assault on his body continues.

“just wanna enjoy it,” you mumble, rewarding him with a firm grind against his clothed cock, “don’t you?”

he won’t respond, hands urging your movements into a steady rock, moving with lazy fever atop him. lip doesn’t have it in him to rush you, but you can feel his need under you, hard and strained in his jeans.

“you’re very pretty.” you’ll whisper into his neck, trailing kisses back up his neck, to his face. it renders him speechless, because what? pretty? instinctually, he wants to say that’s weird, he’s not pretty. but your cunt is bare and hot against the tent in his pants, and your lips are warm on his skin, plush and soft.

you pay his nose extra attention, gently licking the curve of it, before following the path of his cheek. your kisses trail back down, lingering just over his lips, and he feels just about breathless. his eyes are closed under the sheer pressure of intimacy, lashes casting a shadow on his face, so he can’t see your grin.

so you ride him slow and deep, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, lip’s forehead resting against your chest. his mouth is perpetually open in quiet grunts, his hands faltering at your hips, feeling that incessant need to go faster, harder, but knowing that’s not what you want. suddenly, he wants nothing more than to please you.

it’s different to anything he’s ever felt before, and you eventually relent, allowing lip to roll over and push you into the mattress. he’s gotten the hint by now, fallen into a soft rhythm, slow and steady and impossibly deep.

you know it’s a lot. that it’s different, that lip isn’t used to love like this. so you take it slow. well, as slow as you can, because you just want to show him all of the love you have, let him learn that it’s completely overflowing.

[sincerelyneo]

teeth | l.hc

“fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet”

💿now playing: teeth by 5 seconds of summer

❯ summary: Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, enemies with benefits, smut

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, bickering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do this!), hate sex, degrading names, general name-calling, manhandling, haechan is an asshole, but reader is also lowkey mean, choking, use of nickname 'princess', reader uses she/her pronouns, hardly any plot, it's literally just them hate fucking idk what to tell ya.

cheeky author's note: i'm very brtish, so referring to this as soccer literally made me want to rip my hair out 😀

“You don’t have to be so rough you know, Hyuck!”

"Will you just shut up and let me fuck you!?" He snaps.

The red metal of Lee Donghyuck's locker is cold against the skin of your bare back. Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened. But somehow the captain of the soccer team (and the boy you swear you hate) has you pinned against the boy’s lockers, one leg wrapped around his waist and the top half of your cheer uniform hiked up just enough to give him a full display of your tits. His left-hand grips your hip so tightly that you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose just to piss you off.

Not only that, but he also has your skirt bunched up around your waist. Giving him just the right amount of easy access to pull your panties to the side and tease his cock between your folds.

"Will you just hurry up and stick it in!?" You try to yell at him but, from the way he’s teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, the attempt comes out like a feeble whine.

Exactly on command, the scowl on your face quickly morphs into a wince, and the annoyed quirk on your lips disappears to form a small 'o' as Hyuck’s grip on your hip hardens and he pushes his cock quickly into your cunt. You can’t complain though - you did just tell him to stick it in.

"Shit," you squirm, hand coming up to his chest, pressing hard against the badge of his soccer uniform that rests on his right peck.

"Now look who’s needy," He teases. "I vividly remember you saying I’d be the shittest fuck on the soccer team."

"That’s what this is about!? You’re still mad that– uhh," you’re cut off by your own moan and your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt when he starts to move his hips. His pace is surprisingly slow - deliberately teasing - in comparison to his rapid first thrust inside of you.

"Christ! Even when you fuck you talk too much," Hyuck curses, his hand wrapping around your arm to free himself from the grip you have on his shirt.

"You're one to talk," You hiss back. "Even when you fuck you’re still an annoying little asshol– "

You gasp as he pulls out of you completely and then thrusts into you once again.

"You could've at least warned me, you dick,” You exhale, your walls readjusting to his size for the second time - and what a big size he was.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture princess.”

You can’t believe that even when he’s buried to the hilt inside of your pussy he’s still calling you that stupid fucking nickname. It’s not the word ‘princess’ itself that bothers you per se; it’s Lee Donghyuck’s intention behind the name that makes your blood blister with anger. He’s been calling you ‘princess’ since your freshman year in college but you’d only ever inquired about it recently.

You were at a party, and even though you hate the bones of Lee Donghyuck, you’d be lying if you said your social circles didn’t overlap. It was inevitable, he’s on the soccer team, you’re a cheerleader; honestly, the two of you should be friends. But you’re not. And because of your strained relationship, it was no surprise that the minute you walked through the door he’d picked a fight with you.

You can't even remember what the argument was about now, but you know the two of you had gone back and forth in a boxing match of insults that always ended with him throwing the word ‘princess’ at the end of his rebuttals. And you really couldn’t quite understand why. In your mind, being called a princess was a compliment, but to Donghyuck, princesses were “spoilt bitches who have no grip on reality.”

Safe to say you didn’t think the term was one of endearment after that.

And it was at that same party where you’d insisted Donghyuck would be the shittest fuck on the soccer team – something you’re currently finding out as being not true as he fucks you senseless six ways to Sunday. In all honesty, even when Yuta had asked you the question in a silly little game of truth or dare, you knew Hyuck was the cop-out answer. Truthfully, your real answer would have been Jisung or Chenle. They’re both a little younger and act more awkward with you. But still, you’d let hell freeze over before letting Lee Donghyuck think he was a better fuck than somebody else. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve broken that promise to yourself from the way you’re breathlessly panting and gasping from the vigorous drilling of his cock. That or hell genuinely has frozen over.

But still, what did he expect? The two of you couldn’t go half a second without a petty argument. Sometimes you find yourself just doing it because you were bored and he was there. After all, it’s just the norm between the two of you.

That’s why you can’t quite understand why he’s taking a stupid comment said in a passing game of truth or dare to heart. You’ve said worse to him, you're sure of it.

Hyuck pulls out of your pussy and the emptiness that lingers between your legs has you groaning – even if it’s just for a second. He doesn’t give you long to harp on the loss of friction because he wastes no time dropping your leg from his hip, gripping your waist and slamming the front of your body against his locker.

You want to make another snarky comment about his roughness, but you secretly love it. Well, it’s not so secret actually — Hyuck is well aware that you like his manhandling because he feels your wetness becoming more slick on his cock as he thrusts into you from behind.

His pace in the new position is still tortuous, slow and teasing, and so fucking annoyingly good. But you don’t know how much longer you can take the tormenting leisurely pace. You want more - you need more. If he didn't have your arms pinned behind you and you flush against the lockers, you’d claw at his back to make him go faster.

You feel a warmth on the nape of your neck as he nuzzles against your ear, placing a kiss so gently, that you’re shocked at the sudden contrast in his demeanour.

“This the shittest fuck you’ve had, huh?”

No.

“Yes,” you reply and he growls deeply. There’s a rough snap of his hips and it catches you off guard so much you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

“Fucking liar,” he scoffs.

The insult makes your face screw up in a glare, but still, all you can manage is a breathy, “Am not.”

No matter how good the length of his cock is making you feel, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right – that he’s not the worst fuck on the soccer team. Not that you had much experience with the others.

But even though you refuse to use your words to tell him you’re loving it, your body betrays you by being so fucking responsive to his touches. And no matter how hard you fight against him, Hyuck never lets you gain an inch. In fact, every time you try to free your arms from his, he lets out a frustrated groan, and the sound only makes your pussy throb harder.

His hand slips up your body until it finds your throat, where his fingers dig into either side of your neck. He stops his thrusts.

“Well if you’re not lying, are you saying I’m a shitty fuck princess?” He asks innocently as if he’s about to be gentle with you, but you know better. After all, this is Donghyuck. “If you want to pretend like you don’t want this; if that helps you sleep at night, then fine, but your slutty cunt is so fucking wet, I can almost feel you soaking my balls.”

He ducks down to place a kiss on your jaw, and you feel his lips smile into it as you shudder from his words. Instinctively, you swing your head away from him, only to be yanked back by the hand around your throat. He chuckles against your skin, hips starting to move again, thrusting shallowly into your stretched cunt.

“If I’m such a shitty fuck, I supposed you want me to stop, huh?” He asks in a low voice, lips grazing your cheek.

Noises you’ve never heard yourself make before tumble from your mouth as you moan and sob shamelessly. You try to bite your tongue, try not to fuel his ego, but his rhythm is too good at tearing down your guard, which is why you find yourself crying out, “Please don’t stop!”

He laughs, fucking you harder and faster, the stings of pain from his cock hitting you so deep morphing into a hot ache of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls.

His fingers, still on your throat press into your skin, not hard enough to cut off your air supply but just enough pressure to force out strangled moans. Your shoulders rub against the coarse material of his soccer kit, grounding you against him as he fucks you in punishing thrusts.

You don’t want to admit it, but your body can’t resist it.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” you mumble, eyes squeezed tight together.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me like a good little slut?” he murmurs into your temples

The low rumble of his voice has the tension in your core ratcheting higher, pushing you closer to your release. Your head feels like it’s floating as the tight spring in your stomach coils until it finally snaps and has your knees buckling beneath you.

Hyuck keeps his speed steady, fucking you through your climax and savouring the way your walls clench around him in rigid spasms. Your orgasm triggers his and he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he ruts into you harder, and all you can do is moan for him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your submission - he’s never seen you like this before - so needy and desperate. He didn’t think it was possible to love anything about you; but this right here, you fucked out and pleading for his cum, yeah, he fucking loves it.

He ruts into you a last few times with thrusts that are wild and more frenzied, his thighs slapping against your ass. He contemplates cumming inside of you, but he figures he’d save that for another day since the two of you had forgotten about a condom and hadn’t really discussed it.

And…did he just think about having sex with you again?

With a loud groan that rattles against the metal in the empty locker room, Hyuck pulls out of your cunt and jerks his cock until he’s cumming onto the small of your back. Unable to stop yourself, you moan softly and a stupid smile spreads across your face when you hear him sigh.

After that it's silent, only your rapid breaths echoing in the room. He’s pressed against you, face buried in your neck, holding you and your weak legs in place. You stay like that for a beat, but then you remember who it is that’s just fucked you.

Without any more hesitation, you shake his grip and push him away from you. "Christ! Stop breathing down my neck. Fucking gross."

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s your arch nemesis you would have stayed tangled up in him a little while longer, letting yourself get soaked up in the fact that that was the best sex you’ve ever had.

As you turn around to face him, he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“There’s a towel in my bag if you want to…”

You scoff, “How chivalrous of you.”

You pull the towel from the bag in his locker and start wiping at his cum on your back. Your body is turned away from him but you can still feel his eyes lingering on you as you wipe away.

You stop to look at him, “What are you still doing here? We have a game in like 10 minutes. Shouldn’t you be like…warming up or something?”

“I think I’m already warmed up,” he mumbles and you shake your head with a smile, going back to cleaning yourself off.

“Seriously, get on the pitch,” you demand when you see him still lingering.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his head and he looks a little flushed. You never see him like this, it’s weird. The Hyuck you know and loathe is cocky, smug, arrogant, all of those kinds of words; but the one in front of you looks so awkward, flushed. Is it weird you kinda like it?

“Are you waiting for me to tell you you aren’t a bad fuck or something? Seriously Hyuck, get lost,” you try and joke, pulling down your cheer uniform.

“No..I…” he stumbles.

You groan, “Oh no, don’t do this. Don’t make things weird.”

“I’m not—”

“Can’t you just be like a normal guy and…I don’t know, say it felt good to fuck me like you hate me or some shit?”

His eyes sweep over your face as if he were studying you. His face softens and he steps closer.

“I mean I could say that, because it felt fucking amazing actually,” he says and you swallow thickly. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pause, freezing as he comes towards you. You don’t even register how close he is until you feel his breath on your lips and his chest against yours.

“What?”

“I don’t actually hate you that much,” he admits, and your eyes widen.

“Yeah right, funny joke,” you roll your eyes and laugh sarcastically but he’s not laughing with you. In fact he’s just looking at you, deadpan, and it’s starting to freak you out.

When you realise that he is in fact serious, you cross your hands across your chest.

“You’re not gonna start doing all that cheesy shit they do in the movies, where you profess your undying love for me, and tell me you never really hated me and it was all just a miscommunication, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He almost gags at the mention of it. “Just because I said I don’t hate you that much doesn’t mean I like you? Are you crazy?”

“Well I’m just making sure,” you poke his chest.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “But I do wanna do this again…” he trails off so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if there was anybody else in the room with you.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Us. Fucking,” he explains. “I fucking hate you, but fuck, I think I love your pussy.”

[amandacanwrite]

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

[eloquentlytired]

18+ mdni

— his problem

pairing: old!logan howlett x fem short!reader tags: public sex — rough sex — unresolved feelings — tension — slight angst — old man logan doesn't run away upon hearing the words I love you ( shook! ) — he just needs a little therapy — he also likes calling you princess! — soft ending summary: you run away after you deem yourself a problem to logan, charles and caliban. of course a man like logan doesn't let that slide and you're to realize why once he finds you. author's note: i wrote this faster than a uni assignment so if u spot any mistakes i apologize im kneeling on the ground and pleading 4 forgiveness ( not really ). ENJOYYYY and as always reblogs & likes & conversations are sooo welcome ^_^

ৎৎৎ

the rain is rough and heavy on your skin but it doesn't stop you from running away. you were a burden to them — to logan, caliban and charles. they already had so many problems and you were just an addition to that list.

charles wouldn't agree. logan simply wouldn't show it. and well... caliban was caliban. he was just being realistic sometimes with his words but it wasn't his purpose to hurt you.

you heard yelling from a distance — it was like angry roaring. logan.

you tried to speed up the pace and run faster, your sundress clinging on you like second skin. you were soaked to the bone and your vision was getting hectic because of the many droplets staining your eyelashes.

one more blink and logan was suddenly running behind you — despite how old he'd become, despite his body literally suffering from the inside he had still come out to get you. it was the first time he did and not caliban or even charles.

“stop!” logan yelled at you, struggling to catch up but only a little. you were no mutant or nearly athletic; and you'd been running until now without stopping under the cold rain. your body was silently suffering.

a rough body pushed you on the nearest tree, your chin and your knees scraping against the wet trunk.

logan stood behind you taller and bigger as you struggled to remove yourself from his grip. one of his hands slid to your nape and he held it firmly, shoving your face against the tree. you winced. he growled. “what the hell were you thinking? running away after that everything we've done for you.”

tears prickled at your eyes and you swallowed so they wouldn't fall. not like he'd care. “I— I just wanted to get rid of one of your problems!” you yelled over the rain and logan pressed his mouth on your ear, his knees brushing against the back of yours. “the fuck did you say?” logan asked. or rather growled again.

“i’m a problem; charles loves me but caliban tolerates me and you—” you paused trying to push down another sob. “you despise me, I can sense it. just let me go!”

the grip he had on your nape, that strong veiny arm, was enough to overpower you. even when you thrashed around maniacally and tried to use your limbs to kick back, logan didn't seem the least affected. wild eyes took in the sight of you— your wet clinging sundress, the white panties peaking beneath it and your bare feet. logan was certain you'd have some new wounds there from all that barefoot running. you gasped as his unoccupied hand moved to pull down your panties, letting them pool around your ankles without care.

“logan, what are you—”

“enough. I have let you off the hook too many times. when you talk back, when you don't follow simple orders. when you do that shit at night.” logan was certainly referring to the times you two would argue and then he'd tell you to fuck right off in your room. you'd listen to that order but not without laying in your bed and touching yourself, coming with his name on your lips.

he heard. you knew. logan knew that you knew. and at that very moment, his entire patience for you broke down.

“logan!” one of his arms had put your head in a tight lock, your chin firmly nestled at the inside of his elbow.

he grunted as he fucked you from behind, his cock slipping in and out of your pussy in fast and deep thrusts.

your ass collided against his hips with every thrust and your helpless hands simply held onto the arm that had forced you into this headlock.

“I fucking saved you. I picked you up from the street,I took care of you—” logan grunted as his other hand played with your breasts, teasing a hard bud between experienced fingers. it'd been a while for the both of you but logan definitely knew more than you did.

a certain circular roll of his hips had you wailing and moaning loudly.

“— I fucking did everything so that you survive. and you're trying to leave me?” he couldn't help but feel that ache in his chest, one he hadn't felt in a long time. your body shook with each thrust directed at your weeping core, logan’s tip nudging that sensitive bulge of nerves while stretching you out with hidden intent.

“i'm sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed and logan squeezed your breast painfully hard until you were looking at him with those eyes — hot tears running down your face. the rain kept going. and so did logan with fucking you under it.

your soaked sundress was a mere dirty fabric around your ankles alongside your underwear. logan drove his hips into yours, hissing everytime your pussy would tighten its grip around his cock, just like a damn vine. his white shirt clung onto his body wetly and his trousers were accompanying yours on the ground — around his own ankles.

“you’d really leave? you wouldn't come back?” he grunted in your ear and tightened his hold around your fragile head. every part of you was in fact fragile.

your hands shakily scratched against his arm and your eyes rolled back when some of your oxygen was stolen from you; logan was squeezing around your throat so tight while slamming into your pussy, raw and deep. it was impossible not to slur your words when he fucked you like this. and you enjoyed every moment. “wanted to— help. I wanted to make things easier—" but your words reached no one.

there was something about logan fucking you in the rain in the middle of the forest. you felt the attraction to this and so did he. he liked the way your nails clawed at his arm helplessly and how your asscheeks bounced against his hips. “logan—" you choked on your scream as his pace turned lethal, his cock drilling your insides without mercy. you could feel the slap of his heavy balls against your clit and everything burned. “do I have to be the bad guy? just because I want all of us safe? because I want you to be safe?” his words conveyed his feelings clearly and it was evident that you'd hurt him with your decision.

your head fell helplessly back on his shoulder and you twisted it around enough to look at him. logan followed your gaze and when your eyes met, you kissed. his lips melted against yours as his hand slapped your breasts, making your pussy clench again.

“keep your eyes on me, princess.” he muttered between hot kisses and you obeyed. it was a different experience to have logan like this, messy beard rubbing against your face while those tired eyes gazed into yours as he filled you up.

“i love you.” you mumbled against his lips and logan slipped his cock out just to force it back inside, your gummy walls spasming around his thickness. you expected him to get mad but logan simply kissed you again while wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you like that as he plunged his cock inside your wetness.

a few thrusts later you were coming around his girth, squeezing him so tight and the situation was just too dangerous for him to continue. “gotta pull out, princess.” he rasped but you squeezed around him in response while pushing your hips back, your intentions very clear.

those eyes looked up at him and fuck he really was a weak man. the weakest if you will.

logan came inside you with a shudder, stumbling forward until your body was squished between the tree trunk and his chest. “princess.” he grunted again and his hips melted into yours. no inch separated your connected bodies as he filled your pussy to the brim.

you had told him no but logan insisted to carry you back home, holding your bare body against his merely clothed one. at least he had his trousers on while you had nothing. “about the I love you part—” you were overthinking it and logan had noticed. he silenced you with a kiss; a kiss which he placed on your forehead. “when I woke up today and saw the house empty, your room empty... and when charles told me you wouldn't be returning—” there was so much emotion in his eyes that you couldn't keep your hands to yourself.

you reached out and caressed logan’s cheek, as well as the wrinkles by his eye. how much you loved those. “I want you to stay. I love you.” his genuine words and gaze made you melt and you found yourself leaning against him, resting your head atop his chest.

you were his problem now. it'd be alright.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。10:07 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

al-haitham asks you to marry him before he even realizes himself what he’s just asked. it’s a random tuesday night. you’re in worn out pajamas, he’s still got slight damp hair from his shower, and the both of you are curled up on the couch.

you’re rubbing his chest and his arm’s wrapped around your waist when you murmur, “we should get a place with more windows.”

he raises a brow, turns to look at you and scan over the side of your face. it’s familiar, the way you look so pretty under the dim light, on the same couch against the same walls in the same living room. but it’ll still feel like the first time even if it’ll be his last.

“is the design of our current home not up to your standards?” he asks, making you giggle.

“it’s nice,” you hum, “but it needs more windows. and a bigger kitchen. and maybe a backyard.”

“this home is conveniently close to our place of work,” he argues, fingers creeping up from under your shirt and rubbing circles into your hip. it’s soft—your skin, it’s warm and familiar under the rough pad of his thumb. it’s a touch that’s routine enough that you don’t squirm in surprise anymore when he finds your bare skin, and then he wonders for a moment if there are other routines waiting for him.

maybe he’ll watch you wait for him through the window as he comes home. maybe you’ll dance in the kitchen as coffee’s being made. maybe there’ll be picnics in the backyard as the sun sets. maybe, when you have a new house but the same home, he’ll find more of you in the walls and the corners of every room.

“haitham,” you huff, “a little extra walk won’t kill you. we should find our dream home.”

“our?” he asks after a moment, like he’s shocked. you only nod against his chest.

“of course, silly,” you chuckle, “i certainly won’t be house shopping with the general mahamatra—”

“we should get married,” he blurts.

“what?”

“my grandmother left a ring,” he instantly explains, “it’s a very nice ring, i promise. you won’t have to worry about having a bare finger—”

“that’s not what i meant—”

“and it can be a small ceremony,” he assures, “it shouldn’t take much planning. but if you’d like something fancier, i don’t mind either, it’s your wedding day just as much as it is mine—”

“that’s sweet, but wait—”

“and if you’re worried about time off for the honeymoon, as the former acting grand sage, there’s still a few strings i can pull for us both. i hear inazuma is nice during spring, so that gives us—”

he’s rambling. he’s figuring it out right here and now and it’s the last thing you expect of him, not having an elaborate plan—and it takes you by surprise. but he’s breathless and his eyes are wide and his chest is warm and his arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist.

and you couldn’t dream of saying no.

“you think you want all this?” you ask gently, “with little old me?”

“there’s no one but you,” he mumbles, holding you closer. and if there’s a slight bounce in his knee as he waits for your answer, you pretend you don’t notice.

“so you want to get married?”

“i want to marry you,” he corrects, “i want you. marriage is just the means of how.”

“okay,” you say with a hitch in your throat. after a moment of silence, you let out a shaky chuckle, eyes watery as you meet his. “okay. let’s get married.”

“okay,” he nods slightly, swallowing thickly.

“and we can have a house with more windows,” you add.

“and a bigger kitchen,” he agrees.

“and a backyard.”

“maybe a bigger study,” he adds thoughtfully.

you grab his face at that, with enough desperation that his cheeks are squished in your hands as you turn him, pressing your lips to his. you taste him, feel him pass through you as a breath of air, hear him ring through your ear as a muffled grunt.

he’s a part of you. he’s every inch of you. he lingers on your skin and knits into your bones. he’s yours now and somehow….somehow he’ll be yours forever.

“i’m going to get married,” you sniffle. “how exciting.”

“i’m going to marry you,” he murmurs, like he’s still processing the fact that you’re here, and his, and you’ve said yes.

“i love you,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his.

his eyes close and his arm squeezes you gently. “i’ll always love you.”

edit: everyone stop fucking commenting about the authors note it was a joke and the comments are getting old :/ why don’t you actually leave feedback on the fic itself for once and show writers some support as you consume content

you people don’t fucking understand how insanely in love with him i am i want to make a fur coat out of his pubic hair and wear it on a cold winter day idc

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Emmy 🌸

Can I get a smutty little blurb of us and bestfriend!steve spooning in bed and it gets a little handsy😇 dry humping is underrated.

leighanne leighanne leighanne 🧡

18+

It was inevitable, really.

Too many nights sprawled in Steve’s bed, a movie forgotten on his television screen, the sun dying behind the houses across the street, sleep tugging at you both.

It was inevitable, really.

Too many hormones, too many close calls, too many what ifs? Too many glances at lips, too many jokes that suddenly sounded more serious than the week before.

You woke up with Steve curled around you, the TV dark static, the credits long rolled. It wasn't anything too out of the ordinary, bodies pressed together, your back to Steve’s chest, a heavy arm thrown over your waist and his nose pressed into your hair, his soft breaths telling you he was still very much asleep.

You would’ve slipped back into it too, if you hadn’t shuffled slightly, adjusting yourself against the boy and the pile of pillows around you, the stray popcorn kernels that had missed both the bowl and your lips.

It was inevitable, really.

You felt it then, hard and insistent, impossible to ignore - pressed against the small of your back. Steve’s sweatpants did little to hide it, the thickness, the length, the heat. You gasped, eyes wide, more awake than before and you knew it was wrong, you knew you shouldn’t have done it. But it was inevitable.

Wasn’t it?

You rocked backwards, feigned shifting in your sleep until your ass rocked against your best friend’s cock and it fit snugly against the curves of you. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you heard your heartbeat in your ears, felt it rattle your ribs, felt it shake the bed frame and when the boy didn’t stir, you did it again.

Hips rocking, shifting ever so slightly, ass moving up and over Steve’s cock, eyes slipping closed, squeezing shut and lip parting in a silent gasp when the head of him caught the seam of your folds underneath your flimsy shorts.

Steve sighed in his sleep, a husky, low moan and his hips canted forward to meet your own, eager, wanting. Right there, right on your clit, the perfect nudge, just right there—

“Shit, shit, I’m— I’m sorry, I— fuck—”

Steve woke, voice rough and sleep slurred, moving too slow, his brain barely catching up with the situation but you felt awful at the embarrassment you heard in his words and he made to move away, a little clumsy as the mattress dipped, his arm dragging from you waist.

You wanted to whine, you wanted to beg. So you caught his hand instead, kept it on your waist until the heat of it made your bones turn softer. It was easier to talk if you kept facing away from him, your cheek pressed to the pillow, your ass still popped out enough for the tip of Steve’s cock nudge against the swell of it.

“Stay, Steve.”

You heard the boy gulp, swallow tight and sharp, his hand flexing on your ribs. He paused, maybe to check if he was awake, maybe to check if you were. “What?”

“Keep going,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.” You swallowed too, licking your lips nervously, suddenly terrified that this was the wrong thing to do. “You can keep going, if you want.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but he lay back down, closer than before, close enough for you to feel his lips on the back of your neck when they parted. His hand gripped your waist, fingers flexing over you until your shirt - his shirt - gave way and his touch found your skin.

“Yeah?” He whispered and his voice was rough, but so much more awake than before. His cock twitched, seeking out your heat, already leaking in his too tight boxers. “S’okay?”

You nodded, body burning, eyes focused on Steve’s closed bedroom door, waiting with enough anticsorion to make your head throb, hoping he’d make a move. “Felt good,” you told him.

You felt more than heard his soft “fuck,” breathed against the nape of your neck and before you could say anything else, Steve moved, all experimental, his hips rutting against your ass, his cock pushed between your cheeks, rubbing himself there.

“Shit,” he groaned, head falling forward until it rested against your shoulder. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay? Just let me know—”

You shook your head, cutting him off with a plea. “Steve—”

The way you pushed back against him told the boy everything he needed to know. “Christ,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t know where to look, the room just lit enough for him to glance down and see his cock nestled against your ass, a damp patch already spreading on the front of his sweats. “Say my name again, fuck, say my name like that, please—”

“Steve,” you complied, whiny and breathless and trying so hard to keep quiet. The dark gloom surrounding you both made it feel all the more forbidden. You took his hand from your waist, dragged it slowly enough for him to reject you if he wanted, your fingers tangled with his as you guided him towards your tits. “Steve, please, touch me.”

You didn’t need to ask again, Steve groaning low in your ear, his teeth scraping at your jaw as his big hand grabbed the cup of your bra, pulling it down so he could get his palm over you, squeezing roughly and soothing finger over your hardened nipples. He pulled at it, humped against you a little faster when you moaned into his pillow.

“Could come like this,” Steve whispered, nose knocking against the crown of your head as he moved closer, swearing into your hair when you lifted one leg and draped it over his, his cock slipping down to slot between the folds of your cunt, the dampness there making it easy for him to feel you beneath your shorts. “Gonna come like this, fucking hell, that okay? Shit— that what you want, babe? You wanna make me bust in my pants?”

You groaned, a hand thrown back to fist in Steve’s hair, pulling at him until he mouthed at your neck, more teeth than lips, nodding frantically when the head of his cock nudged up against your clit, rubbing through your folds.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “Jesus Steve, yeah, m’gonna come too, don’t stop—“

That was inevitable too.