#c!Phil x reader
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Being C!Phil's older sibling would include...
TW: Swearing, me being british and projecting that onto Y/N :,)
You practically raised Phil, and it shows with how similar the two of you act
You spent a lot of your life travelling, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone
So while you were off building bridges and meeting new people, Phil was slowly but surely accumulating a surplus of children and friends - biological, legal and emotional
You don't come to the SMP often, but when you do, his home gets progressively more crowded
First it was just him and Techno
Then Wilbur
Then Tommy and Tubbo
Then Ranboo and Michael
And now Niki drops by, too
You swear you've seen Jack and Fundy a couple times
Even Eret used to drop by every now and then when L'manberg was starting out
"Every time I come to visit, you've picked up more feral little shits." "I'm not trying to." "You're a bloody liability, honestly."
... Yeah
If you end up having children like he does, you'll never hear the end of it.
"Hypocritical if you ask me." "Piss off, at least I didn't pick up the founding fathers of a country and their partners."
oh my god
Can we stop pretending he wasn't a feral gremlin child
Tommy and the others had to pick it up off someone, and we all know it wasn't from Kristen
"Wilbur, did I ever tell you that your dad was a fucking psychotic child?" "... REALLY-"
As much as you love your nephews, you're not afraid to play favourites
It started when Tommy and Wilbur were younger, with you would casually say "if you did this, you'd be my favourite"
Over time, they'd get more and more competitive
You're their coolest relative that laughs when they do stupid shit, of course they want to be your favourite!
Little do they know, Tubbo is your favourite
But you won't tell them that
That ruins the fun!
Phil is your brother, you're always looking out for him
That's why when Tubbo put him under house arrest, you couldn't help but feel betrayed
You also broke him out, but that's not the point I'm trying to make
Technically, you're not part of the syndicate
But when Techno calls upon Icarus to help, you're never too far away
#dsmp#mcyt#dream smp#dsmp x reader#mcyt x reader#dream smp x reader#philza x reader#c!philza x reader#philza#phil x reader#c!phil#c!phil x reader#philza x y/n#philza x you#c!philza x y/n#c!philza x you#phil x y/n#phil x you#c!phil x y/n#c!phil x you#lonely writes
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DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh
Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.
pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader.
content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI).
w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change?
warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut
( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net. )
note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass.
( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )
smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).
—————
He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday.
As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.
Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.
The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.
His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house.
The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure.
Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.
He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back.
—————
You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.
Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.
Variety.
Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch.
He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.
This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.
They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.
“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over.
Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.”
He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.
“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit.
That’s when he sees you again.
He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.
By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.
“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.
“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”
Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”
—————
Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.
Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.
It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.
To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.
He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.
“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice.
“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.
A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.
You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.
He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.
It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.
He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.
Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat.
He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.
To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.
It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open.
“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?
“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly.
Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.
“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).
It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.
“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…
“Hm?” he questions.
You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning.
“Oh. Right.”
He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.
He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure.
“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”
You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.
“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.
“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”
You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.
“I guessed you could,” you say.
Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.
“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”
He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life.
“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.
“Mm. You can tell.”
Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.
He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.
Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”
What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.
“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”
“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.
You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do.
With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”
Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.
He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.
“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”
“How long is too long?” you ask.
“All my life,” he tells you.
“No way?”
“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”
“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”
“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.
Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.
“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.
But you don’t.
“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.
“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day.
But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?”
He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.
“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”
You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.
“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly.
“Y/n,” you introduce yourself.
“See you around, y/n.”
You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone.
—————
He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks.
For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays.
It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?
Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something.
Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts.
The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served.
Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.
Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to.
You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.
“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today.
He can hazard a guess at your predicament.
After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress.
But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.
“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.
“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.
“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle.
He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”
“How… have you been?” you ask.
“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question?
“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”
Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants.
“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”
“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”
The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you.
“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.
“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.
“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.
“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”
A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.
“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —”
His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”
The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.
“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”
“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”
“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”
Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.
Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.
Except the obvious.
“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.
Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.
“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them.
“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring.
“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.
Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.
“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”
“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”
“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”
You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen.
Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm.
His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.
“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.
“Huh?”
“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”
“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”
You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.
Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.
“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”
“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”
“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table.
More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.
“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”
“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”
You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun.
“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him.
“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”
You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though.
“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?”
He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one?
“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”
—————
Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.
Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers.
He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten.
All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon.
Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.
It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since.
He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other.
jihoon: fine. you’re right.
seokmin: ?
soonyoung: probs true, does need context
jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right.
soonyoung: OH
seokmin: Hahahahahaha
seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude
soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao
jihoon: they what?
jihoon: how do they know?
jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!
soonyoung: because we told them?????
seokmin: So, we might have told everyone
jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.
seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it
seokmin: When do we get to meet her?
jihoon: blocked.
Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks.
At least he’s admitted it now.
He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters.
So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
—————
Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.
As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty.
All this before he even gets to work.
He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.
It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.
Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else.
Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway.
A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.
So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.
It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.
He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus.
“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.
“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this.
“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”
“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.
Slim, he decides. But not zero.
There’s hope.
“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin.
He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”
“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”
“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”
“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”
Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”
“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.
“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”
“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.
He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach.
“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”
He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.
Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time.
And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?
You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.
“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel.
“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”
“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.”
Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs.
“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”
“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest.
“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.
“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.
You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.
For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.
How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?
“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”
——————
That Friday, you finally text him again.
His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.
y/n: hey :)
y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?
He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.
jh: well…
jh: what are you trying to put together?
y/n: a bed :(
y/n: today’s your rest day, right?
y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)
Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no.
jh: apparently yes, you can.
jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.
He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.
The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.
“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away.
“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.
“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”
He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.
You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside.
You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in.
“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.”
“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”
“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.
“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”
“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.
“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”
——-
Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.
“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”
“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that.
“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”
“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”
A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.
Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.
One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.
The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.
He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him.
Any. Fucking. Minute.
“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”
“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”
In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you.
“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.
“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”
He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…
He leans forward and kisses you, instead.
He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”
You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold.
Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.
“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive.
“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”
He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.
“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.
You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.
Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too.
And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.
“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point.
He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”
“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”
“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”
“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”
You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…
“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”
Oh, so you can read his mind now, too?
You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.
“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”
You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.
“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”
“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”
“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.
“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor.
He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.
“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.”
You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.
“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.
At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely.
“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard.
“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”
He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.
“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”
“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”
“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”
“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.
“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”
“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans.
He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”
“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”
His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.
“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.
“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length.
“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.
He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.
“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.”
A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.
Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing.
“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.”
Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”
“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”
“Mm, says you.”
It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.
The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.
You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.
“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”
So, you do.
Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.
“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”
You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.
It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth.
—
You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms.
You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.
“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”
“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers.
“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”
“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”
Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.
“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks.
“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”
“Of course I want to.”
So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.
——————
He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again.
All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.
“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.
Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.
“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.
“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”
“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering.
“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.
Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.
He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly.
“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”
“Not important enough,” he sighs.
“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.
Seungcheol.
The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.
“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers.
“Take all the time you need.”
He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows.
“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.
“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.
“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”
The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.
“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”
“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”
“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”
“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”
“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”
#woozi smut#svt smut#seventeen smut#lee jihoon smut#woozi x reader#lee jihoon x reader#??? how do i tag anything lmao#running away now it's nearly 2am lmao BYE#j writes.#*
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hi!! can i request a cm punk x reader?? do it of whatever u want (fluff pls)
~~~𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍~~~
gif not mine like, comments, & reblogs appreciated
𝑪𝒎 𝑷𝒖𝒏𝒌 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ^owner of gif
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆
𝒂/𝒏: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔. 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚<𝟑.
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔, 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔, 𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊’𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒇𝒇𝒇
not proofread
Y/n lets out a deep sigh as she pulls up into her and her boyfriend’s driveway. All she wanted to do was curl up in her boyfriend’s arm and force him to read a book to her to lull her to sleep. She found his voice rather calming to her and the easiest way to fall asleep. She also adored his side commentary whenever a character would do something stupid in the book.
Y/n gets out the car and makes her way towards the door, unlocking the door and walking in. “I’m home.” Y/n broodingly says with no enthusiasm whatsoever. Y/n throws her stuff into a corner and starts walking away to try and find her boyfriend.
“You sound excited.” Cm Punk says sarcastically as he pops up from nowhere. Y/n turns towards him and rushes over to wrap her arms around him and shoves her face in his neck with a sigh.
“Now I am…” Y/n closes her eyes and Phil can feel her lashes flutter down on his neck as he wraps his tattoo covered arms around her.
“You ok?” Phil rubs her back with his thumb as he lays his head down on her head.
“Just tired…can you read to me after i take a shower?” Y/n moves her head away to position her chin on his chest to look up at him.
Phil chuckles and shakes his head, “No.” He says making y/n face drop immediately. “I have a surprise for you instead.” He smiles, moving his hands to brush away her hair from her face.
“Oh?” Y/n smiles, “What is it?”
“Go take a bath and you’ll see. The bath is already set and warm just for you.” Phil gives her a quick kiss before y/n could break away and rush to the bathroom where the bathtub is indeed filled up with hot water.
•••
Y/n walks inside her shared room and sees Phil lying down and waiting for her.
“I’m doneee.” Y/n smiles as she grabs one of Phil’s hoodies and puts it on herself.
Phil smiles and throw his phone on the side and gets up, “C’mon.” He grabs her hand and leads her out the bedroom and towards his office. It wasn’t actually his office, it was more like a storage room for all of his old wrestling stuff such as titles, old merch, etc.
“Are you gonna show me some new title or something?” Y/n questions with a frown.
“Nah…that’s nowhere near what i’m gonna show you.” Phil stops in front of the door, “I actually have been fixing this room up to surprise you.” Phil opens up the door and lets y/n go in first and when she does, she feels herself get emotional almost automatically.
Instead of seeing a bunch of wwe championship titles and old merch, you see books. You see bookshelf’s merged together with books all in them. Some being y/n’s and some even being new ones that she had put on her wish list on amazon. Around the bookshelf’s there were fairy lights and in between two bookshelf’s was a big fluffy bean bag that already seems like it’s been broken in. Next to it is a y/f/c record player that settles on a night stand with an open shelf that holds different vinyls. Y/n finds herself walking over to it and grabs a vinyl and sees it titled with her boyfriend’s messy handwriting.
A Sky Painted Gold, read by me. your boyfriend weirdo.
Y/n giggles and puts it back then looks over at Phil who is leaning against the doorway with a proud smirk. “Like it?”
Y/n lets out a high pitched squeal as she jumps up and down, clapping her hands and falling back on the bean bag, immediately sinking into it. “OH I LOVE IT!” She shouts, standing up and running towards Phil, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She thanks him multiple times, giving him multiple kisses.
Phil smiles and gives him a big kiss, “Now whenever i’m away and gone and you miss my voice? Just play one of those vinyls and it’ll feel like the real thing. If you wanna take it with you?” Phil pulls her phone out and goes on spotify where he made a private playlist for her that’s filled with him reading multiple books, “Just go right here, doll.”
Y/n feels her eyes burning as she looks between her phone and back at him, “You’re so good to me…”
Phil smiles and gives her a big kiss, “Marry me.”
Y/n eyes widened, “What…?”
Phil smiles and pulls out a box, opening it up to reveal a pretty black ring. “Will you marry me?” He repeats himself, “I’ll do a lot of things but getting down on my knees can’t be an option. I’m too old for that.”
Y/n stares at the ring then back at Phil then at the room that he turned into her own library, “YES!” Y/n shouts as she throws herself at him, wrapping her limps around him.
Phil laughs and holds her close to him, fumbling around before grabbing her hand and putting the ring on her. “Hello to you Mrs.Brooks.”
#wwe imagine#wwe raw#wwe smackdown#wwe x reader#wwe one shot#wwe superstars#cm punk x reader#cm punk#wwe cm punk#cm punk imagine#best in the world#clobbering time#cmpunk
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-𝕊𝕙𝕖-
pairings - jennaortega x fem!reader
summary - before jenna ortega became a huge actress and held the world in her hand, she only had you
warnings - angst, high schoolers lol, all characters are 18 and up :)
an - school au! senior year for these babies, new series?
—————————
You hooked up with Jenna Ortega.
Big statement to say, but it’s very very true. How it happened though, well that’s a long story. It dates back to when you were both seniors in highschool….
———Past———
You were a dream girl; straight A's, decently pretty, wasn't talkative yet everyone ended up having a conversation with you, just all around good. You were the girl everyone wanted to be friends with, the girl that guys would fawn over and other girls would envy for your vigorous reputation. But alas, that's only the shell that people saw.
In reality, you were someone a mom would scold you for hanging out with because you’re so risky. When you were nine, you climbed a telephone pole and did the macarena sitting on top of it. At fourteen, you somehow hot wired your fathers car and proceeded to crash it, breaking only a toe. And now, at the ripe age of eighteen, you have caused your entire family to move from Miami to Coachella Valley; what a big jump.
It wasn't your intention to almost burn down the school just because you got into a fight and your first defensive measure was to whip out a lighter attached to a can of hairspray and try to turn poor Greta Stone into a Doctor
Phil look-a-like just because she called your brother a fag.
You liked to say it was an accident.
But expulsion was given and boy were your parents angry, so angry that they hopped a few states and ended up in a small town full of party people.
Your brother, Theo, was so disappointed in you that he called you a "queer failure".
"I am not a 'Queer Failure'!" You snarled, mocking your brother's voice.
"But you are, and that is a tragedy." Theo replied, his nose buried in a picture of Rob Lowe.
He was already engorged in a magazine from the local drug store that he didn't even realize he was spilling his Pepsi, which you found of the utmost amusing.
"Will both of you please stop bickering? You've been nipping at each other for so long you didn't even notice we are here." Your mother said, scolding you both..
You peered out the window, your y/e/c eyes focusing on the large familiar building. It was already busy with people, some rushing through the doors while others loitered around their cars and by the bike parking area.
You frowned, but got out of the car with your usual calm demeanor. Theo followed suit, hopping out with what he would call a 'gay swing', and strutted off into the ocean of high-smoked teenagers to presumably get a buzz.
"Behave, okay? I don't want a call again." Your mother said through the car window, smiling warmly at you.
"I'll try mom." You replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek before you walked off.
It was a normal thing for teachers to call home about your behavior; you always ended up being reckless and snappy with everyone and everything you come across.
But that's just how you are.
With your bag loosely hung over your shoulder and your head held high, you lazily walked towards the school, ignoring the looks you received from passersby.
See, your wardrobe was different from most girls. You didn't wear any of the typical sundresses or skinny jeans with floral shirts, you wore guys clothes, nike shorts with hoodies and converses, no matter the weather. Not trying to peg yourself as ‘i’m not like other girls’, but you were definitely a heavy masc.
As you walked in, you noticed a pair of three girls ogling a guy walking past. He had blonde curly hair styled back into a mullet, with matching denim jacket and jeans, and a white button down. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips, completely disregarding school rules as he went towards the parking lot.
'Typical lazy fuck.' You thought as you passed by.
You eventually made it into the school, and proceeded to head straight for your locker as you didn't need any interaction with anyone here. You fumbled with the lock and it's nerving combination before successfully opening it. You took out your assortment of books and binders, placing them neatly on the top shelf before hanging up your backpack.
You were so engrossed in organizing your locker that you almost missed a certain latina girl walking out of the bathroom. Your eyes snapped to her and followed her down the hall to three lockers down from your own.
That girl was Jenna Ortega, the prime jewel of your highschool, or so you liked to think. She was drop dead gorgeous in your opinion, with wavy brown hair that framed her beautifully freckled face, chocolate brown eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, and slightly tanned skin that looked warm and inviting. She was the girl that you first fell in love with, and probably the last.
You first met Jenna when you were outside fixing your bike in the driveway; Jenna happened to go a different route on her morning walk and had noticed you working your ass off in the California sun. She stopped to say hello and introduced herself seeing that you were new to the neighborhood.
Ever since that day, you couldn't stop thinking about her.
Jenna’s heart belonged to no one, but that still didn’t mean should or even could make a move.You didn't mind, it was actually easier to just admire and imagine instead of embarrassing yourself with a potential rejection.
Doesn’t mean that you still yearned to be with her.
"Hey Y/n!"
You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice you knew almost instantly, your body turning to the short girl.
"Hey Jenna." You replied smoothly, though your heart was running forty miles a second from the voice of a girl who could easily end your life with a wink.
“How was your weekend?” She asked, looking up at your with the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, “Was it enjoyable?”
“Meh, it was alright.” You said, grabbing your binder out of your locker, “How was yours?”
“It was relaxing, just what I needed.”
You hummed and nodded, reaching down to grab your water bottle, “Did you need something from me?”
"I was wondering if you had anything to do after school today? I need to study for my chemistry quiz and you are the only person who I trust to help me get it done." Jenna asked, toying with her fingers.
Truthfully, Jenna didn't need help studying for her chemistry test, she actually didn't need help studying at all due to the fact that there wasn't a chemistry test. She just wanted to spend time with her friend, the one she couldn't get her mind off of for some reason.
See, she found you to be one of the utmost unique. From your cinnamon brown skin, to your silky hair that was always pulled back into the cutest pony tail. Jenna saw you as the prime reason to why she questioned her sexuality.
But she wouldn't tell you that, she wouldn't tell anyone that.
"Uh...sure, I don't have anything to do today." You muttered, shutting your locker.
"Awesome! Want me to drive you there?" Jenna asked, smiling brightly, which you found entirely cute.
"Whatever works best for you."
Jenna whooped and threw her arms around your neck, burying her face in your green sweater. She loved the smell of her undying crush, finding that your scent was that of coffee and morning air, far better than any candle or air freshener she could buy.
"I'll see you later!" She said, leaning back to smile at you for a moment before hurrying off to her first class.
You watched her go, smiling to yourself as the girl of your dreams waved to every person she saw. Times like these made you question whether love was a feeling or a curse, especially since your heart thumped for one of the most famous upcoming actresses ever.
What a predicament you were in.
——————————
taglist: @cartierdreamx@tundra1029@red1culous@vorsdany@andsoigotabutterfly@theafterofnevermore@yomomisgay@house-of-lovin@slvt4lanadelrey@thenextdawn@nepobaby08@dunohilly@somekindofpoet@alexkolax@cinffy23@pedrosprincess@amberfreemansburntface@myfturn
#jenna ortega#jenna ortega imagine#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega x fem reader#jennaortegaedit#jenna ortega fluff#jenna ortega smut#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x you#jenna#ortega#wolfi writes
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weight of two souls
summary : it's thanksgiving and neither you or phil want to leave each others arms to go and meet the family. does it even happen?
pairing : cm punk x afab!reader
cw : pure fluff, cuddling, kissing, hip/thigh squeezing, cursing, nose nuzzling, babygirl/good girl & king/queen nicknames, innuendos "sound proof walls" / "taking his scepter"
a/n : can you tell how much i've been missing the old man? x) i've been working on this for about a week or so and put my entire heart & soul into it. please reblog!! keep rude comments to yourself. <33 there may be a few spelling/grammar errors.
word count : 1,291 words
tag list : @harmshake
gif credit : @adamjf
once the leaves started to fall your mood did the opposite, haunting month passing by in an instant.
calender flipping to november, the days went by agonizingly slow, this being one of your least favorite months of the season.
thanksgiving was soon approaching and your family always wanted to make it this huge get together. no being anti-social and locking yourself away, wishing you could every year. atleast they allowed you to bring a friend from work, if you could call him that.
the chicago native was more than a friend to you, he stayed up with you through your worst nights, steeping you both fresh cups of tea and/or coffee even if it meant catching up on sleep the next day, as long as he knew you were okay.
ever since he laid eyes on you, he made a best friend with just a simple hello and allowing you to pet his dog, larry. restless nights sharing deep dish pizza and mindy's eventually lead to cuddling, his inked arms wrapped around you, placing a kiss to his scruffy cheek.
the alarm clock chirping as sun peaked through your blackout curtains, neither of you wanted to get up for the morning - well afternoon.
you were the first to wake up, groggy eyed with phil having his arms snug around your waist, sleeping soundly except for his snoring which could wake up the entire neighborhood. larry decided to seek slumber at the foot of your bed, his head propped up on the chicago native's leg.
managing to shift away from his grasp, you hit the alarm clock with a clenched hand in hopes it would stop the commotion.
"rise and shine sleeping beauty, one hour 'til we meet my family. much as i don't wanna' go.. you promised to tag along for the torture."
phil didn't budge until you deciding to smack him with a pillow, "i'm up! i'm up!" he half-yelled, removing his hands from under the warm covers in an attempt to shield his face.
"a simple g'mornin' kiss would've woken me up too, y'know."
yawning and stretching his arms out, phil took his sweet old time getting ready while you on the other hand began to brush your hair out. bristles making contact with the h/c strands, they untangled after a few more brushes, setting it to the side and entering your closet.
luckily, you prepared your ensemble a night beforehand, slipping out of your clothing from the previous evening and stepping into a pair of black underwear with white polka-dots.
lifting your arms up to put on a shirt, you were met with a firm pair of arms which wrapped around your curvy frame, his lips placing gentle kisses along your neckline.
"mm, phil- could stay like this forever but we gotta' finish getting ready." you informed and looked up into his light brown hues with a playful smile.
"not complaining but i'm more ready than you are- atleast i have pants." shaking your head at the chicago native who indeed had pants on, but no shirt.
you raised an arm up to trace his pepsi tattoo, almost lost in a trance - simply enjoying the moment and his warm embrace as you remained standing still, being held close.
glancing over at your alarm clock, ten minutes seemed to pass by swiftly. spending all day in with your love would usually be no issue, but today you both had plans.
pouting softly and burying your head into the crook of his neck, you debated staying in and bailing on family dinner.
"so cozy.. don't wanna' move." you peeked up at phil, removing your head from his shoulder as he kept his arms securely around your waist, giving your hips a slight squeeze.
tongue darting out between his lips, the chicago native licked them, "i know babygirl... but think of all the cuddles we can get in afterwards. you're my favorite little spoon."
"i better be your only-" before having the chance to finish your sentence, phil captured your lips in a deep kiss one which you returned happily, "you're the only person i want to wake up next to every morning, binge watch horror movies with and much more. i'm so fuckin' lucky to have you in my life, y/n - but we truly should get goin' soon if we don't want to be late." he spoke sincerely although a half-chuckle escaped his lips, a few noticeable smile lines showing.
nodding, you captured his gaze only looking away when blinking - "you mean so much to me, phil. i felt as if there was a missing puzzle piece in my life.. and no matter how hard i tried nothing seemed to fit until you came along. we're the perfect match." placing your forehead against his, the two of you nuzzled noses briefly prior to pulling away from one another.
phil finished getting ready by throwing on his t-shirt which read i'm a collision girl in white letters across the back, tying up his sneakers. you did the same, sporting combat boots and a pair of black pants.
it was a miracle you and phil managed to make it out of the door in time, grabbing your keys and starting the engine up as larry sat buckled in the backseat pampered with dog treats.
"first time i'm officially meeting your family. do they know what to expect?" the chicago native asked, you had told your family about phil countless times.
the fact he was your boyfriend going on six months now and how he treated you perfectly. his queen who could hold a throne all on her own, independent but yearning for a partner. someone to feel safe with - who wouldn't hurt you like past partners. phil was your king - protecting you from harm, trying his best to keep the dark thoughts at bay, you doing the same for him.
"haven't shut up about you ever since we met. if my father heard the words cm punk or phil leave my mouth one more time they may have tried to disown me." you laughed, keeping your eyes on the road.
"ah, well it's a good thing we have sound proof walls - ever since the neighbors complained and when my babygirl gets needy, isn't that right?" you nodded, cheeks a bit flustered as phil placed a hand to your thigh, giving yet another squeeze, while you reached a stop light letting out a whine.
"what's the matter?" phil asked with a smug smirk along his face, causing you to roll your eyes over at him.
"best behavior, daddy-" words betrayed you while squirming under his touch, desperate for more. a loud horn halted you from any obscene thoughts running through your mind, the light turning from red to green as you began to drive again.
the ride wasn't too much longer, a brisk breeze going throughout the car as you cracked the window open for larry, he would let out the occasional bark when stopping by his favorite restaurants, one bakery in particular catching your own eye.
"want to make a quick stop for some sweets?" you asked already entering the parking lot.
"hell yeah, but won't be be late?"
"exactly my point." phil took your suggestion, wishing to spend the rest of the holiday with him only and not your family.
bell dinging as you two entered the bakery hand in hand with fingers linking together, a variety of treats on display behind glass.
"let's get some muffins to go. 'wanna spoil my queen," he leaned closer and whispered against your ear, "while you take my scepter like the good girl you are."
mr. and mrs. best in the world has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?
#cm punk#cm punk x reader#cm punk x female reader#cm punk x afab reader#cm punk x afab!reader#cm punk fluff#wrestling fluff
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NSFW Alphabet
pairing: Phil Wenneck x Fem!Reader
warnings: 18+ themes, MINORS DNI
a/n: this is my first time writing anything that is related to smut, so please bare with me on this. also i’m currently obsessed with bradley copper as phil wenneck, so don’t be surprised if i post a whole bunch of fics of him. also a huge thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for helping me beta read this!!
© bradleybeachbabe , do not steal or translate my work
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Phil is so good when it comes to aftercare. He’ll clean you up. Also If you need anything, he’ll go get it for you. You want snacks? Phil will go to the kitchen and get snacks. You want something to drink? Phil will go get it for you. You want him to draw a bath for you? He will. Or if you just want him to stay in bed and cuddle with you for the rest of the night. He definitely will.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite part of his body would probably have to be his abs. Whenever you two are both home, he’s walking around the house without a shirt. You’re looking at his abs, and he lost track of the number of times he has caught you just staring at them. When he does, he just smirks at you.
Phil loves all of you, but if he had to choose one, it would have to be your thighs. He loves to kiss them before he goes down on you. He loves to leave hickies on them, and he loves to lay his head down on them.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Once in a great while he’ll cum on your boobs or even on your stomach. But for the most part, he cums in you.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Phil enjoys being a sub. He loves when you take control though. He just lays there and relaxes. Sometimes he’ll have a smug grin on his face.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He’s experienced. He was a frat boy when he was in college. During those times, he was constantly hooking up with girls, so I’ll say that he knows what he’s doing.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Cowgirl. He loves watching your tits bounce. Plus, he loves to see you be the dominant one, and of course, we can’t forget that he loves being the submissive one, so that explains it all.
Missionary. He loves that he’s able to look at you. He loves that he can also just lean down and kiss you if he wants.
G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Goofy sex isn’t rare between the two of you. It happens more than you realize. Phil is always saying something about who knows what, or smiling about something. Honestly, he’s more serious in the moment if he gets upset about something, which doesn’t quite happen that often.
H - Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He keeps it pretty well groomed. He’s not completely bare down there.
I - Intimacy ( how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Phil is a romantic guy. He will plant kisses anywhere that he could reach. He will say sweet things to you during the moment too.
J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)
He rarely does it. You’re usually available for him for his needs. If not, then he’ll do it.
K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Phil has quite a few. Cokwarming, slight innocence kink, breeding kink, slight choking kink, marking, praise, and body worship.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Honestly anywhere. It could either be in your shared bedroom, in the backseat of his car, in the shower, in the hot tub, or either in the pool. It just all depends really.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
You. You could be doing anything, or doing nothing. Or, better yet, just wearing any sort of clothing, and he’s instantly turned on.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you. That’s the last thing he wants to do when you two are having sex.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Phil does love a good blowjob from you, but he prefers giving. Phil loves eating you out. If he could, he would do it for the entire day. He loves the noises you make when he does eat you.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
It just depends on the day. If he had a stressful day, it’d be fast and rough. But on days when he isn’t stressed out about anything, then it’s more slow and more sensual. On days like that, Phil takes his time with you. He wants to cherish the moment between the two of you.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Phil doesn’t mind them. You two will have one, once in a great while, especially if you are in a hurry to get somewhere or to do something. But most of the time, he wants to take his time with you and not have to worry about rushing.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Phil loves to experiment, especially when it comes to wanting to test out something new in the bedroom. Phil loves to take risks too. He loves the thrill he gets when he takes risks.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Phil goes until he can’t anymore. Once he can’t, he’s done. That’s it.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Phil doesn’t own any toys personally. But you do, you have a couple of toys. Once in a while, Phil will use your toys on you. He loves how you come undone when he uses them on you.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Phil loves to tease you all the time. He loves the way you react when he’s teasing you, and even the pretty sounds you make when he does.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Phil is loud, and he has no shame in it. He’s either moaning, grunting, or whimpering. No matter what, he’s making some type of sound.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Phil has polaroid pictures of you in the lingerie sets that you or either he buys. Every single time you get a new set, Phil has you model them for him, so then he can take pictures of you with the polaroid camera that you own.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He’s about seven inches. He is more long than wide. Also, he knows how to use it.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
His sex drive is pretty average. Going at least two or three rounds a week, Phil is totally satisfied. But if you are up to wanting to go more rounds throughout the week, he’s totally fine with it.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
No matter how tired Phil is, he will wait until you fall asleep. Once you are sleeping peacefully, then he falls asleep.
i don’t have a tag list anymore. go follow my library blog to get notified when i post any fics! @bradleybeachbabe-library
#phil wenneck headcanon#phil wenneck smut#phil wenneck#phil wenneck x reader#phil wenneck imagine#the hangover headcanon#the hangover imagine
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Monster Mash
peter maximoff x reader smut
warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, zombies, biting, undead, undead!reader, gender neutral reader, zombie kink
word count: 11,996
a/n: first of three peter-centric halloween fics!! hopefully i'll get them all posted before the month ends!! timeline here is extremely fuzzy, and might not fall in line with canon. it's kind of super ambiguous.
the usual apologies: clunky writing, potentially ooc peter/other characters, inconsistencies, ending's super meh, etc etc etc. idk if peter would realistically be down to bang a cute, zombified reader. but hey, it's fiction. why the heck not!
tag list (i remembered this time!!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays
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October. Just a week before Halloween.
Peter didn’t celebrate the holiday too often these days. Not like he used to. Ever since he took up teaching at the X-mansion, he only participated in a handful of Halloween activities. The staple being - playing escort for mutant kiddos on trick-or-treating ventures. An activity he enjoyed a lot, since the kiddos referred to “Mr. Maximoff” as “the school's most awesome trick-or-treat buddy.” Which had nothing to do with Peter swiping a little extra candy - for the kids, of course - when the other teachers weren’t looking. Swear on his life.
Another Halloween festivity he loved? The school's annual, X-family Halloween party. The team generally left Peter in charge of decorations, considering it took him no time at all to set them up. Professor Chuck himself - legendary baldy - always played host at those parties. As per tradition - after the party died down - Peter cozied up in the living room with the team. They’d gather together to watch everyone’s favorite horror flicks on VHS.
He really couldn’t wait for this year’s festivities. Peter looked forward to those after-party, horror movie marathons every year. Movie nights with the team? Pretty freakin’ awesome. If only for two reasons: The abundance of sugary garbage to snack on. And the way Ororo loooooooved snuggling up with him on the couch. Being so hot natured helped. Living life in the fast lane - operating like a human furnace - sure had its perks sometimes. ‘Ro’s cuddling made an excellent distraction from Peter’s unbridled loneliness. Haha...
C-...Consider that a topic for another day. Moving on.
On horror movie night, Peter inevitably saw the jumpscares coming leagues before anyone else. It never failed. He’d call them seconds ahead of time. With ‘Ro lying at his side, and his arm wrapped around her waist. Peter would exclaim, “Jumpscare!”, breaking the tension heavy silence amongst the group. Spoiling whatever movie played. Everyone hated it, of course. Kurt growled at him. Animalistic, but nowhere near intimidating. Jubilee pelted Peter with popcorn.
Peter just couldn’t help himself. Those scares were so predictable and boring sometimes. Sure, he liked horror movies enough. With all the gnarly gore and twisted kills. But they never freaked him out, since he didn’t spook easily. His incomprehensible reaction time made terror a tough game.
All that being said...
Even with his totally outrageous bravery streak, Peter - guilty as charged - sure had his candy-ass moments.
This current mission proved, without a doubt, one of the spookiest situations he’d ever landed himself in. He could feel it in the air tonight. And not in the groovy, Phil Collins way either. An ominous sense of uneasiness crawled across his skin. Eerie vibes sent chills creeping up his spine like spiders through a web. Peter wished he could fast forward to Halloween night on the couch with ‘Ro. Heck, he'd even take decorating duty over this any day of the week. At least he could go all out, and have his own fun with it.
For an October’s night, the weather seemed uncannily coincidental. Drops of rain showered from a mass of black clouds. A sharp crack of lightning struck the ground, with a roar of thunder following in succession. It rattled the very foundation of the abandoned lab Peter found himself exploring. As part of a last minute, late night mission.
Below his feet, tiled floors laid in disrepair. Dirtying the mismatched laces of his untied sneakers. Peter snuck his way through murky hallways, his heightened senses buzzing on edge. Fight or flight kicked into high gear, making him all the more sensitive to any outside stimuli. Another echoing roar rumbled through the building, threatening to topple its cracking walls. Peter worried the ceiling might cave in at any moment.
A terrifying thought. But it happened to be the exact reason Hank chose Peter for this mission to begin with. Should shit hit the fan, Peter could skedaddle at the speed of light unscathed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Unlike his other team members, who might risk being flattened like a pancake. Under the weight of, not one, but two floors above.
…Speaking of pancakes. Peter should definitely drop by a mom ‘n pop diner before heading back to base. He could really go for a fresh stack of late night hotcakes right about now. Warm and soft. With chocolate chips melting on the inside. Caked in sticky syrup and slathered with butter. Oooooh! And a little bacon on the side. Not too crispy, not too flop-
His mouth watered, and Peter blinked. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his lips, he redirected his attention to the task at hand. Focus, Quickie. He had a job to do, and he didn’t wanna be stuck doing said job all night.
The lab sat nestled off the coast of some island with a foreign name. Super hard to pronounce. Peter couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Prior to this assignment, he’d never even heard of the place. But apparently, neither had anyone else. Hank sent Peter in search of what he dubbed leads on a mystery project. Something to do with scientific documents.
If he found any, he’d read their info over to Scott. Who would then relay that same intel back to Hank. Like an insanely boring game of telephone. Why Peter couldn’t speak to Hank directly was anybody’s guess. Too busy with his super secret project thingy-majig, possibly?
Hanging from Peter’s stereo belt alongside his old Walkman, a walkie screeched with a shrill chirp. A shock of alarm shot straight through Peter’s veins, making him jump. Scott’s voice crackled from the speakers.
“Any updates, Pete?” Scott asked, “Tell me anything you got. Even if it seems boring. Just hit me with it. It’s gotta be better than waiting around here in the lab, doing nothing.”
Peter held a compact flashlight in one hand, searching the lab’s pitch black halls. Most of the rooms he passed looked desolate. Barren and dusty. Save for the odd desk or empty cabinet. Peter wondered if they’d all been ransacked when the place closed down. The ceiling leaked rain from the floors above, dripping onto Peter’s bomber jacket. At the edge of his vision, he caught a rat scurrying by. But otherwise, not much else.
Pulling the walkie from his belt, he brought it up to his lips, “Uh. It’s dark and kinda spooky here. Saw a rat. Storm’s not gettin’ any better. It keeps shakin’ the whole place.” Peter shook his head, “If it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to split. Don’t wanna wait around to see what happens next, y’know? Over."
On the other end of the line, Scott breathed an annoyed sigh. Even through low-quality speaker fuzz, Peter could tell the sigh lacked any real spite.
“Peter. We’ve been over this. We aren’t using decades old, two-way radio communication. You really don’t have to say over. ”
Peter drummed his free hand on an empty desk. Following the beat of Sweet Poison by Naked Eyes, as it played from the only earbud he wore. He wanted to keep one ear open, just to hear Scott clearly. And mayhaps because he felt the teensy weensiest bit paranoid by his lonesome in the lab.
“Copy that. Over.” He grinned to himself.
The further Peter explored the lab’s halls, thick layers of mucky green seemed to take over. If he had to guess, he assumed Hank didn’t consider masses of moss “key intel.” Every few feet Peter stepped, he tore his way through another wall of cobwebs. Lots and lots of creepy cobwebs. Reduced to undying boredom, Peter took to karate chopping them. Might as well have fun in the face of ennui.
Half second flickers of lightning cast the lab in gleaming flashes. Bringing Peter’s attention to more rooms he missed. He wandered through some old offices. Or what he thought were offices, anyway. The trashed state of the rooms made it hard to tell. Nothing within them had withstood the test of time. Peter even tried poking around with some clunky computers. No luck. Dead as doornails.
“Found some computers. C64’s, I think. Haven’t seen one ‘a these bad boys since forever ago. But they’re totally busted.” Peter reported into the walkie, banging a fist onto one of the computers, “Yep. Busted. Over.”
Before leaving the room, Peter fucked around. Knocking over a computer monitor for no reason at all. He snatched a few, grubby pens from a lone desk. As well as a cracked coffee mug that read “I try to tell chemistry jokes, but there’s no reaction.” Just for the heck of it. Why not swipe some keepsakes, eh?
After what felt like a geological age of scouring, Peter eventually stumbled upon more filing cabinets. Stuffed to the brim with research documents and science-y records. Sighing, he pulled each drawer open one by one. Peter read the dusty files, sharing intel with Scott over the walkie. For every document Scott dismissed, Peter tossed them carelessly aside over his shoulder.
Antsy to wrap the mission up, grab some pancakes, and race home for a game of GoldenEye; Peter rushed through the last few folders. In hopes of finding whatever specific file Hank needed. But upon the last one, Scott broke some totally bogus news.
“Sorry about this.” Scott sighed, “Those files? Yeah. Hank says they’re all duds. No dice. You think it’s safe to keep looking? You might have to check the second floor.” He mentioned, to Peter’s dismay.
Peter bumped his head into the filing cabinet, groaning aloud. With a kick of his foot, he closed the last drawer and trudged onward. Oh well. The speedster could totally manage. At least he brought mix-tapes to keep his mind occupied. Along with extra tapes stashed in his belt pockets for good measure. Without music, he’d be so outrageously miserable on a mission like this.
Shining the dinky flashlight, he scanned the first floor area one more time. Just to be sure. The flashlight’s glow passed a set of double doors, leading to-
Wait. Back it up a sec. Double doors? Quietly singing New Order’s Blue Monday to himself, Peter moonwalked backwards to observe the doors again. Knitting his brows, he blinked. Stumped.
“Yo. Scotty. Got another room on the first floor. Gonna check it out real quick. Over.” Peter reported, clicking the walkie into place on his belt.
Another echo of thunder rattled through the lab, shaking the floors above. Lightning illuminated the halls in temporary flickers of white. Peter stared at the large set of doors, totally bamboozled. He couldn’t comprehend how he missed them before. When he knew for a fact he checked every nook and cranny. Inching closer, he eyed a sign pasted on one of the doors. In a rough scratch of permanent marker, the sign read:
Reanimation experiments in progress. Do not disturb!!
Reanimation? What, like…of the dead? Pfffbt. No way! Could this spooky place get any spookier? Peter swallowed an uncomfortable wedge in his throat. Shaking off any chills threatening to overtake him, he shined his flashlight through one of the door’s windows. Peter scanned the area for anything useful.
Inside, he clocked an operating table. Close to that, a lone cart cluttered with rusty, surgical tools. Cracked computer screens lined one of the walls, more advanced than they should’ve been. At least for the era they originated. Tangled cables ran along the floor, leading to something in the shadows. Peter couldn’t make it out.
He arched a brow, finally locking his sights on - Aha! Jackpot! More filing cabinets. Hopefully, they held his ticket out of this creepy place. Fingers crossed. Peter burst into the room in a flash, kicking up dust in his wake. Tearing through another wall of cobwebs, he surveyed the area again. Making a mental note of every cabinet he could see. Enough to keep him busy for the next hour, he guessed. Peter slumped his shoulders, huffing an aggravated groan.
Talking to Scott through the entire process made it more bearable. Being so no nonsense and straight forward, Scott had no problem retaining the info Peter shared from every file. Which saved the speedster any hassle of repeating himself, or having to explain things he didn’t understand. Science? Not really Peter's area of expertise. He thought himself more of a tech, or music guy.
Luckily enough, Peter found whatever documents Hank sent him after. A deep dive into every folder, in every drawer, in about a dozen different cabinets were all it took. Had Peter aged another thirty years? He sure as hell felt like it. No sweat! Mission accomplished. Time to bid the old lab goodbye.
Peter flew through the rest of the cabinets in less than a second’s time. Triple checking for any intel Hank might find compelling. He skimmed some records documenting the “reanimation of dead tissue.” Hm. Actually, blue beastie might potentially find that fascinating. “Reanimation” of the dead didn’t exactly sound too commonplace in modern science, did it?
In a folder, Peter discovered a file. Clipped with a photograph of - hellllllllooooo there! Someone…kinda cute. Very cute. Peter whistled, piercing the quiet thrum of distant rain. He read on.
Oh. The cute someone. They died. Tragically perished. Hit by a car back in the 80’s. What a bummer. One of the scientist's brought them to the lab as a test subject. Used for some twisted experiment in reanimation. The kicker? They proved to be the lab’s first and only successful trial run. Of around fifty different, reanimation trials. Yikes. That's...a lotta dead bodies.
These scientists successfully revived the dead? Peter doubted it. Over a decade had passed since then, and no one ever used the technology mentioned in the files. This lab's research couldn’t be as successful as they documented. Or something must've gone wrong, for them to give up and shut down the lab's operation completely.
Yeah. Treating human corpses like science fair projects for school? Super warped. Hank, wacky in his science ventures, totally found macabre shit like that interesting. Shrugging, Peter tucked the manilla folders he gathered under an arm. He grabbed his walkie, and reported to Scott.
“I got somethin’ else Hank might be into. It's totally messed up, he'll love it. But-uh…if that’s all he needed? I’m gonna jet now, ‘kay? I can’t take another minute in this scary ass place. Over and out.”
Before making his leave, Peter glanced around the room one last time. He appeared near the operating table in a picosecond, his brown eyes scanning the cart next to it. Curiously, Peter picked through some rusty, surgical tools.
Upon finding a scalpel in fairly okay condition, he swiped the tool and slipped it inside his back pocket. Whistling to Oingo Boingo's No One Lives Forever - in hindsight, kind of ironic - playing from his Walkman, Peter raised a foot to kick the cart. Watching it roll away into a nearby wall. Hasta la vista.
As Peter steered away from the operating table, a monstrous shadow loomed at the edge of his vision. His heart rampantly pounded in his chest, his senses still high strung. Jumping back with a terrified gasp, Peter climbed halfway onto the operating table. He fumbled for his flashlight, pointing the glow at the massive bundle of darkness. The light shook in Peter’s trembling hand.
But it-...oh. Phew! Nothing to be afraid of. Hah. What the heck was Peter gettin’ riled up for?
Like something straight out of science fiction, Peter’s shadowy monster proved nothing more than a giant pod. He squinted, moving towards it until close enough to observe it more clearly. The tech appeared big enough to hold a person of his size. Or, hell, maybe even someone of Beast’s size. Peter ran a hand along the surface of the pod, gathering a layer of dust on his fingertips. Scowling, he shuddered, wiping the dust on his jeans.
“ EUGH! Eck-” Peter exclaimed to no one, “What’s up with this dusty, old thing??”
Glass encased the outer layer of the large machine. It might've been see-through, if not for the unsanitary grime blanketing the entire thing. Years upon years of soot build up. Peter tried wiping the dust away with his elbow, to no avail. He couldn’t see inside, even with the aid of his flashlight.
Puzzled, Peter darted around the room in a silver blur, searching for clues. A switch of some kind? A secret code? He tampered with everything from the cracked monitors on the wall, to the colorful cables lining the floor. Peter even tried prying the pod open with a rusty hammer he found. Still, it refused to budge. Even with the power of speedster strength. Was it made of adamantium or something?
Sighing, defeated, Peter tossed the hammer away. It crashed into one of the screens hanging against the wall. Shattering the crystal display upon impact. Whoops. Oh well. How much more damage could be done to the place? Not like anyone would be making renovations anytime soon. Not in the middle of buttfuck nowhere island.
Making an accidental misstep, Peter slipped on his untied shoelaces. His ankle entangled itself in a circle of cables on the floor, and he lost his balance. Tripping, Peter stumbled backwards into some busted machinery, knocking his head. His back collided with the hard, metal surface behind him.
“ Auuugh. Shit.” Peter muttered. He didn’t understand how he could be so goddamn clumsy all the time, given - what the professor called - his mutant gift, “Ow. Dammit.”
He must have triggered a switch when he tripped. Suddenly, a loud hiss seethed through the air like a bus braking to a stop. A slow moving cloud of smoke rose from inside the pod. As it spread, filling the room, the fumes turned radioactive neon in color. It swarmed Peter’s nostrils, overflowing his senses with an earthy scent.
“Uhhh…uh oh.” He mumbled, “Is that supposed to happen?” Acting in haste, Peter scrambled to free his ankle from the cable’s tight grip.
A corpse reanimation research lab.
Nope. Noooope. He’d seen Return of the Living Dead enough times to know - whatever the hell’s happening now? Bad news. Couldn’t be good. Peter suppressed the urge to scream like a frightened child. A buzzing voice chimed from his walkie, startling him further. Dammit all, Scotty! He almost sent Peter into cardiac arrest for a hot second.
“Peter? Hey-uh, are you there? You alright? You didn’t stop somewhere for pancakes again, did you?” Scott crackled through the walkie, but Peter didn’t respond, “Better bring enough back for the whole class.” He joked, sarcastic.
Peter gawked at the sight before him in a mix of horror and confusion. Completely petrified, as Oingo Boingo played through his ear. The neon smoke emitted from the pod began to clear, revealing a body inside. A dead body.
Your dead body, to be specific.
Somehow, Peter recognized you. But that didn’t make any sense at all. He knew for a freakin’ fact he’d never seen or met you a day in his life. Unless… oh. Oh, holy shit. He hurriedly grabbed the extra folder he’d taken and opened it, just to glance between you, and the photo inside. And sure enough…
The first and only successful trial run in reanimation.
Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Peter’s eyes blew open wide. His stomach dropped twenty thousand feet through the ground, plummeting to the Earth’s core. Swallowing thickly, he observed your slumbering body from his position on the dirty floor.
Your skin appeared ashier than it naturally should be. Y’know, on account of being dead and all. It more closely resembled a subdued, greenish color. Kinda Frankenstein-esc. Stitches lined each and every one of your limbs. As if some psycho nut job took you apart and sewed you back together again. Judging by the info in your file, they probably did. Embedded into your neck, were two bolts on either side. Also very Frankenstein-esc. You reminded him of a wax dummy on the set of some low-budget, horror flick. It’d be kinda funny, if he didn’t feel seconds away from screaming in horror.
You could be a dummy, if Peter had any luck. Yeah. This mission? Surely just a super elaborate prank set up by the team. Like a haunted house tour, made to scare the silver pants off him. Those sly dogs think they’re so slick, huh? ...R-Right?
Peter took a deep breath, keeping his terrified gaze fixed on you. In his ear, the funky tune came to an end. The lab fell into a deafening silence. Only broken by the faintest pitter patter of rain, and a quiet clamor of thunder now echoing at a distance. Signaling the passing of the storm. One less thing to worry about.
Though, he’d much rather agonize over a building’s foundation crumbling. He could handle a weather-related disaster wayyy better than a zombie coming to life, to - potentially - gorge on his flesh.
Raising his flashlight, he pointed the glow at your lifeless body. Again, Peter breathed a long sigh to ease his panic stricken nerves. An interference of crackling static ripped through the walkie then. Loud, and shrill enough to cut glass. At that very moment, your eyes - once locked in eternal slumber - popped open freakishly wide.
Oh. Oh hellllll no. Fuck that. Fuuuuck that.
Peter’s hunch proved totally right. You weren’t just dead. You were undead.
“ Mmmmmm nope.” Peter mumbled to himself, swiftly shaking his head, “Nuh uh. Nope.”
Shaking with adrenaline, he glanced between your dead-eyed gaze, and his trapped foot. Okay! No problem-o! Not a problem at all. For an X-Man, zombies made an easy foe, right? Peter could totally just-...
Just vamoose! Make a break for it! Right now!
Like, now.
Peter hadn’t run away yet. Why hadn’t he run away? Hellllloooo? Ground control to Quickie! Time to make a quick exit, and head for the hills. Lest he become zombie chow.
Stunned, Peter remained petrified. In an uncannily slow movement, you rose from the pod like Nosferatu out of a coffin. Peter cursed under his breath, willing his terror to take a one way ticket outta there. He needed to come to his senses, and fast. Even as Peter tried to move, his paralyzed state caused him to fumble again. His movements lacked their natural fluidity, and his blood ran cold.
Like a total doofus, in his failed attempt to escape, Peter tangled his foot even deeper through the cables. Sometime in the last thirty seconds or so, he dropped his flashlight. Within the inky darkness, he could barely make out your shape as you moved. You groaned a long, croaky sound. Guttural, like an eldritch abomination.
Another crash of lightning showered your living corpse in a white luster. Peter made direct eye contact with you. A gaze between life and death.
A yell vibrated through his lungs and bounced off the walls of the room, as Peter finally screamed. Your slow moving, zombified body climbed from the pod much like a spider. Stumbling at first, you connected your bare feet with the dirty, tiled floor. Once you found your balance, a cracking sound erupted from your limbs. Your bones clicked and popped audibly into place. Peter scowled, physically cringing.
Another scream tore from the depths of his chest, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” He shouted.
You dragged your feet in a limp, moving towards Peter with a slow gait. Stitched arms reached out for him in an unhurried motion, “ Luhhhhhhhh- ” You choked on a groggy gurgle.
Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. You definitely wanted to feast on his juicy brains and smooth flesh. No denying that. It had been, like, a decade since you last ate anything. And Peter probably looked like one hell of a snack right about now. Not even in a totally kinky way.
“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Hold yer horses there, baby! Yer gettin’ a liiiitttle too close fer comfort now! C’mon, huh? Do you really think I’m on the menu? ‘Cuz trust me. If yer gonna eat somebody? I shouldn’t be yer first choice! I really don’t taste all that great!” Peter yelled, throwing a hand out momentarily before returning to the tangled cables. He huffed an uneasy laugh, “SHIT! Yer not listening, are you? Ahaha! Yer gonna eat me. Totally gonna eat me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-”
Peter tore at the cables wrapped around his foot. Acting as quickly as his petrified state would allow, he pulled the scalpel from his back pocket. But the dull razor’s edge refused to cut through the wires. Dropping the useless tool, he ripped into the cables one more time using all his strength. Only to free himself a millisecond too late. Always late. You lurched forward, making grabby hands.
Quicksilver vs. an actual, real life zombie. If he made it out alive, that’d make one helluva story.
But-
Wait a damn minute. Hold the freakin’ phone. Why were you…looking at him like that?
The glazed over eyes of a living corpse opened up, all big and doe-like. Gazing at Peter in - no mistaking it - infatuated fondness. Your supple lips parted with a wide smile of pure delight. Like sunshine peeking through hazardous, storm clouds. You leapt forward unexpectedly, squeaking a raspy squeal. Burrowing your face into the warmth of Peter’s chest, you linked your arms around his neck. Holding onto him tight.
“What the-” He whispered, looking down at your messy head of hair.
Uh. Okay. So, that just happened. Weird. Why weren’t you feasting on his flesh? Wasn’t he supposed to be your first meal since zombie hibernation, or something? Didn’t you wanna go chomp chomp chomp, and turn his guts into mush?
Peter realized, looking at you up close, you appeared perfectly clean and preserved. You didn’t reek like a dead body. The earthy scent on your cold skin wasn’t too unpleasant either. It smelled herbal. Floral, even. Your smooth skin lacked any signs of rot. Aside from one or two lesions revealing rib or arm bones. Kinda...freakishly cool. The surface of your skin looked see-through, with veins weaving underneath like intricate wiring.
A little spooky, sure. But not all that scary to look at, surprisingly enough. Not like Peter expected, anyway. As you snuggled closer into Peter’s body, he began to realize how oddly affectionate you were. Very out of character, for a zombie. You squeaked an unintelligible noise, attempting to communicate. But you just couldn’t form the words. Maybe your speech capabilities fizzled out after years and years of unending silence.
Peter creased his brows, lowering his defenses and calming himself down. Another thirty seconds passed. His brains remained intact, and you hadn’t made him your next meal. He pulled the earbud from his ear, hooking them around his neck and pressing pause on the Walkman. Craning your neck back, your glassy eyes met Peter’s own. You grinned so big and joyful, gleaming the innocence of a pure-of-heart, golden retriever. Despite being totally bizarre, Peter found your sweetness...sorta...weirdly cute.
“Uhmmm…hi? Hey. Uh-why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He laughed, a little uneasy.
Maybe your affection stemmed from something simple. If Peter were locked up in a cramped pod for so many years, he’d be ecstatic if someone finally freed him. You were probably just uber thankful he’d broken you outta that pod thingy. And you showed gratitude through touching, since you couldn’t exactly flurry him with thank yous. He could accept that. Sure. For now.
The walkie hanging from his belt droned a buzz, and Scott’s voice called out. Peter finally reached for it, maneuvering between his body and yours. Your arms stayed around his neck, your body hanging like a stubborn monkey’s from a tree.
“Peter? Do you copy? Peter, are you there, man? Talk to us. Please. Should we send someone over to assist?” Scott asked, his voice itching with alarm.
“Yeah! Yeah, nah. Uh-hey, Scotty! Hey, I’m here. I’m oka-...dude, it’s fine. Nothin’ to worry about. Seriously. But…I do kinda have a situation here? Over.” Peter replied.
Scott exhaled a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. In the crackling background of the walkie, Peter heard Jean’s voice. She asked, “Did he say over ?” Followed by a series of hushed chuckles. Peter smirked to himself.
“Oh! Oh my god. Thank goodness, Pete. We were all getting pretty worried about you over here. What’s going on? Are you still at the lab? You said there was a situation. What kind of situation? Did that old place finally cave in?” Scott asked. Many, many questions.
Peter heard even more frantic, muffled conversations in the background. While he couldn’t understand them, he recognized the voices. The entire team had gathered, just to make sure he made it out alive. Awww. How sweet. They were worried about lil ol’ him? If Peter hadn’t had the bejesus scared out of him not even five minutes ago, his heart would’ve melted.
“Heyyyy, guys! Uhhhh…soooo…I might’ve found, like, a zombie? No joke. Like, a real zombie. But it’s not tryna kill me. It’s-” Peter paused, raising a brow. You fluttered your lashes, giving him a coquettish look, “Bro, I think it’s makin’ eyes at me. Legit. Kinda weird, right? Definitely not what I was expecting. But it’s totally fine. I got it all under control now. Over.”
A long silence fell amongst the walkie’s noise. Until Scott finally responded in monotone.
“Did we hear you wrong, or did you just say you found a zombie?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. As if expecting Peter to say - Psych! Fooled ya!
Peter parted his lips to confirm. But the abrupt tickle of a chilly kiss on his neck silenced him. You stood up on your bare toes, giggling sweetly. Across his hot skin, you peppered your chapped lips. Instantly, Peter froze in place again. Shudders rang through his body. He reached for one of your arms, tugging you to try and pull you off him.
“Uhm. Y’know what? It’s no big deal. B-But yeah, it’s a zombie fer sure.” Peter tugged your arm with more insistence, urging you to let go. But you persisted, giggling into the crook of his neck, “Like I said. No worries here. It’s not like I’m in da- haaah okayokayokay-”
Your feather light kisses became soft, kitten licks. Flicking Peter’s flesh with your slimy tongue, you squealed, tickled pink. Peter jolted, shivers sizzling down his spine. He tilted his neck to the side, wincing. Over the walkie, he heard Hank’s gruff voice.
“Peter! It’s Hank-” The blue beast said, as if Peter couldn’t already tell based on his growly tone, “Are you a hundred percent sure the undead creature isn’t dangerous?” He asked, buzzing through a scratch of interference.
Coldness slathered and swirled Peter’s neck in slow circles. Fluttering his eyes closed, he replied, “N-Not dangerous. Ohhhh. Definitely not dangerous. No danger here. All good. Over.” Again, he tried to pull you off.
Your discolored arms tightened their hold around his neck and over his shoulders. Cooing noises dripped from your tongue like honey, so sugary sweet. You swiped his skin with your tongue, nuzzling your cold nose into the heated crevice of his neck. Pressing your body closer into his, you squirmed, littering him with zombie kisses.
Peter tensed, apprehensive of your affections. He didn’t want to be too harsh or aggressive towards you. Worried that any sign of conflict might make you snap. For all he knew, you might go bonkers and brain hungry. Really, he should’ve gotten it over with and pushed you away. Before you took things a little too far.
And you did. Your teeth sank into his neck, lightly nibbling his flesh. As you pressed yourself even closer into his proximity, your breasts - covered only by a ragged crop top - met the swell of his broad chest. WOOOOOAH! Talk about twisted! Sure, okay, maybe your bites turned him on, like, a little. Flooding his body with a pleasant, all-over shudder of pleasure. But he couldn’t just fold for a zombie, could he? That’d be disgusting!
It’d be gross, right?
A subconscious desire in the recesses of his lonesome mind told him he wanted - no, needed - the attention. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone like this since the pogs fad. Easy, now, Peter! Down, boy.
But…shit. As much as he wanted to give in, he couldn’t. Not for a monster. A living corpse, left cooking in a secluded pod for a decade. Cloaked in discoloration and held together by expertly crafted stitching. Not entirely mindless, but so dense, you hadn’t the forethought to ask - “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” No. Instead, you went after him the moment you saw him, showering him in bubbly, zombie lovin’.
He…shouldn’t find that hot. His fingers shouldn’t be tightening around the walkie, and his groin shouldn’t feel as scorching as it does. Oh, man. Could Peter be any more doomed? He’d have to be mad desperate - way out of his mind - to reciprocate your affection. Raising the walkie again, he cleared his throat.
“Hiya, Beastie. A-Acutally, I think they-...the zombie really, really likes me.” Peter added for no reason at all. You nibbled him a little harder, and he winced again.
“Well, now! That’s good then, isn’t it? Better than the alternative, I’d say! If at all possible, Peter, you should bring the creature with you. I’d like to look it over. Maybe run some tests. Figure out what brought it to life! This could be the secret to reversing brain death!” Hank chimed, excited.
Peter rolled his eyes. Of course Hank wanted to poke and prod at you like some little, lab rat. He opened his mouth to respond, but choked before he could get a word in. Your dull teeth clamped roughly into his neck. Peter braced a free hand on your hip, his thumb digging into the cool, exposed flesh there. Now, suspicion began to dawn on him.
You could be a clever, little zombie. Capable of luring Peter in with flirtatious wiles and sweet touches. Once he let his guard down, what if you planned on tearing into his guts? Well played, smarty pants zombie. Well played. But Peter caught onto your little game. You couldn’t get anything past him.
Instead of slurping his blood like a 7-Eleven slushie, or ripping your nails into his taut muscles; you suckled his skin lovingly. Pulling tiny hickies into his neck. Squealing and giggling in that girlish fashion, playful with every nibble. Peter gulped, biting his lip between his teeth. No way in hell he allowed a zombie to give him hickies.
…Except he did. So what? No harm in it, right?
“Y-Yeah. Sure. I’m good. Great. Just hangin’ out with my new zombie buddy. It’s totally not gonna eat my brains. Like, zero percent chance I’m gonna die an ugly, zombie death. So, y’know, Beastie, don’t lose any sleep over it.” Peter responded, before following it up with a condescending, “Over.”
On the walkie line, Peter heard a series of groans and faint giggles. Followed by Hank’s voice, as he passed the walkie back to Scott. The X-Men’s laser eyed leader sighed, his tone unamused.
“Whatever, Peter. Just…just hurry up, will you? And bring those documents over for Hank. Thanks.”
Peter tried, and failed to keep his composure. A cutie pie zombie kept macking on him like a lovesick puppy, and he had no clue what to make of it. You sucked more sloppy, violet marks into his neck. Tugging his skin with your teeth and nibbling like you couldn’t get enough of him. Peter’s skin flared up in cold creeps, as you trailed your chilly lips to his shoulder. Pulling his jacket and the collar of his shirt aside, you spoiled him in more undead affection.
“Gotcha. Copy that. Ov- mmm -” Peter whispered a moan, replying with a rushed, “Overandout.”
He clipped the walkie back onto his belt. Attempting once more to pry you off him, Peter gave your arm a strong tug. A little more forceful this time around. As you finally dislodged yourself from his neck, Peter took a few steps back. Avoiding any stray cables on the floor.
Now, with some distance between the two of you, he cleared his throat. Peter brought a hand to his neck, grazing fingers over the love bites you left behind. Tiny splotches of purple pooled with offsets of scarlet. Faint teeth marks left grooves in his skin. He hissed.
Giving you the freedom to pepper him with hickies might not have been the smartest idea. Hopefully, you didn’t infect him with some sick, zombie disease. One with the potential to end humanity as he knew it. He couldn’t cope with the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.
You gawked up at him with those big, adoring eyes. Excitedly, you squealed, hopping towards him with your eager arms outstretched. Hoping to pull Peter into another close hug, just so you could litter him in more nibbly, love bites. He raised an abrupt hand, maintaining distance. Peter cleared his throat again. His cheeks burned hot, doused in bright pink.
Totally not fair, the way an overly affectionate zombie got him blushing.
“L-Listen. Uh. Yer sweet, but-” Peter started. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted down your body. He observed the stitches sewn into your neck and limbs. His dark chocolate eyes followed the rips and tears in your skimpy shirt. The flimsy garment revealed a tiny peek of your - admittedly pretty - breasts. And Peter swallowed, his throat running dry, “Uhhh…you can’t keep doin’ this, okay? The-” He wiggled his long fingers, gesturing to his neck, “The hickie thing. If yer gonna come with me, we gotta lay down some ground rules. Alright? You get me, babe?”
You tilted your head to the side, blinking slowly. Gazing at Peter with a look that told him you didn’t understand. But you didn’t seem to give a shit either way. You reached for one of his hands, a dazzled smile curling into your lips. Purring a candied noise of affection, you brought his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his palm. Your lips gently kissed each fingertip. Peter pulled a face, knitting his silver brows.
“Why’re you so damn-” He shook his head, “Whatever. Listen. Can you, like, chill out? No biting, you understand?” Peter paused to make a chomping gesture, clicking his teeth. But this only made you giggle. Which, unfortunately, he found super infectious.
Peter chuckled, scoffing playfully, “Stop that! I’m totally serious! No biting. No licking. No kissing. Like this. You see this?” He gestured to the hickies on his neck, their trail leading under his shirt, “No more ‘a that, you feel me? I dunno how I’m gonna explain this to the crew back home. They’re gonna think we got, like, freaky ‘er somethin’. Yeah. Can you imagine that? Like I’d ever fool around with-”
Fluttering your off colored lashes, you tilted your head to the other side. You parted your chapped lips, squealing as you edged his fingertips into your mouth. Pressing the salty pads to your bitter tongue.
“Oh! EUCK! Gross! Don’t-” Peter scowled, jerking his hand from you in less than a millisecond. With a horrified look, he observed his fingers as if they were germ-infested specimens, “Yer a real weird one, babe.”
His guard fell. While Peter kept his perplexed eyes on his fingers, you leapt forward. Burying your face deep into the fabric of his shirt, you squealed. Gleeful and bubbly. Peter groaned, only half-annoyed. He made a move to push you off him again. But your precious, little purring noises changed his mind. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to put his foot down.
Turns out he had a weakness. Cute, overly affectionate zombies. Who woulda thought?
Whatever. Peter had wayyy more important things on his plate. He knew he should gather up those folders he dropped, along with anything else he lost during his freak out session. Once he did, he needed to get the two of you out of this dingy, old lab asap.
“ Mmmmm …n-need…” You hummed your first word, before squealing, “Loooooove~!” Your voice strained, rattling like you’d been pounding down cigarettes by the plenty.
Peter’s eyes widened, and he let his sizeable hands fall to your hips, “Di-...wait a sec, did you just talk? Holy shit! You can talk?” Peter asked, dumbfounded, “Woah! Wow. Uh…so…you got a name? Can you at least tell me yer name?”
Your case file hadn’t listed your name, leaving you reduced to a number. Pretty messed up, if anyone were to ask Peter. Either you still didn’t understand him, or you couldn’t remember your own name. Instead of giving him an answer, you nuzzled your face in his chest. You tittered, so soft and smitten, your ragged voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Cold, tiny zombie hands tickled the back of his neck, raking gentle nails down his torso.
Standing on your toes, you connected your cool lips with his neck all over again. You kissed your previous love bites, as if doing so would heal them entirely. Ashamed of himself for letting it happen, Peter stifled a groan.
"Y-...You don't remember yer name, do you?" He mumbled. Peter's strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in, "That is...a seriously messed up situation. But, hey, I'm here fer you. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get you to a safe place, and you can start over there. Sound good?" His caring nature shined through. But male horniness abruptly overshadowed it, as your wet tongue tickled his skin.
A guilty part of him, overrun with sympathy, felt bad for you. Those scientists hadn’t treated you like the victim of an unfortunate accident. More like a toy. Meant to be ripped apart, played with, and abandoned. It seemed wrong to perceive you in a frisky light. But then again…you wanted love. You may as well have been begging for it.
Love. One of the first words you spoke since your undead coma. Not that much of a surprise, if he thought about it. As a science experiment, loneliness probably consumed you. Even before your decade-long slumber. In a way, Peter understood. He too felt haunted by a longing for affection for far, far too long. In his mind, that made the two of you kindred spirits.
Ahhhh …dammit. Peter just couldn’t resist you and your sweet wiles anymore. His self control steadily slipped from his weakened grasp.
“ Mmmmm! Wa-....waaaant…love~! Neeeed… mmm …lo-....love~!” You squeaked, your cold tongue curling over a fresh, purple mark.
“C’mon, baby. We can’t-...you really have to stop this. We gotta head back to base, like, now. Everyone’s waitin’ on me, and I-” Peter muttered, and you pulled back. Gazing at him with that mystified, doe eyed look. Like you saw the beauty of the cosmos in him, and him alone. Your lips sparkled, wet from your lovin’. Peter clutched your hips firmly. His jeans seemed...somehow tighter all of a sudden, “Would ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”
“Looooooove~?” You cooed, your voice taking on a lustrous, but groggy tone.
“Yeah. I know. But…” Peter sighed, letting his hands feel up and down your curvy sides, “Yer gonna get me in soooo much trouble. But, fine. You win, okay? What kinda love are we talkin’ 'bout here, babe? You wanna hug? Want me to-uhm…to plant one on you? Is that it?”
You perked up then. Peter took it as a sign you understood him, more than you let on before. He arched a brow. At this point, why even hold back? Because you were dead? So what! Who ever said zombies couldn’t be smokin’ hot?
If he messed around with you just a little, no one would ever know. Which…made the concept even more enticing. You could be his little secret. An affectionate secret he’d forever bury in the ground. In place of the grave those scientists never gave you.
Peter fluttered his eyes closed, finally giving in to your closeness entirely. Lowering his big hands, he grabbed your ass. His palms squeezed over the torn, booty shorts you wore. Never did he imagine - upon exploring some horror movie, science lab - he’d feel up a cutie pie corpse’s plump bottom by the end. What a way to end a mission. Life worked in some wildly bizarre ways sometimes.
Kissing a zombie? Not as gross as he thought it’d be.
Okay. Maybe for, like, half a second. But the earthy taste on Peter’s lips didn’t faze him much. Once he pushed past the initial ick, he embraced you fully. Peter decided he didn’t give a flying fuck how unsanitary zombie smooches might be. Uncoordinated lip motions lured him in further. Pinkish teeth grazing his bottom lip between kisses. Soon enough, they turned sloppy, and Peter found himself frenching the living dead.
Zombie make out session. An experience he hadn’t planned to check off his bucket list. But now, he could.
One of his hands gripped your ass. While his other held your face and pulled you in for more tongue action. In the midst of swapping spit, you sought every opportune moment to nibble him. Peter couldn’t help but be super into it. You mewled softly, giggling when he gave your booty a hard squeeze. Chuckling, he parted from your lips to look over your greenish face. Your eyes bulged so big and wide, pupils an off-grey color and impossibly huge. Wonderstruck by his very existence.
Darting down to capture your lips again, Peter stumbled forward. He guided your body towards the operating table, knocking you into it. Your hips collided with the edge, causing a loud, vibrating clang. The rough motion worried him enough, he stopped sucking face just to confirm you were alright. Peter feverishly kissed your cold lips, his hands exploring your body. Feeling stitched skin under his fingers.
You pulled from him with a joyous squeal, but Peter followed. Confused as to why you stopped, until you dove for the untarnished side of his neck. Dull flats of your teeth chomped straight into his flesh, grinding a little too roughly for comfort. Peter winced with a start, ceasing his love on your bootylicious bottom.
“N-No! Noooo! Hey, baby, look at me.” Peter snapped his fingers to get your attention. Not that he wanted to be so demanding. But you needed to understand his boundaries, before you tore into his flesh and guzzled his blood. Instantly, you reacted, retracting your teeth from his neck. You moved to make eye contact, and Peter fixed you with a soft gaze, “What’d I tell you, huh? Look, it’s not that I can’t appreciate some neckin’. 'Cuz I totally can. And I really dig it. Like, a lot. But you can’t be munchin’ on me! Really freaks me out when you do that.”
You angled your head again, curious. Doe eyes gaped at him with fluttering lashes, innocently confused, “ Mmm. Giv-....Giiiiive…love?” You croaked, pawing at Peter’s chest over his shirt, acting so needy.
He couldn’t begin to understand what you meant, or what you imagined love to be in your head. Were you really so desperate to bite him? Or, were you asking for something else? Wanton, bedroom eyes dawned your pretty face. Plush, ashy lips parting. You pawed his chest again, your blunt nails scraping across his shirt. In your desperation to communicate your-uhm…needs, you jutted your hips forward into his jeans.
“L-L…Lo-” You started, throaty voice oozing innocence. Though, the look in your lidded eyes betrayed said innocence, “Loooooove. Need. P-Please?”
Peter’s eyes popped open, as realization dawned on him. Oh. You meant you needed-... Ah. He understood now. The unreasonably cute, living corpse he found - dormant in a pod for, like, a decade - wanted to bump uglies. Great. Awesome. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? Fulfill your unbridled desire? C’monnnn. Didn’t boning undead cuties come with any moral implications? If he took you to pound town, would that make him a necrophiliac? Peter really didn’t wanna be labeled a necrophiliac.
But hypothetically, what if he admitted his own desperation to himself? He always fumbled every time he tried to step up his game and woo the ladies. Not like he had any game to begin with. And tonight, there you were. Practically begging for him to take you. He should acknowledge the fact that, yeah - no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise - he found you very hot. So, ludicrously hot. Zombie traits and all.
And regardless of how many times he second guessed himself - at the end of the day - his dick didn’t have any qualms about zombie hanky panky.
Peter’s hand traveled up, thumbs curiously tracing the rough lining of your neck stitches. Before toying with the rusted bolts an inch or two above. Testing if you could even feel it. You didn’t react, and Peter wondered if scientists used those bolts to revive you. Did they awaken you Frankenstein style, with sharp surges of electricity? Or did you come to life by other means? A glowing, reagent liquid, maybe?
Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Peter tugged the front of your loose top down. A pair of off-green, zombie melons jiggled freely. Stitches circled each breast, and Peter may or may not have thought they looked hot as fuck like that. Call him inhumane, but he really dug your whole monstrous babe aesthetic.
His hands kneaded the softest pair of undead knockers he ever felt, making you squirm under his touch. Peter grinned, pleased with every choked squeak leaping off your lips. He flitted his dark gaze up to your face, then back down to your breasts; back and forth, back and forth. Admiring the delicate expressions you made, your precious face scrunched in pleasure.
“Damn. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? ‘Specially like this.” Peter chuckled, pinching and twisting your perky nipples, “Bet those bad guys never did. Sucks fer them. Yer a total babe. And sooo fuckin’ cute. Makes me want you all fer myself.”
Sooooo…about your…cooch situation. Yeah. Uh…Peter might’ve been somewhat worried about that. Taking your condition into consideration, he felt himself overcome with hesitance. Fearful that your-uh…flower, so to speak, may have withered away after a decade of darkness.
What about diseases? The thought made Peter squeamish. Even though you appeared and smelled relatively clean, you still hadn’t showered in a long freakin’ time. Then again, protection existed. Not to mention, you were so, so needy and cute. Your body looked undeniably amazing, and felt so soft. Fuck it. With some reluctance, Peter willed himself to test the waters. For your sake, but also for his own. Just to make up for the years he spent wishing he could get laid again.
A win-win for you both.
Tugging your tiny shorts down your smooth thighs - finding a little struggle along the way, since the meat of your thighs proved an obstacle - Peter snuck his fingers under the hem of your worn panties. The millisecond before his fingers met the supple curtains of your pussy, he second guessed himself for the zillionth time. Peter’s subconscious doubt pestered him enough, he almost withdrew his hand completely.
But the precious whimper you made gave him enough encouragement to keep going. His thick digits cautiously braved forbidden, undead territory. Finding an overabundance of cool, silky wetness between your lips. Peter swallowed hard, knitting his brows as he scoured for your clit.
“Jesus, baby.” He muttered. Judging by your bubbly squeak of delight, Peter assumed he found what he’d been venturing for. Leaning slightly forward into your proximity, Peter circled your stiff, little nub, “You want it bad, don’t you?”
“G-...G-....Gooooood! Mo-....More? More!” You mewled, clenching fists into his shirt. Mindlessly, you canted your hips, seeking his crotch.
“Hey, it’s whatever you want, pretty.” He mused with a smirk, voice tender, “Relaaaax. I gotcha. I gotcha. ”
His fingers drew downwards, teasing for a beat before cruising into your silken entrance. Lush, deathly cold walls welcomed his digits in a loving hug. Beckoning Peter to sink them in deeper. You held his shirt like a lifeline, moaning an angelic, rattle of a noise. Pulling you closer into his warm body, Peter lowered his head to your shoulder. Thin strands of silver hair tickled your cheek. His thick fingers curled, hooking into a cushiony spot inside you. Your near-empty eyes saw hot flashes of light.
“L-LOOOVE~!” You whimpered through hitched cries.
“Mhm?” Peter laughed, impishly nibbling his lip, “Feel that lovin’? Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”
Keeping you distracted for a temporary moment, Peter dotted your neck in warm kisses. Subtly easing his fingers in and out of your velvet pussy at a quicker pace. Your knees buckled, trembling the faster he moved. Until his motions became brutal. With a perfect curl, speedy digits rammed repeatedly into that spongy spot you loved. Your sugary sweet, unintelligible whines rose in volume, as your sticky, little, zombie cunt quivered.
You gnawed powerful bites as you came, your teeth digging into Peter’s neck. But this time, he allowed it. He forced himself to muscle through the pain, holding your shuddering body close, “ Shhhh. Shhh. It’s cool, baby. It’s - ahh - it’s cool. That's it.” He cooed with a careful tone, stroking the back of your head and threading fingers through your ragged hair.
Easing his fingers from your cunt, he double checked the digits, making sure nothing seemed off. Your release felt thicker and stickier than any living person’s, but didn’t have much of a scent. While usually he looooved to taste the aftermath of a total cutie’s orgasm, Peter opted not to. Sure, your wetness didn’t appear radioactive or hazardous. But the thought of guzzling zombie honey put him off a little bit.
“G-....Goood?” You ogled Peter with half-lidded, glassy eyes, your lips parting in an irresistible giggle.
Peter bit his tongue. Alright. Maybe he…could give it a shot. Just this once. Zombie love liquor couldn’t be deadly or anything, could it? Disease-ridden, maybe. But Peter knew a hyper-intelligent doctor who could whip up a cure for most ailments. Guess it didn’t matter anymore. By the time Peter second guessed himself yet again, he’d already sucked his fingers clean. A bitter thickness lingered on his taste buds. Peter salivated at the thought of drinking down more.
“ Mmmm … mhm …not bad.” He chuckled, lips humming around his fingers, "I'd go fer seconds." He added with a wink, making you laugh.
Yikes. If Hank only knew how reckless Peter acted in the presence of some zombified cutie. He’d lock him up in the infirmary and run a thousand tests on him. Just to make damn sure Peter hadn’t contracted anything lethal.
Politely pushing you off him, Peter turned his head. He double checked the perimeter for any signs of life, despite the lab being totally desolate. Hopefully Summers hadn’t sent anyone after him, since the speedster took way too long returning to base. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulled his hard length from the fly. Almost immediately, you gasped in elation. Tickled squeals danced on your discolored tongue. Thick, and flushed a dark scarlet, Peter’s cock throbbed in his hand.
"I'm guessin' you like what you see?" He snickered, giving his dick a firm stroke, "I like what I'm seein' too...if you couldn't tell." Every word Peter said, every charming smile he gave, seemed to attract you considerably. Drawing more kittenish giggles from you.
With your freezing, zombie mitts, you ungracefully reached for him. Cold fingers squeezed his cock, stroking in a clumsy motion. Peter drew in a sharp breath, the cool sensation of your hands arousing his nerves. Even if your hand to gland combat lacked any skill, it felt damn awesome to be touched like this again. He stepped forward, his giant hands grabbing your hips. You played with him as much as your little, unbeating heart desired. Tugging his burning hardness with an overzealous grip.
You tried lowering yourself to the floor, your mouth falling open, tongue gliding over your lip. But Peter instinctively stopped you. His hands darted to your shoulders, pulling you into a standing position. He preferred if you didn’t take your biting addiction downstairs. Visitations of the oral variety were closed to any undead visitors. At least, for right now.
“Y’know, I don’t usually like goin’ all the way on the first date.” He spoke, fishing his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, “Like, call me an old soul 'er whatever.” Peter worked quickly, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He slipped the latex over his length, “But I can make an exception. Just fer you, cutie. But this stays between us, yeah?”
You nodded, pushing yourself up onto the dusty, operating table. Peter cringed, curling his lip out of concern for you. This couldn’t be sanitary. Dragging his attention from the filth under your bottom, you parted your knees. With your body angled backwards, you pointed eagerly at your panty-clad pussy. Soaked and dripping under the thin fabric. Peter’s breath hitched.
“Looooooove~? M-Ma…make?” You cooed, scooting a little off the edge of the table. As if tempting him to give in and fuck you already, you wiggled your ass. Like a beautiful, monstrous display of stitches and postmortem skin. All for the speedster's taking.
"I-I mean-uh...sure. If you really want me to. What kinda guy would I be to turn you down?" He awkwardly joked, fighting his nerves.
Peter pushed a strong hand against your inner thigh. Warm on your deathly cold flesh. He pulled your thin panties to the side, teasing your glossy slit with the head of his cock. You whimpered, cute noises bubbling in the back of your throat. Edging you for a beat more, he slid the teary eyed tip over your clit. Before sinking his length through your walls. Inch by pulsating inch, he bottomed out in a flash, tip kissing your cervix.
“ Wohhhhh, fuck.” He groaned. A new kind of coolness enveloped his cock, plushy and soft. Hooking your stitched legs over Peter’s shoulders, you tilted your body. Inviting him to submerge as deeply as your tight cunt would allow, “Oh, baby…yer so-...ah, fuuuuck. ”
"G……..Goo-......Gooood~!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your strangled voice erupted in a mantra of lustful squeals.
By some act of divine intervention, Peter could feel the swollen, unyielding lusciousness of your pussy. Walls wringing his cock, like you wanted to suck him dry of everything he had. He swiftly rutted into your cunt, hard enough to make you bounce against the table. Peter’s sluggish eyes followed your breasts as they bobbed. Titties jiggling with such a soft, sexy whirl; He felt his cock twitch inside you.
Leaning down, Peter loomed over you, the rough fabrics of his clothes sliding along your bare skin. He kissed you tenderly, a little heedless. In the midst of fondling your precious, stitched breasts, Peter's hot palm curiously pressed against your chest. Feeling...nothing. No heartbeat, no blood flow. A little spooked, he refocused his attention. Playing with your bouncing, zombie titties again.
"Feels so-...you feel so good, holy fuck -" He moaned, his voice catching in his throat, "So pretty. L- ah ...love how tight you are." Playfully, Peter lost himself in the moment. He pulled a nipple between his teeth, suckling one of your Frankenstein tits, "Loooove these zombie boobies. Hah -oooohhh, shit-"
Lying in slumber for a decade must have left you majorly sensitive. In just a few more, aggressive, bunny humps; you came again. Hypnotic delight burst through your core, pushing you to the point of tears. Your pussy fluttered, sticky wetness gushing around his cock. Reaching up to link your arms around his neck, you clawed little etchings into his skin.
“M-Mmmmmooore~! More, mmm- ...more~!!” You pleaded, coaxing Peter to drill you with all the energy he carried. Not to toot his own horn, but - little did you know - he harbored enough energy for a hundred men. And then some.
"You w- fuck -want more? Want more, baby? God, yer gonna make me-" His voice wavered between moans, "G-Gonna make me lose it-"
Peter’s mischievous eyes met yours, as you gave him that doe eyed look he couldn’t fucking resist. Sharp jabs of his cock sped to a blur, slamming into your cunt in a brutal display of his strength. Keeping himself balanced, hands pressed to the table on either side of you; Peter showed no mercy. Abusing your precious, syrupy walls with a ruthless pace. But not fast enough that he’d tear his means of protection. A harsh surge of heavenly pain flared up inside you, as he tore into your pussy and bashed your cervix.
"LOOOOOVE~! Ah~! Peeeetur~!" In a moment of post orgasmic clarity, you called his name. Slurred, and barely recognizable. How'd you even know? Had you picked it up from his walkie conversations? Damn, his zombie buddy's more perceptive than he thought. Peter snickered, finding your pronunciation ridiculous. But the cute, needy sound of his name on your lips triggered something.
" ’Mgonnacum- ” Peter whined, his brutal pace more inconsistent and sloppy, “Gonna-...feels too good o h fuck oh fuCK -”
A pearly white burst of thick heat stuffed the latex of the condom full, threatening to make it pop. Burying his nose deep in the crook of your neck, Peter moaned. Guttural whines ripped from his chest, drying his throat. Panting - not from exhaustion, but overstimulation - Peter loosened his muscles. In mellow, post nut bliss, he almost overlooked the sizzle of static buzzing from his walkie.
“Peter? Peter, answer me right now. So help me god. Everyone’s worried sick about you! Do you read me? Peter, I said, do you read me? Please!” Scott pleaded through a mix of agitation and genuine distress.
Peter drew out a long, hard groan. Pushing himself up a little, he fumbled lazily for his walkie. A sluggish grin curled into his dimples, as he nibbled his lip and winked down at you. His eyes half lidded and hanging heavy.
“Mmmm…’M fine. ‘M fine. ‘M fine.” He chuckled, overcompensating for himself. He knew he’d be in mega trouble with the crew by this point, “It’s all-uh…all good. Jeez, Summers. Did ya think I was dead ‘er somethin’? Haha…” Peter drolled, his tone slower than usual. He withdrew his softening cock from inside you, watching while you squirmed. On your back, you appeared a blissful, fucked out mess. Ultimately satisfied. Mission accomplished, “Don’t worry so much, bro. I was only takin’ my new, zombie buddy out to-uh…tooooooo…an arcade. Yeah. An arcade.”
On the other end of the line, a silence fell. Peter filled it with an, “O-Over.” to compensate again.
“...You took the zombie…to an arcade?” Scott responded, an edge of irritated disbelief in his tone, “Peter, are you out of your damn mind? Do you not realize how much of a risk that is? I can’t even-...your priority for this mission was to retrieve those documents for Hank. Doesn’t it seem irresponsible to be dragging an unknown, undead creature around a public place? I can’t even believe you!” He heard Scott scoff, “Now, will you please return already with those documents? We’re all waiting on you. Bring the zombie too.”
“Uhhh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Dunno what came over me. Sure. Okie dokes. Lemme, uh-” Peter spoke, playfully fighting you off. You reached for his neck, trying to pull him back down for post-sex cuddles, “Lemme grab ‘em. They’re goin’ hog wild with skee-ball right now. Crazy, right? They scored, like, sooooo many points. You should see all the tickets we got, man. We could totally get one ‘a those jumbo prizes. Say, Scotty, do you want, like, a giant Mighty Mouse?”
“Maximoff.” Scott replied sternly, without a beat of hesitation. His frustration oozed through the speakers, and Peter could feel guilt itching at his conscience.
In the background, Peter overheard someone - though he couldn’t guess who - mutter a, “Is Mighty Mouse even a thing anymore?” Oh. Once Peter returned, he’d be in for it. Royally fucked. Figuratively, and, thankfully, literally. In the short, momentary instance of silence between walkie communication; Peter disposed of the condom and straightened himself out. He disappeared for a millisecond, snatching a fresh towel from some luxury bath shop all the way in Paris. Dousing the cloth in warm water, he wiped you clean upon his ultra speedy arrival. Before helping you redress, making you look…somewhat presentable.
“Fine. I totally get it, okay? Look, man. I’m sorry. But can ya really blame me fer wantin' to hang after the experience I just had? Doesn’t matter. Be there in a flash. M-Maybe don’t tell Hank, though. If you can hel-” Peter rambled sheepishly, slinging the towel over his shoulder. He stepped backwards, extending a hand for you to take.
“Pietro Maximoff, I am beside myself with you!” Hank started, clearly agitated, cutting Peter off.
Peter groaned, mumbling quietly to himself as you took his hand, “He told Hank. He did it. He fuckin’ told him. Shit. I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.” In a motion to guide you off the operating table, Peter pulled you forward by your hand.
“I have several questions. Why would you bring an undead creature to an arcade? What were your motivations behind taking the creature out, on a recreational activity? The potential danger or damage to the arcade and its patrons is far too high. And, furthermore, Peter, is there any scientific value to observing a zombie around arcade equipment? I understand you have this insatiable need to act out, but this is ridiculous! It is our duty, as members of the X-Men, to protect humanity from all threats. Including potential zombie related incidents at public arcades. Now then, please return the specimen immediately for further observation.” Hank ranted on and on and on and on-
A noise, like fabric tearing, cut uncomfortably through the air. Weak stitching around your elbow ripped loose, and Peter pulled your forearm clean off. Hank’s tirade met an abrupt end, as a blood curdling scream rocked the entire room.
“Peter? Peter?? What’s happened? Peter, are you alright?” Hank panicked over the walkie.
Past the edge of terrified, shocked to the point of nearly pissing himself; Peter screamed. He wiggled his hand, trying to let go of your lone arm. But your hand held his tightly, your grip refusing to ease up. Once he finally freed himself, he expected your arm to drop to the floor. But your little fingers moved, crawling like spider legs. A zombie’s dislodged arm creeped up Peter’s shoulder over his jacket. Some real, Evil Dead kinda shit. He smacked at it, shouting like a housewife frightened by a mere mouse.
“YEAH!I’mfineI’mgreatI’mawesomesorryit’snothing.” Peter responded, rushed and unclear, “O-Over?” He cringed, scowling as you hopped off the operating table to retrieve your missing arm.
“...Pardon?” Hank asked, tone puzzled. Peter swallowed, shuddering while you pulled your freakish, deadite arm off his shoulder, “Are you…sure you’re alright, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting awful strange tonight. Is there something on your mind?”
A lot. Peter had so much on his mind. Like, the totally real fact that he boned an undead, Frankenstein babe, for one.
“Uhm. It’s-...it’s nothing. Seriously, don’t even worry, Beastie. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Just-uhm…lab’s still-...there was some thunder, and the building-uh-” Peter nervously rambled, struggling to find his words, “Over.”
Another pause drew out long enough for Peter to realize his mistake. He cursed, smacking himself on the side of the head. How could he be scatterbrained, to forget his own lies in a matter of seconds? He had a feeling, deep in his gut; Hank would rip him a new one tonight once he got back.
“...The lab? Peter…didn’t you just tell us you were at an arcade?” Hank asked, reasonably suspicious.
Peter’s voice broke as he replied, “I mEAN-” He cleared his throat, “Uhhh-...heh. I-I ran back! Forgot-uh...there was somethin’ I forgot. Like I said, doesn’t matter. I’m totally fine! I’m juuust peachy! Hang tight. I’ll be right there. Over and out.”
Peter took a second to collect himself, clipping his walkie to his belt. He silenced the device, ignoring any further questions from Hank. Subconsciously, Peter took a step back as you reached for him again. His veins vibrated with a buzz of adrenaline. With your arm dismembered, you moved abruptly forward. Nuzzling your face into Peter’s chest, the same way you had all night. Still just as smitten with him. Groggy purrs rumbled in your throat.
Rolling his eyes, Peter patted your head, smoothing out your ragged, messy hair, “What am I gonna do with you? Yer nothin’ but trouble, y’know that?” He teased, pinching one of your cold cheeks, “Whaddya say we get outta here already? But I gotta make a couple ‘a pit stops. And you gotta behave yerself. Don’t get any funny ideas about eatin’ anybody.” Peter wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger.
You tilted your head, confused again. Peter really couldn’t get enough of that cute, clueless look. Hank and Scott had no idea what they were talkin’ about. His zombie buddy? Totally harmless. You’d never even hurt a fly.
Okay. First order of business. Find a Mighty Mouse plush, just to really sell his arcade story. After that, he planned on snatching you some nicer clothes. Anything to protect your modesty. Thirdly, Peter wanted to teach himself some gnarly makeup tricks. Cover up his hickies. Yeah. No sweat! He could do all that in a flash.
Oh. And late night pancakes. Peter refused to skimp out on those. He’d been craving them all night, and his body desperately needed to replenish its energy. Surely, the gang back home wouldn’t mind. After everything, they totally wouldn’t be supremely pissed and fed up with Peter’s bullshit. And the waitress serving at whatever diner he picked? She wouldn’t bat an eye at some undead, zombified customer, would she?
Why's he even kidding himself?
Gathering Hank’s files, Peter tucked them under his arm. He zipped around in search of whatever other knick-knacks he lost, including his fallen flashlight. Stepping towards you, Peter brought his earbuds to your ears. He exchanged the tape in his Walkman for another, aiming to keep you entertained with music while he traveled at superspeed. As soon as the tune graced your ears, you leapt in place. Squeaking a surprise chirp. Your shoulders bunched, and you darted your hazy eyes around.
“Hey, easy, easy-” Peter reassured, cranking the volume down low so you could still hear him, “It’s just music, baby. It’s nice, right? You like it? You like-uh…you like the Monster Mash? Crypt Kickers? Bobby Pickett?” He gestured with his hands, suggestively raising his brows, “We had a graveyard smash, didn't we, eh?” You simply stared at him, clueless as usual. Huffing, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Seriously. What am I gonna do with you?”
You clutched your dislodged arm tight, cradling the appendage close. Throwing a quick glance your way, Peter shook his head. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and braced a warm hand at the back of your neck. The few seconds before he took off, he leaned in close. Hearing that Halloween melody playing from the earphones you wore, he quietly sang along.
As much as he liked cuddling ‘Ro on Halloween, horror movie nights; A new idea crossed his mind. He might just snuggle up on the couch with someone special this year.
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War is Over (and what have we done?)
Part Four
Pairing; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)
WC; 2.9k
Summary; Graves is tired of being ignored.
Warnings; not really any? Not yet at least. Minor flashback stuff where it's implied he's trapped in the tank when it caught fire, mentions of death/pondering
A/n; probably my shortest chapter yet. I spilt what was originally one part into two because it just felt??? Off?? To put them together as one thing?? Idk but I felt like it called for more than just a few paragraph breaks
(also thanks to @/rousseau-vargas and @/embry-garrick who are my biggest motivators rn, next half of part will be out soon)
(idk how to explain it, but I love how his mouth moves..)
---"more than he bargained for"---
Phillip was bored out of his goddamn mind and a prisoner in his own fucking base. Which, to be fair, he had definitely anticipated would happen when he came back.
He had known he’d fucked up; he knew you would be angry. It had been a long time, Phil had been gone for nearly an entire year. Him suddenly appearing again after being presumed dead? That was sure to stir up some unsavory feelings; he had expected a bit of rage, some lashing out here and there.
He, for some unknown reason, hadn't predicted this.
You, trapping him in his own goddamn base.
Phil doesn't know how long he's been stuck within these same four walls—thankfully he'd been detained in one of the spare rooms, one with a small bathroom, and not where the temporary prisoners were usually kept—, but he does know that, especially if he stays here any longer, he's about to lose his damn mind.
He thought he knew you. Figured you'd eventually calm down—like you always did—and come back to collect him. Maybe chew him out a bit more, which would be well deserved, but then let him go. Reconcile. That's what usually happened when you two had a minor scuffle.
But this wasn't just a small mishap, some little blip on the timeline because Phil had gone a bit too far once again. Been a bit too snappy; had said the wrong thing. Was it?
With every day that passed, every second that dragged on, Phil was starting to believe he didn't know you as well as he had thought he did.
It's hot. It's so fucking hot. Phillip should have known better than to actually be in the damn tank when all this started, you, his dear co-founder, had warned him against it. But what was Phil to do? He'd rather face this heat a thousand times over, relive it again and again as much as it took, than have one of his own soldiers trapped in this chunk of metal.
Did he really think he would win? Well.. maybe. Phil had his doubts before this, you had your doubts, but he had insisted. And now he was going to pay for it stuck in this gradually melting, scalding hot box.
Another few raps of his knuckles on the wall, and still no answer.
Phil was really starting to get annoyed at this point. He was more than tired of being ignored, which only manifested in an uptick of his provocative behavior.
The hallway is on the other side and you, his dear Phantom, wouldn't leave him unguarded, would you?
Definitely not. So, again, he follows his obnoxious knocking with a shout of, “V! For Christ’s sake, I know you're out there!”
And he did, who better to have stand guard outside his door than your most trusted soldier?
He may not know you like he used to, and you may never admit it, but Phil could pride himself in the fact that you were at least a little predictable. And you had always been fond of their dearest Venn.
But, as had been the norm of how ever fucking long Phil had been trapped in here, there is no reply.
Phil had warned them. He had tried his damnedest to get those damn 141 boys to stand down, his orders hadn't been against them. Not originally. Not until they, as per usual, stuck their fucking noses into shit they don't belong in.
Was this what hell was like? Was this him paying for the horrid massacre he had commanded?
Phil could have gone against orders. He could've told Shepard where to shove it and be on his merry way—with his family Shadows alive. No one had to die. No one but Hassan and his goons had to meet their end.
But, goddammit, so many had. So many innocent lives were wasted.
Phil had been doing this shit for years, doing the dirty work no one else would, the kind the average military couldn't.
That didn't make it any easier.
He often put on a front; he had to. For his family's soldiers sakes’. If he was afraid, if he shied away from the blood and the gore, the screams and the terror, then he wouldn't be the strong, unmovable rock his soldiers relied on. Now would he?
He should have said no. Or maybe made some sort of compromise. But he hadn't, and there was no point in ruminating over what had been done. He was going to die here—it is what he deserved—, stuck and helpless.
Just like the innocent people whose lives he had stolen.
He knew you were just being stubborn. You would come around eventually- right?
Phil had never doubted you before. Having started this damn company together, just two wayward souls searching for something to call their own, tired of being tied down with yards upon yards or red tape—oh, the irony of that sentiment. You two had never been free.
Even when he pushed you away. When he left you the morning after—every damn time—to wake in his bed alone and cold. Not a trace of the warmth from the night before left behind.
Even when he refused to admit what you truly meant to him.
Phil had always assured himself that it didn't matter, he could say and do whatever he pleased, because you would always come crawling back to him. And you always had. No matter what.
Until right now.
Until you didn't.
“V! Goddammit, open the door!”
It was so fucking hot. He could barely move, mind fuzzy and breaths coming out in short, labored gasps.
What little movements Phil could make were sluggish and weak. The latch didn't work, and subsequently that meant the door didn't either. He was well and truly stuck.
Phil thought he was starting to make peace with that. Dying. It had been a long time coming, hadn't it?
After all the bloodshed. After all the things he had done in his life—all the blood and gore, the purposeful ignorance and choice to look the other way. To pretend not to care.
He deserved this, right? He was getting what had been coming for him. Finally.
It should have come sooner. He had lived plenty; he had done enough harm in his time.
Phil's tactic at this point was simply to be as obnoxious as he could possibly be, and annoy Venn into inevitably opening that damn door.
And after a few more harsh pounds of his fist against the wall, and several more calls of her name, Phil gets his wish.
In the form of a frustrated shout and the door slamming against the wall so hard it's a surprise the poor thing stays on its hinges, but he gets his way nonetheless.
“What.” Venn spits when she finally gets inside, arms crossed over her chest and one boot tapping furiously against the floor.
“That's no way to speak to your Commander, V.” Phil sing-songs, all upbeat and shit, against his own better judgment.
Ah, yes. Let's piss off the one direct line you have to Phantom more than you already have.
That's sure to get him his way.
“You're not-” Venn cuts herself off, sighing heavily and starting over. “What do you want, sir?”
She says the word with none of the respect she used to and, honestly, that was fair.
“Better.” Phil still hums. Because he's an asshole. And because he can't seem to stop himself, apparently, the snark seems to be hardwired into his brain or some shit.
“What. Do. You. Want.”
“You know what I want, V.” She makes a face at the nickname, and Phil pretends not to feel that little twinge in his chest. It's not like he doesn't deserve it. They used to be close. All of them.
“Not going to happen.” Venn snaps immediately. Defensive. Predictably.
“You know I'm not going to stop asking.”
“And you know it's never going to happen.”
“Fucking hell, V, why not?” Because he doesn't deserve the right of seeing you. Because he already fucked this up before it had the chance to be great.
“Because he doesn't want to see you.”
She's told him that before, several times over, to be honest, but Phil still can't hide the slight grimace that pulls at his features when Venn says it again. Says it with so much confidence, so much conviction, like it's an obvious fact everyone else has been made aware of and he's just been too stupid to pick up on it.
Phil has already been made well aware plenty of times. He just didn't want to believe it.
But what about you?
Would you be okay without him? Would the others? Phil knows you have never been the most.. well put together. But after you two got out of that wretched regimen, when you two banded together and created this little pretend family, things had been better.
Phil had been able to get you to open up more. To get you to behave more as yourself, and not like the shell of a man who he’d met when you two were still green.
You talked to him more. Got a bit better at talking with your fellow Shadows. Let him touch without flinching first, let him get to know the person beneath the aloof exterior.
Even though he had given nothing in return.
Would you make it out if this? And if you did, would you forgive him?
When you dug up those pieces of metal from the wreckage, those little markers of his identity, no doubt having melted to be nearly incomprehensible, would you bury them with his singed corpse? Or would you keep them safe? Tucked into a pocket of your vest, above your heart?
Would you tell his grave the stories of your future when the ashes settled? Would you bring flowers, or would you spat over the very earth he rested beneath?
Would you leave the stone unmarked, or with those few precious words you two had agreed upon all those years ago?
When he was gone, would you mourn? Would you miss the warmth of him above and beside yourself? Those whispered confessions spoken under that blanket, amidst the cover of night, would you forget them?
Would you forget him too?
“And he told you this?”
Venn goes silent then. One thing about her; though her moral compass was just as fucked as the rest of theirs, though her hands were bathed in the same amount of blood, Venn was a pretty shit liar.
“He doesn't even know you're in here, does he?”
More silence.
“Oh, you poor thing. First lying and now going against your Lieutenant's direct orders? What has become of you, V?”
“I don't need him to say it to know it's true!” Venn huffs, sending Phil a scathing glare.
“So you're making assumptions now? Dearest, Venn, you know what they say about people who assume..”
“The same way you assume he'll want to see you?”
Phil opens his mouth to protest, say something, but he draws blanks. What if she's right? What if you really didn't want to see him? Hell, did he even cross your mind anymore? Did you even remember you'd put him here?
Phil clamps his mouth shut and there's an audible clack of his teeth snapping together.
He hasn't seen you since that fateful day when, like the absolute dumbass he is, he had sent you storming out. Taunting and prodding, as Phil usually did, but you truly had been acting differently that day.
Or maybe it wasn't just that day. Maybe you had really changed, and Phil didn't know that man beneath the shell anymore.
He should've seen it more clearly when you walked in dressed head to toe, even that pretty face of yours masked. You didn't like shit like that. Always used to complain to Phil how much you hated them, being so covered up, made you feel claustrophobic or whatever.
But these days you wear it like a second skin.
“I deserve to see him.”
You had always been so calm, and he would often compare you to the soothing waves of the ocean washing over the cool sand of a beach after midnight.
But even calm waters can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.
“Deserve? You think, after what you did, you deserve anything?” Venn isn't masked, so the disbelieving look she gives him is quite obvious. Paired with a humorless, and honestly a little off-putting, laugh. “You don't deserve shit, Graves. And you definitely don't have the right to seeing him, not when-”
She cuts herself off then, and, if Phil had been thinking clearly, he would've asked for clarification. For her to continue because maybe, maybe he wasn't the only one privy to see that you weren't the same man you used to be.
But he doesn't look deeper, doesn't dip below the surface of that pretty ocean blue.
He never does.
“You can't keep him from me forever-”
“I'm not keeping anything! He hasn't even come down this way all week-”
“But he has come down here-?”
“Yeah- but not for you-”
“Just get his ass over here, V-”
“No! Why are you so stubborn? He doesn't want you!”
Ouch. But he's heard worse. From you—to be completely fair, Phil had usually said his own scathing handful of words beforehand. “You don't know that!”
“I understand you two started this shit together, so you assume you've got some weird, cryptic claim over him-”
“-that's not what this is about-”
“But he is his own person, Phillip! You two may have been friends before, but things have changed. You don't own him-”
“It's not like that-!”
“Oh, really? It's not like that?” She's up close and personal now, face to face, mere centimeters away. Huh, Phil never noticed the few inches she had on him. “How is it not? All you talk about is how you deserve to see him-”
“I do!”
“That's not a good enough reason! You can't just say “I do” and expect me to drag him down here. He's a very busy man!”
“You don't understand, V-”
“Then tell me! Help me understand what could possibly earn you the right to deserve seeing the man!”
“Because I fucking love him!” He shouts. “and I deserve to see my fucking boyfriend, for Christ's sake!”
Phil doesn't realize the words that had accidentally tumbled out of his mouth until Venn is pulling back, brown eyes widened in shock.
Oh. Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit.
You were going to kill him.
Seriously this time. Phil was a dead man.
“You-” she stutters. “Him- what. I- huh??”
“Shit- V-” Phil rushes closer, hands fidgety and hovering awkwardly around Venn as if wanting to grasp hold of her shoulders. He backs off and opts to pace the same nine foot strip of carpet instead, hands fisting into his hair. Tugging a bit here and there until he manages to settle enough to cross his arms instead.
Still pacing, pulse jumping.
“You can't tell him I let it slip, alright?”
One dark eyebrow raised, she asks, “Why not?” and rightfully so. Phil probably looked like he was losing his damn mind right now.
“Because-” because he had never said it before. Had never had the courage to admit it. To name what he had with you. What he wanted with you.
Because despite that so clearly being what you wanted from him, written so openly on your face when you looked at him. The most obvious you ever had been, about anything—and it was him who caused that.
Still, he had never put a label to it.
“Because he doesn't need to know.”
“Bullshit.” Venn scoffs, curiosity now flipped back to protective anger.
“It's not that big of a deal-”
“If it weren't, you wouldn't be acting like this. Would you?”
Ah. She had him there.
“Listen, Venn,” he says, voice low, tired. “You don't know Phantom like I do. This won't blow over well if you tell him.”
“I think I know him plenty well...” She says, more so like that of a stubborn child.
“If I get him-” Venn starts, hesitating. For a moment Phil thinks she's going to give him some big speech about not doing anything, blah blah blah, or she'll send him to an early grave or whatever. She exhales deeply through her nose, shutting her eyes briefly before looking at Phil again.
He doesn't think he's ever seen her look so damn exhausted. Suddenly seeming much more like the grown woman she is, and not the rambunctious teen they usually tease her for behaving like—all in good fun, of course.
“Just..” she trails again, as if weighing her options on whether to tell him or not. “Be.. gentle.. with him. He's not–not the man you used to know. He's.. changed.”
He had figured that much, but Phil surprises even himself when he utters an, almost soft, “okay.”
Venn gives him the barest hint of a smile before dropping the expression entirely, a far away look in those dark brown hues.
After a moment of silence, she turns to walk away. Appearing unable to even gather the energy to speak a goodbye, the door shutting inaudibly behind her; Phil can't even blame her for that one. Seems he wasn't the only one to pick up on your odd behavior, and he had only spoken to you once since his return.
He wonders what you had been all this time with no one to report to, under zero supervision—then he considers that he may not want the answer.
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Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Next
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#call of duty#cod x male reader#male reader#call of duty x male reader#call of duty x reader#reader insert#gay#phillip graves x male reader#graves x male reader#phillip graves
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Alex Cabot x Casey Novak x Reader SFW Fluff Alphabet
Big thanks to to @scealaiscoite for their SFW Poly Fluff Alphabet for the inspiration here!
a = affection
Is anyone more overtly affectionate than the others?
You are definitely the most outwardly affectionate. Not in a PDA sense, you just tend to be the most sentimental. You don't initiate physical touch a whole lot, but Alex and Casey both know you are down to cuddle at any time, and they take advantage of it often. Alex is the snugglier of the two, but Casey gets FOMO when you snuggle without her, so she'll jump in, too.
b = bed
What's the sleeping situation like?
California King (no twin bed! no roommates!). Casey on the right, Alex on the left. You are forever the middle spoon because (a) you love it, (b) you're by far the smallest, and (c) both Casey and Alex can feel a bit smothered after a whole night of middle spoon-ing.
c = comfort
When someone's feeling down, how do the others look after them?
When you're down, your self-esteem takes a hard hit, so Alex and Casey do their best to be extra reassuring. When Alex is down, you and Casey do your best to make her feel important and to distract her. Nice clothes, expensive dinner, all your attention all night. When Casey's down, she needs to take a fucking break. The problem is that she never wants to. You and Alex usually have to take her phone and laptop away and force her to relax. Bubble bath, takeout, snuggles, the works.
d = dates
What do dates look like? Who usually plans them, and are they individual or a group affair?
You take turns planning, but also enjoy the occasional spontaneous date. Everyone is always invited, but not everyone always goes. You have lots of things you like to do all together, like dinner and a movie or a weekend at the beach or a trip to the farmer's market. But there are things you do in pairs, too. For example, you and Alex love classical music, so you've got season tickets to the NY Phil, but Casey's ears would explode if you made her go. Alex will attend a sports event with you and Casey once in a blue moon, but mostly it's just you two. Alex and Casey love dancing, from ballroom to clubbing and everything in between. You are a truly awful dancer and have a really hard time in loud, crowded environments, so you usually send them on their way and enjoy an evening to yourself.
e = events
Who drags everyone else to their family's and friends' events?
When it comes to family, you do all the dragging. Casey's parents live in the city, so you see them at least a few times a month, and Alex doesn't talk to her dad (her mom died when she was 17). You're very close to your family, and you're the only one who has siblings and nieces and nephews. Christmas at your family's is a given, and Alex and Casey are 100% there for it. But friend events? Those are all Casey. Alex will drag you to one, too, mostly out of obligation, but Casey genuinely enjoys going out and grabbing drinks with friends and will convince you both to go with her sometimes.
f = fights
Are fights something that happen often? How are they resolved?
Of course you fight. Everyone fights. But the fights are usually civil and logical and respectful. You've got twice as many relationships to maintain in a triad, so direct communication is a priority for you all. Casey and Alex have had to learn how to tone down their "lawyer-ness" during arguments, though. At first, they'd sometimes fight you so hard–like they were in court–that they'd end up making you cry. They always felt awful and backpedaled real quick. They're a lot gentler with conflicts now.
g - getting together
How did you all get together?
Alex and Casey met at work, a slow-burn career romance. By the time you came along, they'd already been together for several years. They'd discussed polyamory before and, while neither was necessarily opposed, neither one of them had anyone else they wanted to date either. So it was very much a we'll cross that bridge when we come to it situation. They came to the bridge when you moved to the city and joined Casey's rec softball league. It was Casey who fell for you first, Casey who started inviting you out to lunch with her and Alex after softball games, Casey who cautiously, gently asked Alex how she'd feel about her dating you. To which Alex said, Yeah, of course, if it'll make you happy. But I think I kind of want to date her, too. Can we all date? Do you think she'd be into that? It turns out that, yes, you were into that.
h = hobbies
Do any of you share hobbies or passions? How do you include your other partner(s) in them?
There's a foundational understanding between you that you don't all have to enjoy the same things. You and Alex share a deep love of reading and often spend evenings on the couch reading together, snuggled up against Casey as she plays video games or watches sports. You and Casey play softball together, and you love watching sports–baseball, basketball, football, you name it. Alex will watch with you, but she's mostly in it for the game day snacks you make. And obviously Casey and Alex have a whole career/calling in common, so they talk about that a lot, but they always try to make sure you're included in the conversation, and make sure to explain patiently when you have questions.
i = in sickness and in health
When someone is sick, who's the caretaker and who's the germaphobe? Who's resistant to being taken care of?
It depends on what kind of sick. If puking is involved, Alex and Casey are on their own. You are out of there, probably staying in a hotel, leaving soup deliveries outside the door with a mask on. Any other kind of sickness, and you absolutely dote on them. Casey eats this up. She is a pitiful sick person. Alex, on the other hand, will keep going until she literally can't anymore. And even then she'll tell you she's fine, and you have to force her to rest and take it easy. You can't exactly talk, you're pretty resistant to being taken care of, too. But that's mostly because Casey and Alex have important jobs to do, and you don't want to distract them.
j = joker
Who's got the best sense of humor? Do you all like to tease and banter?
You are by far the funniest of the three of you. You love making Alex and Casey laugh. It's one of the highlights of your life. Their jobs are so serious; they can tend to be on the serious side, too. So you make it your mission to brighten their days. That being said, there's a lot of good-natured teasing and insulting that happens on a regular basis. Casey calls you asshole more than she calls you anything else, probably. Alex has a razor sharp wit which is mostly funny, but every once in a while she'll toe the line between funny and mean. She can immediately tell when she's taken it too far, though, and is quick to make it up to you.
k = knowing
Who can read their partners like a book? Is there anyone who has their walls up, even around their partners?
By nature of being incredibly intuitive, you are the best at reading emotions. The problem is that you can usually tell what they're feeling but not why or who it's related to, so you almost always think it's somehow your fault. You're working on that one in therapy. Oddly, you're probably also the hardest to read. You have walls up, though they're slowly coming down. And Casey and Alex can have tunnel vision when it comes to work, so sometimes they miss things. Of the two of them, Casey is the more open with her emotions. Alex is open with anger and anger only. She's working very hard on being open with her other feelings, too.
l = lavish
Is there anyone who really likes to lavish and show off their partners? How do the others react to it?
Alex. Alex all the way. She's proud of herself, proud of the work she does, and proud of having not one but two stunning girlfriends. She dresses you and Casey up to the nines in clothes it would have taken you years to afford. When she walks into a room with you in a tailored Valentino suit on one arm and Casey in a designer gown on the other, she just knows everyone's jealous that she's living the best of both worlds. Since neither you nor Casey came from money, you both had a hard time with Alex's generosity at first, but you came to accept that showing you off is just Alex's way of telling you how proud she is of you and how happy she is that you're hers.
m = memories
Is anyone more on the sentimental side?
You, 100%. Although Casey and Alex have their moments, too. But you're the one who packs lunches with little loves notes. You're the one who surprises them with flowers at work, who cooks their favorite dinner because you know they had a bad day. You'll pick up that book that Alex wants so bad, but doesn't have time to go get. You'll record the Giants game instead of watching it while Casey's at work because you know she'd rather watch it together later. Of course, they do sweet things for you, too. Like Alex asking you to read your favorite book to her because she wants to read it with you. Or Casey organizing a game night with the SVU folks at your house, because she knows you want to hang out with them, too, you're just much more comfortable at home. You all have your moments, but they'd both agree that sentimentality just comes so, so naturally to you. It's a gift.
n = nights
What's the nighttime routine like when you're all together?
You are a big, big fan of parallel play so, even though you usually like to quietly read a book before bed, you want to do it wherever Alex and Casey are. Alex spends an eternity in the bathroom on her skin care routine before putting on the softest, most luxurious pajamas. She fixes herself a cup of peppermint tea and curls up next to you with her own book. Casey always has "more work to do," but she'll go through case files while you and Alex read. Or she'll finish the newspaper if she didn't get to that morning. She always has a gigantic, messy collection of file folders, old newspapers, and half-full glasses of water on her nightstand. You almost always fall asleep first, and they don't stay up too much longer because "you're just so adorable" and "I can't pay attention when you look that snug-able!"
o = open
How open are you with one another?
Very. You don't keep secrets. You don't tell lies. When you first got together, Alex suggested you all lay down "relationship rules." Those were two of the biggest. It sometimes takes longer for you to open up about what you're feeling, but they've learned that it doesn't really have anything to do with how much you trust them, it's just how you process things.
p = PDA
What's PDA like with them? Is there anyone who loves it? Anyone who hates it?
Alex would full-on make out with you in public, but she knows that's not a good look for someone in her position. Also, you and Casey do not like PDA. Casey will kiss you on the cheek or put a hand on the small of your back at a party, but that's it. You might hold their hands, but you won't do anything else in front of others. Alex won't either unless she feels like someone's infringing on her territory (her territory being you and Casey). Then she gets really possessive and is not afraid to show people that you're hers.
q = quiet
Who prefers to spend their time out and about, and who likes to spend it at home?
Casey is the most social of you. She loves going out with you or going out with friends. Alex is kind of in the middle. She's very, very good with people and socializes quite a bit, but often out of political obligation (to grease the wheels, so to speak, and make connections) rather than for fun. You are a hardcore homebody. You'll go out with them because you love them, but you're always very excited when you all decide on a night in.
r = romantic
Is anyone a bit of a sap for their partners?
You. So, so you. You just truly can't believe you lucked out with these two gorgeous, strong, confident, crazy smart women. Oddly enough, both Alex and Casey tend to be more affectionate with you than they are with one another. It's not that they love each other less, but you've got a couple of theories as to why they're just a little more romantic with you. (1) You're much, much smaller than them. Like a full 10 inches shorter. So they sometimes baby you a bit. They think you're very cute. You both love and hate it. (2) They were together first, and then kind of simultaneously fell for you, so you sometimes think they see you as collectively theirs, tag-teaming to take care of you and love you. You don't mind. They're collectively yours, too. (3) You're more sentimental than either of them, so it's easier for them to be sentimental with you than with one another. But, all in all, there's plenty of romance to go around.
s = sharing
Is there anyone who's particularly territorial of their partners?
ALEX. Very possessive of both of you. Casey's pretty damn possessive of you, too. Less so of Alex, but that's probably because she knows nobody fucks with Alex. You are the least territorial, mostly because you're just glad to be there. It doesn't leave a whole lot of room for jealousy. Just as Alex and Casey did before you came along, you all have an open understanding that if someone else were to come along–for any of you–you'd be okay with one of you pursuing a relationship with someone else, too. But it seems unlikely. You're all deeply content with things as they are now and don't really see yourselves bringing anyone else in.
t = terms of endearment
Nicknames! What are the nicknames!?
Alex uses honey or my love. Casey uses sweetheart and honey and sometimes baby. You mostly use lovely, which drives both of them wild, and also honey on occasion.
u = urge
Who's the most impulsive? And who reins them back in?
None of you are very impulsive. You think things through before acting. But of the three of you, Alex is probably the one who lets her emotions get the best of her, which can sometimes get her into hot water. Both Casey's and Alex's emotions (and impulses to do something brave and stupid) run high during hard cases. Thankfully, you're usually there to talk them out of it.
v = vacations
How do vacations go? And where do you travel?
You do vacations big. Alex has a lot of money, and you all love traveling. Alex considers it her absolute joy to make you and Casey's travel dreams come true, because she knows you didn't grow up with the kind of money to make them happen. She whisks you away on far-flung vacations as often as she can. An even bigger test of her love: she'll go camping with you because Casey loves it so much. But only with the highest end camping gear. And she will not touch a fish or a fishing pole, but she'll sit in a chair and read with you while you and Casey go fishing. Your favorite vacation so far? A surprise holiday trip to Soneva Jani in the Maldives. You'd always wanted to go to the Maldives, but it was very much a pipe dream. Alex packed for you, and you had no idea where you were going until you boarded the connecting flight to Malé. You were so excited you cried a little. When you stepped into your overwater bungalow, you just couldn't contain your excitement, running around the building, staring out at the crystal blue water, and kissing Casey and Alex over and over again, saying "Thank you thank you thank you thank you!"
w = worthy
How are insecurities handled? Are any of you more self-conscious than the others?
You're the most self-conscious. Casey and Alex are just so conventionally beautiful and successful and confident. They're smart, powerful, career-driven women and you're... a dorky, tiny, androgynous little work-from-home ad copywriter. Sometimes it's hard to know what they see in you. Alex is almost never insecure because she's cocky as fuck. Unless she screws up at work, and then she needs a lot of reassurance. Casey is insecure in that she's never able to live up to her own standards, so you have to remind her often that she doesn't need to be perfect and she's doing great. Insecurities in your home are always met with love and reassurance, never annoyance or frustration.
x = xoxo
Who checks up on their partners a lot when they're apart? Do they call or text?
Casey. She'll call to check up on you at least once a day. If you're out of town, she calls you at night, too, right before bed, on speakerphone with her and Alex (or vice versa, if Alex is out of town). Alex misses you, too, but she's more likely to text sporadically throughout the day. You text or call when you see something funny or something that reminds you of them.
y = yearn
Who misses their partners the most, even just throughout the day?
You really like your alone time, so you miss them but you really like having your space (working from home is great for this). But Casey and Alex miss you. Because you're home so often, when you're not home–out with friends, spending the weekend at your parents', etc.–they almost don't know what to do with themselves.
Bonus POV: The Group Chat
Casey: babe when are you coming home 😢 💔 😭 💌 😫
Alex: my love I need you here in my arms
You: omg chill you guys i've been gone for like 2 hours!
Casey: yeah 2 hours 2 long
z = zealous
Who was especially eager in pursuit of the relationship? Was anyone more reserved?
When it was just Alex and Casey, Alex made the first move. With you, it was Casey who came after you the hardest. Alex was a bit more reserved because she didn't want to make you feel like you had to date her, too. She wanted to be sure that you knew if you just wanted to date Casey and not her, that was okay. but she really did want you. She was trying so hard to be respectful that you eventually had to ask her out. Alex, can we go out sometime? Yeah, I'll see when Casey's free. No, I meant... just me and you. I mean, obviously Casey can come, too, if she wants, but... I'd like to take you out if you'll let me.
#casey novak#alex cabot#svu#law and order svu#casey novak x alex cabot x reader#alex cabot x casey novak x reader#casey novak drabble#alex cabot drabble#casey novak fluff#alex cabot fluff#casey novak x alex cabot#alex cabot x casey novak#polyamory#poly triad#throuple#poly representation#alphabet#poly alphabet#casey novak headcanons#alex cabot headcanons#hcs#headcanons
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Dsmp x reader reactions to reader being interrupted when talking about something they’re passionate about?:))
Hallo, thanks for requesting!
Tw: caps
YOU, ANON, READ MY MIND. I was just thinking about writing something like this actually haha
Hope you enjoy <3
DSMP react to you being interrupted when talking
Includes: Dream, Georgenotfound, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Quackity, Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot, C!Philza, C!Technoblade, Nihachu, Eret, Punz, FoolishGamers, Awesamdude, C!Slimecicle, Aimsey
Click Here before requesting, please ^^
Reader: GN - They/Them
Ok, so
Dream, Sapnap, Skeppy and Punz seem like the ones who would either glare at who interrupted you or like call them out for not letting you talk; their anger comes through more then the others
George, Bad, Karl and Charlie don't want to make such a big scene, so they'll just sit close to you and let you continue
Quackity, Wilbur, Phil, Techno and Eret will confidently tell whoever interupted you to shut up and let you continue, because it was disrespectful. Will put who interupted you in their place in they have to
Niki, Aimsey, Foolish and Sam aren't confrontational people, but they'll speak up for you when they have to. So they'll kindly tell everyone that you weren't done
#dreamsmp#dsmp#mcyt#dream smp x reader#dsmp x reader#mcyt x reader#dream x reader#georgenotfound x reader#sapnap x reader#badboyhalo x reader#skeppy#quackity x reader#karl jacobs x reader#wilbur soot x reader#philza#technoblade x reader#nihachu x reader#eret x reader#punz x reader#foolishxreader#awesamdude x reader#charlie slimecicle#aimsey x reader#beescenarios
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Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers:
Episode 1 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 2 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 3 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 4 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 5 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 7 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here and here
Episode 8 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 9 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
Episode 10 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here
(SPOILERS if you havent seen it obviously)
About 3ish minutes into the episode we see Clark be affected by red sun radiation, one of the non-Kryptonite weakness Superman has.
In the comics we first learn about this weakness in Action Comics #300 (1963), cover art by Curt Swan, George Klein, and Joe Letterese, where Superman is transported to the future by the Superman Revenge Squad, where the sun turned red thus losing his powers and has to find a way back home.
At the place where Jimmy was captured, we meet Monsieur Mallah and the Brain, at least MAwS version of these characters. I talk more about them in here. The episode has them depicted more like an old married couple with no supervillainous intentions compared to their comic counterparts...
who often associate themselves as enemies to the Doom Patrol and affliated with the Brotherhood of Evil. Also the Brain is usually French in the comics, here in MAwS, the Brain is German. The cover is from Outsiders #37 (2006) cover art by Daniel Acuna.
Back outside we see where Monsieur Mallah and the Brain took Jimmy, Cadmus Minefield.
Cadmus/Project Cadmus/the DNA Project, is known for its genetic engineering projects. The organization makes its first appearance in Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #135 (1971) created by legendary comic book creator, Jack Kirby. Cadmus is pretty well known for cloning Superboy/Kon-el/Conner Kent. Like in MAwS Cadmus is a government sanctioned division that's located outside of Metropolis. Ironic since in MAwS the government disavows Cadmus. You can read more about it on these two pages from Who's Who in the DC Universe #12 (1991), the art is done by Dan Jurgens, Dennis Janke, and Anthony Tollins.
Later in the forest we see Lois and Clark have to deal with the OMACs.
In the comics, Jack Kirby created OMAC, at the time, the acronym stood for One Man Army Corp. Buddy Blank of Earth-AD (a future post-apocalyptic Earth) was selected to be part of the OMAC program where with the help of the Brother Eye satellite grants him powers of super strength, stamina and density control. The cover art here for OMAC #1 (1971) was done by Jack Kirby, Mike Royer, and Gaspar Saladino.
Years later OMAC gets reinvented to be a cyborgs of Brother Eye that was developed by Batman thanks to his paranoia about super powered heroes turning evil. The page here is from the OMAC Project #5 (W: Greg Rucka, P&I :Jesus Saiz, C: Hi-Fi, L: Phil Balsman). This iteration of OMAC uses the acronym for Omni-Mind and Community. These Cyborgs make their first appearance in the OMAC Project #1 (2005). MAwS's OMACs are a lot more robotic and Evangelion-esque designed compared to how they look in the comics. Note the mohawk/fin designs on OMACs heads in both iterations of the comics and how the robots are designed in MAwS.
Someone on the MAwS team is a fan of Gurren Lagann.
Monsieur Mallah name drops Task Force X. I talked about the organization here
Monsieur Mallah mentions one dimensions in the universe where he and the Brain can be accepted. This brings to mind...
DC's multiverse. The multiverse makes its first appearance in the Flash #123 (1961) where Barry Allen and Jay Garrick meet for the first time. DC's multiple Earths have changed over the years from having only 52 distinct Earths to now infinite. The Multiverse map created by Grant Morrison and Rian Hughes, here is from Multiversity comic series.
Someone on the MAwS crew is a fan of the ED-209 design in Robocop.
After the fight with the OMACs, the Brain talks about the General. The only person in DC comics who usually goes by that moniker is...
General Wade Eiling. The panels here are from Captain Atom #1 (1987) (W: Cary Bates, P: Pat Broderick, I: Bob Smith, C: Carl Gafford, L: John Costanza). General Eiling is often associated with Suicide Squad/Task Force X. So it's possible that much like Parasite and Ivo, the MAwS team are combining characters by having...
him be a combination of General Eiling and General Sam Lane, Lois's dad. But who knows. Gotta wait for confirmation if this is either Eiling or Lane.
Thank you for taking your time reading this and making it this far down the post. If you want to see the other posts of easter eggs and references for past episodes:
Episode 1 is here
Episode 2 is here
Episode 3 is here
Episode 4 is here
Episode 5 is here
Episode 7 is here and here
Episode 8 is here
Episode 9 is here
Episode 10 is here
#My Adventures with Superman#Clark Kent#Lois Lane#Jimmy Olsen#Red Sun#Action Comics#Monsieur Mallah#The Brain#The Brain DC#The Brain DC Comics#Doom Patrol#Cadmus#Project Cadmus#OMAC#Brother Eye#Buddy Blank#OMAC Project#Gurren Lagann#DC Multiverse#Multiversity#DC Comics Multiverse#ED 209#Robocop#General Eiling#General Lane#Sam Lane#Wade Eiling#DC#DC Comics#MAwS
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Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (19)
(c!technoblade x fem!reader) (?who knows at this point..)
(*SCREAMING UNTIL MY VOICE IS GONE* hahahaha i'm finally done with this devil forsaken chapter! I literally cannot articulate HOW hard this chapter was, for who knows what reason! I don't know why but this chapter was a struggle. like some trial a fucking greek god would give me to make me stronger or whatever. but.. I did it finally. PLEASE reblog and comment so I can feel like the pain I went through was worth it y'all 😭🥺👉👈)
—————
Bored.
That’s been his general state of things for about.. I don’t know, maybe 5 months? At least since he’d finished taking part in that last pvp tournament on the championship battle server. But the battle season has finished and he’s not found anything new to hold his attention.
And Phil was busy working on a new build that's taken up his attention. And Techno would help but he knows Phil wants to do it himself, the man is so picky about his builds so Techno just leaves him be. Usually by now someone would have got in contact to hire him for his war faring services. Some kingdom or warring faction, looking for someone well versed in battle and strategy to help them turn the tides. But-
A yellow feather fluttering into his field of vision followed by the sound of flapping wings made the red eyed hybrid look up to see an incoming parrot holding a rolled up letter tied to its leg.
“Well, speak of the devil or whatever,” Techno said in his usual monotone drawl as the parrot landed on his shoulder.
It held its leg out and he took the offered scroll before reaching into his inventory to grab some seeds to feed it. Then once it was happily munching away he unrolled the letter, wondering which server it could be from. Probably some new upstart one inhabited by a bunch of idiots with conflicting opinions who don’t realize they can just go separate directions and end it. That was usually how it went. People were all the same. They find out their opinions don’t match up, they bicker over it, they fight, someone invariably gets killed, they wage war, and then rinse and repeat.
But as he read the letter he realized it wasn’t from just anybody. It was from Wilbur, Philza’s kid. Jeez, he hasn’t seen him in what feels like one hundred years.
Huh, when was the last time he’d seen the bespectacled boy? He actually can’t recall. He thinks back, far back, scouring his memory for instances with Wilbur. He remembers his round glasses, his warm yellow sweater, and his love for anything music. Techno recalls how Wilbur had always detested battle, fighting, anything like that. Hell, he hadn’t even liked wearing armor, even when it was for his own good. Which Techno thought was both foolish and endearing. He himself was always suited to battle, falling into it like how a bird takes to the skies. But he’d always seen Wilbur as so far removed from being suitable for violence.
All the younger man had ever said he wanted to do was sing, play music, and write. He truly had the heart of a poet, that was for sure. Getting him to learn some basic defense so he could travel to the nearby villages on his own without being a sitting duck had been similar to pulling teeth for Philza, his son always treating the lessons like a chore. But he and Phil had managed to teach him enough self defense so he could be safe out on his own, at least from the mobs. And once that was handled then Philza didn’t feel so worried leaving his boy home alone, meaning he and Techno could go traveling again.
And Wilbur hadn’t been bothered by this either, seeming to enjoy having some time to himself when his father and Techno were out. They always came home to Wilbur playing his guitar either outside in the yard, enjoying the sun, or inside by the fire to stay cozy. He’d been perfectly content.
And then one day they came home and Wilbur hadn’t been alone like he’d always been before. He’d had some kid with him, a little boy who actually bore a strong resemblance to Philza, what with his blond hair and blue eyes. That had been more than a shock, he’ll admit. Walking in and seeing Wilbur with some random kid they’d never seen before, just sitting on the floor in front of the couch like it was no big deal.
Yeah, that had been Tommy, and according to Wilbur he’d found him eating out of the trash in the village so he’d brought him home. Of course. When Philza asked where Tommy’s parents were, the kid had wrinkled his nose and said they were probably at home. That had turned into them grilling the kid, trying to figure out where their house was so Wilbur could return him.
But Tommy had kicked up a huge fuss, shouting about how he left on his own and he was never going back. From how he’d described it, his parents hadn’t been the best. Not even close actually, they’d sounded like shit to be honest. I mean if your toddler is willing to up and leave with zero intention of going back to you, like 100% willing to eat out of the trash instead of staying with you then yeah you’re probably a shit tier parent.
Wilbur had begged Philza to let Tommy stay with them. He had nowhere else to go and leaving him out on the street seemed messed up and he was so little, it’s not like he’d take up much space anyways. Yeah, Wilbur admitted the kid kinda ate a lot but no more than he guessed all kids ate… But they had a huge garden and some cows so it wasn’t a huge deal, right?
Techno had been against it, they’d JUST started getting back to traveling again since Wilbur was old enough and capable enough to look after himself now. He’d argued that they didn’t need another little gremlin running around touching their stuff. He’d been eyeing the little blond boy as he stared openly at Techno’s own enchanted sword that was strapped to his belt. He’d tucked it into his inventory to keep it away from the kid and his no doubt grimy little fingers.
But Philza had always been such a sap when it came to Wilbur and his ‘sad boy eyes’. So he’d ended up folding like a house of cards pretty quick, though he’d warned Wilbur that the kid, Tommy, was his responsibility. Philza wasn’t going to start looking after him when he’d not had any hand in taking him in. So Tommy’s well being was now solely in Wilbur’s hands.
Phil had actually been really serious at that part, asking Wilbur if he knew what he was getting into? Because Phil knew how hard it was to care for a child, it was exhausting and sometimes thankless, and you can’t just stop whenever you want because someone defenseless now relies on you.
Wilbur hadn’t been dissuaded though, and pulled the shorter boy close in a half hug, saying he’d be the best big brother ever! Nevermind the child had started gnawing on the arm Wilbur had around him.. Techno couldn’t help but roll his eyes back then and even now as he remembered that promise. But Wilbur seemed happy at least, and neither Phil nor Techno would have to take care of the kid so it hadn’t been so bad. And later when they were alone Phil shared that he was actually glad that Wilbur wouldn’t be alone at home anymore. He’d felt bad leaving his boy all alone, even though he could defend himself.
Techno assured him that Wilbur was a big boy now, practically an adult himself. So he didn’t need Phil worrying about him so much. Phil had laughed and said that was true but he couldn’t stop worrying, it was a parent thing. You never truly stop worrying about your kid. Techno figured that made sense but still told Phil that that was one of the reasons why he wasn’t having kids, too much stress. Techno’s a busy guy, he can’t be losing sleep over some helpless nerds. That had gotten Phil to laugh, which had been Techno’s goal. So, goal accomplished.
Things had been good after that. At least that’s how Techno remembered them to be. Him and Phil would travel and explore to their heart’s content, coming back to the house every now and again to take a break and check up on the brunet and blond. The kid grew like a weed, looking taller and taller with each visit. Him and Wilbur growing closer in height as well as their bond, soon acting like true brothers.
Wilbur had been so happy, and Techno remembers the last time he’d seen him. Him and Phil returned home for another short time between tournaments. They’d walked up to the forest surrounded property they’d called home to see Wil lounging against the porch, guitar in hand with Tommy chasing around a bee, trying to catch it.
They looked so peaceful. And Techno thought that’d never change.
..But reading his letter now made Techno’s stomach sink a bit.
Wilbur was asking for his help. His professional help.. Looks like he’d joined a server not too long ago and started his own nation; L’manberg. Technoblade couldn’t help but close his eyes in annoyance while pinching the bridge of his nose at hearing that. Nothing good ever came from governments, if he’d said that once he’s said it a million times. To the point where if he were a cartoon character from the 80’s then it’d be his damn catchphrase. But people just keep making and joining governments, even Wilbur it seemed..
And from the tone of the letter it looked like Wilbur was in big trouble.
Techno scrubbed his hand down his face, his snout scrunching as he turned the letter over in his mind a few times before sighing and taking out his ender chest. With some mild annoyance he decided to help Wilbur out with his war. Better than sitting around being bored out of his mind at any rate. So he composed a letter back to the brunet, letting him know his services wouldn’t be cheap just because they knew each other, but he’d gladly help him turn the tides. Once that letter was done he handed it over to the parrot, watching it fly off back to Wilbur.
Then on a whim he decided to compose another letter, this time to Phil, letting him know what his son was up to. But knowing the winged man, he’d probably just find the whole thing amusing.
“Well.. I better get packed while I wait for Wilbur’s reply,” Techno said before heading back to his house.
-0-
You carried Azo in your arms as the four of you walked back to L’manburg from the nether portal. Internally you were still seething at Wilbur, you knew what he’d done, to a child of all people. You knew Wilbur, deeper and more intimately than he would ever be comfortable with. But you’d held out hope he’d never sink so low as to harm a child.. You’d really clung to the sliver of hope, despite everything you’d seen him do in the lore streams..
But now you knew with a sad certainty how low he was willing to go for what he wanted. And you wanted nothing more than to sink your teeth into his throat and rend his esophagus from its place in his neck before crushing his skull between your palms. Your jaws ached with the fervent desire to cause the vile bastard as much pain physically as he’d caused you and your children mentally and emotionally.
Though instead of succumbing to those feral desires you instead took a long measured breath in through your nose before letting it out through your mouth, just trying to calm your white hot rage since you needed to focus on the three kids you had with you and not the dead man walking over in fuckin Pogtopia~
You all got to your house and you mentally focused on how too small it was for your family now. Tommy and Tubbo already had their own rooms at your place despite each having their own homes elsewhere. You noticed they usually stayed here at night to sleep, which you were fine with. You preferred it actually, knowing they were safe in bed at night under your roof. But with Azo staying here full time you’d need to make her her own bedroom.
Planning that out calmed your rage thankfully. Turned the magma level heat into a soft manageable simmer. Looking down at the little piglin in your arms made you feel so much better. Things weren’t perfect, no, but you’re just so glad she’s okay. You almost lost her and the thought makes your heart feel like it was being tugged out of your chest. But she’s okay. Things are okay.
You remind yourself of this as you carry your baby through the threshold of your, and now her, home. You breathe and stop at the kitchen, telling the three it’s around lunch time and you’d make them some food. Both boys cheered and sat at the table, while you sat Azo on your hip with one arm while using the other to grab some stuff out of the ice box you kept around to hold food for the two teens.
Azo watched you pull things out with curiosity, not sure what any of them were. Which sent a pang of sadness through you because you know you’ve let her try most of these before but she clearly didn’t remember it. Though you cheered yourself up with the knowledge that she could just try them all over again, rediscover her favorites and least favorites. You still remember the way her little snout had wrinkled up in distaste when she’d first tried a slice of lemon. That had been hilarious and you’d wished you had some way to record it to keep the memory forever, but oh well.
“Mum, can you make us some of that fruit flower tea?” Tubbo asked from his spot at the table.
You smiled and said sure, and reached into the cabinet for the jar of tea you’d made for them not too long ago. You figured a warm meal and warm tea would be better for Azo right now since introducing her to cold stuff in the Overworld, which was already colder than the Nether, would be too much too soon. You noticed with a frown that she already seemed to be chilly. So while the tea was steeping you went over to the couch and grabbed the wool throw off the back and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders. She snorted happily at the sudden barrier from the chill this new world seemed to have.
“We’re gonna have to get you some new clothes, kiddo. Some that keep you warmer than your current ones do,” You said as you went to put some meat skewers onto the smoker and some potatoes in the furnace to bake.
You hummed and swayed your hips back and forth slowly as you watched the food cook. Then the tea was ready and you took Azo to the table and pulled a couple books from your inventory before sitting them on the chair, then you set her on top of them so she could reach the tabletop. She snuggled into the blanket around her while you went to fix the tea.
After giving each kid a cup you finished up the food and sat with them so they could eat. You idly listened as Tubbo and Tommy both talked to Azo, telling her all about L’manberg and their friends, and how they were going to show her around soon maybe.
You just let yourself zone out, taking comfort in your kids all being safe in one place right now.
-0-
Quackity had thought over what he and Reader had discussed the day they started rebuilding the White House. She said he had to make a decision since Schlatt had basically bailed on L’manberg. And she’d also said he’d deserved better than how Schlatt treated him. He’d honestly not wanted to think about that. Because thinking about her words made him throw his entire relationship into question. Did he deserve better than Schlatt? He wasn’t sure how to answer that. If he did then why did he deserve better?
He didn’t want to start dumping on Schlatt, because they’d honestly had so many good times together. Great ones. They’d vibed so well while dating, Quackity can’t count how many times the ram had made him laugh his ass off. Just them two hanging out, sharing some drinks, spending nights out on the town in other SMPs, it was some of the best times of Quackity’s life. Even now, thinking about those times brought a smile (and soft flush) to the duck hybrids face. I mean Schlatt was charismatic, funny, and knew how to make his knees feel like jelly. Plus he had a few other good qualities he didn’t want to focus on too much in public..
But his smile faded away as those sweet memories made way for the not so sweet ones. Things had been great, yeah, but only when Schlatt wasn’t in a bad mood. Now that Quackity actually thinks about it there was always the worry of Schlatt’s good mood evaporating looming over their relationship. If he wasn’t happy then his bad mood sucked the good atmosphere right out of the room. It could be suffocating. The first few times it happened he’d try to give the ram hybrid some space, figuring he’d get over it. But that usually led to arguments, Schlatt asking if Quackity planned to leave any time things weren’t going perfect. That’d made him feel like shit, so he’d started doing all he could to keep the good vibes going.
Quackity isn’t sure when he’d gotten used to it but soon things fell into a rhythm of things being super great and awesome followed by something pissing on Schlatt’s good mood, then him being an asshole, Quackity doing everything he could think of to cheer him up, and then everything repeating in that cycle. It could feel exhausting at times but he just supposed that was just how relationships were supposed to be. But after what Reader said.. he was starting to question if that was right or not. He’d been so conflicted that he’d broken down and asked Karl for advice for a ‘friend of his’ who was having relationship issues.
He’d lied and said it was for a girl he was friends with on another server who was having issues with her girlfriend. Karl had listened to his edited version of events and told Quackity his friend was in a not very good relationship and she should break up with her girlfriend before things got even worse. That had just made his stomach sink further but he played it cool and thanked Karl for hearing him out, and he’d talk to his friend later and tell her what he thought she should do. Karl gave him a sweet smile and wrapped his arm around the dark haired male in a side hug before replying,
“Don’t worry, man. That’s what friends are for. Tell your friend if she needs any help leaving then she can come to us, we’ll help her out of there no problem.”
Quackity couldn’t help the smile hearing this gave him and said he’d let her know.
That’d been hours before and he knew he needed to message Reader and tell her where he stood. It wasn’t good to leave things ambiguous with her, not regarding his allegiance to L’manberg.. She’d messaged him earlier that morning, asking if he was doing alright. He hadn’t replied, wanting to talk to someone else about what he was thinking first. But he knew he couldn’t leave her on read for much longer.
But just as he was getting ready to open his communicator.. it chimed.
He sighed, thinking it was Reader. But when he checked it his throat closed up.
‘Schlatt whispers to you: can we talk?’
Quackity gulped, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat as he read and reread the message at least 7 times. Curses ran through his head as he sat up on his couch, still staring down at the device on his wrist. He tore his eyes away, harshly scrubbing his hand down his face, just trying to calm his racing heart as he tried to focus on one thought at a time. Okay, okay, okay- he needed to relax, just- He jumped when his communicator chimed again. And when he looked back down at it anxiously he paused..
‘Schlatt whispers to you: please babe, come on
‘Schlatt whispers to you: i miss you
The duck hybrid stared down at the screen hard, biting his lip enough to draw a drop of blood as he did. Then with shaky hands he started forming a reply…
—————
@lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @reverse-iak @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant @thegeekisheere @sparkling-gayyy @woman-soot @xxtwizztedxx @fall3n-vo1d @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @jaciahbabes @lucian-kinnder @deadroses2021 @victory-is-here @where-thesundoesntshine @itsberrydreemurstuff
#LW&AT#Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth#LWAT#techno x reader#technoblade x reader#dreamsmp x reader#dsmp x reader#mcyt x reader#potentially other ships with reader#c!quackity#Reader#Azo#c!tubbo#c!tommy#c!techno#c!wibur
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Chosen (C! Technoblade/SBI X Child! Reader)
Fandom: DSMP
Requested: Day 24 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!
Warnings: Techno’s death and reader is Techno’s child in-game (Undisclosed age), my final goodbye to Techno, my hero. RIP Legend
Pronouns: They/them
W.C. 358
As always, my requests are OPEN
MASTERLIST // HITLIST
Writing Inktober 2023 Masterlist
~~(^@/Philza's memorial to techno)
It wasn’t anything too abnormal. Wilbur had returned to Ohio, Tommy, and Tubbo seemingly fell off the face of the world, and Technoblade was off doing something in the Nether, leaving Y/n with Phil.
Techno was going to be gone a couple of days, he said. Well, it was pushing a week at this point and Y/n was aware of his disappearance. Techno sometimes lost track of time, it’s just who he is.
Phil didn’t question it; not until Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo showed up at his house. Apparently, Techno was supposed to meet up with them two days ago, and there is no way he would miss it.
“He’s just mining in the Nether,” Phil tried to tell them. “Probably ran into a problem or found something else to do.”
“But he would come home first,” Tommy pressed. “He loves Y/n. He wouldn’t just leave them without an explanation.”
“You say that like he’s abandoned them,” Phil scolded. The group looked at each other for a few seconds until they were interrupted by screams. Y/n’s screams.
The four bolted up the stairs and are immediately met with Y/n, their brother’s child, screaming, crying, and thrashing around. Y/n’s hands clawed at their ears trying to block out any noise. They cried out for someone, Phil specifically knowing that he might have a potion for whatever this was, “Phil, make it stop!”
“I need to know what’s going on to help, Y/n/n,” Phil comforted, sitting beside their bed as he tried to pry their hands off their head.
“No, Phil!” They screamed, “They’re too loud! It hurts, Phil!”
“They’re too loud?” Tommy questioned to himself before turning his attention to the child, “Who’s too loud, Little (first initial)?” Tommy asked, uncharacteristically quiet as he sat next to them on their bed.
“The voices,” they cried, finally opening their eyes to look at Tommy. Their normal (eye color) eyes were replaced with blood red. “They want blood, Uncle Tommy.”
It was then, they knew what happened.
When one Blood God dies, another must rise.
And unfortunately, Y/n was the chosen one.
~~~~~
© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.
#c!technoblade x reader#writing inktober 2023#bad268#c! technoblade#dream smp#platonic#ship268#thing268
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I’m here (C!Philza x Cat Hybrid Reader)
Kinktober day 11: Wings/Tail play
I’m so fucking sorry (also fun fact I nearly add egg laying in for fun)
Warning: wing play, tail play, biting, swearing, daddy happened once, this is 100 percent ooc, etc, etc you get the point not for kid
Genre: filthy filthy smut
｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡
You fidget uncomfortably in your chair. You ears and tail twitching in every direction.
Philza came back holding two cup of tea, noticed you fidgeting in your seat furrowed his brow and ask,
“What’s wrong, mate? You’re fidgeting,”
“Nothing,” you said without looking up,
Hearing this Philza put down the cup and sat next to you, forcing you to look at him.
“Is something bothering you, you can tell me,”
Hesitatingly you looked up and lick your lip before pointing at his wings and whispering,
“Can I straighten out your wing?”
Philza blink confused as fuck,
“What?”
Giving up, you buried your face in your hand and mumble,
“It’s bothering me! Your wing is so pretty Phil, but you don’t take care of it. I want to preen your feather,”
Hearing your outburst over the pure annoyance over his slightly ruffled wing, Philza cough before saying,
“Thanks for the compliment, mate. But I’m afraid I will have to decline the offer, speaking of which I think I left the kettle on the stove,”
With that Philza quickly walk away, you groan and put your head on the table, missing Philza’s blushing ears under his hair.
From that day on every once in a while you will offer again, hoping maybe be one day he will slip up and allow you to groom his wing, at-last it never happen, until…
“Hey Phil, are you okay?”you ask as you walked into the house of the broken man,
Philza turn around forcing a smile before saying,
“Hey (Y/N), it’s good to see you again! I’m fine don’t worry about me,”
You walked up to him, not believing him for a second.
“Wha-“
You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arm around his back, carefully missing his damaged wing before saying,
“Hey, it’s fine, Phil. I got you, you still have me and everything’s gonna be fine,”
Recovering from his surprised, Philza buried his face into your hair.
“I saw him died, I killed Wilbur with my own hand and now Ghostbur hate me too, I’m a terrible father, (Y/N)…”
You tip toe and nuzzled his neck in affection trying to comfort him,
“Don’t say that Phil, you’re a great father and Ghostbur will forgive you. It wasn’t your fault Friend died, we can go find them again, together,”
After a while Philza calm down and motion for you to let go, which you reluctantly did. Philza let out a chuckle,
“Well that was embarrassing,”
Glad that he seems to have recover slightly, you smiled and said in a deadpan voice,
“Yes, truly. I will hold this forever against you and use it to blackmail you one day for your many fortune,”
“It seems like I have made a great mistake,” suddenly hesitantly Philza scratch his face and asked,
“Speaking of which, are you still willing to preen my wings?”
You widen your eye in surprise. Seeing your eye widened and taking it as a rejection, he quickly continued,
“It’s fine if you no longer want to, my wings are pretty damage and no longer look as pleasing as they use to be,”
You let out a happy purr and clapped your hand before throwing yourself into Philza’s embrace again.
“I will love to! Also if I dare judge you, I will incur Techno’s wrath, who will definitely hunt me down,”
Philza laughed, before leading you to his room. He went to lie down on his bed and spread his wings.
You gently got on to his bed, and when saw his damage left wing, you slow down your breathing and gently brush across the damage wing. After a while you gently begin to straighten out his feathers. Pulling out loose one and straighten crooked feather light and simple, afraid to cause anymore damage.
Sensing your nervousness of hurting him, Philza turn around slightly,
“You can go harder you know, mate. I’m not fragile,”
“I don’t know about that, you’re quite old, old man,” you retorted back before being slightly braver,
Soon once you cleaned out the feather you gently kneaded through the tense knot in his wings.
But what you didn’t noticed was the closer to the base of his wings, the tenser his body get.
Suddenly Philza let out a muffled moan when you get to the sensitive skin at the base of his wing. Both of you froze at the sound.
You quickly clambered off of him before burying your blushing face in your hand.
Philza sat up slightly embarrassed and tried to hide the bulge in his pant,
“I’m sorry, it’s just the base of my wing are rather sensitive, I should have told you,”
“No, no it’s my fault, I should have known,” was your only response as you feel yourself slowly die inside,
After a few awkward silence you looked up and said,
“I-if you want I can help with that,”
Philza choked on his saliva,
“W-what?”
You grit your teeth, this is real fucking awkward but you’re here might as well,
“I said I want to fuck you,”
Philza look at you sadly and said,
“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better,”
Slightly angry at the fact that he will assume you will do that just because you feel pity, you pounces on him pushing him onto the bed.
“Don’t be stupid, I fucking love you, you old dingus! Why else will I be here comforting you at 3am?! YOU JUST BLEW UP A FUCKING COUNTRY!!!”
Looking at your face staring him down, your eye watery and your lip tremble showing how you’re not as brave as you seem.
With a sigh, knowing how he’s not gonna let you go anyway, Philza flipped you, quickly changing you and his position.
He pulled you into a kiss. After a while you guys separated, he caressed your face before asking you seriously,
“Are you sure about this?”
Seeing your nod, he quickly undress both of you and attacking your neck.
Philza suck and nibbled at your neck hungrily, leaving red mark down your body as you let out moan.
His hand traveled down your body to your core, lightly touching it before pumping two fingers in stretching you out.
Your face flushed as you let out whimpers and moan, suddenly you bite down on Philza’s shoulder when you felt him pull your tail harshly, Sebring a electric shock up your spine.
“Do you like it when I do that? Hurting you, leaving mark on you to show you’re mine?”
“Y-yes… FU-“ you let out a swear when you felt him hit your sweet spot,
Noticing this, Philza grin and quickly inserts 2 more fingers before attacking your sweet spot at the same time.
You felt your clit tightening on his finger and tears stinging your eye,
“Cum for me, kitten,”
With that your eye rolls back as you cum hard on his finger, sob wrecking through your body.
Looking at your sweaty body, trembling from the high, Philza quickly position himself and wrapped your leg around his waist before he thrust inside you.
Your mouth gaped open and tear streams down your face as you felt his member split your body.
“Sl-slower… ha… fuck… daddy, please… uugh…”
Hearing the jumbled of word coming out of your mouth, he grunted and hold one of your leg up allowing him to change his angle and hitting deeper.
You cried, the pleasure too great for you as you dug your finger into the base of his wings.
Letting out a groan he grabbed your tail tightly and bite down on your neck as he slammed into your womb and fucked the living hell out of you.
You were quickly brought to your orgasm a few more time from the tail pulling and the member fucking the brain out of you, before you felt him cumming inside you.
Without pulling out he wiped away your tear and sweat, before gently holding you into his embrace. Holding you to his chest he covered the both of you in his wings both damage and whole.
Just like that you two fell asleep, knowing all will be fine in the end.
#no i don’t have problems#reader insert#reader smut#x reader#kinktober#kinktober 2022#philza x reader#philza x reader smut#mcyt x reader
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—the forge
SUMMARY | (Y/n) just came to give Phil his diamond armor. They didn't plan on meeting Father Fragrance today
PAIRING | c!schlatt x reader
WORD COUNT | 2k+
REQUESTED | no
WARNINGS | n/a
AUTHORS NOTES | We collectively need more osmp content in the world
🕷 Masterlist 🕷 Navigation 🕷 Rules 🕷
Somewhere, in a place that no one has ever heard of, there lies a small town in the heart of a fair, open country. It lays along the glittering sealine where people of all shapes and sizes eventually end up.
Phil had picked a nice place to meet.
It was a small ledge that seemed to invite you to sit on it. A stretch of grass acting as a pillow that overlooked the entire valley, so high up it felt as if your head could graze the clouds if you jumped.
Gusts of wind would tickle your face and rustle the grass. It reminded (Y/n) a lot of their forge a few miles back. Quiet. A place to go and be yourself without fear of any unwanted neighbors or prying eyes. Baren, but filled with so much nature at the same time.
The diamond armor that had bounced against (Y/n)'s hip through their entire walk out there now lay spread out next to them as they sat on the ground in a criss cross position. They were careful not to get any mud or dirt on it, too self concious of exactly how long it had taken to make the set.
Phil had flown out to commission the protective layer not long ago—being one of the only people who knew where they resided. Minus Tommy. (Y/n) still had no idea how he had found them, but were fine with it as long as he didn't go around shouting their adress. Which he hadn't yet; as far as they knew.
The request from Phil had been an interesting one to work on. Diamond armor light enough to fly while wearing, but thick enough to stop any sharp objects from imbedding themself in ones gut. Netherite would have been the preferred materal to protect oneself in, but Phil had learned early on that flying with it on was quite literally impossible. The same would have gone for dimond as well, but thankfully he had gone to (Y/n). Widely regarded as the best blacksmith around. Or the only blacksmith really. Not many takers for the job. A shocker concidering the demand for weapons and other items.
Sometimes it seemed like they could spin magic from their very own hands. Some might have chalked it up to (Y/n)'s iron golem genes/hybrid, others speculating they might be part blaze, (which was definitely wrong concidering that if that was true they wouldn't be able to leave the neather) but (Y/n) knew better.
They simply cared for things more. Stuff got broken all the time on the server. Smashed, shattered, snapped, chipped. You name it, they've probably been asked to repair it. But never once had it been an item of their own. To them, every piece of furniture glassware and clothing had a soul. Individual qualities that held them seperate from any other. Ruining someones hand crafted work felt like ruining someone's legacy to (Y/n). Needless to say they were always very careful with the things they owned. And in turn, the things they made.
Footsteps snapped (Y/n) out of their peaceful trance of looking at the crystal blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. Gathering their things, they stood in preparation to meet with the very man that had organized this entire thing.
"Oh. Hello Techno." (Y/n) was surprised to see not one but two people facing them, the aforementioned bunny hybrid standing aside a slightly shorter man—although everyone seemed shorter in comparison to Technoblade.
He held a basket of carrots in one hand, the other awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from foot to foot every so often. Anyone else would have misread his body language as that of someone that had been forced to tag along. But (Y/n) knew better to know that if he didn't want to be here, he wouldn't. Simple as that.
A small wave was offered in their direction as his greeting, lightly glaring at Phil next to him when the green cloaked man rolled his eyes with a snicker.
"You could have just sent me with the carrots instead of showing up if you wanted to mate." Phil snickered. Techno deadpanned in his direction, the pink bunny ears on his head twitching.
"Ehhh it's nicer to give em in person. Needed some more gold while I was out anyways." He grumbled lowly, talking as if (Y/n) wasn't right across from him. They didn't mind though.
Phil let out the signature cackle of his, elbowing Techno as he went to shove his hands in the messenger bag hanging around his neck.
"Here. For the armor." Two handfuls of various minerals were presented to (Y/n) ceremoniously. They spotted a few red and green stones somewhere in there, causing them to shake their head at the expense Phil was spending on them.
"I told you when you asked for it—its free. Concider it me paying you back after so many favors." (Y/n) inhaled. They placed a hand on their hip daring Phil to retort. Unfortunately he had never really been one to back down in these situations.
"Favors? What, like me shooing Tommy off your roof that one time?" A laugh. "That doesn't count mate. Just take them. I know you don't like receiving gifts and all, but you're getting some today anyway whether you like it or not." Phil referred back to the wooden basket of carrots hanging around Technos wrist.
"A thank ya for tha' garden set you made me last month. 'Member you eyeing my carrot patch and thought you might like a few." Techno blew a few strands of long pink hair out of his face as he spoke, quickly butting into the conversation as to clarify why he was there. (Y/n) allowed themself a happy smile at his words, resisting the urge to make grabby hands at the food. It was known far and wide Techno's garden yealded only the best, as well as the fact he didn't share it with just anyone. So this was the ultimate prize.
Exchanges of items and food alike were swapped, chatter flowing along with it as the group of three ignored their aching feet to carry a conversation. It might have gone on untill the sun dipped beyond the horizon and his lady the moon rose with all her glory, if not for a pair of rapidly approaching footsteps, bringing along a sense of chaos with it. (Y/n) felt it before they heard it.
"Okay, who the FUCK is trespassing."
Three sets of eyes turned to connect with a disheviled figure.
Ram horns curled from the sides of his face, the beginnings of them covered with unruly brown tresses. They were a deep cream colored and looked sharp to the touch. Sort of like the rest of him. Sharp to the touch, akin the thorns in a prickle bush. Probably annoying as such too concidering his dramatic entrance.
(Y/n) blinked once as they surveyed his outfit (a collection of rich purples robes with a cross on it), trying to decide whether they should be annoyed or confused. They settled on both.
"Oh heyyy Schlatt." Phils wings stretched out when he drew out the y, nearly knocking Techno over with a "bruh".
"Don't you hey Schlatt me bitch!" The newcomer now known as Schlatt fumed. "What the hell are you doing conducting business on my terf!" His hands gestured all over the place, and (Y/n) had to blink once to make sure they weren't seeing things. It had looked for a second like he had eight arms, a set of inky black pincers protruding from his mouth. But they were gone as soon as they came, dispelling (Y/n)'s interest with them.
Phil held his hands up in a sign of peace at the yelling. He attempted to reason with the angry man who was stomping closer, robes ruffling in the wind. Technos arms flexed at the sight of someone so angry approaching the avian, but relaxed when Schlatt stopped a few feet away from his friend.
"Who's this clown." (Y/n) figured it was safe enough to talk to Techno in a wisper now that the other two people were engaged in a conversation. They didn't take their eyes off of Phil and his companion all the while, not managing to catch the upward quirk of Technos lips when they resorted to calling Schlatt a clown.
"Jschlatt, but he keeps tryna get people to call him Father Fragrance." He whispered back to them. (Y/n) looked at him with an expression like they had just smelled something bad, only getting a shrug in return.
"He can make you smell stuff."
"Gee thanks Tech. Would've had a hard time figuring out that one without you."
Techno wheezed a little bit, eyes scruntching up along with (Y/n)'s own smile.
"—and you!"
A finger was now being pointed harshly into (Y/n)'s chest, a piercing gaze accompanying it. And with plenty malic to spare I should add—which ruined the moment they were having with Techno.
"You of all people have the nerve to sell on Father Frangrences land?" Schlatt cackled and threw his head back while (Y/n) got the feeling they missed the better part of this conversation. "I think not!"
(Y/n) stood for a moment before letting a little giggle slip loose. Something that made the man currently towering over them falter.
"Right. Father Fragrance, referring to himself in the third person while wearing wannabe jesus robes and having a name that sounds like a sneeze." They exhaled our of their nose in a laugh. "I'm very scared right now, oh trust me."
"Are they sassing me—are you sassing me!?" He had first looked to Phil for an answer before gathering himself and leaning closer to (Y/n).
"I don't know. Did the seventies just call and ask for their mutton chops back?"
One of his hands came up to touch his facial hair, the skin surrounding it growing red as his jaw clenched with embarrassment and fury. That didn't last long though as the one sided screamed matched was snipped short.
"It was nice seeing you again, Phil. Techno." (Y/n) pushed past the sputtering Schlatt to gather their things, now full-on ignoring him as they got ready to leave. The closest they got to acknowledging him was nearly breaking character when they caught Techno's eye, swallowing down laugher.
"Adios." They saluted the group like an actor taking their final bow before dissapearing into the treeline. It wasn't untill the noise of their travel had completely gone mute did anyone speak.
"Who the actually fuck was that!" Schlatt growled, throwing his hands up as he resisted the urge to spit poison at the nearby trees.
"That my friend—" Phil laughed as he clapped a hand down on the self proclaimed priest shoulder. "—was you finally meeting your match."
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#osmp#mcyt#fanfiction#one shot#schlatt gif#schlatt x y/n#schlatt x you#schlatt x reader#schlatt#osmp!schlatt#osmp x reader#technoblade#philza#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#mcyt x y/n#jschlatt x reader#jschlatt x y/n#jschlatt x you#jschlatt
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on the level of the devil
summary : maxwell / mjf finds a way to deal with his brat s/o after his double or nothing match
pairing : mjf x afab!brat reader
cw : teasing, chin grabbing, cmjf mention if you squint, general bratting, talk-back, choking, dom/sub dynamic, daddy/babygirl, punishments, blowjob, ball massaging, general filth.
a/n : this is my first fic since dec 2022, writers block truly hit me hard & so did irl things but i'm v happy to share this with everyone and that i actually had the inspo to write for once!! as always reblogs are v much appreciated! <3 there may be a few spelling/punctuation errors.
word count : 1,090 words
tag list : @josiewrites , @omg-im-such-a-masochist , @baysexuality , ( for the guy you love, hate )
being one of mjf's so called ring girls came with it's benefits, no one would be able to tell you apart from the rest except for the devil himself.
your h/c hair tucked gently behind your ears with e/c eyes as you peaked out from behind the lilith mask, a pit of jealousy forming in your stomach when watching the other women reach toward maxwell as his entrance music hit.
you wanted to be his one and only girl but max was always extra. you reached your hand up further than you were supposed to, a hand lightly brushing up against his crotch.
a growl falling past his lips that only you were able to hear, almost as a small warning but you continued your actions briefly until max left your presence.
once retaining, he didn't take much time to grab you by the hand and pull you back toward his locker room. he was covered in blood and sweat from head to toe but didn't care in the slightest, he wasn't going to take that kind of teasing from you especially before one of his biggest matches.
hearing the locks click on the door, knowing you were in for it. especially since he put the devil mask back on and hadn't spoken a word since the two of you reached his locker room.
with a thick gulp, you stared up at his tall stature, towering over you. "not so brave now that we're all alone, hm?" he taunted and lifted his hand up, holding your chin. you were barely able to see his dark hues through the mask but they were ones full of lust and desire.
"m-max... y'know how i get jealous when you're around other girls. don't like their hands all over you." you admitted, attempting to look away but he kept your chin in place keeping a firm grip.
maxwell laughed and you didn't know whether or not you wanted to punch the man, kiss him, or both.
however, he didn't utter a single word. for someone so talkative on the mic he was rather quiet at the moment, his hand leaving your chin briefly while he removed the mask. a whine slipping past your lips at the loss of his warm touch.
"look at you... so needy to touch daddy earlier and now whining all from one simple chin grab? pathetic." you knew he could be rather arrogant at times after a big match but even this was pushing it. so why not meet fire with fire?
"what's pathetic is how anyone backstage could have me screaming their name except for you, maybe i should give phil a call - surely you would know. dunno' how you could even call that thing between your legs a dick." you stared at him with a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.
you watched as his dark hues flickered between lust and what seemed to be anger, slowly you pushed the man toward the edge and he was swift to act on it.
backing you up against the wall, maxwell spread your legs open. absentmindely, you opened them wider just as he taught you to many times before.
he reached his hand up, wrapping it around your throat and applying pressure to choke you just enough where you were still able to breathe.
"gonna say that to me again, doll? not'so brave now when daddy has himself pressed up against you-" his voice lowered and he leaned in toward your ear with a soft whisper, "here i was hoping you'd be a good girl so i didn't have to punish you..."
with the added pressure of him choking you and his hard on pressed up against your core, various moans and whimpers escaped your mouth. "daddy - promise you i'll be good." you glanced up at him with wide eyes, putting on a pout.
the man simply tsked and waved his finger, "you're not going to get off that easily, doll. daddy needs to teach you a lesson. no talking back. got it?" you simply nodded as he released his grip from your throat, you let out a much needed gasp of air.
"you're not on the level of the devil." tilting your head, simply confused as the man mimicked one of his promos. maxwell pointed toward the floor as you lowered yourself on your knees and looked up at him with hooded eyes.
"good girl, someone's finally listening. get to work beautiful and then maybe daddy will let you ride him on the throne later."
once your knees hit the floor, you swiftly removed his pants and burberry boxers. you never got used to seeing his massive size pressing up against the man's stomach.
after taking a deep breath, you placed your mouth on his tip, twirling your tongue in circles while sucking and making the perfect shaped "o". small groans fell past his lips as you licked the man as if he were your last meal or even a lollipop.
going deeper on his length, you began to bob your head slightly while taking his balls in your hands and massaging them at the same time. the noises coming out of his mouth were unknown to human.
he grasped the back of your nape, pulling at the ends of your hair which caused you to gag on the rest of his size, the locker room being filled with nothing but unholy noise as maxwell picked up the pace and started to thrust his hips in your mouth.
gagging and choking on his cock, maxwell quite enjoyed the sight under him as he twitched in your mouth feeling close to his release. knowing you had to come up for air at one point or another, you tapped at his thigh and the man simply just smirked. oh no.
momentarily, he thrusted into your mouth a few more times as you massaged his balls and he groaned out as you moaned around his cock, "mff-"
maxwell painted your mouth white, "clean up every last drop, sweetheart. don't want you wasting any."
you swallowed the salty white liquid with a big gulp and stuck your tongue out to show the man, he patted your cheek with a grin, "good girl, but i think you missed some."
he reached over to his dresser and pulled out a mirror showing you your face which was covered in drool and you had some of his cum dripping down your chin.
"such a messy babygirl... ready for round two with the devil?"
#mjf#mjf x reader#mjf x female reader#mjf smut#maxwell jacob friedman#aew smut#all elite wrestling#mjf x fem reader#wrestling fanfiction
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