Noooooo😂☠️

MARGOT ROBBIE "Barbie" Celebration Party (June 30, 2023)

continuing to suck on him after he cums so you can listen to him whimper as he tries to get away>>>

miguel is hot but he was such hypocrite 😭. a big hot angry hypocrite with a fat ass

Erotic and awkward is my forte.

Wasted On You

AN: No one asked for this but it came to me, and I wanted it so, hope y'all enjoy lol.

(Un-beta’d)

In which Poe is a handsy, overly-affectionate drunk.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,863 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, frottage/thigh riding, semi-public sex, soft!Poe, sub!Poe (if you squint), fluff, PDA, cursing, Poe being the adorable menace that he is. AO3

———

The spotchka sloshes out of your glass as you clink it with the others at the table, the sounds of raucous laughter and general gaiety filling the room as everyone celebrates the Resistance’s latest win. It’d been a big one, one that had been fought for long and hard; years of sleepless nights and an innumerable number of undercover missions later, it was finally over. Everyone was thrilled, of course, but none more so than Poe Dameron. 

You take a sip and smile as you watch him cheer, his elation and relief obvious. He’d been neck deep in the middle of it all as the General’s right-hand man, taking charge of at least a third of the missions that had gotten all of you to this point; if anyone deserved to celebrate, it was definitely Poe. 

It’s why you haven’t tried to pull him away yet, why you haven’t stopped him from drinking jet juice like it’s water. You know you probably should but…he’s just having so much fun, and you can’t bear to be the one that ends it. He’s definitely sloshed, laughing at the dumbest things and stumbling around like a baby that’s just learning how to walk. It’s been pretty amusing to witness, if you’re honest.  

You watch as the people he’s been speaking with move on, clapping him on the shoulder as they head toward another group that’s taken up residence in the back corner. Once he’s alone, he sits quietly, smiling softly to himself for a moment, before his brow suddenly furrows in confusion. He looks around, an exaggerated frown on his lips as he searches for something. When his eyes meet yours, his smile returns, wide and a little dopey, as he stands to his feet and unsteadily shuffles over. 

You chuckle when he plops down onto the chair beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders as he leans in so close, his nose bumps against your cheek. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice raspy from all the cheering and screaming. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

An involuntary shiver runs through you at the roughness of his voice, conjuring memories of the other times he’s sounded like this for you (his forehead pressed to yours, breath puffing against your lips as he pushes into you again and again—). He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your cheek as his other hand falls to your knee. 

“Maker,” he groans, kissing his way over your jaw toward your ear. “Baby, you smell delicious.” 

You tilt your head slightly to better accommodate him, your chuckle a little throaty. “I do?” 

He hums, pushing his nose against the side of your neck and breathing in deeply.  

You chew your lip, eyes darting around the room as he resumes kissing you, this time on your neck, the hand on your knee slowly inching its way up to your thigh. 

“Poe,” you warn, squirming a little in your chair as you halt his hand’s upward progression with your own. “We’re in public.” 

He grunts, nosing aside the collar of your shirt to nip at your collarbone. “So?” 

Your chuckle morphs into a whine as he worries a mark there with his teeth, arousal pooling in your gut at the mild sting. He groans into your neck when your fingers find their way into his hair, curling around the soft, thick strands. Gently, you pull him off of you, his eyelids heavy, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the way he looks at you, so much unabashed love and adoration, so much want. Unable to resist, you lean in and kiss him softly on the lips. 

 As you pull away again, you say. “C’mon, flyboy, let me take you home.” 

The two of you say goodnight to everyone before stumbling from the cantina, Poe’s arm laid over your shoulders. Your arm wraps around his waist in an effort to keep him upright, only to have him lean heavily against your side, humming contentedly as he buries his face in your neck again. You manage to get him to the door just outside the living quarters hall before he starts trying to grope you, hand slipping not-so-stealthily toward your chest.  

“Stop it,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes as you swat his hand away. 

He snorts into your neck, his mouth once again exploring the area. “Stop what?” he asks between kisses, lips dragging over your skin. “‘m not doing anything.” 

You hum skeptically, pausing to key the entry code to the door. As you wait for it to slide open, he pulls your earlobe between his lips, his teeth nipping at the edges. Your breath hitches in surprise, and he must hear it because he smiles. You drag him into the hall once the door opens, silently thanking the Maker that everyone seems to still be out celebrating. 

Poe’s quarters aren’t far, and normally take just a few minutes to reach, however, what should be a quick trek is hindered by the fact that a certain drunk commander can’t seem to stop touching you. You fend him off without issue, though, biting back your laughter at the terrible pick-up lines he’s throwing your way. 

“You do know that I can’t carry you, right?” you tease, snorting as he knocks you into the wall with his weight again. 

He chuckles as he attempts to right himself, but only succeeds in making you even more lopsided. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help that I am trapped in the gravitational field of your smile.” 

You scoff, shaking your head fondly as you turn the corner to the hall that (blessedly) houses Poe’s quarters. “You’re an idiot.” 

He laughs again, and you grunt as he leans into your side yet again, his breath puffing against your cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” 

It’s cheesy, but the truth of the statement makes something warm lodge itself in your heart all the same. 

You’re almost there, can literally see his door as you both plod awkwardly down the hall. He’s quieter now, but you’re so focused on getting him into his room, you don’t think to ask why.  

Without warning, he leans into you again, throwing you off balance and pinning you to the wall with his hips. Before you can scold him, he covers your lips with his own, stealing your words as well as the breath from your lungs. He tastes like a Keshian spice roll, sweet and a little tangy, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep him against you. His tongue is warm, insistent, as it slides hungrily against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.  

He sighs, grinding against you clumsily as he devours your mouth. His hands are everywhere; on your face, your hips, your ass, his strong fingers gripping and pulling, manipulating your body like he would his ship. You whine as he slots his thigh between your legs, pushing it up against your core, mumbling something about wanting to see you fall apart. You moan at the friction, canting your hips as he pulls his mouth from yours to groan into your neck. Your fingers weave into his hair as you both continue to grind against each other, the pleasure building steadily in your gut.  

“Poe,” you sigh breathlessly, eyes flying open when you remember where you are. “Baby, your room is right there.” 

He grunts in response, his mouth latching onto your neck.  

You open your mouth to respond, then promptly choke on a moan when he shifts his leg, the movement pressing the seam of your pants against your clit.  

“Maker, I love all the pretty, little sounds you make,” he slurs, voice raspy as he pulls back to meet your eyes. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” 

The greedy look in his eyes sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as you cant your hips, seeking your release.

“Poe,” you whine, telling him that you’re close (so close), that you just need a little more— 

He shushes you softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his own hips still rutting lazily against you, and when you come, he kisses you, swallowing your moans.  

The first thing you notice when you come back to yourself is that Poe’s rock-hard cock is digging into your hip. When you open your eyes, he’s watching you, his smile soft, eyes heavy-lidded, still blown wide with lust. 

That’s when you remember where you are. 

Shit.  

Panic slices through you as you wriggle in his hold, trying to push yourself off of the wall (and his thigh). You’re mortified—had anyone seen you? Had they heard? You groan (and not in the pretty way Poe likes), eyes darting around in search of any onlookers. Poe chuckles, nose nudging against yours as he tries to reclaim your attention. 

As you return your attention to your menace of a boyfriend, you can’t seem to stop the laugh that escapes you, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. He laughs too, snorting when you place your other hand over his mouth. You smile at each other as your combined giggles subside, Poe’s eyes crinkling a little by his eyes.  

“Let’s get you to bed, commander,” you say finally, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his neck. 

He nods, a little glassy-eyed as he stares at you with a fondness and affection that makes your stomach flip.  

When you (finally) make it into his room, he attacks you with his lips again, licking into your mouth as his hands clumsily attempt to remove your clothes. He walks backwards, bringing you along with him as he untucks your shirt from your pants. You chuckle as he struggles with your belt, grunting in frustration when he can’t seem to get it unbuckled. He huffs after a moment, abandoning his attempts and slipping beneath your shirt instead.  

Suddenly, he grunts, tripping and falling heavily onto his bed and pulling you right along with him. You laugh softly, pushing yourself up on your forearms to look down at him; his eyes are glazed with want, dark curls splayed across his blanket in a messy halo, eyelids heavy. 

“Slow down, baby,” you whisper, smiling softly as you lean in to kiss him again. 

He melts into the mattress, moaning into your mouth as his hands slide up your back, hips pushing against yours. You grind down onto him slowly, gently, swallowing every sigh and whimper that falls from between his lips. He comes with a choked moan not long after, fingers digging into your skin as his hips stutter against yours. 

You pull back when you feel him sag in relief beneath you, your hands combing through his hair. His eyes are closed, body limp and heavy, and you realize—he fell asleep. You snort, smiling fondly at him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. As you try to slip from his hold though, he tightens his arms around you, murmuring softly for you to stay. 

Unable to deny him anything, you do.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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Oscar Isaac in The Two Faces of January (2014) dir. Hossein Amini

Oh, Little Horned One of the Old Oak Tree

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: Becoming the avatar of an ancient Celtic god came with some unforeseen side affects; side affects which you are yet to tell Steven about.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language, slight body horror if you squint, Steven is a ridiculously supportive boyfriend in the face of fuckery and we love him for it

a/n: giving the reader a supportive god/avatar relationship because it's what they deserve

It's not that you hadn't tried to clean the blood, you'd done your best. But it stained the tips of your fingers and left the porcelain tiles of the bathroom a dark red.

You weren't entirely sure where it had all come from, but the damp, matted hair surrounding where the antlers had sprouted from your head served as a good indicator.

It shouldn't be happening, not yet. You had at least another fortnight till the next eclipse, (if your notes were anything to go by.) But you knew the moment your muscles began to ache and your bones began to creak that it was indeed happening, and it wasn't going to stop regardless of how upset it made you.

You'd tried to call Jake. Then Marc. But you didn't want to risk Steven answering the phone.

The bathroom was the closest refuge you could find and as it would seem it was far from the most ideal of places. You'd torn down the shower curtain in your haste to hide and all but shattered the delicate tiles beneath your feet.

The mirror had also fallen victim to your havoc, an almost artistically applaudable webbed crack spreading out from the centre of the glass where your elbow had made contact. A handful of rouge shards littered the floor and made quick work of slicing open your palm.

You glared at the offending piece of glass before picking it out of your hand and throwing it across the room with enough force that it was embedded in the opposite wall like a well-aimed dart.

You could still make out your reflection through the broken glass pane. Antlers sprouting from the crown of your head, winding off in all different directions. There was a pale glow to your eyes and ruins and ancient symbols wrapped around your arms and the expanse of your chest. And if your abundance of new features hadn't already qualified you for your own Magic: The Gathering card, you'd also doubled in height.

This would be a fucking delight to explain.

You took a moment to thank the gods for Stevens's late shift at the museum before steadying yourself with a deep breath.

You'd felt every bit of it; the stretching, twisting and growing of entirely new bones. And if the persistent pain in your chest and spine was anything to go by you figured it was far from over.

You could hear the deep, resonant voice of your deity, distant and far off, like rushing water over rock. His words were gruff and shaped by his accent as he apologized profusely; and as ego-boosting as it was having an eldritch being admit defeat and practically beg for your forgiveness, you found yourself in too much pain to truly enjoy the moment.

“Cernunnos,” you cursed the god's name.

Your legs were still crammed uncomfortably against your chest and the bathroom door whilst your antlers continued to do a glorious job of scrapping the paint job off the ceiling.

Another wave of pain hit, burning through your veins and seizing hold of your lungs. You coughed and spluttered, each attempt at a breath snagging in your throat like leaves catching on dead branches. The horrid sensation of shifting bones hit your chest and you doubled over with a hiss.

“Please make it stop.”

“I'm sorry, fia beag,” (little deer) the god said, his reflection appearing in the mirror shards. His antlers filled out the frame, putting your own to shame and his eyes, (despite, like the rest of his body, being those of a stag, which as far as species go aren't the most emotionally expressive–) were almost apologetic. “I've tried my best, I asked Manannan to reverse the tides to change the lunar phase and buy us time but it's too late.”

It was heartwarming really; how Cernnunos cared so much, enough to ask a fellow god to inconvenience the entire ocean all in the name of saving your love life. You were glad to have him, even if he was the reason you were going through pain worse than fucking childbirth.

“I'm sorry.” The god's ears flattened against his head and you wondered if you'd said the last part aloud.

“What's the point of all this again?” You'd shifted before but it was never irregular and never this bad.

“A thousand years ago my worshipers adored when my avatar arrived at Imbolc in this form!” Cernnunos sounded excited.

“So it was to show off?”

“To make the people feel seen and protected,” he countered.

“And it's something I have to go through because–?”

The god was quiet for a moment. “Old habits die hard?”

Cernnunos had off-handedly mentioned (downright bragged) about the pact he'd made with the moon sometime before the construction of Newgrange. That his avatar would be gifted with a godly form the night of each lunar eclipse. You weren't well versed in ancient deals between eldritch beings but apparently, it's not the kind of agreement you can back out of a millennia down the line.

And apparently, another moon-related god had initiated an eclipse two weeks ahead of schedule. (your money was on Khonshu over Artemis.)

“It will be alright, little one,” Cernnunos promised. It was soothing having him near, but he tended to have that effect. With him, you were like a fawn, comforted by the knowledge that it was protected by its elder. “Besides, it's not as though this night could get much worse for us.”

Almost comedically, the struggle of key in lock sounded and then the front door opened.

You and the god stared at each other, quite literally, like deers in headlights.

“Love? I'm home–”

Steven's voice sent your flight, fight, freeze response to full throttle and you beckoned for Cernnunos to leave as quietly and frantically as you could. The god seemed reluctant, but another chorus of a British accent from the other side of the door and he relented.

The glass rippled like water on a lake and then he was gone.

You could hear Steven moving around the flat, carrying out his usual routine of removing his name tag, unbuttoning his over shirt and tossing his bag on the couch.

You held your breath when the floorboards of the bedroom creaked and silently prayed he'd just call it a night in favour of finding you hiding in the bathroom looking like something straight from Pans Labyrinth. When he called out for you again you sent your head back against the wall with enough force to crack the tiles.

“Love, you alright?” There was three gentle raps on the door. “Darling?”

“I'm fine,” the words were unsteady. And had your voice gotten deeper?

There was a beat of silence outside the door then, “You don't sound fine.”

“I'm just not feeling great,” you managed. Just go, Steven. Please just go.

“Oh, darling, are you sick? Here let me–” The terrifying sight of the door handle turning caused your heart to almost hammer out of your chest. You rushed to press your foot against it and watched in horror as the timber split right down the middle. The door was barely clinging to the hinges.

You could hear Steven's shock on the other side of the door, a string of curses followed suit. “Y/N–”

“Just leave it, Steven!” you bit out. You hadn't meant for the words to sound so animalistic, so angry. But the only thing currently preventing your life from crumbling was a splintering door and your refusal to move your foot. You were allowed to be rash, you thought.

“Alright, you're scaring me now–”

The universe really wasn't letting up with its ironies today.

The wooden door panels creaked and splintered as Steven tried to open it from the outside. You kept your foot firmly pressed to the middle, but as the hinges began to groan you felt the sturdiness give way. It felt like you had your foot against a wet piece of tissue paper; you were going to tear right through it.

With one more shove from Steven's side, you were forced to surrender.

The door swung open with truly theatrical measure and Steven stumbled in behind it. Instinctually, you pushed yourself against the back wall, forgetting your new height and putting your head through the ceiling as you did.

Chaos is too kind of a word for what followed.

The sound that left Steven fell somewhere between a startled shout and a scream of genuine terror. You reached out and Steven fired back, his feet tying themselves in knots and sending him to the floor.

You struggled to pull your head out of the crater you'd left in the roof. A fine layer of debris and dust covered you and somewhat important-looking wires were strung across your antlers like poorly hung Christmas lights.

Almost on cue, the bathroom light flickered twice and came away from the ceiling, ending up in several pieces on the floor.

The dark apparently did nothing in making you look less menacing as Steven continued to voice his fears. And loudly at that. He hadn't moved, still frozen to the spot just outside the door.

“Steven, please–” you crawled forward at a snail's pace, each movement purposely slow.

He watched you with frantic eyes, his heart hammering like a rabbit against his chest. You'd never seen him so scared.

As he clambered to his feet, you dared to inch closer, but it was the opinion of the shattered tiles beneath your feet that you weren't moving nearly fast enough. You slipped on the porcelain shards and were all but thrown in Steven's direction.

Your rack broke your fall by all but embedding the tips of each spike in the wall surrounding the door frame. You'd put your head through so much wood and plaster in the past few minutes you were beginning to sympathize with mounted deer heads.

Steven was staring now, expression boarding on mild fear and absolute confusion. Then, his eyes flicked to the broken mirror behind you, and then his reflection in the mirror to his right.

Marc and Jake had taken their sweet time.

Steven looked between you, the mirror and the window and then back at you. Then it visibly clicked.

“Oh, oh my gods, Y/N you, you're-” he swallowed. “-what's happening?”

“It's my time of the month.” The joke went down like a led balloon. Steven swayed on his feet.

“Steven, are you alright?”

“Yeah, sort of. No, not really.”

You craned your neck as far as your current predicament would allow for. “Are you going to pass out?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay,” you said the word beneath your breath. He hadn't run which, all things considered, meant this was going fairly well. Even from the awkward angle you were stuck in you could feel his eyes on you, shifting from one monstrous feature to the next, lingering on the markings and the fucking antlers and the–

“Love, you have blood– you're bleeding.” And just like that, a flip switched in Steven's mind at the sight of you wounded. This man was a true enigma and a wonderful one at that. “Here–”

He approached and then almost immediately hesitated, bouncing back on his heel the moment you shifted.

You weren't exactly a threatening sight, shoulders wedged in the door frame, covered in dust and splintered wood and head practically pinned to the wall. You looked like a drunk stag that had lost a fight to a tree.

Steven shook himself and stepped close enough that your laboured breaths ruffled his curls. He was doing an admirable job of hiding the fact that he was shaking.

“Alright, bloody hell um–” He regarded the situation and then nodded. “I'll push, you pull.”

Steven braced his hands against your shoulders and you grabbed hold of the door frame. It's not that you needed the extra help; out of all the things you'd conquered whilst serving as an avatar freeing yourself from a plaster wall ranked fairly low on that list.

But Steven was touching you in this form, his palms pressed to your broadened shoulders and you weren't about to jinx it.

The wall cracked and fissured as you freed yourself, several deep punctures left where your antlers had been. You twisted and manoeuvred your way out of the bathroom until you could straighten up to your full height.

Thank god Steven lived on the top floor. Higher ceilings.

“Okay, woah–” Steven took several steps back as you stood. You towered over him, antlers bleeding into darkened shadows against the ceiling. Okay, now 'intimidating' might be a more fitting word.

You lowered yourself to your knees in an attempt to seem less frightening. Now that you were eye to eye, Steven could see the worry in your expression as you regarded him softly.

“It's alright. I'm adjusting,” he said, voice still trembling. “Just need a quick adjustment period...”

You gave him time and let him lead.

And that's how you ended up in the kitchen, legs crossed as you sat on the floor whilst Steven sat on the counter in front of you. He held a wet flannel in his hand, droplets of water creeping down his arm.

A dry cloth sat folded on the counter beside him, as well as a box of plasters with 'good job!' written across each one.

It was as if his rationality was being overridden by his need to care for you as well as his overall steveness.

Steven dabbed the crown of your head gently, his hands shaking as he did. There was still a dull ache where the antlers had sprouted. Steven rung out the flannel over the sink and the sight of the blood running through his fingers and over his knuckles made you feel ill. His hands were always so soft, they weren't meant to be stained with blood.

You blinked as a small trail of blood seeped from your head and trailed down between your brows. Steven diligently stopped the flow with the cloth and clean you up. Your nose twitched at the dampness of the cloth and Steven smiled.

The first smile you'd seen all night.

His actions slowed, hand stilling as he watched you. Beneath the pale glow of your eyes there was something so familiar. He smiled again.

“Hiya love,” the words were so soft they made you feel warm.

“Hi.”

You raised your arms, the markings and symbols on your skin catching in the dim light. Your hands circled Steven's wrists gently. He pulled back and for a terrifying moment you thought he'd gone completely; deciding that he'd had enough, that you were too much like this and he was drawing the boundary line here.

Instead, he dropped the blood-stained flannel in the sink basin and held his hand back against yours, palms pressed together. It was an adorable comparison. The tips of his fingers barely brushed the top of your palm, in fact, you were certain you could close your hand over the entirety of his own. There was a moment shared in comfortable silence then Steven asked, “Y/N, what is going on?”

The question was gentle and filled with wonder. There was still a trace of a smile on his lips. It made you feel like you could finally tell him.

“Avatar stuff. I suppose my god is a little more... flamboyant than yours.”

Steven laughed and the sound comes as a relief. “Khonshu didn't want to give me the time of day, let alone a– a bloody godly alter ego.”

A beat of silence.

“Did it hurt?”

It was heartwarming that that was his next question.

“A little,” you answered somewhat honestly. “But I'm alright now.”

He finished cleaning you up in a peaceful silence. He took the time to wash the blood from your hair as best he could and plaster your injured hand, (for the emotional boost more than anything.) It took several plasters to cover the expanse of the wound, each overlapping so the supportive catchphrase now read 'good good job good.'

He sat in front of you now, having spent the last few minutes tracing the spirals and patterns on your arm. His earlier fear had completely given way to wonder; it wasn't easy to forget that the man was a mythology nerd through and through.

A boyish laugh crept past his lips. “I wonder how Marc and Jake will react.” He looked up at you to gouge a reaction and his smile fell slightly. “Oh.”

“Steven–” you scratched the back of your neck. This was going to be a bitch to explain. “-Jake only knows because... well–” you made a vague motion with your hands that the four of you had come to recognize meant 'Jake.'

Steven nodded in understanding.

“And Marc just sort of found out by accident.”

Steven nodded again and you could visibly see the process going on behind his eyes.

“And um– why didn't any of you tell me?” His voice adopted a higher pitch at the end of the question, likely in an attempt to take the edge off.

You took a sudden interest in the floorboards. “I didn't want to– you know.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Steven gasped.

“Oh, oh love, you didn't think... you didn't think I'd be scared did you?”

A quick exhale of amusement from you. “You seemed fairly scared.”

“I- well yeah, yeah.” He conceded. “But not of you. Never of you.” His hands found yours again, the staggering difference in size almost humorous. “I just wish you could have felt like you could have told me, that's all.”

A warmth settled in the centre of your chest and you felt the corner of your eyes dampen. Any attempt of yours to not cry was immediately foiled as he inched closer and put his arms around your neck. His knees bucked against your crossed legs and he sank against your chest.

“For what it's worth,” you smiled against the crown of his head. “I think your reaction probably ranks highest out of the three.”

“Yeah?” He asked lightly. His curls tickled the end of your nose.

“Yeah. Jake used some pretty colourful language, most of it was in Spanish. And Marc pulled a gun on me–”

“He pulled a gun on you–?!” With the exclamation, Steven shot back to look at you.

“Like I said, you take first place.”

“Well, the bar wasn't set awfully bloody high was it?” He glared at his reflection in the kettle and you smirked, closing your arms around him and caging him to your chest. There was something so soothing, so primally comforting about being able to hold him, hold all of him, like this.

You nuzzled against his chocolate curls and to anyone on the outside looking in the action would have looked downright primal. Animalistic. But it couldn't have felt more intimate.

“I could get used to this, I think.” Steven's words were barely above a breath. “You're just a big teddy bear, really. More of you to love.”

His hands slowly and deliberately retraced your shoulder, then your neck, down the expanse of your chest... “What do the patterns mean?”

“Some of the symbols stand for attributes or characteristics; strength, courage, loyalty,” you regarded your arm, from your bicep down to your wrist. “Some of them are his symbols, some he added when I agreed to be his avatar and others, I've never really taken the time to find out–”

Steven hummed, not in a dismissive sense, rather in a way that showed he'd listened to each word like the gospel.

“I've got a book on ruins and ancient symbols, only bought the thing for the hieroglyphics really but maybe we could have a look? Do some homework?” A playful nudge accompanied the last question and you caved. As if you stood much of a chance to begin with.

That's how you ended up laying on the bed, (well, mostly on the bed. Your back was against the headboard and your legs still hung over the edge. Steven straddled your middle, an open book and notepad to his right, a highlighter between his teeth and a marker in his hand. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his brows furrowed as he traced his thumb over a symbol just beneath your collarbone.

You shivered despite yourself.

He'd mapped everything out, using the marker to gently draw on your skin, making connections and jotting down notes. It was like watching a scholar at work and you were honoured to be his study.

“Sorry about the bathroom,” you said rather out of the blue.

Steven glanced up at you, rebellious curls falling against his brow. His confusion melted into gentle amusement. “Don't worry about it, love. Needed redoing anyways, I reckon.”

Then, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world, he went back to his translations.

In a form that most could only phantom in the darkest corners of their imagination and with a god willing to bend the seas and skies at your will, Steven Grant somehow remained among both the most curious and most cherished things you had.

Key ➳

Cernnunos - Celtic god of wild things, fertility and animals

Manannan - (Manannan Mac Lir) Celtic god of the sea

Imbolc - the Celtic festival that marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It celebrates the return of life and light as it is the time when the ewes come into milk, when the first flowers appear and when the day noticeably lengthens.

Newgrange - famous 5,200 year old passage tomb in Co Meath, Ireland

‘fia beag’ - gaeilge for ‘little deer’

thank you for reading!

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Hiking vacation with boyfie Sukuna

Pairing: modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Warnings: 18+, lots of fluff and some smut, outdoor sex, praise. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don’t interact. This is super self-indulgent because I am on vacation atm and I can’t stop thinking about Kuna being here with me aaahhhh!!! ♥️

Being on a hiking vacation with your boyfriend Sukuna would include:

+ Holding hands with him the whole time during your hiking tours. Or he has one arm around your waist and his hand in your back pocket.

+ He looks so hot in his muscle shirt and hiking shorts and boots, showing his muscular arms and calves and his sexy tattoos.

+ He is so tall and so strong next to you, making you feel so safe and get butterflies just from looking at him.

+ His sexy smirk when he offers his hand to help you climb over a fallen tree or a slippery rock.

+ When he drinks water out of his bottle, looking so sexy when some droplets run down his chin, and you see his Adam’s apple bop enticingly.

+ He hands you the bottle afterward, always insisting you drink something too, even when you complain because you aren’t thirsty. His satisfied smirk, when you take a sip anyway, making him look so smug that you roll your eyes and have to get on your tiptoes to kiss that grin off him.

+ Sukuna always walks on the side of the hiking trail where the slope is. Swapping places with you by wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you to the other side so he can take the more dangerous path. Making you smile because he is so protective.

+ When he smirks and puts a finger under your chin, and tilts your face up so he can slowly lean closer and kiss you. Making your heart race because you can feel his smile during the kiss, and it’s so sexy.

+ Long, slow tongue kisses while he holds you close.

+ Taking selfies where Sukuna stands behind you, tall and buff, hugging you tightly from behind and winking at the camera while he presses a kiss to your neck.

+ Sukuna laughing about the weird looks he sometimes gets from older people because of his face tattoos.

+ Sukuna giving your hand a gentle squeeze and leaning down to murmur in your ear how happy you make him. Telling you that he used to make fun of people who went hiking with their special someone, calling them boring. But now he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

+ Sukuna being so grateful for you and the life you give him. Thanking you for the way you love him. Being so smitten with how soft you are with him. Telling you in such a tender voice how deeply in love he is with you and that he wants this forever.

+ Strolling through town in the evenings after you return from your hike of the day, looking like the biggest lovebirds when you hold hands and laugh together about all the stupid little jokes you make and the shit-talking Sukuna does about all the other people.

+ Holding hands on the table during your dinner dates and only having eyes for each other. Deep, meaningful glances into each other’s eyes and lots of flirting. Sukuna leaning across the table to kiss you and tease you affectionately about giving him such hearteyes.

+ Riding him on your hotel bed later on, basking in the way he moans beneath you. And when your legs are sore from walking all day, Sukuna helps you ride him, lifting you up and down on his cock while he tells you how good you are for him, watching your face the whole time because he loves seeing how cute you look when you cum on his cock.

+ Going on a two-day hike with him and spending the night in a beautiful meadow in the mountains. Lying on a picnic blanket to watch the night sky, your fingers intertwined with Sukuna’s, your head resting comfortably on his chest.

+ Talking softly to each other and sharing slow kisses that gradually grow more intense.

+ Sukuna rolling on top of you, deepening your kisses and slowly undressing you, covering you with his tall, muscular body to keep you warm even in the chilly night air of the mountains.

+ Your naked bodies moving against each other, lips and tongues caressing as you gasp into each other’s mouths. Sukuna loving you with his hands and lips while you stroke his hard cock, until both of you can’t take it anymore and need more of each other.

+ Making love under the stars. Your hands in Sukuna’s pink hair and your legs around his waist, hearing his low moans against your ear, feeling him roll his hips into you, fucking you so deep and so good that you start crying.

+ Looking up at the stars sparkling in the night sky behind Sukuna’s broad shoulders while he makes slow love to you.

+ When you see a shooting star, your only wish is to always call Sukuna yours, to always be this close to him. And somehow you know at that moment that your wish will come true.

AAAAHHH I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭😭💗💗 I was going insane because I couldn’t stop fantasizing about boyfie Kuna going on vacation with me, so I had to write all those thoughts down. I hope you enjoyed them too!!

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be super nice 💗

Santiago. 

It’s Oscar Isaac’s speciality ❤️