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37-drc89 · 6 months

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the way things go; lee minho

❁ nothing warms your heart more than his presence.

trope: roommates to lovers.

genre: comfort, slight angst, work exhaustion, happy ending.

summary: finally understanding that your failure doesn't scare him away.

warnings: blood, mention of overprotective parent, family problems, let me know if i should put anything more in here.

word count: 3,7k.

masterlist

note: this is very much my first fic here, like, ever. i'm still green in tumblr, any links and mostly making posts look good, but i'll eventually master it. i look forward to seeing your opinions and things i can change or make better, i'll appreciate every comment. and, please remember that english is not my first language! if you see any typo or something doesn't make sense, please inform me! thank you:)

Coming back home on Friday after whole week of working your ass off really feels like a walk of shame. You feel like everyone passing by can tell how awfully you did at your workplace today. And they wouldn't be wrong, the amount of scolds your boss threw in your direction through past few days is worryingly numerous.

Whether it was missing out on paper work your boss asked you to do for him, because you were so sure the deadline was set on the day after, or accidentially knocking off of your desk whole cup of hot, sweetened tea that later on you had to scrap off of the covering, under the strict eye of the middle aged man that scared you so much. Especially with the amount of misfortune that chased after you lately, like it was glued to you.

Cringe makes its way to your face. You're shuffling your way to your apartment, not really in a hurry, feet lazily dragged after you as you didn't even have any strenght to properly lift them off the ground. You most likely look like you've been partying for at least three nights in a row, but you can't find it in yourself to care about it. Not now.

Seeing the building in which your apartment is placed have never felt so relieving and you can feel your legs giving up under your weight just at the thought of splashing on the bed and dozing off. Vision of passing out on the sidewalk doesn't seem appealing to you, so you rush yourself to the door, typing entrance code and walking into the elevator, stairs not even crossing your mind. Your tired body slumps itself against the wall as you patiently wait to get to the 6th floor, finding relief in having something to support yourself on. Finally getting to the door you can't help but feel excited, tapping your feet happily just at the thought of making up every hour of sleep you've missed this week because of your busy schedule. You slide the door open and the very first thing reaching your ears is eager meowing, three fur balls appearing at the entrance immediately. You can't help but smile, kneeling to give each of them gentle head pat before taking off the coat and shoes. This truly felt like a bliss, like you've just slid off a bag of stones off your back. Sigh leaves your mouth, heading to the kitchen you turn on the kettle as your tea craving grows with every second. Soonie appears next to you, sitting at the table just across from you. You've grown so friendly with your roommate's Minho's cats that neither you nor him have any problem with kitties occupying places people normally wouldn't let them sit on.

Then you freeze for a second.

You look at Soonie.

Soonie looks at you.

Your brows furrow and the cat goes back to whatever he was doing previously.

Fuck.

Minho is coming home today. He's been away for past five days due to his business trip, that was probably exhaustion fogging your mind enough to forget about this. He's coming back today. And your apartment looks like a bomb has been detonated right in the middle of it all. You can't risk him seeing how messy you got, Minho is always the one to put stuff at the right place, making his bed no matter in how much of a hurry he's in, always the one to do the dishes and basically make everything look perfect. You can't see him disappointed in you for such an easy thing, he'll think you don't even gather your life together. Not like you do, but it's nothing in his business, you shouldn't become another one of his problems. He's just your roommate and the only thing you share and should take care of is apartment that is now in complete mess. You can blame it on your lack of time, barely spending any time at your place recently, but that won't help in current situation.

Quick glance at the time, 4:23 pm, you reach out for your phone to scroll up the conversation with your friend to make sure how fast you have to act.

He's back in town at 5 pm. Could this possibly get any worse?

You scold yourself internally for letting this whole situation happen. But you don't have time to think about this now, and as you turn off the kettle you speedrun to the livingroom, gathering scattered clothes from all around the place. You blame it on Monday when you got up so late you didn't even have time for brushing your hair and of course, the shirt you were looking for was nowhere to be found. Out of all things, it was the one you needed that day.

Then you pick up empty cans of soda, bottles of water and cups of coffee from the table and quickly throw them into the dishwasher. You blame it on Tuesday, the night you realised you have to write that fucking paperwork you got scolded for missing on Monday. So you sat there for hours, head empty, taking breaks only when your tired tears started wetting your pages, scared that all your miserable efforts will be ruined.

Rushing to Minho's room you pick up blanket and pillows from his floor. You blame it on Wednesday, the day you were already on the edge of breaking down and giving up on your job. Even though the boy is only a roommate for you, you've grown so used to his presence you started finding peace in it. Even after the worst day you knew that someone will always be there waiting at your apartment to serve you cup of hot chocolate and bowl of ramen, to take your turn of folding laundry or just listen to how appaling your day was. But he wasn't home and it left you all to yourself which was never the best idea. So, seeking for at least tiny bit of comfort, you slept on his floor. That sounds so fucking stupid and weird when you think about it now, but just the aura Minho left in his room made you feel a bit closer to him. Reminds you of every time he invited you over to play some online games for 12 year olds or spill any tea that happened at his work. Though, you never wanted to interfere his private space, so sleeping in his bed didn't even cross your mind. Floor was just sufficient for you, and you let your tears flow that night, just as much as you needed it. You know he would understand. He might seem cold to others, but you know he would. He already unwrapped his side of him to you letting you see that truly, inside, he's softer than anyone you know; It's all for Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They really do get the best of Minho.

Going back to the kitchen, you gather empty boxes of instant ramen, snacks and every ready shop food that you could possibly find at the convenience store. You blame it on the whole week of rushing, not even having time to eat a proper meal. You can feel it down your stomach, body demanding anything that could properly feed it and give it any strenght to function as it should be functioning. Honestly, you can't recall the last time you didn't feel sick. Lump in your throat was your loyal companion since a week ago, constant urge to throw up not leaving your body even when you were falling asleep and you know you'll have to appreciate normal, nutritions food more.

You run around the apartment holding a wet towel, wiping quickly every mirror hung on the walls as you know nothing pisses Minho more than fogged glass. So you try your best to do it carefully, just like he does it. Reaching the last mirror placed in the front hall you eagerly wipe it, aware of your lack of time. Then it all happens at once.

Shitty food, lack of sleep, liters of coffee and ungodly amount of stress feel like kicking in all at once, like it's been gathering in your exhausted body for the whole week just for this one moment that you needed to be fucking careful.

Vision blurry, feet suddently tripping over itself, mind going blank just for a second, but second is enough for you to try holding yourself onto the small table placed right under the mirror and shaking it so hard when sudden thump reach your ears, followed by loud sound of shattered glass. You don't want to look. Because you're fully aware of what just happened. You don't want to look but you do. Eyes landing on the remains of now broken vase, water all over the floor, flowers that were resting inside it now cut in half and completely soaked.

And it was Minho's favourite vase. The first and the last thing he always glanced at when leaving or coming back home, admiring its beauty, pretty patterns, unique shape and the prettiest flowers inside. Flowers that he got for his 25th birthday that passed not so long ago from his dearest best friend Jisung. Flowers that he was so happy to receive, first thing he did after coming home that day was showing them to you, proudly, ranting about how they perfectly suit the room. And you ruined it all.

Your body slides slowly on the wet floor, water soaking your pants on your knees and you support yourself on the palms of your hands not to completely fall into the mess. You feel small pieces of glass ripping open your delicate skin of your hands, small streams of blood making their way to the floor, mixing with spilled water but you couldn't care less. Elbows start to shake under the weight of your body, shoulders tensing and your head falls, your own quiet sobs reaching your ears. It quickly turns into uncotrollable groans and whines, tears now flowing down your face with no end, nose already full, loose hair stick to your now completely soaked cheeks.

And you blame it on yourself. You could seek for anything to put his all on, like your boss, for making you feel useless for not even managing to do your fucking job properly and assigning you more work than anyone else in your department. Or your mother for not teaching you how to manage your time and how to function on your own, her overprotectiveness during your childhood and teenage years showing so often that you never even got any time to learn adult life before stepping into it. But you know it isn't their fault, no matter how hard you try to think that it is. You let yourself into this situation. You let yourself be in the state you're currently in. You didn't try hard enough to make yourself a decent person. There's no one you can blame but you.

Your endless cries must've muffled the sound of door cracking open, eyes reaching only feet of your roommate that was now standing at the entrance. You couldn't look up, even if you wanted to, you couldn't look Minho in the eyes. Not when he's witnessing your failure and the mess you made out of something so dear to him.

Meanwhile Minho stood there, body frozen, gazing at your tiny figure splashed on the floor, shoulders shaking. He doesn't even notice the crashed vase at first, your current state drawing all his attention immediately to you.

He doesn't give himself any time to think much longer about what's happening in his front hall right now, dropping bags he's been holding in his right hand and suitcase on his left and appearing at your side the second after, kneeling by your vulnerable body on the floor.

"Hey, hey.." Minho lightly lays his hand on your shaky back, carefully caressing it to soothe you. "Easy now, I'm here."

The only respond he gets is your dramatic, loud sob ripping out of your heavy chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Minho... Is the only thing you could get out of yourself, followed by another set of pretty disgusting, wet cries.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your hand, please," your roommate asked quietly not to scare you after noticing red coloured drops beside your knees. Gently, he took your harmed hands into his and studied small pieces of glass stuck in your skin. "Let's get it cleaned, okay?"

His hand makes its way to your waist and he stands up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could put you in pain. He shuffles you to the bathroom and helps you sit on the toilet seat and starts preparing alcohol and wet towels.

You feel pathetic.

Not only you ruined his special item, something so important and beautiful, but now he has to take care of someone that caused all the damage. You feel helpless once again, like you couldn't do anything fucking right for once. Once.

Your caring roommate starts removing glass shatters from your wound, his tongue sticking out a bit from the corner of his mouth, fully concentrated in his task. He knows that if his hands twitch even a little bit, he might hurt you even more, and let me tell you, his hands are trembling. He can't recall a situation when he saw you in such state.

You always seem tough, tough against any misfortune that meets you. You surely talk to him when you need some shoulder to lay on, about your worse days and he's cautious enough to notice when you're exhausted. But he's never seen you at your breaking point, starting to believe you don't have any. Yet you're here, in front of him, not even being able to speak properly. He can't help but feel kind of relieved at the whole situation knowing that your hard, protective shell cracked a little bit, letting him see something he's never seen in you before. Weakness.

"This might sting a bit," Minho informs you as he presses alcohol soaked paper to your wound. Whimper leaves your mouth at the unpleasant feeling and you hang your head down. He quickly wraps bandage around your hand and clasps it between his warm palms.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that the hall. I'll take care of it, okay?" He tries to lower himself, kneeling in front of you, so he can get a better glimpse of your puffed face. You shake your head and straighten your back, looking at him with serious expression.

"No." You sniff, "No, I broke it, I broke something so important to you and it's my fault. I'll clean it. I'll buy you a new one, the same one, I promise Minho."

His hands make their way to your back, slowly, eyes remaining on you for any sign of discomfort. When you sneakily lean into the touch, Minho pulls your body entirely towards his, clasping your weak figure into his arms and sways you left and right, wanting to feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

"What's wrong, hm? My roommate senses are tingling," his voice muffles itself by pressing his mouth against your shoulder, "Talk to me, y/n, please?"

"I had the worst week ever here, without you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You just shake your head no, holding onto his waist tighter than ever. You feel him nod. His calm aura pulls you in completely, feeling like walking into hot building during snowy, cold winter. Your cheeks warm up, pressing right below his neck, his body warmth transferring itself to you.

"It's lowkey weird." You choke out, coughing right after because of how stuffed your poor throat felt.

"What is?"

"You comforting me while I'm sitting on a toilet seat."

You manage to let out throaty chuckle to light the atmosphere up, however, you can't help the warm stream of tears flowing right after.

"Want to move it to the livingroom?" Minho pulls out of the hug slightly, setting his gaze at your red face again and your eyes make their way to the floor. You still haven't looked him in the eyes, not even once, as you're scared of the wave of guilt that will follow. As if the one you're feeling right now isn't enough. You feel like a child scared to get shouted at by their parents.

Minho crouches down in front of you and you hum in question, brows furrowed. He only gestures with his hand for you to hop onto his back, already positioning your legs on his hips. You groan but don't protest, you know how Minho is and you know fighting him is hopeless. Wrapping your arms around his next securely and glueing your chest onto his back, you melt into the warmth of his body. He stands up, feeling your breath tickling the skin behind his ear and smiling to himself, noticing how it got much steadier than it was before. He leads both of you out the bathroom and again, the sad view of Minho's favourite vase on the floor, not really looking any similar to vase anymore, hits you, shoving another wave of guilt through your nerves. You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your roommate's shoulder.

"I'm truly, so, so sorry Minho. I never meant to do this, I was just trying to make the place look presentable for you and it ended like it always does." the words left your mouth as quiet squeak, taking another deep breath before speaking again; "Yet you still have to clean the mess I did, like you always do. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you. I failed being your perfect roommate."

"Who said I wanted a perfect roommate?" he asks as you reach your shared couch, carefully laying you on it then sitting by your side, facing you. "You think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I've broken like five vases in my life and none of this was anything I planned, just like you."

You finally find some strenght in yourself to raise your gaze and lock it at his round, dark eyes. And he's right, no matter how intensively you look into them, you can't find even a tiny bit of anger in them, they sparked with understanding and you find yourself feeling bad at even thinking someone this precious could get so mad at you. They were so pure you could see your ugly, messed up reflection in them. Before you could start thinking about this again, his eyes squinted a little bit as corners of Minho's lips curled upwards in the most beautiful, sincere, affectionate smile you've ever seen. You only realised that his hand was placed on your trembling knee when you felt his fingers caressing it softly, sending warm shiver through your whole body.

"What about the flowers? You loved them..." You turned around to take a glimpse of the mess once again but Minho quickly grabbed your chin with only pads of his fingers and made you look back at him. "I'll take over from here, you get rest now."

Just as he was about to stand up from the couch you grabbed him by his sleeve and almost agressively pulled him right into your arms, crashing in the tightest, breath taking hug as you truly couldn't believe you had him by your side. Just when you thought you crossed his boundaries by that sudden action and started to loose your grip on him, he dragged you right back to him like he was waiting for this moment to happen. His heart pressed to yours, he definitely could tell how fast and heavy its beating right now. Both of yours eyes closed, you just enjoyed this such intimate moment, very first one since you've moved in together. Neither you or him dare to make a move in fear of ruining this beautiful scene.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, so quietly you're not even sure he heard it. "only you can endure me as your roommate. How are you not tired of this?" Chuckle leaves your mouth but you quickly tone it out in case he responds, Well, I am actually tired.

"Because you're the only one that can endure me, too." He pulls out of the hug, though he doesn't move too far away, being so close to your face you could feel his minty breath on your nose. "I guess it's just the way things go."

Next thing your brain processes is his perfect lips landing on yours in swift motion. Suprisingly they're not rough, not even a little bit, they're so soft you barely feel them at first. Your heart goes up your throat for a mere second, dropping back down the moment he caress your cheek gently with his warm hand, now covered in the tiniest layer of sweat caused by the adrenaline. When your body finally understands what's going on, you lean into him completely, hand going up on the back of his head, tangling into his soft, dark hair and Minho takes is as a sign to continue, now pressing his lips onto yours with more force, making sure you feel them properly. A sigh of relief leaves both of your mouths and you smile into the kiss. When you eventually just slightly pull away from each other, faces still close, you notice new emotion making its way into his eyes, overtaking the rest as he studies every part of your face carefully. It's love. His eyes are full of love. Its so intense like it just have been freed from his chest after months of hiding in the deepest corners of his heart.

There's still so much you don't know about him and there's so much he doesn't know about you, but the gate has opened now and there's no turning back. You don't know what any of this means yet, but you can think of it tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year.

For now it's just you and him. And that's what matters the most in the world.

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tswift · 3 months

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I'm honestly so tired of reading takes on how "Midnights" is undeserving of awards and not a good album. It's actually a very impressive concept album that is moody, playful and nostalgic. If you look back at the 20 (now 22) tracks on it, it very much reflects Taylor's thesis statement. It ponders adolescence, insecurities and fears, lost loves, adventure and revenge.

These are things that keep most of us up at night, whether it's hyping yourself up (Bejeweled), tearing yourself down (Anti-Hero), reflecting on how far you've come and what you've learned in the process (You're on Your Own, Kid), grappling with grief and trauma (Bigger Than the Whole Sky, Would've Could've Should've), reveling in your enemy's demise (Karma, Vigilante Shit), thinking about lost love (Maroon, Hits Different, Midnight Rain) or simply trying to delude and reassure yourself of something (Lavender Haze, Labyrinth).

The fact of the matter is, Karma, a song that many have mocked over its "cringe and immature" lyrics, is an impressively written and constructed pop song. Being a good lyricist doesn't always mean "ohhhhh this is poetry, this is angsty." What's impressive is someone who can do both.

"Midnights" truly does it all. There's depth, there's poetry, there's tongue-and-cheek whimsy. But it's a pop album. A pop album can't possibly have the same amount of depth, right?

What makes "Midnights" so different from her past pop efforts is that you can really see the growth in it. You can hear what she learned from making folklore and evermore not only in the production, but also in the lyrics. The lyrics are sharper, rawer and more honest. That is not to say Taylor did not achieve this in her past pop albums, she's simply honed her craft. And that's what you should want an artist to do.

It does not have to be your favorite album. Maybe you just don't vibe with it. But that doesn't mean it isn't impressive. You don't have to belittle something simply because you don't like it as much.

I don't think "Midnights" will win AOTY. But I do think it deserves to be in the category, especially in a year that is not particularly competitive. I can't wait for Swifties to start appreciating it. I give it a year or two, then y'all will change your tune.

#midnights #taylor swift #grammys 2024 #grammys #rambles

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joyoushyuck · 2 months

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requested

00:56

Your hand is raised in front of the door, about to knock, when the door clicks open on its own. Donghyuck doesn't seem surprised by your presence; his expression is morphed into one of indifference. He is wearing his glasses and that white Celine shirt he loves to wear on special occasions. His long hair curls at his nape, a few curly strands beautifully swaying at the front. You would call him gorgeous if it wasn't for the pressing situation at hand. He walks past you into the kitchen and extracts a water bottle from the fridge. You flinch when he slams the door shut.

“Donghyuck,” you try. He chugs the water down, ignoring you. “Donghyuck list-”

A thud, water on your feet and a gasp leaving your mouth, and Donghyuck storms past you back into the bedroom. The blue baby shark bottle lays a few inches away from your legs with a broken hinge and a crack near the top.

You bite your lips in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. You brought this on yourself, you have no right to cry. If forgetting your anniversary was not enough of a fault, you went on to blame it on your workload and blame him for being upset. Not your smartest move.

Dejected, you walk back to the couch and lay down. You haven't slept properly in ages, you really were preoccupied with an important project at work, but even that isn't a good reason to stop doing the bare minimum. Donghyuck's anger is justified.

You don't have a blanket; no amount of hugging yourself provides you the warmth that Donghyuck’s body exudes. The pit of your stomach feels hollow with dread; the guilt weighs you down and threatens to swallow your being. After an hour of twisting and turning, you give up on the idea of sleep. There's no way you can sleep peacefully without resolving this conflict. Your throat constricts and heart sinks at the prospect of Donghyuck ending this relationship for his own good.

So you walk up to the door resolutely. If Donghyuck continues to give you the silent treatment, you know your resolve will take a hit pretty soon. However, doing something to show that you care is better than doing nothing.

“Hyuck,” you start, only to hear your voice crack. It pains you as much as it pains him to have landed in such a predicament. “I'm sorry, Donghyuck, it's my fault. Please, just open the door.”

You are met with silence. Did he fall asleep already? It seemed unlikely but you couldn't rule out the possibility.

“Hyuck, are you awake? Baby? Just please answer me.”

Still no response. But then, something drops, and you hear the old bed squeak, his feet shuffle and the spring in your mattress dip. So he's awake.

“Donghyuck, love, please talk to me.” You cringe at the desperation in your own voice. “I am sorry, I know I fucked up Hyuck. Shout at me, hit me, just-”

You clutch your hair, your back sliding against the door and butt hitting the cold floor. A shiver runs down your spine. Was it winter already?

“Just don't be quiet, please.”

You bury your face in your hands in a last ditch attempt to keep the sobs under control. It didn't seem to be working in your favour. The stress at work seems to be finally catching upto you as well. Donghyuck needs space. He doesn't need you annoying him now when all this could have been prevented had you been more mindful of your actions. You accept your fate and curl into a bundle, deciding to give it a rest for now.

That's how Donghyuck finds you a few hour laters.

You are hugging your knees close to your chest, head resting uncomfortably on the hard floor. When he takes a closer look, he can see the dried streak of tears on your cheek. You are trembling, and he realises you haven't even switched the heater on. Something in him breaks at the sight of you like this.

“Hey, baby,” he gently taps your cheek to wake you up. “Baby, you can't sleep here, come in.”

You make a little noise. He is met with the uncontrollable urge to coo at you, but stops himself given the situation.

“Wake up doll,” he tries again. “You are going to have a terrible back pain at this rate.”

You blink your eyes open sluggishly after a few moments. Donghyuck isn't wearing his glasses anymore and his hair is mussed up. “Hyuck?” You ask, your sleep muddled brain still not catching up. “Is everything alright?”

Donghyuck sighs, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. He loved you too much to stay mad at you for long, no matter what you did.

“Come sleep on the bed baby. We'll talk about the rest in the morning. Come in now.”

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kremlin · 2 months

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@wikwalker hi sure yes anything to give me an excuse to procrastinate the post i should be writing right now. here are all teh drugs and how to manage them. you can trust me, a drug addict

first of all: https://www.erowid.org/ , erowid always

don't be afraid of drugs, if they're the right drugs, you should do them since they will be a blast regardless and overcoming fear is also good (but outside the scope here)

OK to do as much as you want: alcohol - social benefit greatly outweighs health effects, no reason to avoid if predisposed to abuse since that'll happen sooner or later. what can i say? don't be a fucking dork. when you start drinking, really overdo it as much as possible without dying and get a few real nasty hangovers under your belt so you know how much is the right amount to drink.

weed - innocuous enough to be fine but will make you stupid in the long term. make sure to only buy from a real drug dealer and never some legal institution. cut it out when you're a "real adult". don't smoke weed and watch TV routinely, go out and do things so you naturally grow to hate it. good to go through this as early as possible to minimize the time you spend as a cringe weed enthusiast

i guess those are the only two.

ok to do infrequently (annually): "lsd" - or whatever it is, probably not lsd, blah blah blah, if it works and is sold on blotter its fine and won't make you go nuts or whatever. opt for a better psychadelic imo. see psych rule at bottom of section

mushrooms - better than acid since you know what they are. rule of thumb is to always do more than you think you want. minimum 1/8oz. see psych rule at bottom of post

dmt - if you somehow have a dmt hookup you don't need to be reading any of this. lasts 10 minutes which leads to tendency to way overdo it, don't do this, my favorite webcomic artist is permanently crazy from exactly that. using a crack pipe is also not the uhhhh most dignifying-feeling thing to do either. it's harder than you think.

mdma - for use at electronic music event or rave. overuse causes brain lesions or something.

coke - wait until you're in your 20s, have maxed out your roth IRA for a couple of years in a row, and havent missed a car payment in a similar timeframe. better still if you've worked a very shitty low paying job and know the value of a dollar. if you still find yourself buying candy you're not ready. too expensive to be worth it to get hooked on. know that you are VERY ANNOYING to anyone who also isn't high. don't fuck around with the guy selling it to you. avoid discussing or thinking about business ideas. you can't afford to make it a habit + kinda turns you into a piece of shit after a while, but at least a very interesting one

ketamine - another sick drug that rules, but save it for a special occasion. don't try and go into the k-hole your first time

rule for psychedelics - you get one good strong trip a year and that's it, make it count, always opt for doing a bit more than a bit less. but don't make it a habit, otherwise you turn into a very stupid very annoying "hippy" style cliché and believe in ghosts, aliens, crap like that.

ok to try once prescription opiates/benzodiazepine (xanax), valium, this kind of shit - worth trying so you can go "holy shit, this stuff is way way way too good to ever use responsibly" and then never do again. especially if you're white. for some reason we just can't handle this shit. if a doctor prescribes it to you, idk, that's your call to make.

ayhuasca - this is just dmt in a different form. do some other psychadelics a number of times before you do this. once you realize the whole "substantial visual hallucinations" thing is made up, its time. do exactly this: -buy root online (legal). receive box of dirt -boil dirt into "tea" (read erowid for exact recipe) -take over-the-counter anti nausea medicine or anything that will give you a stronger stomach -drink tea (its nasty as fuck, get it down quick) -have someone bigger than you keep an eye on you for the next five hours. -have the experience, which is absurdly intense, has no bearing to the real world, etc etc. don't be a bitch and throw up, if you do it'll only last an hour or so. again there is no way to provide a consistent description of the experience except that you will meet god. you only ever need to do this once and never again. trust me

peyote/salvia/etc - try em if you want, you'll never ever want to again afterwords. these are drugs for idiot teenagers too lame to get real drugs. imagine being very very sick from poison and utterly terrified at the same time. No good

whippets/nitrous oxide - just find a dentist that uses it and don't bother creating hundreds of pounds of trash on your floor for this crap that lasts ten seconds. you have to understand the extremely short timeframe coupled with the cost makes zero sense. go to a phish concert parking lot and do some people watching -- you do not want to be these people. only use is as a motivator to get routine dental exam. also if you somehow manage to make it a heavy habit your fucking legs stop working, no shit, but they start working again once you quit.

don't ever do heroin/meth/pcp - is is truly a mystery why you should never do these 🙄

synthetic weed/k2/shit from the gas station - it is so funny that they sell this as "weed that won't pop you on a drug test". its not weed. it is some dubious chemical sprayed on yard waste. smoke it to have a terrible time and go nuts. only buy drugs from legitimate drug dealers!

kratom - anyone's guess as to why this is legal but it's heroin for pussies. its still heroin

dxm/cough syrup - do you ever wonder why it is exclusively teenagers robotripping? it's because it sucks ass. is like a cheesegrater on your brain in terms of health effects with repeated usage. you're better than this king

inhalants - these are at the bottom of the list for a reason. do not huff gas. don't huff paint. do not consume computer duster. not fun + fastest way to make yourself a complete, uh, (word i can't say anymore) and then dead

not listed quaaludes- unavailable due to no longer being manufactured. these ruled apparantly

sincis2c - unavailable due to not existing, i just made this up

amphetamines - cannot provide objective take here. they're my albatross, lifelong (posted 4:55am natch)

#posts i will be deleting

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dearbraus · 7 months

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His Grace is no Gentleman ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Wriothesley

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, afab!reader (they wear a dress but are not referred to by feminine terms or gender pronouns), Wrio is taller than the reader (he is 6'6), author self insert coded fic, arranged dates, courtship, childhood friends, awkward tension, societal conventions, first date, semi-public sex, oral sex (reader receiving), clothed sex, unprotected sex, creampies, doggy style, Wrio is a gentleman, reader is a hot mess, slight insecurities, ambiguous ending. ⊹ Run time. 4.3k ⊹ Note. I started this fic before he was introduced in the archon quest so his lore doesn't line up 100% to canon so consider this a canon divergent fic <3

❝After years apart, you find yourself on a date with your childhood friend Wriothesley. With late summer heat that stifles and chokes and an unbearable amount of tension, you search for a way to reconnect with the stranger who stands before you.❞

The August air was stifling, a thick muggy heat hung low around the Court of Fontaine. Sweat and moisture clung to bodies like a second skin as summer held its last hurrah before fall elbowed its way in and left the region plunged in the wet season. Both were tortuous in their own ways but as you stood among throngs of hot, sweat-dabbled bodies, you’d much rather be shivering and damp as the cool autumn air rattled your bones. The small, lace-covered fan that hung off your wrist did little to quell the flush that filled your cheeks. It pushed around the warm air and swatted the heavy perfume that the woman next to you wore into your throat and eyes, making you choke.

Pushing your way out of the main gala room, you stumble through the halls, opening and closing doors until you happen upon a small empty room that looks upon one of the dozen decorative balconies that cover the outside of the building. The door shuts behind you with a loud slam but you pay little mind to it as you plop onto the first cushy chair within your reach. The cool evening air that filtered in through the open windows provided the slightest bit of relief. Plucking the gloves off your fingers you sigh, slouching further into your chair.

“I take it the gala has bored you?” A familiar voice asks, you jolt upright, your heart leaping in surprise, “I suppose I should have warned that the twins do take their time in setting up the stage for their performance.”

Wriothesley hovers near the doorway, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. You had been so wrapped up in making yourself comfortable you didn’t notice the door opening behind you. Rising to your feet, you attempt to mask the cringe that covers your expression.

“Your grace!” You exclaim, smoothing the layers of your skirt down in an attempt to make yourself appear presentable, “You have it all wrong! I was feeling faint from the heat.”

His pale blue eyes flit up and down your figure, “You do appear rather … flustered,” he states, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I extended to you an invitation to attend this gala with me.”

“Indeed, you did,” you blink.

“That makes me your date,” Wriothesley all but spells out, “You could have told me you were feeling ill.”

“Right.”

Guilt burns in your stomach. You had been a bit bored making small talk and you would have bolted at the first chance even if you hadn’t been sweltering. Wriothesley was a kind enough man and though you knew him during the tender years of childhood, the unfamiliarity that came with your growing pains left each interaction with him rather awkward. He was never the most talkative child and now as a man grown he’d become hardened by life and his stringent line of work. His austere gaze was disconcerting and unintentionally left your skin pimpled by chills.

“My apologies, your grace,” you reflexively dip your head into an apologetic bow, “I was not thinking clearly, I did not intend to abandon you, I assure you that I am very grateful to be here with you.”

It only takes a few steps for Wriothesley to stand before you thanks to his long stride. He appears somewhat disappointed in your response and you're an inch away from trying to kick yourself for offending him. A gasp cuts through the air when Wriothesley’s fingers wrap around your face, your lips forcibly protruding as he squishes your cheeks in the palm of his hand. The callouses that mar his skin are rough against your face, now that he’s just inches away you can see the blotchy yellow bruises littered across both of his knuckles and the barely visible mark on the underside of his jaw.

“I hate when you call me that,” he grits, a rare look of frustration crossing his features, “You know my name, you can say it.”

His voice is stern, but you don’t feel as if you’re being scolded though he regards you as little other than a petulant child.

“I want you to.”

You blankly blink up at him, gesturing with your hand to where he holds your face. Wriothesley releases you with an apology muttered beneath his breath, loudly clearing his throat afterward.

“Wriothesley,” the syllables of his name feel strange on your tongue after all these years, too many were spent turning him into some imposing, faraway figure, “You should know I have never been one to enjoy the festivities or formalities of court, the demands are far too taxing on my delicate constitution.”

He laughs at your slight joke and you crack a demure smile. It frustrated your parents and governess endlessly, your staunch refusal to partake in anything resembling formal gathering utterly maddening on the best of days. He’d seen the worst when you were six and he was ten but all that remained of that day was hazy memories of a tantrum, being dragged kicking and screaming down the stairs, and your parents' embarrassed expressions as they apologized to Wriothesley’s family for the dramatics on your behalf. But, you were no longer six and ten, a meltdown was no way to react to an invitation when you were well into your twenties even when the thought of spending time alone with a childhood friend felt all too daunting.

Every detail had to be nothing short of perfection when toeing about the court. Though, Wriothesley had been afforded the luxury of escaping such lessons as he grew far from the controlling hands of society. Etiquette lessons and expectations did not taint him or plague his mind as they did you. His gentlemanly disposition must have been pure charm on his part, he’d been kind to you and nothing short of gallant despite his rather gruff exterior. His reputation greatly preceded him these days and the weight of this evening was not lost to you. It wasn’t often he had time to himself, let alone time to entertain others. If you bungled this affair when your parents were hoping for a love match, you’d be humiliated and they’d be furious with you.

They held far more respect for a man gifted a title that was never his to own than they did for you, their flesh and blood. If they knew half of what you did, they wouldn’t feel so passionately but you supposed overflowing coiffers could breed enough ignorance to turn any man into an eligible bachelor.

“That I do,” he agreed with a humble nod, “That is why I chose a magic show, all the attention would be placed upon the stars of the show.”

“Thanks.”

Wriothesley gently cups your cheek, though his body seems rather rigid his expression is filled with sincerity. The gesture offers little comfort as he intended it to, but you feel the slightest bit better about continuing this evening. As you lean into his touch, chasing the tendrils of what used to offer relief when you felt unease, you smile at him as a sign of good faith. As if the slightest tick of your lips upward would erase the discomfort he brought you, when Wriothesley was here with his heart on his sleeve trying just as you were.

You force your lips into a smile in hopes of disguising the way your heart uncomfortably thrummed against your ribcage. The feeling of discontentment that soaked through your skin made your face prickle warmly with shame. You wanted to feel comforted by him but the weight of your parent's expectations crushed you like a bug beneath slippered feet. The heat of his gaze searching your face brought a whimper to your lips. It was throaty and low, quite pathetic too but you were sure that the sound wouldn’t reach Wriothesley’s ears.

But, it did.

A splash of pink washes over the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheekbones. His brows shoot up into his hairline as his eyes widen in shock, “Are you … Alright?” Wriothesley choked out, blinking rapidly at you, “I have not made you uncomfortable have I?”

“I … I am quite well,” you murmur shyly, sweat gathers at the nape of your neck and your knees threaten to buckle from the intensity of his stare.

He’s rather fixated on your mouth, you can feel how his eyes trail over the dip of your cupids bow. His tongue, pink and wet, darts out to wet his plush bottom lip. You can’t help but stare too. Wriothesley had always been cute, cute in a way that had all the lords and ladies of the country constantly cooing over how darling he was. With unruly raven-coloured hair and round rosy cheeks, he was like a doll come to life and he didn’t go a day where he wasn’t reminded. It filled his mother with such satisfaction that you would have thought it was her constantly being lavished with attention. Now though, as a man whose stature brushed just under 6’6, he was anything but cute. He was rather handsome, that much you allowed yourself to admit when you set your eyes upon him for the first time in several years, devastatingly so. Had your nerves not been so scrambled, you might have taken a moment to admire the man he’d grown into.

“Are you sure?”

You nod your head so your voice doesn’t betray you but the moment is far too quick. It’s almost eager. The calloused pad of his thumb slides against your cheek, it nearly brushes the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitches and for a moment you allow yourself to wonder. Would it be so wrong to shirk societal convention? It couldn’t be, not when it was just you and he, alone in this room with no prying eyes to cast judgment upon each minuscule movement. He must know this too, why else would he gaze upon you with such heat in his eyes?

“Indeed, I am,” you whisper, your throat tightening, “Do I seem unwell?”

Wriothesley shrugs, his lips pursing, “You seem …” His voice trails off, growing gruff near the end, “Can I not simply inquire about my oldest friend?”

“You may if that should please you.”

His face nears yours, his breath fanning across the bridge of your nose as he inches closer. Tendrils of his hair flop over his forehead and tickles your skin as he looms over you. The heat radiating off his body draws you closer, chasing what you once longed to escape.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours, his mouth dangerously close to yours, “And what pleases you?” He rasps, allowing his eyes to grow lidded.

Your jaw slacks, your lips forming a slight “o” shape as you fight off the wanton sound that claws at the inside of your throat. His lashes, long and wispy, sweep across his cheekbones but they hardly hide the dark inky pools of his expanded pupils. You can almost see your reflection within them, you’re thankful it's obscured. If you look as off-kilter as you felt, you’d rather not know.

Any response you may have had for him shrivels up and dies on the tip of your tongue. Furling your fingers into the fine satin of his shirt you offer Wriothesley a pathetically pleading look in hopes that he could still read you as well as he did in your tender years of youth. It seems in all your years apart, he hasn’t learned the art of reading minds nor expressions because he peers at you expectantly, waiting for something other than worried noises to leave you.

You can feel his heart thrumming through the thin material of his dress shirt, “Wrio …” You sigh, your eyes flickering between his mouth and eyes, “It should please me if you were to kiss me.”

Your voice warbles and you have no choice but to avert your gaze to focus on the scarred expanse of his neck. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his veins bulge beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw. The cool breeze that drifts through the open window rustles your dress and rattles your bones as you shiver. You move to take a step back, but his other hand flies out to grab your waist. His fingers press into your thick corsetted top, nearly grazing the space where your top meets your skirt and your skin is exposed.

“I must admit this is how I hoped the evening would end,” Wriothesley confesses as he tips your chin upward, his mouth ghosts over yours and your breaths mingle as he speaks, “But did not anticipate my fantasy would come to fruition.”

His bottom lip brushes against yours, “Is it fantasy if I am here and I am asking?”

Wriothesley shakes his head before dipping down to bring his lips to yours, tentatively kissing you. The air in your lungs exits in the form of steam blowing out from your ears and you feel lightheaded. Years of pent up want pours out from your mouth and drips into his, he laps it up with a fervent vigour that will plague you tomorrow when you reflect on this evening. He’s the only person you could open yourself up to. Wriothesley cared little for societal convention and conducted himself without any of the fanfare that followed a title like duke. You and he were human; carved from flesh, blood, and want. The shared desire that flickered in the spaces between your bodies also harboured an unspoken understanding. If you were amiable, he could fuck you on the floor of this empty drawing room and there’d be no expectation of a ring. You were unsure if marriage was what you wished for but you couldn’t deny the want that lived like a beast in your belly.

You stumble backward as the weight of him presses into you. His broad stature threatens to full engulf you and your frame. You welcome it, allowing his rough and inexperienced grip to persist even when it becomes uncomfortable. His tongue slips past your lips to lave over yours. The needy little sounds Wriothesley draws are drowned out but the wet smack of your mouths meeting. Your ears burn with embarrassment but it’s nothing compared to the heal that pools in your belly. It’s difficult to discern whether it's the muggy cloud that’s descended upon Fontaine scorching your skin or if it was the bubbling desires that grew far past a manageable, quiet simmer.

Wriothesley possessed a cryo vision, you thought his touch would be frigid but he melts your rigid, nervous exterior as his hands move to grope your waist. There isn’t much to feel, your frame is swathed with layers of thick, expensive fabrics. You managed to talk your mother out of tying a hoop skirt around your hips to elongate your figure. Still, there’s an unwanted barrier between you and the rough calloused palms you wish would tug your corset loose and make their way between your legs.

“More,” you pant between fevered kisses, yanking on his hard enough to pop a few buttons loose and reveal his scar-covered, hairy chest, “I want more.”

Your unspoken words hang precariously between your aching bodies. Wriothesley knows well enough, he must with the way you eagerly press your hips flush against his.

“Should that please you?”

You nod before your mouth can form words, “Yes,” you whisper though it sounds far closer to a whimper, the cocky smile that stretches across his face squashes the growing embarrassment that blooms and prickles at your chest, “It would please me greatly if you were to get on your knees before me.”

His expression turns wicked at your confession as if he’s pleased by your honesty. It’s the first time this evening that you haven’t minced your words or lathered them in half-truths to avoid confrontation. Wriothesley makes quite the show of sinking to his knees before you, the fine material of his slacks grows taunt around his muscular thighs and offers you an eyeful of his bulge.

“And what shall I do now?”

Slipping his hand beneath the hem of your gown, Wriothesley curls his fingers around your ankle and rubs a small circle into the silver of exposed skin, “Don’t play coy,” you whine as you thread your fingers into his hair, turning the nicely coiffed style into an unruly mess, “It is unbecoming of you, you know what I want Wriothesley.”

“Do I?” He wonders out loud, his mouth only snapping shut when he catches sight of your displeased expression, “Fine, I do!”

The beginnings of a sneer are quickly wiped from your face when Wriothesley ducks his head beneath the layers of your skirt. Clamping your bottom lip between your teeth, you fight off the shudder that slithers up your spine when his hot breath hits your wet cunt.

“No small clothes?” He questions, you can hear the smug expression he wears bleed into his words.

“Shut up!” You stammer, reaching behind you to steady yourself on the side chair, “It is far too hot for all these layers.”

Whatever he murmurs next is muffled and falls deaf on your straining ears. Your nails dig into the plush arm of the chair as he plants a sloppy, open-mouth kiss on your mound. Your knees nearly buckle but the ironclad grip Wriothesley has on your thighs keeps you standing upright as he brushes his mouth along your labia. His teeth poke out from his top lip and graze against your throbbing clit. Your stomach leaps into your chest at the sensation, your head growing heavier.

“Archons above,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll back.

The soft pleasured sound that dribbles down your tongue must reach his ears because his mouth falls open and with it, his tongue lolls out. The wet, hot heat of his mouth on your pussy draws a wanton whimper from you. Your ribs rattle from the heavy pants of breath that pass your lips in quick succession. His tongue swirls around your clit before he wraps his lips around the bud to suckle on it.

Your nails scrape uncomfortably against the plush velvet of the chair but your grip only tightens as pleasure fans across your sweat-dabbled skin. Your head drops against your shoulder and your hips arch forward as if you could bring yourself closer to him. The muscles in your belly grow taunt, and the feeling of his rough hands on the bare skin of your thighs and hips makes your toes curl.

“Wriothesley,” you moan, cursing under your breath when he lays his tongue flat against your folds and licked a strip from your sopping wet hole to your pulsing clit.

It grows tighter, the little coil in your belly that reminds your brain that bliss is coming so you fight the panic-stricken urge to shed your constricting corset and relax. Your chest heaves, the fat of your breasts bulging and nearly spilling out from your décolletage. You try to tell him that you’re close, to spur him on but all that comes out is a mumbly mess of moans and half words that trail off into unabashed, needy whines.

You don’t register that his tongue and mouth have left your weeping cunt throbbing and unsatisfied until his dishevelled head pops out from beneath your skirts. His thin lips are puffy and glossed with your slick. It drips down his chin in a rather obscene manner that makes your chest ache with need until your brain begins to speed up. A petulant whine gathers at the back of your throat and is ready to pierce Wriothesley’s pride once you’ve realized that he has left you without reprieve. The forceful press of his mouth to yours wipes your mind clear of any lingering disappointment.

The taste of you lingers on him, it’s slightly musky and twinged with the salt of sweat. You groan into Wriothesley as he rolls your taste around your tongue and the gums of your teeth. It is filthy and uncouth but the sweltering pit of desire within you grinds your reservations to dust. His belt and the set of handcuffs attached clink against one another as Wriothesley uses his free hand to free his cock from his slacks

“Lift ‘em,” he grunts with a nod of his head, “I- hah, need to be inside you, lift your skirts and turn around. Now.”

The bulbous red tip of his cock oozes precum as Wriothesley gives the base a firm squeeze. Gathering the layers of your skirts, you tentatively turn around to face the armchair. With a warm, steady hand pressed to the small of your back, he guides you to rest one leg up on the plush seat and angles the rest of you to lean against the back. Your body burns with something that dances between utter mortification and thrill. Calloused palms smooth over the supple skin of your ass as he slides his cock along the seam of your cunt to gather your arousal.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Your hands tremble with anticipation as you crane your neck to peek at him from over your shoulder. His bottom lip is smushed between his teeth, you’re surprised it doesn’t bleed, his eyes are pressed shut, and his head is thrown back. The two of you moan when Wriothesley presses his cock to your hole, the stretch burns and tears begin to prickle at your eyes from the slight pain. They spill over your lash line and slip down your cheeks when he thrusts into you. The heat of his body is suffocating as he presses his chest to your spin, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You can take it,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of your ear, “I know you can.”

His chapped lips graze across your cheekbone and his tongue darts out to lap up your tears, “Wrio…” You whimper, burying your face into the arm of the chair, “You better make me finish.”

Your command comes out feeble since your cheek is smushed against the chair and your voice is thickly coated with wanton need. Still, his hand snakes around your body and beneath your bunched up skirts to stroke your clit as he thrusts into you from behind, grunting into your ear. Your head spins as his cock slowly slides in and out of your velvet walls, the rough pads of his fingertips against your clit steal away your breath as pinpricks of pleasure zip up your spine.

“Uhuh,” Wriothesley absent mindedly groaned, his teeth catching on your ear lobe, “You’re taking me so well.”

There’s a hint of accusation in his words, or maybe you’re reading too into his words. Your brain had always been your worst enemy. Amidst the hazy swamp of lust and pleasure, there’s a small panicky voice that reminds you that life will go on outside of these walls and you’ll be stuck with the memories of desire fuelled actions that cannot be taken back. It nags at your brain, eating away at the space between your lungs at a terrifying speed and you realize despite the awkward tension that permeated the air, you didn’t want this to be the end of you and him.

You aren’t afforded the chance to ruminate on it for too long, your orgasm washes over you and swipes away the tangled web of thoughts that have made a home against your skull. Your throat is raw and scratchy as you moan out the broken syllables of his name. His chest rumbles with endeared laughter when your hand flies back to desperately seek purchase in his sturdy, warm frame. You manage to hook your fingers around his dress shirt, and the hard lines of his body tremble and contract with each sloppy thrust into your overstimulated hole.

Sweat dribbles down the curve of your neck, “Please,” you plead for nothing in particular, your moving to speak words of no consequence because it needed something to do to stave off the overwhelming waves of pleasure that rolled through you with each snap of his hips against your ass, “Give it to me, I need it.”

Your words seem to bring him there, his thrusts begin to stutter and cant forward and rest flush against the dough flesh of your ass as he cums, his hands squeezing at your torso as he buries his face into your shoulder. His spend seeps out of your cunt and sticks to your inner thighs. You’re sure it stains the waistband of Wriothesley’s dress pants but he says nothing as he nuzzles closer to your heaving body.

“You’re going to take me on a date,” you pant, swiping your knuckles across your brow bone to wipe away the perspiration gathered there, “Next week, somewhere private and quiet.”

Your chest tightens as you await for his response. It takes Wriothesley to gather his wits, his heavy breath slowing into a calm rhythm, “I can do that,” he says, chuckling a bit to himself, “But, only if you wear this dress again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you mumble, “I think the fabric may be ruined from our sweat.”

You can’t see his face, but there's a smile on his lips that bites into his words, “A noble sacrifice, huh?” He jokes.

You nod a bit, biting your lip to hide your own growing grin.

“Only if you kiss me again, maybe then it’ll have been worth it.”

And he does, his stubbly jaw scratches against your face as he presses his lips to yours. You hope there will be more to come, on the streets of Fontaine and out in the wilds of the country. With the way he tenderly cups your jaw, and caresses the side of your face, you think there will be.

#wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi smut #wriothesley x you #genshin impact smut

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ugotcooneycrossed · 4 months

Text

let you break my heart again • alessia russo

part 2 of 'keep pretending pretty girl'

w/c: ~1.5k

a/n: sorry this took longer than planned my pookies but i hope its worth it🫶

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you make some half-arsed excuse to leave the table- an ‘emergency’ of sorts that you have to see to.

an excuse that has the girl sitting across from you rolling her eyes, and huffing out a breath- she stands to leave and you grimace at her retreating form.

apologise to lotte later you tell yourself.

each step towards the toilets your resolve disappears a little more- your dignity all but vanishes, and the ever-nagging thought that this is a bad, very bad idea fades into an afterthought.

your heart beats a little faster; nerves, excitement- or the sheer embarrassment of never being able to deny alessia what she wants, you aren’t exactly sure.

you’re the first to arrive- the walk from your table since her text, an embarrassingly short amount of time. ducking down to check each stall, making sure no one else would be there to witness.

the door swings open loudly- and your head shoots to the newcomer, your heart pumping impossibly faster- but a stranger walks through instead, shooting you a strange look at your dishevelled appearance and heaving chest.

clearing your throat you avert your eyes- pretending to occupy yourself with washing your hands. and when the stranger leaves, you check your phone- five minutes have definitely passed, yet no sign of her.

it’s embarrassing how much you wish she would walk through that door right now. you huff out a frustrated breath- the tight feeling in your chest, coiling down into your stomach, and sitting heavily in your heart once again.

you turn to leave- barely making it out the door before a hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you back in.

a familiar voice questions you.

“where are you going?”

alessia.

“home?”

you reply- and alessia rolls her eyes at you- trapping you in between the sinks and herself.

“who was that?”

she questions you again- moving her head to catch your eyes when you avert them.

“no one less.”

her eyes narrow- moving impossibly closer to you- and your breath hitches in your throat, alessia opens her mouth to speak- but loud voices from just outside the door interrupt. instead, she grabs your hand- pulling you into a stall with her, just as a horde of women pile into the room.

you’re pressed up against each other in the small space- alessia’s breath fanning your neck, her perfume thick and enveloping all your senses.

the chatter from outside the stall fades into the background- muffled voices talking about something that you can’t quite comprehend at the moment.

not when alessia is looking down at you with those eyes, and her hands are resting on your hips- squeezing ever so slightly.

she’s got a gentle smile on her face now- one that has your heart melting a little, one that makes you crumble all over again, one that makes you think she finally will tell you she wants you.

the toilets empty finally- and you take the opportunity to shove the door open, practically tumbling out of the cramped space- desperate to get away from the blonde girl.

“(y/n) wait!”

you turn to look at her- waiting for her to say something, anything.

and yet, she doesn’t.

typical.

“shouldn’t you get back to your boyfriend less?”

she doesn’t respond to that- cringing and taking a step away from you instead.

“i don’t want you to see her again.”

she whispers it- and if you weren’t so in tune with her you would’ve missed it.

“sorry?”

“i don’t want you to see her again- i don’t want you to see anyone again.”

“but you right? ‘cause you just want me all to yourself? but it’s only when you want to see me- only when your boyfriend starts to bore you- only when you’re so pissed drunk you can’t even see straight- literally. and you want to know something alessia- you want to know the saddest, most pathetic part of it all? i’d let you break my heart over, and over again.”

you don’t know what’s come over you- you don’t know where this sudden rage is coming from, but when you see alessia shrink back- you can’t stand to be in the same room any more. cause you know the moment she speaks- the moment she reaches out, and holds your hand softly, the moment she whispers that she loves you; you’ll crumble and forgive her all over again.

you ignore her for days after that night- not that she has the nerve to say anything to you anyway, and you avoid her at training, going as far as to complain about a non-existent tweak in your knee to be allowed to skip training and stay in the gym.

leah shoots you strange looks over laura’s head- the girl too bust talking your ear off about how cute myle is to notice anything else.

kyra questions your sudden disappearance- poking you at lunch relentlessly, until you throw a chocolate bar in another direction, the younger girl chasing after it.

lotte catches you at lunch a few days later- grabbing your elbow and yanking you into an empty conference room.

“what happened?”

her tone is gentle but her hands holding you in place, not letting you escape- tell another story.

“nothing.”

lotte’s eyebrows raise- gripping your arm tighter when you try to leave.

“i talked to alessia.”

you hum at that- shrugging your shoulders.

“what’d she say?”

“just that you were upset with her- and well grace told me and I quote ‘some jealous blonde crashed our date and your friend basically malfunctioned on the spot.’”

“yeah- that’s some way to put it. she was there, even came up to out table. we talked. that’s all.”

the arsenal christmas party serves a great place to get drunk- a couple weeks after ‘the great disaster’- the new name of your date gone wrong.

lotte gives you a disapproving look at the amount of vodka you’ve poured and you send her a thumbs up and a cheeky smile.

you’re a little warm- buzzing from the alcohol, and the stupid sweater katie wrangled over your head when you stepped through the door- some obscure christmas reference you don’t know.

there’s a sea of people to navigate through- most you know, friends and family of your teammates that you’ve known for years now.

the crown from the bon bon you won against kyra slips a little- the small tear in the back, a result of kyra’s displeasure at losing- your poor green, paper crown a casualty in her mission to steal the stupid knickknacks inside. momentarily blinding you, you push it up, coming face-to-face with alessia’s ugly mug of a boyfriend.

“hey, you seen less?’

you hold in your grimace at his annoying voice, swallowing down and shrugging your shoulders.

“dunno man- sorry.”

he rolls his eyes at you.

shoving past more people to look for the blonde- and with his back turned, you flip him off, mocking him, and pulling faces.

with the last bit of your drink gone- and the sudden need to pee the only thing on your mind. you wonder over to the toilets.

you stand in front of the mirror for a while after- putting your cold hands on your flushed cheeks to cool them down.

and finally, fully satisfied with your full proof method to cool down- you open the door to leave- alessia appearing right on the other side.

“(y/n)! i’ve been looking for you! i missed you sooo much!”

you don’t know whether the alcohol is coming from her, or yourself- regardless the blonde crashes into you- and you melt at her familiar hold.

“i missed you too less.”

“please, please- just one kiss, i missed my girl.”

she puckers her lips expectantly- her strong arms still wrapped around you, and the fight in your head to not kiss her, doesn’t last more than a second, before you connect your lips.

you try to pull away after a second, but alessia grabs you tighter, chasing after your lips.

you separate- heaving chests, and matching slightly swollen lips.

“i love you so much (y/n)- i don’t ever want to go back to not talking.”

“i love you too lessi, i just-“

“there you are less!”

alessia’s boyfriend interrupts before you can say anything else- he pulls her away from you and you roll your eyes as they kiss.

he pulls away- sparing you one glance and trying to get alessia’s attention.

“head home now?”

he questions.

“mmh you can- might crash at (y/n)’s.”

alessia is only looking at you- waving off her boyfriend. and he leaves without another thought.

“what we’re you saying?”

“nothing- don’t worry about it less.”

“tell me- please.”

“don’t leave if you do come back- stay, please.”

you wake to the sound of your front door closing- shooting up in bed.

the beds empty- because of course it is, and you fall back into the sheets with a sigh.

there’s no training anymore with christmas break- no need to ignore you and fuss over the phone with her boyfriend. no texts, no calls- she doesn’t even like your instagram photos.

not that you’ve been hanging out for a notification from her or anything.

then a few days before you’re set to start training- you get a notification.

lessi to ‘you’

-> i miss you, i'm sorry for leaving- can we talk?

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso

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thekissofaphrodite · 4 months

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Can you do a smut part 2 for “Waterloo” where clarisse gets really jealous and tells reader that if she breaks up with her boyfriend she will ✨reward✨ reader so reader breaks up with her boyfriend after some contemplating. When clarisse found out that reader actually broke up with him she drags reader somewhere and smut pursues.

THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED IT??!??! HOLYSHII

Take a chance with me

Clarisse La Rue X Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader

PART 2 OF WATERLOO

Summary: After the incident in the bathrooms, Clarisse decided she had enough of your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.

Warnings: (Light) SMUT. Cursing and cheating, misogynists (Remind me if i missed one!)

Author's note: THIS TOOK KINDA LONG SINCE THIS IS A COLLABORATION WITH MY BESTFRIEND, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS! (i added a little twist in the end)

Collab with -🍵 <33

It was another painful day with your boyfriend, Keith. Camp Half-Blood was still in its normal route, Daily Practices, Bonfire singalongs, Games, But there's someone who you can't stop thinking about.

Clarisse

Her chapped lips moving in sync with your soft ones while your lipstick smudged. It was all tempting.

But now here you are, With you boyfriend's gang, trying not to cringe every time they made a bad joke, You could only stare at Clarisse from afar, while she trained with her siblings, Yelling at them at the same time.

I love charlie, But you aren't mine.

"How 'bout you, Y/n? why're you here? shouldn't you supposed to be in tea parties making friendship bracelets and painting your nails?" Asked logan, One of Keith's friends. Then, all of them started laughing, You looked at your boyfriend, trying to spot any signs of empathy, But he, himself laughed along with his friends.

That bitch.

Then you snapped.

"The only thing that you should be doing right now is to keep that pretty little mouth shut" They walked towards you, Your boyfriend, Keith had the same look they had, Rage. You wondered for a second, Why was he looking at you like that? Why was he siding with the people who wronged you?

"How about you? Logan? Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on your Godly parent since you haven't been claimed yet?" You raised a brow at him while looking stern, "I'm certain any God would be embarrassed to have you as their son. Hence being unclaimed for almost two years straight" Your lips curled into a small smirk as you watched his eyes widened in fury.

The gang then stood up and looked at you, eyes fuming with anger as if it could eat you alive. You never meant it, You even felt sorry for the poor boy, But you couldn't help it, They were like this every time you were with them, Is it so bad to stand up for yourself?

You stepped back, carefully analyzing their faces, keeping an eye for any upcoming blows or attacks, As they slowly walked towards you, You bumped into someone.

She held her head high, towering over you even though you were only two inch shorter than her. Seeing Clarisse, you felt relief wash over you, internally sighing, You let your guard down a bit, but not entirely.

Shit. You thought. Your mind panicked thinking that you got cornered by them and on instinct you immediately thought of using your charm speak, trying to find an escape route. Yet determined to fight against them you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the amount of people you're about to fight.

As you were trying to find the right words to use against them, You felt a strong body behind you, you quickly turned around and saw none other than Clarisse La Rue. Her usual intimidating demeanour still plastered on her face as she glared at the group of boys.

"Is anything the matter?" She asked, Her eyes darting from you to the group of boys.

"None of your damn business, La Rue. Let us do our thing" One of the boys, Yuan, said.

" By 'thing' you mean terrorizing MY 'friend' her to death?" Hearing those words you refrain to sneak a glance at Clarisse, As if she didn't just fucked you inside the camp bathroom days ago.

Someone scoffed, It was Keith. Looking at Clarisse with a judgeful look.

"She's MY girlfriend, La Rue. Therefore my property." He said with a boastful look. "Who are you to stick your nose around our business? You're just an outsider in this.. —" Registering Clarisse's words, he sent a scowling look towards you, Forgetting the current situation he turned around to face you fully. "L/n." There was it again. The use of your surname and that warning tone he uses whenever you two argue.

You loathed moments like this. Every argument you had with him you always felt belittled while trying to fight for your rights, but it always ends up with Keith shifting the blame to you every.single.damn.time. "What? Levine." You answered firmly, But this time, You aren't backing down this war of words.

Your expression changed, Your eyes says it all, But you kept your head high. When Clarisse was about to defend you, you quickly stretched out your arm to refrain her from doing anything rash. "You've got the nerve to say that when YOU'RE the one who's following them around, doing EVERY SINGLE THING that they asked for!"

Keith then sneered at you, He was never used to you talking back, But here you are, standing proudly, ready to defend yourself. But of course, he bites back. "Friends? really? Impossible, You know your mother and her father had relations, Long story short, Fucking. Plus, look at La Rue, Compared to her, You're just an attention seeking lapdog"

At that moment, Clarisse was ready to pierce her spear into your shitty boyfriend's head, Thinking about it.. the sight of him with his head pierced pooling with blood made her quite satisfied.

Keith's expression changed, He knew what was gonna happened, That's why he stepped up and approached you, Trying to hold your hand.

"I'm sorry baby" He whispered,as he got a hold of your hands. "You know I didn't mean to insult you like that, I love you Y/n, you know that right baby? I love you so much Y/n". Clarisse raised her dark brows, Looking at you, waiting for your response.

"Okay...I forgive you.." You whispered, Your breathing became normal and you didn't know why, You didn't know why you always give in his sugar coated lies but you couldn't refuse his touch and those doe eyes of his. You could've easily be more mad at him but you knew better than adding fuel to the fire when a lot of people are watching.

Not long after hearing your response, Keith then smiled 'sweetly' as he hugged you. Pressing his nose against your soft hair as he inhaled your sweet scent.

Clarisse's POV

Clarisse stood there awkwardly, Watching you with careful eyes wondering, Why the fuck you forgave him and why the the fuck were you still willing to be with that sick bastard.

I clutched my spear in hand, whilst watching Y/n from afar, Already with her pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. It had been a week since that incident in the mess hall happened, I wondered why she would submit easily to his will, Just a simple apology wouldn't make the cut.

Then, I saw her kiss her boyfriend's lips before getting up, the sight of keith's lips touching her was enough to make me gag. I wanted to talk to you, shooting one last glance at my half siblings, I slipped away and followed Y/n.

Y/n was heading towards the Amphitheatre, I suppose she was there to meet her friends, But before she could even reach the steps, I pulled her aside near the armory, When her back hit the wall, I slammed the door shut and opened the small light switch.

She was about to scream, But as soon as the light illuminated the room and revealed me, She closed her mouth and sighed.

"Clarisse..What—" Before she could even answer i cupped her cheeks and looked into her eyes, Her brows furrowed, Her eyes darting to my eyes and lips.

Then, I kissed her, Not because of passion, Because i was mad at her, Because she was still with the boy either of us hated, Mad at her for kissing him every stupid arguments when she was supposed to be mine. I kissed her hoping that this is the final time I get to kiss her in the shadows. "Break up with him." I said to her in a whisper as I pulled away from the kiss, her eyes widened in shock, lips quivering nervously or was it excitement?

I waited eagerly for her response, Imagining all of the things we could do together without her boyfriend sticking his nose into our business, wanting her back while she's still in my arms. My trance was broken when I saw her face deplete in a disagreeing expression, I immediately pecked her lips before whispering in her ear. "Because if you do, I might just give you a special reward in return"

I winked at her, My arms still gripping her waist, "What kind of reward?" She asked, Her eyes beaming with hope. I then caressed her cheeks "You'll have to find out"

That sentence made her think for a moment, I watched her carefully, Praying to the Gods that she will agree, So that I can finally hold her hand and kiss her right in front of everyone. Loudly and Proudly.

After a moment, I was rewarded with the sight of her nodding in agreement, "Yeah, I'll do it" I smiled, so widely that my cheeks hurt, But I couldn't care less, She also smiled, Making my heart melt as i felt her lips touch mine.

It was now the next day, the day after that talk you had with Clarisse in the armor room and the day you'll finally dump your shitty ass boyfriend. Making you way through out the camp you walk towards cabin 9, opening the door you welcomed yourself into your boyfriend's- well soon to be ex boyfriend's cabin. As you were about to call out his name you heard a noise, "What if someone sees us, Honey?" You heard a female voice say — It was between a moan and a gasp.

You walk into the room more careful not to disturb their "love making", you cleared your throat. "Excuse me?" you said in an uninterested tone, you watch the two quickly pull away from each other, Keith even pushed the girl away, making her yelp as her body hit the cold ground.

You peaked through the small corner that seperated you and— well, Keith and and his lover. The girl that Keith was kissing sat on top of the counter you onced sat, Her hands roaming around your soon to be ex's body, Followed by his groan. "Then let them see my love, let them see how much we love each other" Keith said to his lover while letting out a small breathy chuckle.

At first you wanted to back down from all of this and break down in your cabin but then you remembered Clarisse's words.. 'Break up with him. Because if you do, I might just give you a special reward in return'. That's when you realize you're not going to lose anything except a little bit of face and reputation,but you'll be free from your shitty boyfriend's manipulation, you'll be free from the toxicity of this relationship, you'll finally be with Clarisse.

"What was that for?!" She yelled, her hair disheveled, But keith ignored her, Stuttering and trying to find right words to explain what you just walked into.

"Sweethea-"

Before he could even explain, You slapped him, Fast and Sharp, He tumbled lightly, But thanks to his muscular body, he managed to keep his balance. Keith clenched his jaw.

"Save it, Keith. I don't wanna hear excuses coming from your mouth that once touched mine! You're disgusting"

You glared at the girl, ready to attack her, but your instinct stopped you, You looked at them with red eyes one last time before leaving. You didn't care if they started kissing again, You didn't care if they talked shit about you, All you cared about is that you're free.

After storming out of the hephaestus cabin, Your first thought was Clarisse, There was no more plotting on how to conduct your affair without him seeing, for the Gods see everything.

You then ran around camp, trying to spot your lover for you had missed her so dearly, craving her touch every second that passes by.

Then, You noticed every camper huddled into small groups, heading towards the camp fire, the ares cabin slowly emptying itself, But Clarisse was nowhere to be found, You felt disappointed but there was a little hope inside you, That's why you walked towards her cabin, You could've sworn you saw her silhouette, Peaking, You saw her sitting on the edge of her bed.

She looked- Nervous...? But her face changed when she saw you, The Ares girl stood up and ran towards you.

"Well?" She asked breathily, Waiting for the response that can change your lives.

"We're over, Him and I" Clarisse felt like a big heavy boulder has been lifted up her shoulders, She then proceeded to cup your cheeks, Her eyes glistening with love.

"Good, He doesn't deserve you" She whispered before kissing you, Pushing you into her bed, You groaned and ran your fingers through her messy curls as she bit your lower lip. You let out a small moan before feeling her palms going in your inner thighs, She pushed you, until you felt your legs touch her bed, She laid you down, straddling you. Clarisse pulled away, taking the matters into her own hands, she undressed you herself, revealing your red bra, It lifted your breasts, That made her smile, watching it rise up and down.

You then tugged on her shirt, Desperate to see her, Clarisse smiled and undressed herself, Her bra was a black one, with laces, But it didn't held your breasts up, It seems like her bra was merely a decoration.

It all then happened so fast, Clarisse's sweaty body pressed against yours as you two moaned, Legs intertwined, moaning each other's names. Her peppering your neck with hickeys mercilessly while her legs rubbed between your thighs creating unimaginable frictions, Her fingers inside you, Curling themselves. Clarisse watched you carefully, gasping and moaning gripping her sheets for dear life, She didn't care if her fresh sheets were stained, as long as it came from you.

Clarisse pressed her lips against your red ones, Gripping the back of neck, pressing you closer to her, she whispered "He doesn't love you like I do, Honey.." She then proceeded to kiss you, trailing her lips down to your breasts.

You two were so lost in eachother you didn't even noticed it, An invisible golden net dropped down the ceiling, You screamed as Clarisse fought against the net, But it was so strong and thin, No matter how hard Clarisse looked, She couldn't even see it. You and Clarisse both thrashed and fought against the metal, Until a shadow emerged from the doorway.

Keith.

He looked quite broken, seeing the scene before him, his face said it all, He had not want to believe it, and it hurt him...To the core.

For a second, Clarisse almost felt sorry for the wrench...Almost. But then his face hardened and he burst into a fury. He cursed obscenities to you, And then called out into everyone to see the shameful scene. And in their hoards, they came running. Clarisse turned to you and shielded you as best she can from their prying eyes. Courses of laughter ran out around us and The Hephaestus Boy looked satisfied.

He called out mocking words, and threatening to keep you and Clarisse naked and trapped for all eternity as a punishment.

But Clarisse held her head high and spoke;

"If i had a choice, There is no place i'd rather be...Trapped with the love of my life? What a punishment indeed..." Clarisse mocked him, Then all of the Demigods started laughing...But this time, at the little fool, Keith. And he shrunk in on himself, he turned red in embarrassment.

No one knew that you and keith had broken up, That's why you and clarisse were the hot gossip.

The Hephaestus boy stormed out, as the fit of laughter became louder, dragging with him the net that had trapped you two, But Clarisse couldn't care less, She demanded the door to be shut and be alone with you, so the campers did left.

As Selene crossed the skies with her silver chariot, You laid with Clarisse and dozed of, Still bare from the activities you guys had done.

And when Helios crossed the skies in the morning, Clarisse wrapped her arms around you and inhaled your scent, Knowing that you're hers...Loudly and Proudly.

A/N: HOLYSHI THIS TOOK SO LONG. I ADDED A LITTLE TWIST SINCE I WANNA MAKE THE 'The history book on the shelf, is always repeating itself' ACCURATE! WHATCHA THINK ABOUT IT? SORRY THIS TOOK LONG! <33 I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS!

-🍵

#xy/n #clarisse la rue x reader #clarrise pjo #clarisse la rue #percy jackon and the olympians #dior goodjohn #pjo tv show #waterloo

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beanxiv · 1 year

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their favorite place to kiss you ; multiple bnha boys

summary: bnha boys and where they love kissing you most.

word count: 1.6k

includes: gn reader, katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima, tamaki amajiki, keigo takami, touya todoroki, hanta sero, & tenya iida.

warnings: suggestive on dabi's part, but not really. its def sfw so no need to worry abt that. also a small amount of cussing.

katsuki bakugou

katsuki loves kissing your lips. he doesn't do anything "half-assed," as he'd say, and kisses to your lips are always full of affection towards you. whether it's a quick peck or a kiss that turns into a make-out sesh, there's always love and passion within katsuki's kisses.

when he kisses your lips the tension leaves from between his brows, the irritation that might've built throughout the day is leaking away, and all his focus is on you and your pretty, pretty lips

keigo takami

might sound odd, but keigo likes kissing your shoulders and back, specifically between your shoulder blades. after a long day of flying around and patrolling the streets of japan what he wants most is to come home to your shared apartment and into your warm arms. he'd tell you about his day, whether it was eventful or not-- he likes seeing you pay attention to him. you wonder aloud what it'd be like to fly around japan all day.

keigo kisses your shoulders and insists on some cheesy shit like, "baby you already know how to fly-- hell, y'flew into my heart and made it soar." you can't help but cringe and giggle at his dorkiness but he totally meant everything he said.

touya todoroki

touya can't get his mind off of the soft skin of your neck whenever you kiss. he feels the need to just sink his teeth in and show you how much you make him burn. it's not too often that he kisses your neck but when he does, he makes the most of it. he'll kiss every inch, from the top of your neck, near your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone.

if you ever ask touya why he likes kissing your neck he'll probably reply with something vague or suggestive. the real reason? he loves the smooth skin of your neck and loves feeling you warm at his touch, squirming when his lashes tickle a certain spot. this close to your chest, touya can feel your heartbeat get quicker and just loves it. no matter how tough a mission or how roughed up he got that day; if he gets to come back to base and indulge in you like this, every injury was worth it.

shouto todoroki

shouto, in his soft and loving moments (almost all his moments) will kiss the side of your head, right at your temple. he isn't the best at expressing himself, but he loves you more than anything and wants to take all your worries away. when shouto kisses your temple, he acts as if he's pulling all the negative thoughts from your head, trying his best to pull together his own thoughts and voice them against your temple, filling your head with his adoration for you.

bonus: the hand crusher likes kissing your hands. they're so beautiful to him and if he had to save one pair of hands from his "hand destroying curse" they'd be yours no doubt."

izuku midoriya

izuku's body is stacked with scars and freckles and he knows how they might make one insecure, but yours are so beautiful and empowering that he makes it an effort to kiss each one of your scars and moles/freckles/blemishes whenever you need it. except, to him, they not blemishes per se, more like your story. they say your moles are where your lover in your past life kissed you the most, i don't think izuku would genuinely believe that, but he still loves to kiss the moles scattered on your body saying something like, "i'll be yours in every life, love." and your scars, he knows all of their stories, he'll kiss them and comfort you, telling you how beautiful and strong they make you.

and if you reciprocate? kiss izuku's scars and freckles?? oh, he'll melt in your arms right then and there. you've sent him off to cloud nine. you'll physically see his soul ascend, he just becomes the happiest man alive.

tamaki amajiki

tamaki loves your cheeks, the plush skin of them always warm against his lips. the innocence of it just takes you out and makes you melt. the way he just takes your face in his hands and presses kisses to each of your cheeks. or when he kisses the middle of your cheek and pulls away to look at you, tracing the curve of your face.

even better when you're looking back at him with those pretty eyes of yours, full of affection. he'll get so flustered and shy, crumbling right at your feet.

hanta sero

hanta loves your lips too, even more so the corner of your lips. the little jerk likes to tease you, kissing the corner of your mouth until you get worked up about it. only then will he finally press a sweet kiss to your lips.

when you complain about hanta's teasing he'll laugh, kissing the edge of your lips once more. "so greedy, my love. good things come with patience." he thinks he's soo cool and wise but he's really just a lovable bully

hitoshi shinsou

in your presence alone, hitoshi is a different person. in those moments when it's just you two, hitoshi'll always have his face buried in your neck turning to kiss your jaw every once in a while. it started as a sleepy habit, he couldn't quite reach your lips, so he opted for your jaw. after that it became a normal habit

even if your jaw is farther than your lips when he's standing over you, he'll just lean down further to kiss it. or he'll tip your face up to his for him to smooch. and if you're taller than him? even better! he won't have to lean down, and if you're that much taller, he'll simply take your face in his hands and pull your face down to his.

eijirou kirishima

eijirou is the most supportive lover ever. this man will do quite literally anything to make sure you feel loved. he always finds himself kissing your stomach. might sound weird but when you guys are cuddled up somewhere and eijirou's head is resting on your torso he'll just start pressing a million kisses to your stomach out of nowhere, if you ask why he'll be like, "i just love your stomach, something wrong with it, babe?" and he's being serious, if you've ever mentioned being insecure of your belly, whether you feel to skinny or too chubby. he'll be like, "uh, no. my significant other is not gonna feel unloved and ugly while i'm around." and shove his face onto your stomach and over-dramatically kiss it everywhere with the little smooch sounds and everything.

and if you tell him to stop he will, but if you're joking he'll take it as encouragement to show you even more love.

tenya iida

tenya loves feeling strong and protective, and kissing your forehead makes him feel just that! especially if he's taller than you. if not, he doesn't care, he can still protect you nonetheless. he'll kiss your forehead millions of times over just to feel like he's your boyfriend. because what is a boyfriend if not caring and protective of you? tenya takes his position as your boyfriend as if it's a job he had to apply for and gets paid for, except this job isn't a nine-to-five. it's a full twenty-four hour business that he is more than happy to take part in.

he’ll take your face in his hands and either pull you down to him or lean down himself to kiss your forehead, depending on your height difference. and he’ll just caress the sides of your face as he does. and tenya is the biggest simp for you ever. if you’re a hero like him, he’s your biggest fan. if you’re not a hero, he’s still your biggest fan ‘cause who cares? you may be a civilian to everyone else, but you’re sure as shit his hero.

denki kaminari

it’s hilarious if you think denki can only pick one place on your body to kiss as his favorite. ha, no. this down bad dork can’t stop and won’t stop kissing every part of you whenever and wherever you let him. like he’ll pepper kisses all over your face, trail kisses down your arms, scatter some more of your neck, and once he’s placed a kiss on every bit of skin you allow him to, he’ll smack a giant kiss on your lips. no, seriously. all the boys are simps, but denki? he’s another category of the word simp. he’s down bad, down astronomical, even.

he’s a very physically affectionate guy, and if you are too, awesome! if not, he respects that and will hold back to make sure you’re comfortable. and if you’re cool with pda he’ll never be far from you, practically attached to your hip. and very often placing casual kisses somewhere on you, be it your shoulder, head, cheek, wherever! so long as you’re comfortable with it, denki is all over you.

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mark-babygirl-winters · 2 years

Text

i loveee old taylor swift music so much. i am cringe but i am free. like yes. dear john. mine. fearless. sparks fly. marys song. forever and always. the way i loved you. and i could go on and on, on and on (and i will)

#BREAKING DOWN AND COMIN UNDONE ITS A ROLLERCOASTER KINDA RUSH AND THATS THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUU #AND I REMEMBER THAT FIGHT TWO THIRTY AM WHEN EVERYTHING WAS SLIPPIN RIGHT OUTTA MY HAAAANDS AND I RAN OUT CRYING AND YOU FOLLOWED ME OUT #INTO THE STREEEET #BRACE MYSELF FOR THE GOODBYEEE #CUZ ITS ALL IVE EVER KNOWNNNNNN #AND YOU TOOK ME BY SURPRISEEEEE #AND SAID ILL NEVER LEAVE YOU ALONE #BUT I TOOK YOUR MATCHES BEFORE FIRE COULD CATCH ME SO DONT #LOOK #NOW!!!#IM SHINING LIKE FIREWORKS #OVER YOUR SAD EMPTY TOOWWWWNNNN #LONG LIVE THE WALLS WE CRASHED THROUGH #IVE HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE FIGHTING DRAGONS WITH YOUUU #i am cringe but i am free #fearless and speak now and taylor swift all contain endless amounts of bangers #red and 1989 have some good stuff #lover and reputation are... dubious #and ive never listened to folklore or evermore #okay rant over #taylor swift

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quickandsilvers · 5 months

Note

REQUEST FROM THE SLEEP HEADCANON!!!¡

💤💤💤💤

peter and reader are the closest best friends can be, even having the biggest crush on each other they keep pretending they don’t.

one day, they fall asleep together at peters bed after a movie night, and reader ends up having a wet dream with him.

peters wakes up spooning asleep reader while she’s quietly moaning and rubbing herself against him…….. BE CREATIVE I LOVE ALL YOUR CONTENT 💞💘💕💖💓💕💗💖💘

UHM YES?!?!

A:N- Sorry this took so long to get out, i wasn’t liking how dragged out it was so i had to edit a lot of this!! I hope you like it though🩷🤍🩷

Wet Dream 🔥

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader SMUT

Summary: Reader has quite the raunchy dream about Peter one night. Spoiler alert; he’s right there to see it 👀

Warnings: switch!Peter, slow burn, kissing, grinding, humping, oral sex(fem receiving), unprotected P in V, fingering, hand job, porn with plot, Peter comes like 3 times before p in v even happens.. THE WHOLE PACKAGE PEOPLE!!!

Word Count: 6914 (had to shorten it sos!!)

Taglist: @kaismanwich @evpeters87 (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!!)

After a long week at the mansion, softened by your regular visits to the record store with Peter, you were finally free for a long weekend with your best friend and you had decided to celebrate with a movie marathon in your dorm room.

A glance at your phone read 11:06 PM.

Your roommate, Jean, was bunking with Scott tonight; and you had grasped the opportunity for a several hour long marathon- complete with bowls of sugary snacks and two-litre bottles of soda.

“You ready?” you asked Peter as he stumbled into your living room with a variety of cake snacks in his grasp.

“Hol’ on-” he grumbled, brows furrowing in concentration as he dumped the plethora of cake snacks onto the coffee table in front of you.

Fwip.

Your eyes trained on your best friend, who was now in your kitchen jabbing numbers into your microwave.

You watch, amused, as Peter impatiently taps his foot against the tiles, closely observing the popcorn in the microwave rotate. With every pop of a kernel came Peter’s childish explosion mimic in response. Sighing, you lean back into your seat.

You were sitting on an old, yellow 70's style vintage leather couch. Its material was ripped in various places, allowing bits of white fluff to peak through the tears. These fissures in the leather scraped across your bare legs, leaving little red marks each time you moved.

Peter was the one to ‘buy’ the couch for you when you first moved into the mansion, arguing to your horrified self that the piece of furniture had ‘character and personality’ to it.

The couch was tatty and torn apart, but you couldn’t find yourself able to get rid of it, despite Charles’ frequent offers to replace it free of charge.

It was by no means comfortable, but you found that you were able to sit back and relax soon enough.

As you heard the finishing beep of the microwave and Peter’s elated exclamation of delight, you got up to rifle through a box of DvD’s, searching for the first movie of the night.

Peter, busy with squirting a sickly amount of caramel sauce on his popcorn, gave you a bit of time to get ahead and choose the movie before he could pipe in with something like E.T. You swore you could recite that film backwards from the sheer amount of times Peter forced you to watch it.

Kneeling in front of the cabinet you began to sift through your collection.

The shining? You cringed at the thought. Granted, you absolutely adored the film, but watching it with Peter was something you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy. You were jumpy enough without Peter’s sudden ‘BOO!’ yelled down your ear just before a scare.

Pretending to be scared and cuddling into your best friend was pretty nice though; that boy had enough body heat to put Lucifer to shame.

You grab a pile, rifling through them in quick succession. Ghostbusters? You had watched that last week. Grease? No one wants to see Peter’s Danny Zuko impression. E.T? Think again, motherfucker.

By the time Peter had proudly walked in with his creation, you had narrowed it down to 2 films. You turned to smile at him, and he flashed you a broad grin as he tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth before appearing next to you.

Fwip.

The speedster peered over your shoulder at your movie picks and cocked a silver brow.

“Can’t we jus’ watch E.T?” Crunch.

You shudder. Whether it was due to the abominable mention of that ghastly excuse for a film, or the obnoxious chewing in your ear, you weren’t sure.

You gaped up at him. “Whaddaya mean? Carry on films are classics! Better than a film we’ve seen 12 times already.”

You weren't even lying.

“I dunno, it’s jus’ the same sex-crazed people recitin’ the same half-arsed scripts for 30 films straight. Don't even get me started on the laughin’ tracks, babe.”

You shoot up and point an accusing finger at his pajama-clad chest. “This film deserves way more respect than the utta bullshit you’re tryna spew!”

Peter presses his lips into a line to avoid a snicker, smirking knowingly at you and holding up a caramel coated finger to your own chest.

“One word. Emmannuelle.” Crunch.

You whine and Peter smirks at catching you out, raising his eyebrows and walking backwards onto the couch, licking his finger and closing his eyes to relish in the sugary goodness.

“That’s not fair!” Your voice raises a few octaves as you eye his adam’s apple in motion, before continuing to search through your stack, “There’s 30 films and you picked the worst rated one!”

“Princess, don’t hate the player, hate the game.” Peter responds nonchalantly, hand reaching into the popcorn bowl that he had already ingested three-quarters of. “Once yer’ve seen one, yer’ve seen them all, really.” He shrugged.

You couldn’t really fight his reasoning, instead settling with a short huff. Finally, after a quick eeny-meeny-miny-mo, you picked one of the films and popped the disc into the DVD-player.

“Buuut it is yer turn to choose. And i guess yer did sit through the last one.”

You turn to him. “‘Sit through’? I liked it!”

“Yer eyes were glazed over not even 10 minutes in!” Peter chuckled, “It’s alrigh’, babe. It’s not to everyone’s taste.” Crunch.

“Well atleast i’m not the one geekin’ out the whole way through!” You scoffed, plopping yourself on the couch and knocking knees with your bestfriend “You fuckin’ clapped when RD-23 came on the screen!”

“R2-D2.” He corrected under his breath, his unoccupied large hand moving to rest on your lower thigh.

Peter loooved Star wars and it clearly showed. In this moment he was adorned in a plain black t-shirt and stormtrooper pajama pants, of which hung deliciously on his hips, showing off his V-line which had you watering at the mouth. God, he had such a slutty waist.

He ‘bought’ you a matching pair like ‘all best buds do!’ except yours were little shorts and a smaller black t-shirt.

“We could just watch Revenge of The Sith instead yunno?” You offer, eyeing the slither of skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Peter shook his head, his soft silver locks moving with it. He was still hung up on when you “fainted” at the sight of Harrison Ford. You wouldn’t shut up about how good he looked for his age.

For his age? Pfft! He’s got nothin’ on a mutant with his slow-agin’ genetics!

Clicking play on the remote, you settle back into the cushions with an eager smile as you subconsciously snuggle into your best friend’s right side, easing him into a lying position.

You grin up at him and nuzzle your nose in his cheek. He tickled your side in response, making you erupt in small giggles at the feeling.

Peter happily grabbed another handful of popcorn as he watched the film, looking for a piece drizzled with extra caramel.

“Oi, not gonna share?” You jokingly pout, tugging on his wrist to take it out of the bowl.

Peter froze as he realized he had just grabbed the last of the popcorn.

Whenever you had movie nights in either of your dorms, Peter always fought you for the last of the popcorn. You always acted upset, but he knew you always saved the last bite for him.

He hadn’t thought twice, assuming you left it for him, but what if you were actually angry?

But when he tore his eyes from the comedy and peeked over at you, you were grinning teasingly at him. Peter relaxed, and threw the popcorn into his mouth. When he bit down, he winced as his tooth nearly cracked on an unpopped kernel. Curse that goddamn microwave.

“Serves you right!” You snort, sticking your tongue out at him and laughing at the speedsters' screwed up expression.

“Go ahead, princess, laugh at my pain!” Peter groaned, rolling the kernel around in his mouth until he had positioned it just right so he could spit it out at you.

You shriek as it catapults onto your cheek and bounced off somewhere in the sofa. You grab the decorative pillow you had been hugging and hit him over the head with all the strength you could muster.

When you aimed another blow to his chest, Peter caught it, and easily tugged it out of your unsuspecting grasp. You huff and lay down on the armrest, snatching a quilt laying over the back of the couch and smothering yourself with it.

Peter dove down into the back of the couch beside you and pulled the quilt over his legs, his sock-clad feet sticking out of the material and over the other side of the furniture.

His mood changed quickly: energetic and playful, and in mere moments, calm and collected.

It was helpful, sure, as he could match your energy easily and keep a conversation going.

But it’s not that great having to take over as tour guide for new students when their prior escort falls asleep whilst showcasing the professor’s english lectures. Or perhaps that was a fault of Charles’ monotonous presentations?

“Ready?” You ask, spreading the comforter over the two of you.

“Ready,” Peter affirmed with squinting eyes, and you chuckled at his tone. You knew how he took movie marathons, claiming it to be an ‘olympic sport’.

Clicking play on the remote, you settled back again, this time into his chest as he wraps a strong arm around your waist.

It still made your heart all fluttery when he did so, and you thanked the lords above you weren’t facing him, revealing your cheeks dusted with crimson.

Peter tilted his head. “What’s this one?”

“One’a my favourites.” You answered quietly.

By 20 minutes in, all soda bottles had been drained (courtesy of Peter) and abandoned in the middle of the coffee table. You had intertwined your legs with him, and Peter’s arm was now slung over your hips.

A yawn slipped past your lips, which you thought was a miracle that it had taken this long for your first sign of weariness, and your best friend glanced over at you with a knowing smile.

“I thought yer said that yer weren’t tired.” He teased, tongue in cheek.

“I never said that,” you yawned again, “I said I wanted to do movie night.”

“We can do this another time–”

“I wanna do this.” You placed your hand on his arm along your body to stop him from talking. “I’ll stay awake.”

Peter gave you another knowing look and you stared right back at him. After a few moments, he sighed and gave in.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’.” He put his hand up in mock defense. After a moment more of looking at your heavy blinks, he sighed softly. “Oh, c’mere.”

As if you weren’t already impossibly close, Peter slid his left arm under your body, moving you further towards him with a grunt and practically cradling you. You rest your head against his shoulder, melting into the familiar position with ease.

Anyone who walked in on you would think you were in your honeymoon phase, but you knew better than that. What you had didn’t need a label. You didn’t even know what label you could put on yourselves. But it didn’t matter. You were best buds. And that was enough for you.

You weren't entirely sure when you had closed your eyes. The movie was like white noise in the background, unintentionally lulling you off into sleep. You heard a soft chuckle and knew Peter had finally noticed that you hadn’t kept up your end of the bargain.

“Jus’ restin’ my eyes…” you mumbled as an excuse, yet failing to open them.

“Mhm.” Peter hummed, clearly unconvinced.

You were right on the cusp of conscious and unconscious, and right as you were about to topple over, you felt his lips on the top of your head. They lingered for 5, 10, 30 seconds. Your smile didn’t fade the entire time his lips were touching your head, nor did it fade when he moved away.

‘I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me in other places.’ You thought to yourself with a sigh.

You were aware of Peter shuffling to get comfortable and pressing into your side, lingering a light boop to your nose with his finger and observing your features as you teetered off the brink of consciousness.

——————————————————————————

Soft, supple lips fluttered down the side of your neck.

You smiled and squirmed at the pleasure brought on by the teeth that slowly scraped along your collar bone and gently nipped across the front of your throat.

The hot breaths that caressed your skin with each sensual kiss and nip set your blood on fire and forced moisture to pool between your legs.

Looking up, you saw twinkling chocolate brown eyes behind sections of silvery hair staring down at you. Your eyes widened with embarrassment when you realized who was on top of you, grinding into you slowly.

Peter ran his hand through your hair and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. He ran his lips down the sides of your crimson cheeks and down the front of your neck, biting the sensitive flesh where the neck and shoulders meet. You tilted your head to the side and sighed.

The speedster ferociously claimed your lips once again. He pressed himself between your legs and teased your center with a purposeful, slow grind. You moan, wrap your arms around him and rake your fingernails up and down his back, deep and hard enough to leave proof of the sinful pleasure building inside you.

Suddenly, Peter tore his puffed lips away from you. You gazed into his eyes and watched him smile a surprisingly effective seductive smile, nothing like the attempted smolders he had sent your way before. He slid down your body and stopped by your feet. He spread your legs wide before him.

"...Peter, what...?" you began, but your words caught in your throat.

Peter arched your leg over his shoulder and began to softly place deliberate kisses up your leg. Each graze of his wet lips scorched your skin and left a trail of endless fire burning in their wake.

You laid beneath Peter's touch, flushed and writhed in torturous pleasure. Bolts of what felt like lightning shot down your spine. Heavy pants escaped your body, chest heaving, as he kissed higher and ran his tongue along the inside of your thigh until he reached the apex of your trembling limbs.

“Peter.. Ngaah- wai-!”

Without warning, Peter latched onto your swollen clit and pulled it between his lips.

You arched off the sweat slicked couch and shoved your hands deep into his ruffled, untidy hair. You cried out and yanked his hair each time you felt him wrap his powerful tongue around your clit. The pleasure he built inside you was intoxicating and frankly, dangerous. You felt as if you might burst into heavenly fire.

Peter looked up at you through heavy lidded eyes. He gently removed your leg from his shoulder and slid up your body once more. He trailed kisses up your stomach and pinched a hard nipple between his fingers. You quietly moaned, silently hoping this would never stop.

Breathing heavily and licking his lips, Peter settled himself on top of you. He kissed your bare shoulder and ran his teeth up your throat as he did prior. He pressed a soft kiss behind your ear.

"Princess..." he whispered. You could feel hot breath caressing your neck.

You squirmed beneath him, reveling at the feel of his hardness pressed against your center. You felt his dick twitch when it came in contact with the slick dripping from your core.

"Babe..." soft moaning graced your ears. He tugged on your earlobe with his teeth.

He reached between your thighs. You bucked against his hand as you felt him slide his long finger inside you.

"C'mon," Peter begged, pleading for your sweet noises.

He slid in a second finger. You arched your back and moaned when his fingers began teasing the spot that would send you over the edge. He used his thumb to push down on your clit, vibrating it delicately. You closed your eyes as you threw your head against the rough couch, Peter wrapping his hot mouth around your swollen breast.

“..-up” You furrowed your brows at his inaudible whispers, mumbled against your supple skin.

“Wake up..” heh?

"C’mon. Wake up!"

Your eyes snapped open, alarmed and chest heaving. Your body was flushed, covered in sweat. Hair was plastered to the back of your neck and your hands were fisted in your lap. Sitting up onto your elbows, you look around the room with wide and confused eyes.

"Nice dream, princess?" Peter asked, cheeks flushed, yet smirking knowingly.

Oh. OH.

—--------------

Sharing a room with you was normal. It was. Peter knew that. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a thing that platonic friends would partake in, especially comfying up on the couch together, but whats the harm in it?

So okay, it wasn’t normal by definition. But he wasn’t going to make it weird . Just because he had a small crush on you did not mean that he would let it be weird. You were colleagues, Xmen, and you even spent time together outside of work too! Peter would come to your room to watch old movies, and you would go to his so you could cook and listen to music with him. So he knew he could spend time with you alone, that wasn’t the problem.

It was the sleeping that was potentially the issue.

His little crush had been invading his subconscious almost constantly nowadays, and peter was notoriously known to talk in his sleep. He was so scared he would say something wrong whilst snorin’ away next to you. If you overheard something like that, he knew your friendship would never recover. How can you act normal around someone who said your name in their sleep?

Good thing you did it before him then.

Peter was just doing his own thing, flicking through channels on the 70’s style television on low volume so as to not wake you. Dynasty, Seinfeld, Star Trek… not tonight.

He yelped quietly as Return of The Jedi appears on the screen, changing the channel in quick succession. You had yet to watch the film with him, and Peter didn’t want to ruin it for you by watching it beforehand.

He sighed, shoving the remote down the side of the sofa, nothing seeming to catch his attention.

Nothing, before you let out a low whimper and shuffle back into the heat of his chest.

“Babe?” Peter called quietly into the dark.

You were sleeping soundly, the muted reflection of light streaming in from the TV casting thin slivers of white across your face.

Peter rarely had the opportunity to watch you as you slept, normally being out like a light long before you and not waking up until hours into the afternoon, so he took a moment to indulge himself.

Your hair was an utter mess, with it falling into your forehead and sticking out from where it was smooshed against the pillow. Your lips were slightly parted and dry, and Peter shivered as he finally attuned himself to the soft whisper of your breath hitting his shoulder.

You were beautiful, and his heart clenched with adoration for you. This wasn’t at all what he had expected when he began his job with the Xmen, but he was not complaining in the slightest. Free food, permitted to use Charles’ credit card whenever he pleases, and a smokin’ hot, funny girl cuddling up to him every night; what's not to like?

On second thought, scratch the former two benefits. Peter was quickly banned from using Charles’ card, ever since he took advantage and bought enough cake snacks to put Hostess out of stock for three weeks. He had the best four hours of his life that night.

Peter sighed contentedly, and unthinkingly reached back to brush a few strands of hair from your forehead. Your hair was so soft and smooth and he wanted to run his fingers through it, but even the gentlest touch of him moving your hair from your face had stirred you.

Peter reluctantly curled up on his side with his stomach facing your own, in an attempt to bury his desire to keep touching you. You snuffled out a breath and shifted around, and Peter held his breath, hoping you would fall back to sleep. He was pleasantly surprised when you continued shuffling until your sleep-heated body came into contact, flush with his.

You exhaled deeply and nestled your face into Peter’s neck as his arm came up to drape across your hip. He smiled into his own pillow, pleased with this development, and he relaxed back into your embrace…

…And then nearly rolled out of it again when your pelvis brushed something between his hips. Holy fuck!

Peter immediately thrust his hips forward and away from your jutting, not wanting to take advantage of you in your sleep-induced state, but you grunted in dissatisfaction and thrust your hips closer to him until the burning heat through your shorts was trapped right against Peter’s length again.

As if just feeling that you were horny and dreaming about somethin’ naughty wasn’t enough, you then began to rock your hips into his. Fuckin’ hell!

“-agh-.. princess?” Peter whispered, panic-stricken, feeling his cheeks flame in a combination of embarrassment and excitement. He groaned as his dick twitched in interest in an attempt to reach your alluring heat.

You let out a soft sigh, and the rocking of your hips slowed. Peter wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed, however he ultimately decided it was for the best; he’d rather you to be conscious if you were about to make a massive jump in your platonic relationship to physical.

Despite the already raging boner that was growing and painfully restricted by the confines of his stormtrooper pajamas, Peter let his eyes slip closed, content to cradle you in his arms and go back to sleep. However the solid pressure of your heat on his thigh kept the speedster wide awake.

Then you began moving again.

You pressed your pelvis forward, rubbing your clothed core onto the muscled thigh of Peter’s mid-thigh. Then, you let out a shuddering moan that made all of his wild fantasies about the way you sounded seem entirely tame in comparison.

Your hips were no longer rocking, but they were actively grinding and stuttering against him. Peter could feel the exact shape of your pussy through the scant layers of fabric separating you from him.

Your hand moved to curl around his bicep, firmly anchoring yourself to your best friend. You were breathing raggedly and the motion of your hips was getting faster and deeper, more sensual than ever.

Peter’s own noises failed to be kept silent, as he whimpered in response and rested his forehead into your hair as you frantically humped his thigh.

Jesus fuck, how were you still asleep? And what were you dreaming about that got you this riled up?

Even if he wanted to move, Peter was effectively trapped between your weight and the back of the couch, your motions making the old thing squeak and groan in answer.

Warm, wet heat throbbed between your legs, and Peter desperately wanted to flip you onto your back, rip off your tiny shorts, and fuck you until you both passed out from exhaustion.

You were making the most devastating noises as you rutted your heat against him harder and faster, whining in desire as you worked for your release.

Peter had half a mind to reach down and give you a hand, but he instead gripped on tight to the couch cushions, eyes wide and lips parted in astonishment.

Ohh, he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be lying here, practically taking advantage of you whilst you rubbed yourself upon him. If you were awake you’d be mortified, ohh-, but you sound so good and feel so good and, really, it would be cruel to stop you. Especially when you were enjoying yourself sooo much…

Peter lay there for a few more moments, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying to ignore the burning want in his rock hard cock.

Then, you moaned something that had him spluttering in surprise .

“Nghnaa- Peterr,” you whimpered.

Peter came instantly, covering a guttural moan with his hand.

Holy. Fuck.

You were dreaming about him? Your best bud since forever?

You whined in pleasure as you felt the surge of heat from Peter’s load. Frantically, you arch your hips into his again, once, twice, three more times, before you let out a wrenching moan and stilled behind him.

Peter shivered as he felt his cock throbbing against your core, and as he felt a wet warmth seep through your pajamas and onto his clothed thigh.

Holy-

Peter panted harshly for a few moments as he stayed tightly pressed against you, large hands coming to grip on your arms. Him, really? Of all people you decided to get off to, you chose him! Frankly, he was flattered; and clearly so was his dick.

The fuckin’ thing seemed to have a mind of its own! The sticky, burning mess that had erupted in his Pj’s made him grimace uncomfortably, knowing it would soon dry into a crusty disaster. But the thing seemed to get hard and stay hard whenever he was around you. How embarrassin’!

A glance towards the clock; 12:43. Peter hummed, turning back towards you and lightly squeezing your arm. As you stirred he put on a lazy smirk, hoping the flaming blush in his cheeks had subsided enough by now.

As your eyes snapped open, disoriented, Peter propped himself up on his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Nice dream, princess?"

Ooh, he is gonna ruin you.

—-----------------------------

Trying to collect yourself after being awoken, your eyes landed on your best friend, inches away from your own face and wiggling his brows. For mere moments you were puzzled, wondering why his cheeks had more of a reddish tone than normal, then you came to a conclusion.

Oh fuck.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you realized what you had done, placing a hand over your chest and taking a deep, panicked breath. It took a few pounding heartbeats to get the courage to look at Peter. You prayed your demeanor wouldn't give anything away.

"H-Huh?" You replied, braving a glance at him. Oh wow, real smooth.

"I asked, 'nice dream’?" Peter repeated, nonchalantly. His fingers tickled down your arm, only aiding in the nervous sweat that dripped down from your hairline.

"What makes you think that?" You stuttered.

"Well, yer were talkin’ quite a bit, babe. There was a moan a’ two thrown in there. Oh! And a 'Don't stop, Peter!' happened, too." He winked. “I must’ve given you a hella good time, princess.”

Ok sure, maybe he was exaggerating a little. But he reallyyy wanted to know exactly what happened in your dream..

Your cheeks flamed beyond recognition. You were fucked. Or rather, about to be.

"Hmm..." He looked at you with a piercing stare as a dimpled, wry grin split across his face. Before you could react, Peter laughed.

"Oi, shut up!" you giggled, slightly relieved at the humor that came out of this.

Your giggles came to an abrupt stop, however, as Peter shuffled impossible closer to you, his lengthy erection threatening to tear his pajamas. You fought with the Gods themselves not to look down, knowing the tent in the material would expose something you have thought of everytime you’d touch yourself.

A grumble erupted from Peter’s throat, his cocky facade crumbling away with every involuntary rut of your hips.

"How ‘bout yer show me what happened in yer dream?" he suggested, hand snaking around the small of your back as Peter sat up, pulling you into his lap.

You squeaked, nibbling your lip nervously. Peter pressed himself flush to you, his cock pressing against your pelvis angrily. A familiar aching tingle took up residence low in your belly, and you huffed out a shaky sigh as you pressed the ache closer to him.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” He whispered, his breath fanning over your lips as he said it, albeit very shakily. Before you could even nod, his lips pressed to yours.

You instantly relaxed into his lap. Peter’s lips were soft and urgent, catching your bottom lip between them.

Your hands pulled him closer by the neck, and he let his hands mold against your waist, urging you closer. Your hands roamed into his hair, pushing it off his forehead and carding your fingers smoothly through it, causing him to let out a muffled moan into your mouth. You hummed.

Experimenting, you clumsily tugged at his silvery strands with fevor. With a whimper that had your walls clenching around air, Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he let his hands drop to your ass.

He squeezed and pulled you down onto him, letting his lips find your neck. You let out a loud groan as he sucked a mark into your pulse point, but you pushed him away with both hands on his cheeks.

“Not above the collar,” You reminded meekly. He smirked at the idea of everyone on the team knowing what you had done. And everyone knowing that someone like you wanted to do this with someone like him. Take that, Scotty.

“But.. what if I want people to know yer mine?” Peter asked, pressing a quick kiss to your lobe as he said so, nibbling it carefully. You grinned.

“I think you’ve got this whole thing wrong then.”

“Hm?” You smiled as you felt Peter’s brows furrow against the side of your head.

“You belong to me.”

He whimpered. Your eyes lit up, and you simply smirked at him.

“Good boy.” You whispered, and pressed down hard with your hips, rolling them once.

Peter came in his pants. Again.

With a loud groan and a thrust upward, he shot into his pajamas. You chuckled through flushed cheeks as he shuddered through his orgasm, and leaned down to kiss him. As soon as he came down from the high, embarrassment overtook him.

He had a chance with his dream girl, and he literally blew it not five minutes in. Literally and figuratively. And all because you called him a Good boy?

Peter brought his hands up to cover his face, but you caught his wrists before he could reach. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, breathing heavily, not ready for the ridicule that was sure to follow.

“Awh, did I make you cum?” You rolled your hips a few times, and he hissed at the oversensitivity. “That’s so fuckin’ hot.”

“Yer- W-What?” Peter asked, turning back towards you slowly. You were beaming at him.

“The cutest boy, all worked up, jus’ for me.” You arched your back so your clothed tits were shoved closer to the poor boy’s face, yunno, just for good measure.

He blushed again, and swallowed as he grinned back at you. “But what ‘bout yer?”

“What about me?” You asked. Peter’s hands danced along your sides, cupping your breasts and teasing your nipples through your shirt.

“Wanna make yer feel good.” He whispered while you gasped.

“What’s stopping you?” You asked with a whisper. Peter surged upwards and began kissing you again, only stopping to finally rip your shirt off and get his hands on your bare breasts.

Peter’s tongue flicked against your own as you moaned against his lips, the feeling of him kneading your tits too much to bare.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot. Such a good, good boy.” You praised, stroking his hair.

He whines, playing with the hem of your shorts and his hips rut, seeking for friction. You take the hint, shimmying your pajamas down off your legs whilst helping Peter with his own.

You salivate at the sight of his lengthy cock, slapping up to hit his abs and glistening from the pearly white release running down it. Thick veins traveled upwards, buzzing from the speedster gene and throbbing with anticipation. His angry red tip leaked, twitching and begging for your warmth.

You use a hand to grip the base of your best friend's cock, his fluid running over your knuckles and providing you with a natural lube. Peter hissed with gritted teeth, watching as you slowly jerked him off with a tight embrace, circling the tip of his dick with your other hand.

“He-hey! Too much!” Peter yelped, bucking his hips up despite his protests.

You complied, stopping your actions briefly before sitting up, aligning your dripping wet entrance with his tip.

Schweeeett.

You laid a hesitant hand over his chest, and gooseflesh sizzled across his skin, sending another bolt of heat to his already overheated cock. He bit his lip to keep himself grounded and to keep from dropping his hand to his pants and rubbing himself to relive the pressure.

He felt so shaky and on edge and so, so horny.

Your lips pressed lightly against his, and while Peter’s brain seemed to short out, his body and his hormones knew exactly what to do and took over. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, anchoring you to him as he flipped over so he was laying on top of you.

You made a breathy little noise, and Peter’s brain finally started up again.

“This okay?” he panted between the gentle little kisses he was peppering across her jaw.

“Almost,” you teased.

Before he could ask what you meant, you looped your leg around his Peter’s and tugged so that he was fully nestled in the cradle of your thighs. He groaned as he felt his aching erection settled against your heat.

He could feel the heat radiating out from your center, and Peter grew impossibly harder.

“Princess” he whimpered, rutting restlessly against you. “Please… fuck, yer feel so good…”

You arched up into him, grinding yourself equally as wantonly against him.

“So do you,” you hissed, tightening your hold around his hips for more leverage.

Your hands wandered aimlessly, but Peter was too lost in the feel of you beneath him, so soft and warm and beautiful. The pressure in his abdomen deepened until it almost hurt.

“I need… I want… Please, babe.. I’m gonna…”

He was well aware he was babbling, but his brain was a little more occupied by the delicious friction his cock was getting against your hot and damp center.

Peter tucked his face into your neck as he focused on the pleasure burning through him, soaring higher and higher until he could barely take it anymore.

You arched up hard against him as your fingers raked through his hair once more, and he was lost.

Deciding he had enough, Peter aligned himself with your entrance and slammed into your wet cunt with one thrust, eliciting a moan from you that threatened the coil in his lower stomach to snap already.

He kissed you once more, this time taking control as his tongue glided across your lips passionately, far from the blubbering mess you made him previously. The taste of caramel and sugar invaded your mouth, trickling down your throat with the same side effect as an aphrodisiac.

With every kiss Peter sped up his frantic motions, rendering you brainless on his dick as you could only focus on the slapping of skin and wet noises of your soaking pussy.

You were about to open your mouth to tell him to hurry up when Peter’s fingers reach between your folds, circling your clit with a steady pace. A loud, shuddering moan echoes around the room.

You don't even realize the noise came from yourself until you feel Peter’s shoulders move against your own because due to his cocky laughs. Airhead.

He was going so fast you couldn’t tell whether he was thrusting in or out, you could only feel an overwhelming pleasure consuming your mind and body.

Just when you thought you were on the brink of feeling the epitome of heaven itself, a buzzing vibration echoed deep within your walls, sending you into a frenzy.

You writhed and clawed at Peter’s back, a wordless plea for him to continue. Faster, Faster. Please.

He mumbled incoherently, which would’ve made you chuckle if you had the ability to do so, as his hips stuttered against your own, hitting a spot that had you clenching his buzzing cock like a vice.

With the remaining piece of consciousness you had left, you reached up to yank on Peter’s hair, forcing his head back as the building pleasure inside you exploded.

Peter let out a wordless cry as the hot coil of tension in his belly snapped, and white hot pleasure took its place.

He was dimly aware that you let out the most beautiful, sexy noise he’d ever heard as you tightened your hold around him, but he was more preoccupied by his cock filling you to the brim of cum that splattered your pulsing walls.

His skin prickled pleasantly, his ears ringing and his vision blurred, and he felt completely weightless. His vision darkened and he held you tight and panted his release into your neck.

“Shiiit,” he gasped, lifting his hips away from you as his cock softened and became too sensitive to be touched.

His arm muscles shook as he hoisted himself away from you, and collapsed onto the couch beside you.

Staring up at the ceiling, Peter let an exhausted grin cross his face as a few aftershocks rolled through him. Gaze shifted, He admired you as you came down from your high, moving to the bathroom to wash your hands and get a rag to clean yourselves up.

When you came back you went to wipe you down, but Peter took the rag from you.

“Sit. I get to take care of yer now. I owe it to yer, babe.” Concentrated, he wiped your dripping cunt with the rag, then making his way to the bathroom to get rid of the dirty towel.

When he came back you were still sitting on the edge of the bed. You smiled meekly up at him and reached out a hand, which Peter eagerly took, gladly letting you pull him in for a hug, with him standing between your knees.

“I really like you, you know.” You said, head resting on Peter’s chest as he stared down at you.

“I know. I really like yer too, babe.”

In answer, you shifted slightly and tilted your head up to face Peter’s flushed cheeks as he pressed a kiss to your nose. You couldn’t help but giggle softly, and you felt his smile as he pulled away. You could feel his breath as he moved to the side of your face, and placed a kiss on what you were sure was a very rosy apple of your cheek.

As you settled down together for the remaining hours of the night, the tense air between you and Peter had diminished, morphing into one of that had you giddy and excited.

You needed to bring out the movie nights more often.

~~~~

When morning rose and you walked into the briefing room the next morning, you were wearing a scarf, despite the hot Westchester heat. You hadn’t quite caught Peter in time, and he had in fact left a mark.

Of course the whole team noticed.

“Hey, twinkle toes, did you guys have another movie night?” Scott asked from his seat at the back of the room. Luckily Peter was facing away from him, so Scott didn’t see how his immediate reaction was to blanche at the memories from the night before. He gathered himself quickly.

“Yer, of course, what’s it to yer?” Peter asked shortly as he turned around, stirring a coffee with six sugars mixed into it.

Scott’s attention was on you, as you were talking to Kurt on the other side of the room.

“That scarf is only there to hide something, I think our lovely lady might’ve got some last night.” Scott said with a smug smirk. “Don’t let it break your heart, you still have a chance!” He turned to Peter and clapped him on the shoulder, who was blushing intensely at the tease. You had, in fact, ‘got some’, and he was the some you got with.

Scott soon noticed Peter was off, as normally he would be granted with some teasing retort or slap against the back of the head.

“C’mon, I’m just teasing. She probably didn’t get a chance to-” While he was talking, Peter caught your eye from across the room.

You smirked at him and waved, and he smiled and waved back.

Scott cut himself off when he saw Peter’s wave, turning to see just as your face turned back to Kurt. “Oh my god. You crazy man, you actually did it!” Scott exclaimed, shaking Peter by the shoulders. Peter pursed his lips to try and contain his smile as he nodded. “My man!” Scott exclaimed, pulling him into an awkward hug.

Peter caught your eye again over Scott’s shoulder, and the smile you gave him made him smile right back.

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