☆ A Satyr's Nature – smut
Grover Underwood x DaughterOfApollo!Reader.
Synopsis: Grover is known for being loyal and sweet, but... what if his nature gets the better of him at the end of the day?
Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, +18 CONTENT!!! P in V sex, heavy kissing and touching, kind of public sex (forest👀), RAW SEX (guys use condoms PLEASE I BEG U), SEX WITH A SATYR (if it wasn't clear enough by now lmfao), kind of OOC Grover (sorry for that, i tried my best☹️), just satyr behavior overall!!
Notes: I couldn't get this idea off of my head so I just wrote it HEHEHEHEEH. English is NOT my first language btw. Hope you enjoy! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
ACT 1: The Catalyst.
"The catalyst" is often someone that causes a change. The word is derived from the Greek katalύein, meaning "to dissolve.”
That's exactly what you meant to Grover Underwood, the role model Satyr.
At least that's what you thought he was. Since Satyrs always had that disgusting and infamous reputation of lustfully pursuing nymphs and mortal women, trying to seduce and even rape them. Carrying themselves in that slobbering arousal only they knew how to bear in that untamed nature they all shared… But Grover is not like that at all. It always feels sunny when being close to him. He is kind, devoted and sweet. With that beautiful smile plastered in his face, probably one of the prettiest you've ever seen.
Getting to know him was easy, everything flows peacefully among you. Some days it felt like fate themself put you in each other's path. You matched so well that he slowly came to fall in love with every detail you had. In love with the way your eyes looked at him with sugar-spun kindness made his heart pound so hard he felt like it was going to stop working. How your clothes looked godly tailored in your skin, which was soft and exuded the sweetest scent he got the pleasure to perceive. Every time he got close to you, every single hug you shared, he could feel it, making his head spin and his ears twitch.
It was romantic, the way the two of you acted like two kids in love, trying to hide their feelings from one another. Stealing glances when the other wasn't looking, getting that involuntary shy smile… That was at first, of course.
Nowadays it is different. You stop acting so anxious around each other, it's like you broke that shame barrier that stopped you from being completely comfortable around each other.
Today is one of those days at Camp Half-Blood where the golden of the afternoon sun hits your skin, making it deliciously warm. “Dad must be happy today.” You spoke softly for only yourself to hear, squinting your eyes as the sun hit right at your eyes, temporarily blinding you as you walked your path back to Cabin 7 after finishing morning chores. The orange camp shirt is a little worn by how much you use it, along with your bead necklace, each wooden ball showing how many years you've been in this place. It was all so familiar and unusual at the same time.
Lost in thought, you didn't hear the voice calling your name the first couple of times, until the emitter touched your shoulder. You stop in track and look at the person: Grover.
There he was, handsome as always. “Hey sunshine! Everything alright?” His voice broke through your daydreaming, followed by a light, playful nudge to your shoulder. He looked like he'd just come from the woods; There was a stray leaf caught in his curly hair and his goat-half was dusty.
You snorted, finally focusing your eyes. “Yes! I was just thinking about the hymn for tonight's campfire.”
“That sounds nice. What are your ideas?” He sounded genuinely interested.
“Wouldn't want to spoil it.” You smiled at him, both of you chuckled. You truly loved him, having such a warm feeling in your chest every time you laughed together. As the two of you walked, you interlinked your arm with his. It was supposed to be a simple gesture between two friends who had broken all the awkward barriers months ago... Right?
You've been working in the sun, so you were radiating that gentle, natural heat only Apollo's kids carried. For you, it was just arms interlocked, walking side by side like two old ladies. But for Grover, that proximity was like a physical blow. Your scent: Warm laurel mixed with something sweet hit him like the force of a tidal wave, going straight to his marrow. He didn't lean into it. In fact, he went perfectly tense as you walked. His heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. You overthought it when you felt his forearm tensing under your fingers. You let go and, as you did so, the wind shifted. Luckily, you already reached your cabin. So you took some distance from him, and said: “See you at dinner?”
He was still a bit shocked. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice cracking slightly. “Dinner. Right.” You walked right to the cabin stairs as he stepped back a little too fast, nearly tripping over an irregularity in the rocky path. He offered a quick, jagged smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which were suddenly darting everywhere but your face. He looked like a deer or, a goat, ready to bolt into the brush. He turned and headed toward any other place, not really knowing where, he was too focused in trying to remember how to breathe.
You stood at the entrance of Cabin 7, your arm still half-raised in a wave, watching the way his ears flickered nervously toward you even as he walked away. Usually, he'd escorted you. Usually, he'd stay and chat until you grew tired of his jokes. But today, the space he left felt strangely cold, even under the afternoon sun.
“That was weird,” You muttered to yourself, a small frown tugging at your brows. You stood a few seconds there, and didn't enter your cabin. You went straight to Cabin 6, looking for answers. Looking for Annabeth. If anyone could explain why you guys best friend was suddenly acting like you were made of Greek Fire, it was a daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom.
ACT 2: The "Sweet" vs. The "Wild"
You didn't even had to knock. The door to Athena's cabin was already ajar, revealing a room that smelled of old parchment paper and lemon floor wax. Inside, Annabeth was hunched over, going through some of her belongings.
She looked up as she saw you approaching. “Gods, y/n, are you okay?” She stood up straight now, a shirt between her hands. “You're radiating enough thermal energy to heat the infirmary… What did Grover do?”
You blinked, momentarily stunned by the daughter of Athena's efficiency. “How did you-” “Pattern recognition.” She didn't let you finish your sentence, her eyes sharp. “You only look this frazzled when he's involved. Sit down, tell me.”
You sank into her bed, your fingers twisting the hem of your worn orange shirt. “We were just walking… Arm-in-arm. It was fine… Normal! But then he went stiff. Like I was made of load instead of light. He practically ran away. He looked so uncomfortable.”
Annabeth folded yet another shirt and left it in an organized pile at the other end of the bed with a deliberate pat. She stood in front of you, crossing her arms. “He wasn't uncomfortable because of your fault, y/n. He was uncomfortable because of the fact that he's a biological organism with an incredibly sensitive nervous system.”
You thought about what she just said for a few seconds, without finding any logic. “What is that supposed to mean?” You dared to ask.
“It means,” Annabeth sighed. “that you are the daughter of the Sun. You're a walking battery of golden energy and scent. And Grover? He's a creature of the wild. Satyrs don't just “see” people; they experience them. They smell your emotions, they feel your heat, they hear your pulse.” Annabeth looked at you with a touch of pity. “Think about the legends, y/n. What are satyrs known for? They aren't exactly known for “friendship”. They are known for the chase. For the wild, untamed side of nature that doesn't know how to say “no” when it catches a scent.”
You felt a flush creep up your neck at every word that came out of Annabeth's mouth. “But Grover isn't like that. He's sweet, and-” "He's trying to be.” Annabeth interrupted yet again. “And that's why he ran. He's fighting his own nature because he respects you. But the more "innocently" you link arms with him, the more you're pouring gasoline into the forest fire. He's not avoiding you because he's bored, or doesn't want to be your friend anymore. He's avoiding you because he's a hairs breadth away from proving every bad reputation his kind has ever had.”
The silence in the cabin was heavy. You looked down at your hands, the warmth you usually felt now turning into a spark of something bolder. “So…if I want to know for sure that…” You rethought your words. “If I want to see if he actually feels the same way… I should… Push his limits?”
Annabeth sighed. ”Not exactly. Just stop being 'just friendly'. Take a real step. If he stays, you have your answer. If he runs again…well, at least you'll know his willpower is stronger than his instinct.”
For the next few days, the camp felt different. Every time you saw the familiar rhythm of hooves, your heart did a nervous little flip. But Grover was a ghost. He was overcompensating by being the “perfect guardian” to his ward by staying miles away from you.
Finally, when you couldn't bear the cold distance anymore, you remembered Annabeth's words: “Stop being just friendly. Take a real step.”
You started looking for him around camp, and you found him when the sun was setting, near the edge of the woods where the strawberries gave way to wild, untamed thickets. He was sitting on a stump, obsessively cleaning his flute, looking like he was trying to vibrate out of his own skin. “Annabeth says I'm like gasoline,” You said in an act of bravery, your voice cutting through the quiet chirping of the crickets.
Grover nearly jumped out of his pelt, he didn't even know why he got scared by that, I mean, he smelled your scent miles away. He didn't look up, his fingers gripping the flute so hard his knuckles went white. “Annabeth is… observant. I'm sure she meant it as a compliment. About your… energy.”
“She said you were the forest fire.” You didn't stay back. You walked up right into his space, your shadow stretching long and golden over his hooves. You felt the heat under your skin, not the gentle warmth of a friend, but the burning, intentional light of a daughter of the Sun. “Grover, look at me.”
He tried to keep his composure. He really did. He lifted his head, a polite, strained smile ready to dismiss you; but then his eyes met your. Up close, the “sugar-spun” kindness in your gaze had vanished, replaced by a focused, burning intent. “y/n, I- I really should go. The harpies will be out soon and-” You didn't let him finish. You reached out, your fingers brushing the sensitive, soft fur at the tips of his ears before sliding down to cup his jaw. Your skin was scorching. As your thumb swiped across his lower lip, Grover made a sound that wasn't a chuckle. It was a low, vibrating hitch in the back of his throat. A sound of pure, unadulterated hunger. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of laurel and sun-warmed skin until his head swam.
For a heartbeat, his nature won. His hand flew up. His fingers, strong and calloused, clamping around your wrist. It wasn't the “sweet” touch you were used to; it was heavy, possessive, and primal. His eyes, usually so bright and anxious, went dark, the pupils blowing wide.
He pulled you an inch closer, his breath hot against your face, smelling of wild mint and earth. The 'lustful' satyr of the legends flickered in his expression, raw and honest.
Then, the guilt hit him like a physical blow.
He gasped, his eyes snapping wide in horror as he realized he was gripping you too hard, that he was looking at you like a prey. “I can't,” he choked out, his voice dropping into a rough, animalistic rasp you'd never heard before. “y/n, I can't do this to you. I'm not… Sorry. I'm sorry.” He shoved himself off the stump, nearly knocking you over in his desperation to get away. He didn't look back. He scrambled into the dark safety of the trees, his hooves thundering a frantic, shamed rhythm against the forest floor.
You stood there, alone in the darkening field, your wrist still tingling. You weren't hurt; you were breathless. Because in that split second before he ran, you hadn't seen the 'naive' Grover at all. You had seen his nature. And it was exactly what you had been looking for.
ACT 3: The Language of the Woods.
The woods at day and night weren't the same. At night, the shadows grew thicker, the air cooler… And you couldn't find Grover.
You pushed through a screen of low-hanging willow branches, your breath coming in short, shallow hitches. You didn't need a torch to wander darkness; the light of your father hummed just beneath your skin, a soft, golden bioluminescence that made the leaves glow as you passed. You followed the scent of crushed mint and the frantic, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heartbeat that hurried anxiously to get back to camp.
You found him in a small clearing where the moonlight barely reached the mossy floor. He was still walking, a few feet in front of you, his chest was heaving, his ears pinned back against his head in a gesture of pure, animalistic distress. “Go away, y/n.” he rasped. His voice was a jagged edge of his former self. “Please. Just go back to the cabins.”
“I'm not going back, Grover.” You stepped into the clearing, your golden light spilling over his trembling shoulders. “You didn't hurt me. Why did you ran?”
Grover let out a choked, bitter laugh. He finally looked up, and the sight made your own heart skip. His face was flushed, his lips parted as he fought for air. But it was his eyes… They weren't the eyes of the sweet friend' anymore. They were dark, swimming with a primal, heavy heat that made the “slobbering arousal” of the legends feel suddenly, terrifyingly real. “You saw it,” he hissed, his hooves kicking at the roots beneath him. “I touched you like… like one of them. I felt it, y/n. The second you touched me, I forgot every rule, every lesson. I just wanted to take…” His hands were shaking, and he quickly reached down, his fingers finding the hem of his orange camp shirt. He gave it a sharp, desperate tug downward (the “sneaky” habit he'd been using around you for days) but this time, he was too close, and the movement was too frantic to hide the truth of a burning erection.
He couldn't hide his nature anymore. The “reputation” wasn't just a story; it was a physical force radiating off him in waves, thick as the forest musk. “I've spent years trying to be the man you deserve,” he whispered, stepping into your light until he was close enough to feel each other's warmth. You reached out, your fingers grazing the rough cotton of his shirt, right where his hand was still desperately tugging at the hem.
“Then show me.” you whispered, voice a bold contrast to the distant, shrill screech of a Harpy echoing near the climbing wall.
Grover froze. The sound of the patrol was getting closer, the beating of leathery wings vibrating in the air. “The Harpies,” He choked out, his survival instinct warring with the heavy, pulsating heat in his blood. “If they see your light…”
“Then take me somewhere they won't.”
He didn't hesitate this time. The usual Grover would have ushered you back to the safety of the cabin, but the Satyr simply wanted you safe and alone. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and no longer shy, and pulled you deeper into the thicket.
You scrambled through a wall of dense ivy and over fallen logs covered in glowing moss, moving into a part of the woods where the trees grew so close together that even the moonlight couldn't follow. The two of you bursted into a small, hidden hollow. It was a natural grotto, shielded by a curtain of weeping willow branches and ancient, heavy stones. It smelled of damp earth, sweet jasmine, and Grover's own wild, musky scent. Here, the sounds of the camp were muffled and dead. There were no Harpies here. No rules. Just the rhythmic sound of their breathing. He let go of your hand, but he didn't move away. You sat down, your back hitting the cold, mossy stone of the grotto wall. “No one comes here,” he rasped as he sat in front of you. His voice dropped to a guttural hum that vibrated right through your chest. The darkness of the cave made your golden glow even brighter, illuminating the sheer, raw hunger in his face.
Grover shifted to seat next to you, close enough that your shoulders were touching. He felt stiff, a wall of heat and trembling muscle. In the confined space, the scent of you was intoxicating: sunlight and laurel trapped in a cool, damp cave. “I tried so hard,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I watched the others, the ones who made nymphs uncomfortable, the ones who didn't know how to stop…and I promised the gods I wouldn't be that. Especially not with you. You're too bright, y/n. You're too good to be looked at with this kind of… greed.”
He shamefully lowered his head, looking exhausted, like he'd been fighting a war for years and finally lost. “I'm not a man,” he confessed, the words spilling out in a jagged rush. “I'm a creature of the earth, and you're... The sun.” He rearranged his position, sitting right in front of you now, again. Looking right at your eyes. “Do you have any idea what that does to me? Every time you laugh, every time you touch me, it's like a root catching fire. I don't just ‘like’ you. I want to pull you down into the moss and never let you go. I want to be as wild as the stories say.”
You didn't feel grossed out by that. You simply reached up, your palms sliding over his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart. “Then stop fighting it,” you murmured, steady and sure, getting closer to his lips. “I want you.”
That was the final thread. He snapped, and his satyr nature took over with a low, desperate groan that vibrated against your lips. He didn't wait for you to change your mind. He lunged forward, his mouth crashing against yours with a hunger that had been suppressed for far too long. It wasn't a “sweet” kiss. It was deep, possessive, and a taste of the wildness that he carried inside. His hands tangled into your hair, his fingers pulling at the strands as if he were trying to anchor himself to you. He tasted like the earth and the night, and his kiss was a frenzied conversation; one that spoke of years of longing, of hidden glances, and the sheer, overwhelming relief of finally being allowed to want.
You leaned into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, meeting his intensity with your own. As his body pressed yours firmly against the cool stone, the last of his hesitation dissolved. The grotto was no longer a hiding place; it was an altar to the nature you both finally accepted.
He broke the kiss, took off his shirt because of the heat he felt, and threw it aside. He kissed you again, as if he would disappear if he didn't. It was carnivorous, animalistic. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him close to feel any type of friction.
You could feel his erect shaft against your core, grinding against you as all you could do was kiss him back, melting into one another. It was like some kind of spell he had put on you, hypnoticed by every part of his body, by every movement he made. You held one hand to his hair and the other one on his bicep, letting out a low moan into his mouth while he let out a low growl into yours.
Grover never felt this desperate before, he ran his hands down your shirt to feel your abdomen, sneaking his thumbs under your bra and running them over your nipples. You lowered your hand to touch his cock through his pants, it felt hard as a rock.
His shaft throbs insistently against the fabric, hot and rigid beneath your palm. You gasp into his mouth as you stroke him through his pants, feeling every thick inch pulse with need. “Fuck…” he growls, breaking the kiss momentarily before capturing your lips again. His hands slide lower, fumbling with the button of your pants with desperate urgency. The metal clink echoes in the enclosed space as he pops it open.
Cool air hits your heated skin. He breaks away long enough to look down at you, and what he sees seems to undo him entirely. Your flushed face, heavy-lidded eyes, the way your chest rises and falls with ragged breaths… Without warning, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and yanks them down. Hard. The delicate fabric tears slightly at the seam. “y/n…” His voice is raw, barely controlled. Those strong hands grip your hips, positioning you over his obvious erection still trapped in his pants. The wet spot at the tip has soaked through the material, leaving a dark stain. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice comes out strained, almost painful. His grip tightens on your hips possessively, keeping you in place.
You look at him as a slow, sultry smile curves your lips. "Isn't it obvious?" you purr, voice dripping with confidence and need. One hand reaches down, trailing along his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips. "I've waited a long time for this. For you. Do you really think I'd want to stop now?" His mouth descends on yours in a fierce, hungry kiss to your neck, his tongue invades, claiming, tasting. The movement is rough, impatient. Desperate.
His hands shake slightly as they work at his belt, fumbling with the zipper. The metallic clink of the buckle hitting the ground echoes in the small space. Then his cock is out, freed, and the size of it makes your breath catch. You heard what stories were told about satyrs, but fuck. Already leaking with need, he positions it at your entrance, the hot head brushing against the wet folds.
His eyes meet yours, dark with possession and raw, aching desire blurring together into something overwhelming. Each thrust drives deeper than the last, hitting places inside you that make your toes curl and vision go white. But there's also an ache building low in your belly, that stretch that comes from being filled too deeply, too thoroughly. It hurts. Gods, it hurts so good.
But you don't want him to stop. You don't want this to end. The thought of him pulling out, of this moment ending, terrifies you almost as much as the burning sensation spreading through your lower abdomen. You cried out, the sound mixing pain and ecstasy in equal measure. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in the skin. "Fuck, it feels good." you moan. "Yeah it does– ngh–" He hissed, his movements becoming even more frantic, more desperate, as if he's trying to bury himself inside you completely, to claim every single inch of your body as his territory.
One of your hands sneaked to your clit, starting to draw circles. The combination of vicious thrusts and clit stimulation sends conflicting signals through your nervous system, pain and pleasure intertwining until you can't tell one from the other. The grotto filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, wet and obscene. Every. Single. Thrust. Burns. Not just the good burn of arousal. Real, honest-to-gods pain radiates through your lower belly, that stretched-too-far discomfort that makes you want to squirm. Your abdominal muscles tremble with the effort of accommodating him, your insides feeling like they're being rearranged from the inside out.
And yet, oh gods, and yet your inner walls clench around him involuntarily, trying to hold him inside despite the discomfort. Nerve endings you never knew existed scream with sensation. Clit throbs under relentless attention, swollen and hyper-sensitive. But then reality crashes back in. Somehow this earthy place and the fact that it's still camp property and anyone could catch you make the adrenaline higher. Panic shoots through you even as pleasure spirals higher. He's close, you can feel it in the way his movements become even more erratic, the way his breathing turns to ragged pants against your neck. The way his entire body tenses above you.
"Wait—wait!" Your voice cuts through the sound of your bodies, urgent and frightened. "Don't... don't cum inside!" You remind him. But before he can pull out, your body betrays you. The overwhelming sensations: the stretch, the pain, the pleasure, the need… All coalesce into something unstoppable. Your voice cracks as your inner walls clench rhythmically around his cock. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, making your whole body shudder and convulse. White-hot pleasure centers at your core and explodes outward, flooding your senses.
He watches your face as you come undone, and the sight triggers something in him. Before you can recover, before the waves of pleasure can fade, he's grabbing your hips again, fucking into you a couple more times till he pulled out. Two strokes of his fist, and he's cumming. Thick streams shoot out, landing across your exposed belly in warm, sticky ribbons. Some splashes onto your breasts, cooling rapidly in the night air. He stays still, processing what just happened.
The silence that followed was heavy, but no longer tense. It was the kind of silence that only exists in the deepest parts of the forest after a storm has passed. Grover was frozen, his hands shaking as he fumbled with his clothes. The rough, animalistic power that had possessed him moments ago had vanished, leaving behind the anxious, sweet guy who was now looking at the mossy floor in a panic.
"Shit! I'm sorry," he hissed, the word sounding strange in the quiet grotto. He stretched out too fast, grabbing your panties that were lying around the floor and trying to take off as much semen as he could from your abdomen. His face was a deep, burning crimson that even the shadows couldn't hide. "I didn't—I wasn't... Sorry. Oh gods-"
You reached out, fingers warm as you caught his wrist, stopping his frantic cleaning. "Grover, it’s okay! Seriously. Don’t worry about it." You gave him a soft, tired smile. "I’ll sneak into the bathroom to take a shower. No one will even know I was out."
Grover stopped moving. He looked at your hand on his wrist, then up at your face. The "normal Grover" was trying to claw its way back, but the way you were looking at him, without a trace of the ‘disgust’ he’d feared for years, slowly started to settle the frantic beating of his heart. "You're not... you don't hate me?" he whispered, his voice small. "I mean I was–"
"Well, the stories don't exactly make it sound like a 'gentle' experience." You let out a soft, breathy laugh and pulled him down so he was sitting on the moss beside you, leaning your head on his shoulder. He let out a long, shuddering breath, allowing his weight to settle against you. He reached up, his hand much gentler now as he tucked a stray, sweat-dampened strand of hair behind your ear. "I really like you," he murmured, his ears giving a tiny, shy flick.
"Good," you whispered, giving him a small kiss on the lips. "I really like you too." Both of you sat there for a few more minutes, a satyr and a daughter of the sun, hidden away from harpies and rules. For the first time, Grover didn't feel like a creature fighting his nature. He just felt like Grover.
