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thesparklingwriter · 29 days

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an unexpected surprise

tags: smut, omegaverse, afab! reader, omega!reader, alpha!zhongli, consensual somno, pet names, reader is in heat, zhongli is in rut, reader pregnancy in afterword, idk if genuine excitement to start a family counts as breeding kink, I STILL think this is somewhat fluffy if not vanilla

word count: 4k (side note what the fuck)

a/n: is celeste doing a good job of hiding the breeding kink or no

masterlist | taglist

It’s scarily easy to forget, you concede. It’s too easy to just question why your stomach is killing you all of a sudden. Or why that stack of pillows in the living room is calling out your name like a record player on repeat. Or why letting Zhongli go on that work trip last week almost made you want to fall to your knees and beg him not to.

But once you realise it's your heat breaking, it's almost like your body doubles down. With Zhongli returning from his trip within two days, there’s really no point in worrying him with the information. His ever-righteous alpha urges would have him running home in a heartbeat, and you can't be responsible for that.

So you call in sick to work for the next week, and if anyone knows why, they don’t question you, and you resign yourself to a horrible few days by yourself. You wear Zhongli’s clothes in the hopes that enough of his scent is left behind to cool your impulses a little. Still, it’s only so long before silk is the only fabric your clammy skin can bear, and since his pyjamas have been freshly laundered, there’s really no point in even trying.

You reluctantly switch to your own clothes again, a silk night dress you've adored since the day Zhongli bought it for you, and focus on building a nest in the spare room to distract yourself. It works so well, in fact, that you wonder how Zhongli will ever fit between the pillows you've piled up —you subconsciously only made it big enough for yourself. The spare room is good because it's the smallest—in fact, it's so small that calling it a room is almost an exaggeration. It was initially an overzealous store cupboard that you ended up forming an affinity to during your heats, and while it was never a badly kept room, Zhongli couldn’t bear the thought of you using a cupboard when you were most vulnerable, so he had it remodelled. It was worth it to him, even if you were only using it 6 times a year.

This would be the third out of six heats this year, and you congratulate yourself on making it halfway through the year without keeling over and calling it quits. But making it through this one would be tricky. One of the many advantages of married life is not having to go through heat alone, and if Zhongli doesn't return home in time, you might explode.

You try to sleep off the anxiety first, surrounded by cooling silk sheets and everything in the house you can find that smells like your alpha, and it works for the first few hours of the night until a heat cramp rips through you and stirs you awake. Zhongli is many things, but above all, he is a doting alpha, and since he has your permission to help you in any way he sees fit during your heats, he has a very good way of satisfying that part of you before a heat cramp can even manifest itself. But since you haven’t experienced a heat cramp to this extent in what feels like years, you find yourself doubled over and whimpering in pain. The waves of agony even have you forgetting how it was that you managed your heats before you found Zhongli and his cool hands and doting kisses and perfect co—

It doesn’t help to think about him, you realise, as another wave of pain shoots through you. If you can make it downstairs to just grab a hot drink, maybe your symptoms will subside enough for you to just take matters into your own hands like you used to, and then you can decide how you want to proceed. So you wait until the waves of pain are retreating, and you take the opportunity to rush downstairs and rifle through Zhongli's stash of teas. He has labelled them meticulously, and even in your dazed, heat-addled state, you know to not disturb it too much.

You find one that seems to be labelled appropriately and do the worst job of preparing yourself a cup to drink. You know he'd have an aneurysm if he saw you, but times are tough, and he’s not here to help you. He would probably be even more offended by the way you chug the drink, not even pausing to appreciate the notes and intricacies of the flavour as you trudge back upstairs and hope you find the energy for one orgasm to get you through the night.

It's tricky during this phase. Your body only desires carnal pursuits, but your mind is so riddled with anxiety that it feels wrong when you slide your underwear down past your knees, and your other hand gently brushes your nipple. It feels awkward to slip your fingers between your legs, to pretend that it's him who’s fucking you with his fingers, but it works, so you can’t complain. You tell yourself that you’ll clean up before you fall back asleep, but the hours of no sleep are catching up to you, and you fall asleep as you are.

When you wake up again, it's not from a heat cramp or because you need to use the toilet, it's because your heightened senses can hear the front door opening. You take a minute to listen before you panic—Zhongli isn't supposed to be back for another day, but when you realise that it's his steady but hurried footsteps that you hear, the tension leaves your body, and you relax. You don't have the strength to go to him, so you just hope that he finds you here, and he does.

He pushes your door open and glances inside, spotting you curled up in your tiny nest, stressed and anticipating another wave of pain. He feels horrible.

“Oh, my love,” he whispers, walking over to you and taking you in his arms. He carefully nips at your scent glands first and is relieved that from the way you smell, you're in your late preheat, so even though you may have suffered up to this point, it hasn't been the worst your body has to offer. A grateful hum slips from your lips as your eyes close in bliss, and his cool hands against your stomach seem to calm the heat cramp that was building up. “Love, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were coming back anyway,” you reply, clutching at his shirt and capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss. “No need to bother you.”

“There was every need to bother me,” he whispers, gently adjusting the pillows around you on the bed and stripping off layer after layer after layer. He starts with his gloved hands, and the sight has you clenching on nothing, but you're just happy to finally have him to yourself despite your frustration. “You’re my wife, my mate, my omega. It is my job to take care of you. First and foremost.”

He reaches under you to pick you up, but you protest, grabbing his forearm. “I don’t want to move.”

Zhongli is hit with this unyielding wave of desire, so much so that he has to swallow his thoughts of you round with his child down before he speaks.

“Little love,” he shoots back, gently stroking your hair. “I have to take the contraceptive. Should I leave you here?”

“Don’t,” You say. You’d agreed that the next time your heat and his rut coincided, you’d be more thsn happy to explore the idea of having a child, but with the painful realisation that it might not sync up as fast as you want it to, you’re not holding out on luck.

“Beloved,” Zhongli shoots back, devastatingly beautiful, as you pull out the ribbon that holds his hair back. The image in his mind from earlier shoots back into his mind as he quickly contemplates whether he can take your words as they are, given the stage of your heat. If you were further along, you might say anything to get him inside of you again, but right now, he doesn’t think that’s the case. He takes your hand and gently kisses the inside of your wrist, a familiar action that makes you smile lightly.

“Don’t take it.” you repeat. “I don’t want you to take it.” You gently tug the ends of his hair to pull him closer to you, suddenly over-aware of the fact that your scent glands are begging for his attention. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to have regrets later,” Zhongli says quietly, and this time, when he leans in to nip at your neck again, something in his scent tickles the back of your throat, rich and almost spicy, and it makes you cough. His eyes shoot up to yours as realisation dawns on the both of you.

Zhonglis ruts are less common then your heats, with him experiencing only four a year compared to you. And if the last time they coincided was 2 cycles ago…

“Hm,” Zhongli mutters as you pull him into your nest. “That seems to explain things.” He had returned home early from this work trip for a multitude of reasons. At first, it was your reaction to him leaving, and then it was the dreams and constant thoughts of you that proved difficult to handle during important funeral proceedings, and then it was the thoughts of how you would look pregnant the moment he realised you were in heat. He should have realised sooner, instead of ignoring it and letting you suffer thus far.

“Sleepy?” he asks you, as you bury your face into his chest. But the most you do in the way of a response is make a soft humming sound, your omegan senses calmed by the knowledge that your alpha is close. He is upset by the fact that you didn't feel you could reach him when you needed him, but he knows now you need him more than you need an ultimatum. But for the next few hours, it seems like it’s just a waiting game. He is grateful his rut hasn't set in fully, or else the way you nuzzle into his chest might have driven him half crazy.

He gently strokes your hair, unable to tear his eyes from you for a single second—not only because you're the epitome of beauty to him, but also because he has been away, and he wants to take stock of everything. You once joked that he’d probably notice if a strand of hair on your head went missing, and although he’d laughed it off, he wouldn't be surprised if he could.

Your scent slowly begins to shift to something more sweet as you claw at your husband. You're not awake yet, and you won't be for a while, but you’d given Zhongli explicit permission to do whatever he needed to keep you happy during your heats, and he is always eager to please.

Even still, Zhongli takes his cues from you—if you’re grabbing at his face, he’ll kiss you for as long as you want him to, until you escalate things in your heat-addled slumber. And you do, breathy moans punctuating the kiss until you can take no more, and you're grabbing at his hips.

“What do you want?” Zhongli whispers, as he gently rolls you over onto your back. He’s been ignoring his almost painful hardness in favour of doting on you, but he refuses to forgo his manners the moment sex is on the table.

You whine at him, clawing at him some more, and he chuckles, gently pulling your nightgown up to your waist. He clicks his tongue at the sight of you, practically dripping for him, your underwear nowhere to be found, and as much as he wants to dip his tongue into you, he knows it's cruel to play with you in such ways.

“I know, love. I know.” He whispers to you as he gently enters you. You’re so wet that there's almost no resistance, and the breathy moan that slips out of you is almost too much for him to bear. His mind is almost immediately flooding with thoughts of fucking you into the mattress until you’re both so tired that it will take days to recover, but he would never do anything like that unless you were awake. He may have your permission, but he has his own morals.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers as you pull him closer, your head thrown back in silent bliss. Your response is in the way you clench around him, the slight whine in your quiet moans, and the way you dig your nails into his back. Gods, he loves it when you do that. And although it drives him near crazy, he keeps a steady pace until he feels his knot growing. He nips at your scent glands again, using the opportunity to whisper in your ear—filthy words that have you orgasming almost involuntarily, and the way you clench on him as his knot settles into place triggers his.

He pulls you to the side so the both of you can lie down comfortably, and he is convinced that the satisfied look on your face as his knot keeps all of his cum safe inside you is enough to keep it there for another half hour.

His estimations turn out to be correct, and by the time you begin to stir, his knot is still going strong. He talks to you as you wake, gently reminding you to not move too suddenly. You’re dazed but, more than anything, grateful for him as you pull him tighter.

“Thank you,” is the first thing you say when you wake up, gently planting a kiss on his cheek. The action, albeit mostly innocent, makes his cock twitch inside you, and you've regained enough of your sanity to laugh. “Rut?”

“It seems so.”

“Did you…?” your question trails off as if the process of asking is too tiresome for you. If he had, you would understand, but your anxiety is understandable. If he had taken it, it would mean you would both have to wait again, and Zhongli would be lying if he said that the idea of being a father would be unfavourable to him.

“As per our agreement, I did not.”

The smile you give him is so… perfect that Zhongli has to look away before his knot returns with a vengeance, and he opts for pulling you into a hug, the cold silk of your dress against his chest. He wants to bathe you before the next round of cramps set in, otherwise, you will be clammy and irritable, and he learned very quickly that you cannot bear any discomfort that he cannot fix by fucking you during your heats.

He wants to run a hand over your belly, but decides against it, for fear of jinxing things, instead settling on pressing multiple kisses to your head.

“How do you feel?” he asks you. He’s not entirely sure how far into your preheat you were before he returned home and he’s worried that he hasn’t been able to help all of the symptoms as a result.

“Warm,” you whisper. “How come I’m still wearing this?”

“As you remind me every cycle, doing anything but what an omega in heat explicitly asks of you is essentially torture. You didn't ask me to take it off, so I didn’t.”

You pout at him, and he laughs gently at you. His knot has deflated, so he slowly sits up and pulls you into his arms. “Will you fight me if I offer to bathe you?”

You shake your head no, lifting your arms above your head as he carefully drags your nightdress off. He decides to save himself the hassle of trying to get it completely clean and just get you a new one.

The minute your skin is exposed to the cold air, you wrap your arms around your chest, and Zhongli takes personal offence to that, kissing your arms until you move them, and then kissing your breasts, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipples. From the way your nails dig into him, he realises that's just about as far as you’ll let him go with the teasing, so he picks you up and takes you to the bath. It’s easy when you’re as pliant as you are now—any attempt you make to push back is easily combatted with words of praise and a gentle kiss to your head, and before you know it, you’re clean and dry and pressed up against your lover’s cool skin.

“Are you still certain about this?” Zhongli strokes your hair again, gently scratching your scalp in a way that sends satisfying shivers down your spine. “I can still take the contraceptive if you want.”

“No. I want this with you,” you reiterate, pulling him into another kiss. You expect him to kiss you back softly, the way he usually does, but the fact he’s in rut has slipped your mind, and the way he captures your lips in a fiery kiss has a wave of need rushing through you. You gasp at the way his teeth graze your neck, the way his hands rest against your skin, still so gentle despite the fact you know he wants to be anything but.

A heat cramp comes over you so suddenly that Zhongli barely has the chance to register the change in your scent, but he’s quick to respond to your whimper. It’s cheeky of him, he knows, but he gently slides a hand up your thigh and lets it play with your clit for little more than a few seconds. Judging by how drenched you are, if he’d allowed himself to play for any longer, you might have taken matters into your own hands.

Zhongli whispers your name, although it comes out as more of a growl than a whisper, and you know he’s asking for your permission to take you the way he wants to—the way he craves. And even though he knows you’ll be fine, in fact, when you’re in heat you’re most compatible for a mate in rut, he feels the need to check. So when you reach for him and bite on his neck as hard as you physically can, he takes that as an okay.

It takes every single piece of patience he has to gently place your legs over his shoulder, and slowly sink himself into you. It takes even more for him to maintain a slow pace when you’re looking up at him like that, even more so when you moan his name in the breathy way he loves so dear.

“Safe word?” he asks through gritted teeth, and only when you repeat it back to him does he let himself relax a little. He slides a pillow under your hips, before whispering: “Brace yourself, love.” And even though he warns you, you’re still shocked by how hard his next thrust is—if you hadn't been in heat, it probably would have been enough to send you over the edge. His hands grip your waist so hard that in the back of your mind, you're convinced that it’s going to bruise, but the rest of your thoughts are blank, a dull hum in your head where words are supposed to be.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, as he moves his hands from your waist to your wrists.

“More. please, more,” you reply, and he obliges, quietly pleased with the way your pleas shift from words to loud moans and desperate whimpers.

“You want me to breed you, don’t you?” his voice is impossibly steady, his eyes trained on you in a way that stops you from looking elsewhere, even after he thrusts into you so hard that you want to throw your head back. Your whispered please is so faint that he almost doesn't hear it, but he does feel you clench desperately around him, and he's almost disappointed that he’s knotting you so soon.

The way you look at him is unfair. The way you scream his name as you orgasm is unfair, the way you close your eyes in bliss as he cums inside you is so. Fucking. Unfair. How is he ever supposed to win against you? You could ask him for the world, and he would create it for you.

“Is it safe to assume you’re satisfied now?” he asks you when you’re once again capable of speech.

“For now,” you respond. And even though you know it's bad to keep things from him, you don’t tell your husband that you don’t feel another heat cramp for the rest of the week.

~~~

“It has been less than a second since I stepped over the threshold of this house and you are already jumping on me.” Zhongli laughs as you barrel into his arms. He notes you smell different, but he can’t pick up what he is. As he picks you up, he thinks that you're slightly heavier than usual, but that could just be his muscles being fatigued from moving packed boxes of paperwork all day.

“You’re home early,” you smile, looking down at him. He manages to get his shoes off and walk you over to the living room, where you curl up next to him on the sofa. You have been increasingly affectionate as of the last few months and increasingly horny too, but you have those phases every so often, so Zhongli does not question it. They rarely last this long though.

He very quickly realises you’re wearing the replacement of the silk nightgown he got rid of during your last heat. He made sure it was a one-to-one replacement, but it fits differently on you now. Not a bad difference, it’s a perfect difference, he concludes.

“I missed you, my love.” he kisses you softly. “More than should be humanely possible.”

Your husband's brain has been replaced with a rock, you decide.

“I think we need to look at remodelling the fourth room,” you smile, gently pushing Zhongli to get him to sit with his back against the arm rest of the sofa.

“The room that conjoins ours?” Zhongli replies. “Why would we need to do that?”

You sit between his legs, your back against his chest, your head tilted lightly to the side so he can kiss your neck the way he always does. But this time, he hovers before he kisses you, and you use his sudden pause to take his hands and place them on your belly.

You feel his breathing pause for a second, and the silence that descends between you is warm and comfortable as realisation dawns on him.

“You’re…” Your husband is speechless for the first time ever. He sits up slowly, his eyes trained on you.

“I am,” you reply, turning around to look at him. You're shocked when you realise that he’s crying. “Oh, darling, don’t cry. You’ll set me off.” you cradle his face in his hands, gently wiping his tears away with your thumbs. He smiles at you, eyes shining with unshed tears and eternal love.

Zhongli doesn't reply; he just kisses you softly and pulls you into a hug. “I suppose I should add ‘mother of our child’ to my list of names for you,” he says quietly, pressing kisses into your hair, your cheeks, and your neck as you giggle at him. "I am certain you’ll be a great mother, deserving of every praise.”

You smile. “And you’ll be a great father.” you reply. “The best father our child could ever ask for.”

notes: i have plenty of things to blame this on but I wont even start. can smut be fluffy...? is that a thing? is this enough to make u guys forgive my absence ?

#[🚨]—restricted fiction #minors dni #zhongli smut #genshin smut #omegaverse #alpha zhongli #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli fanfic #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact

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frxxxncx · 1 year

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happy birthday - c. seungcheol

»idol!¡Choi Seungcheol x fem!¡reader.

»Summary: It´s midnight and you´re alone in your apartment for your birthday.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, pet names, establish relationship, idolau, fingering, countertop oral(?, body worship, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, reader is mention to have her ears pierced, seungcheol is strong af.

»Words: 1.4k (idk)

note: i feel like as much as Cheol likes people to congratulate him on his birthday, he would try his best to do the same for his partner, idk, it was my birthday like three days ago and i just miss him so much ;c

note 2: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

Your hair tickled on the back of your neck, the soft air of the night making it dance on your skin.

In this particularly cold night, you looked at the moon with a solemn expression in your face, you were sitting in the balcony... alone, with the big and shining sphere who has always been the witness of your bittersweet nights filled in loneliness, but also bystander of those you spent with company.

The memories of his warm body beside you, tugging you into a warm hug seem very distant, like they have been only a long and wonderful dream.

You closed your eyes trying to imagine your boyfriend being there, his hoarse voice congratulating you for your birthday as soon as the clock hits midnight like he always used to do.

Filling your face with kisses and caressing your body with softness, but he wasn't there.

It's been four months since the last time you saw him, his schedule always filled to the brim, presentations, concerts, interviews, flights, pre-recording, you didn't know what to do, you talk all the time, texts, calls, FaceTime, but it's not enough, it's just to little of him for you.

You hugged yourself and the clock rang announcing midnight.

"Happy birthday to me" you said while an uncontrollable tear slipped through your reddened cheek.

You got up, and palmed the dirt of your shirt to get inside the apartment. Dragging your feet, you threw yourself in your bed, crashing into the mattress, hurting your back with the tv controller that was laying there before.

You took the controller from behind your back, to settle in the bed hugging your pillow tightly, arching your back making your shirt -your boyfriend's shirt- lift.

"Fuck, what a nice view" the velvety yet masculine voice of your boyfriend rang in your ears, and startled you sat in your bed.

There he was, standing in the door frame, with a big box of chocolates, a bottle of wine and a cute bouquet of your favourite flowers. His pearly smile lighted the gloominess in the room, making your heart flutter.

"Happy birthday, baby" he said sweetly but with an apologetic smile, maybe thinking you were upset by his tardiness.

You wanted to cry big time, you were certain that he was extremely tired from his rehearsals, but yet you were so happy that he took the time to come.

Euphoric you got out of bed, running to him and jumping on his arms, pinning your legs on his hips and locking your arms in his neck. Seungcheol, was in a tough position, his arms were full with the gifts and now you were clinging onto him like a tick, he has to admit it, his core balance is pretty sick.

Your face rested in the crock of his neck and the woody smell stroke your nostrils, and with that you were sure that him being there was not a dream.

You raised your face, his eyes were like two shining stars and his sweet smile almost made you melt in his arms. With his hands still very occupied, he managed to hug you back and give a loud kiss on your temple.

"I missed you so much" he whispered in your ear, his soft lips caressing your earlobe sending shivers down your spine.

A chill ran down your body making you tighten your grip on his neck.

"I missed you too, Cheolie"

Seungcheol, who was somehow still lifting you, got out of the room and went straight to the kitchen, putting everything in place, the chocolates in the table, the flowers in the pot and the wine, well, the wine in the wine fridge. When his hands were free he decided to sit you in the aisle in the middle of the kitchen.

Your legs and arms untangled from his figure, but he didn't move an inch, with your legs on each side of his hips, he started to leave kisses in the soft skin of your neck, sweet kisses in the freckles of your shoulders, but biting and sucking your collarbone.

His black shirt which you were using was starting to get in the way and quickly he got rid of it. He admired your bare chest, your beautiful and delicate skin, your breasts that fit in his hands just perfectly.

He kept kissing your skin while his hands were now fondling your breast enjoying the soft moans that escaped your mouth. A loud whimper dance away from your mouth, when his lips started to give pecks at your breasts.

He missed you so much, he just wanted you to touch you, draw your whole body with his fingers, engrave every curve of your body in his memory.

The tips of his fingers were now caressing your thighs doing imaginary figures, stroking with care. His kisses got to the base of your stomach, your fingers were starting to curl thrilled.

"God, you're so perfect" he whispered against your belly, making you shiver.

Your hands squeezed tightly the edge of the isle, knuckles whitening at the action and almost losing feeling in your fingers. You laid, your body suddenly feeling heavy, a whine slipped from your lips as Seungcheol’s fingers ran over your clotted cunt, just a little caress over your clothes making you shiver, not even directly and still it felt so good.

He tugged with his thumbs in the elastic of your underwear, stroking faintly with his fingers the journey to your ankles, making your skin burn exquisitely.

Now with your underwear long forgotten in some dark corner of the kitchen, Seungcheol's fingers travelled through the inside of your thighs once again.

As his digits got closer and closer to your core, he stopped, gripping the soft flesh of your legs tightly, making you moan.

Seungcheol put his rough palms in your knees, and testing your flexibility he pushed as much as he could without hurting you, his eyes travelled from your eyes to your cunt, licking his lips at the stirring view, your core sopping in your arousal.

His breath was hot against your wet and puffy lips, how was it even possible for you to feel this worked up when you haven't even started yet?, you were eager to know what was about to come next.

Like two petals the kisses were soft and silky, lips dancing skilfully on your cunt, making you chant his name in an obscene mantra, he drank till the last drop of your arousal, like it was one of his favourite wines.

His tongue strokes over your sex, drawing fat strips with the hot muscle, enjoying your exquisite flavour like a starving man, but also pleased for being able to make you moan just like a porn star.

You could feel his hot tongue inside of you, his nose bumping with your clit, making your toes curl, you are not sure if it is because you love him so much, but Seungcheol is just so fucking good at giving you head, he knew where to touch, where to suck, he knows your body like the palm of his hand and that makes you even wetter.

And when he pressed his big hand onto your belly you felt how the coil that has been building up started to erupt, like firework exploiting inside of you, and when your orgasm washed you over, he drank it all, leaving you a trembling mess, receiving more pleasure from hearing you become such a mess just from giving you head, ignoring completely the hard on pressing painfully against his jeans.

His blonde hair felt soft against your thighs, when he lifted his face to looked at you, you could help but let a pathetic cry slip your mouth, his lips were bright red and glossy, chin covered in your arousal, he was panting, expression denoting adoration, making your heart melt in the spot.

His eyes looked at you lovingly, his tongue licking what it could from your excitement from his lips, his face got close to yours, lips kissing your earlobe feeling the cold metal of your piercing in his lips.

"I love you"

Your chest tightened, happiness overflowing your body, you stole a soft and innocent kiss from Seungcheol, making him laugh.

"I love you too"

"Happy birthday"

"Well now I'll go get your present" he got up and started to walk towards the door but you were confused.

"Wait" you said and he stopped in the door frame to look at you with a smile, head tilted to the side "My presents weren't the chocolates, the wine and the flowers?" the disorientation in your voice was obvious.

"No, that was just a small gift" he furrowed his eyebrows still smiling, yet his expression was showered in disbelief "Do you think I'm broke or something?"

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fatesundress · 19 days

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⭑ settle soft and as pure as snow. tom riddle x reader

summary. he’s tender the way snow is. devout as a prayer that it will clear come spring.

tags. gn reader, ooc tom to 99% of the world but man do i love the 1% to whom it isn't, short little blurb, fear of death / discussions of mortality, fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint but mostly comfort, just. lovers! being lovers! kind of a sequel to your kitchen table in that it's as much an analysis of tom's fears and desires as it is an x reader, i needed this so i wrote it idk what to tell you okay

note. in my long absence i hit 1k followers (!!!???) and while i've struggled to write anything substantial, i really enjoyed this and wanted to share something to somewhat express my gratitude :') have some healed tom (inspired by hozier) and as always, my requests are open in case something sparks inspiration. in the meantime, thanks for everything!!

word count. 791

He’s so suited to this. Beautifully, frustratingly so — born in its longest nights and shaded in its sundry tones; its stellular blues and soft, powdery whites — Tom Riddle is December made mortal. (An offensive turn of phrase, you’re sure, but he’s suited to mortality too.) You think he used to charm his cheeks not to flush but relented the effort at some point, some years ago with you, because the cold splashes them pink to his ears now, snow dotting his tousled hair. He has the integrity still to deny your caps and earmuffs with a signature scowl, but — one day.

It’s a walk through the night for no particular reason, with no particular direction. There’s moorland past the trail that winds around your shared abode, tall and dense and magical. It satiates something in him. The unknown. The need for it.

Sometimes he gets restless and doesn’t tell you, only stares furtively from the northernmost window, fingers conjuring spirals of ice on the sill absentmindedly. You take his hand and kiss the cool digits one by one. To remind him of intention.

It’s the decay, you presume. A little voice always tugs him that way, but it gets louder this time of year. With everything shedded, rotted, buried and slumbering, Tom endures watching the cycle he hates most echo into spring. Rebirth, yes, but not how he pictures it. What he knows in the steepest dusks is that one winter will come where he will not wake up again with the flowers, where you might vow to tend whatever garden someday blooms over his grave, a name etched into the stone that none but you will remember. Many winters after that, when you follow him into death and the house is mildewed and lichen clusters his favourite window, the grave will wear until even that is gone to time.

It terrifies him.

So you walk. Intention. Your hand is in his.

The magic of a simple charm warms you somewhat, but you enjoy the subtle sting of cold. You can feel it because you’re alive. It’s the same life that strung you to him in a way that can’t be severed, and now you make new trails in pathless woods and wonder at constellations, spiles broaching syrup into buckets from the trees. You collect them for potions. You invent new ones together, and tease him over a coughing fit in cauldron smoke that immortality is more than living forever.

He kisses you quiet, but he’ll listen later. There’s so much time.

You wonder if it suits you, too — winter — by the way he tends to you when it comes. Doting. You would never have imagined considering him having such a virtue when you met him, but he’s… tender, the way snow is. Devout as a prayer that it will clear come spring. Stinging, soft, ephemeral. You weather him. But how he keeps you warm when the night drags on, and talk of constellations turns to talk of grief, he shelters you.

When your back is bare and you’re laid away from him, he traces the skin like he’s never seen it before. It’s a wonder, you think, to learn the mechanisms of touch like a foreign language. Perhaps it would feel the same for the first thousand times. How many winters did he trace the cool tile of his bedroom wall just like this, with skinny fingers scraping at the mortar on another empty birthday? There are questions even now you think to ask but don’t. He offers the answers mostly as he’s reminded of them: that a clearing in the moors evokes a memory of a bad field trip, a mantelpiece of tchotchkes echo a stolen box in a burning wardrobe, that most things, at times, feel fleetingly disparate, ready to be returned to their right place. Tea will go without sugar again as he will go without you.

Nonsense. This is yours, you tell him, the word sewn between you.

His pink cheeks are all the colour you see in the dark. The tree sap is sweet and light. You write a letter to a potioneer in New Guinea to draft, and turn left instead of right the next night, a new forest discovered within the first. Your New Year’s Eve is a swell of light in birthday candles, laughing into his cheek at some bad joke until the sound is smothered by a kiss he breaks too soon by laughing too. It’s a sound you can’t invent or imagine, words failing you even when you find them for everything else he is.

Spring comes one unsuspecting morning, twice and twenty times, greys strewn in the black of his hair. You smile with crow’s feet into winter again.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fluff #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #tom riddle imagine #voldemort x reader #tom riddle oneshot #blurb #harry potter fanfiction

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toxicanonymity · 2 years

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Hey love your work could you please do a Joel story where reader is virgin/ naive and they are on patrol or something similar. They get cold and Joel convinces/ tricks the reader to strip for warmth and starts touching her saying he just wants to keep her warm and she can keep him warm by using her mouth on him…. dubcon/noncon. Please? Thank you? ily?

Patrol

1.3k | CREEPY!Joel x naive virgin f!reader

joel master list

NSFW 18+ Dubcon/noncon nudity & sex acts: dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral sex; manipulation; idk what else to tag, but cannot stress enough what a creep he is or how naive reader is.

You’re relieved when Joel is your patrol partner. You’re new to the job and he’s more than capable of protecting you if it comes down to it. You’re posted at the top of a hill near a shack. Joel has a sniper rifle set up, but in all the times he’s been posted there, nothing has ever happened. Each of you has a blanket, but it’s not enough to stay warm. Your ass is freezing against the cold ground.

A bitter gust of wind hits, and Joel scoots over, wrapping you both in his blanket. He smells like pine, whiskey, and dried sweat. He rubs your arms, then starts to get behind you.

“Come on now, don’t be shy,” he says. “Can’t get warm keepin’ to yourself like that.”

He persuades you between his legs, and you have to admit you’re much warmer that way. Your ass especially benefits from the heat of his loins. He offers you a swig of whiskey. You’re of legal age to drink, but you’ve never really done it. He says it’ll help warm you up. He hooks his arm around you and holds the bottle up to your lips. It tastes awful and burns your throat, but he’s right, you get a little warmer.

You sit like that for a while. He hugs you close and his pants harden against you, which makes you tingle between the legs. You’re a little ashamed at how your body is reacting when he’s just being a nice guy, trying to keep you warm. Joel looks at his watch.

“We’ve got about an hour break now. Why don’t we go up in the shack to get a little warmer.” You didn’t know both people could break at the same time on a patrol.

Inside the shack, there’s a decrepit sofa facing a window in the same direction you’re supposed to patrol. Without the wind, you’re already much less cold. You sit down on the couch. Joel suggests it’ll be better if you double up the blankets so you can both get under two layers. Makes sense to you. You snuggle up to him under both blankets.

“Still cold?” he asks.

“A little.”

“Here, lemme show you somethin’. Trust me for a second?”

“Okay.” He’s so capable and protective, of course you trust him.

He takes off his jacket and lifts his shirt up a few inches. Then, he lifts your shirt up, too, and your breath hitches. You swallow and don’t say anything. He pulls you up against him and his skin is so warm against yours, it feels like heaven. Your heart races.

“How’s that feel?”

“Warm,” you say. It also stirs something in your core, but you don’t tell him that part.

“That’s right. That’s why people take their clothes off and get really close when they’re cold.”

You don’t know what to say. You get a whiff of the whiskey on his breath.

He continues, “Might sound like a silly idea, takin’ your clothes off when it’s cold, but you feel it workin’ already don’t ya?”

“I guess so. . .” You’re embarrassed. Something about this feels strange, but you also don't want to seem even less worldly than you are if it's something people really do.

“It’s alright now, darlin,” he says softly as he unbuckles his belt. “We’ll just give it a try, see if it helps.”

He smiles kindly and reaches over to help you unbutton your pants. “Your core right here, that’s the warmest part of the body. This and your mouth,” he says, running his hands over your stomach and the front of your pants. “It’s like a furnace.” He pats your zipper, then unzips it. Your cheeks burn. “And your heart, here,” he pats your chest, “it’s important for heat, too.”

A small nod is all you can muster. “I’m just a little shy, to, uh-”

“Oh it’s okay darlin, it’s okay. I won't look. You just come on back under here when you’re all set, okay?”

“Okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief. The room is cold as you hesitantly disrobe.

A minute later, you’re naked under the blanket except your bra and underwear.

“There ya go, darlin.”

You settle in against his naked body, curled up shyly as a small spoon. His arousal presses between your thighs. His hand comes to your underwear. “Whoops. Don’t forget, this is one of our furnaces.” He starts to pull them down.

“Want me to show you another trick real quick?” You don’t answer.

“I can give you a real strong burst of heat.” You freeze and say nothing as his hand slides into your panties. Several fingers wedge between your thighs, engulf your whole front in a hug, massaging you in a circular motion. Then, two fingers glide further, rubbing against your warm, wet folds. He pulls down the back of your underwear and nestles his hard package in your crack, rolling it into you and breathing heavily as he massages your throbbing clit. Tension coils in your core.

You don’t know what to make of any of this. You aren't stupid You aren't a child. It’s clearly turned into something sexual. But he’s so nurturing and protective, you feel like he has the best intentions.

His middle finger enters you and he whispers, “warmest part, right here,” then adds another finger with a sigh. His hardness moves against your crack and he grunts softly. Your hips slightly rock into his hand. “There ya go,” he says. “You’ve got the right idea.” He returns his fingers to your clit, trying different strokes, and when you softly moan, he stays with that one. He pets you faster and faster until the tension bursts and your body jerks. You’re not cold at all as your clit pulses, releasing the blood back into your body.

He pulls your panties back up. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna take these off,” he says. You’re relieved. His big, hard cock intimidates you. It’s uncomfortably close to your holes. “There’s another way you can get me warm.” You gulp.

“Here, turn over for a sec,” he says. Your ears burn and you can hardly make eye contact as you face him. He takes your hand and puts it on his hard cock.

“Feel this? Why don’t you wrap your warm little mouth around it, see if that helps me?” he asks. You feel obligated since he made you come, even if you never wanted him to.

“Um, okay. I mean, i’ve never. . .”

“It’s okay, darlin’, it’s all about stayin’ warm. Nothin fancy. You stay under the blankets too, okay? Don’t let that heat out.”

You get between his legs and take his stiff cock in your hand. You’ve felt a few guys harden against you while making out, but you’ve never held a naked one. It's smoother than you expect, and when he thrusts into your hand, the skin moves on the shaft.

You take him into your mouth and he moans softly. “There ya go,” he says. You seal your lips and suck like you think you’re supposed to, and he twitches in your mouth. “You’re doin’ great, darlin’.”

His hips begin to lift rhythmically, and you gag but keep your mouth sealed. His hands come to your head, pushing you down, making your eyes water as you gag more. You want it to be over as soon as possible, so you don’t complain. You try to do a really good job. Finally, he pulses inside you and his cum hits the back of your throat. You choke a little, then swallow it down.

“You alright?” He asks. You don’t answer. “C’mere, darlin.” He opens his arms and you lie on top of him for a few minutes. Then, he says the break time is over and it’s probably best to get back on the hill. You're uncomfortable, but you remind yourself he'd probably save your life in a heartbeat, so it's a small price to pay.

Tag List @tonysterco

#joel miller x reader #creepy!joel #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#ask box #perv!joel #perv!joel miller #tw: everything #patrol!joel

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sp00kymulderr · 3 months

Text

stretch

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader x yoga instructor!Joel Miller

Warnings/Tags: M for mentions of sex. AU in which Joel is very flexible. Dieter is a menace. Daydreaming about a threesome. Reader is able bodied/takes part in a yoga class. No use of pronouns for reader but they are called babe & baby.

Words: 890 words

Summary: Dieter introduces you to his yoga instructor.

A/N: for my love @ravensmadreads. idk where this came from. You mentioned something about trainer!joel and being told to bend over and my mind went to yoga so??? Consider this a little offshoot of gym crush Joel. An au of the au.

Dieter had been insistent on your coming to his yoga class today.

He was practically dragging you along through the luxury gym floor to the studio - an intimate set up with space for just the two of you and the instructor. Perks of being an actor, Dieter didn't have to work out with strangers.

He'd never been that into yoga before he'd gone off to film Cliff Beasts 6. But he'd come back particularly enthusiastic about it. Something about a mirror. Someone called Kate. You weren't sure you particularly needed to know the rest and frankly, the sex had been even better since he'd gotten more flexible and active so who were you to say anything.

He's happy, giving you an excited nudge as you both sit down on your fancy mats, sitting cross legged as you wait for the instructor to show up.

"You're gonna love this, babe" He mutters, giving you the kind of smile that is all mischief.

"Dee, I love your enthusiasm but I really don't think-"

You stop, words scrambling just like your brain cells as another man joins you two in the room. He pads quietly over to the mat in front of you both and greets the two of you. Where Dieter's energy is very 'bouncing off the walls', this man seems calm and gentle, in a way.

It doesn't hurt that he's gorgeous too. Beautiful brown eyes that seem to tell a thousand stories at once, greying brown hair, scruffy grey-speckled facial hair that accentuates his handsome features. He's…gorgeous isn't even really the right word. Breathtaking feels more like it.

Well, you understand why Dieter has been particularly keen about this class.

He introduces himself as Joel before sitting down on his mat facing the two of you and mirroring your crossed-leg stance.

Your mouth feels dry. It's a little embarrassing how quickly you're affected by the man. He's started talking but you're zoned out, hopefully subtly scanning eyes over him; the way his t-shirt is just a little too tight around the biceps, the tiny sliver of skin when it rides up as he raises his arms.

Dieter, thoroughly amused, nudges you back to reality. For a moment you stare from him back to Joel and then, "Oh right" you awkwardly say, raising your arms up with a deep breath.

If you thought Dieter was flexible now, he was nothing compared to Joel. He made every flow look easy, and showed his strength with a quiet grace that you were finding very difficult to not continue to be struck dumb by. Your mind was definitely going to places it shouldn't…specifically to Joel in bed with you and Dieter…how that might go. Hearing him tell you to bend for a different reason might drive you completely overboard.

As the class continues you're wondering what positions he could put you in, lost in thought right as his hands gently meet your hips to help you into a pose you might not be struggling with if your mind wasn't in the gutter. The touch of his hand makes your breath hitch. And not subtly.

"You okay?" Joel asks, his voice low and quiet, fingers giving you a little reassuring tap on the hip. You nod back, waiting for the floor to open up and take you away. Dieter gives you a knowing look and you glare back at him, now fully aware why he'd so badly wanted you to join the class.

It's either a blessing or a curse that you have the same taste in men.

It's a relief when the class ends, when the 45 minutes are up and you can hopefully get out of the small studio and clear your head of dirty thoughts about a man just doing his job.

You look over to Joel as he's clearing away mats, give him a little smile and say your thanks and pray that you aren't somehow giving away the things you'd been thinking about him for the whole time. To your surprise he gives you a smile and a wink as you're on your way out.

"Give me a couple minutes, baby" Dieter says mysteriously. Maybe you should be worried about that particular glint in his eyes as he approaches Joel when you exit the studio.

You're checking your phone when Dieter comes back out, taking your hand and walking with you back to the car.

"So?" He asks, looking at your like an expectant puppy.

"Hm?"

"You liked it? What'd you think of Joel?" He says, his tone telling you he's much more interested in knowing your thoughts on the other man.

"He's very…" You start, not sure quite how to describe the things you felt about him in that short amount of time "bendy?"

"Yeah he is" Dieter sighs happily, pulling you towards him out by the car and turning you around to face him. His arms nake round your middle, holding you close. "You liked him, right?"

You sigh, returning his embrace. He always looked for a reason to be as close to you as possible. You would never complain about that.

"Yeah, I like him"

His smile lights up the entire parking lot. You knew he was up to something.

"Good" He kisses the tip of your nose before pulling back.

"Cause he's coming over tonight to give us a special session"

#Dieter Bravo x reader x Joel Miller #Dieter Bravo x reader #Joel Miller x reader #joel miller x dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fiction

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writingroom21 · 4 months

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Omg I love Boys Bathroom!! Idk if you're doing a pt 2 but if you need ideas, how about sumn based on Jacqueline and Hamilton's relationship from the 2000s tv series Young Americans? (if you haven't seen that show, it's fine. I barely remember it, myself, other than the fact that Ian somerhalder has never not been fine).

Where rafe and reader continue to sneak around, and it gets to the point that people start to suspect them, not because of her identity, but because they're a little too close to be just dormmates but no one says anything as they're scared of what rafe might do 👊 if they confront him for something 'he isn't ready to come out with yet' if you catch my drift, lol and just like the scene in She's The Man (I love that you used this movie for inspo, that movie was my childhood), when it comes time to do the kissing booth, and all of rafe's friends line up at the chance to kiss y/n, that he finally steps in and sets them straight about who she is and what she is to him <3 I'd add more but this shit is long enough as it is.

If you write this, pls tag me: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

A/N: I giggle so hard at the thought of Rafe's face finding out people think he's seeing her brother.

Cat's Out of The Bag

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (m receiving), squirting (Rafe's can't get enough), unprotected sex(wrap it up), (let me know if I missed anything)

Wc:2.9K

Since that night in the bathroom it was a free for all on fucking. With your dorms right next to each other it was easy to sneak in and out. Rafe had gone back to his room that night thinking what the fuck did he just get into. There are two things he knows for certain. One being that you were one of the best lays not just because he’s been pussy deprived. Two he doesn’t know what he will do after this week is up.

The day after was a little awkward. You didn’t know if he regretted it, he may have suggested doing it again but that doesn’t mean he would. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy said something to you for them to take it all back. The only indication that he meant it was in biology. He was already there when you entered the classroom. He looked really good and the school polo fits him snuggly.

He smirks at you as you sit down, pulling your chair a bit closer to him. It’s a little jawing seeing you dressed as a guy after last night. Even more jawing that he still feels attracted to you. Not because you look hot as a guy but because he knows it’s you under there. “Hey.” You whisper to him. “Hey.” His fingers brush against your thigh.

The two of you are trying to keep cool when really you just want to skip class and sneak off. The class goes by, small smiles being shared. Even dared to touch the other while no one was looking. Brushing your hands together on the desk or knees bumping under the table. He just wanted to be closer to you, taking whatever he will get.

He walked you to your other classes in the disguise of just talking to a friend. A friend that stands too close so your hands can accidentally brush against each other with each step. A friend that later sneaks his way into your room when you think it’s late enough for people to be asleep. Pushing you in the room as soon as the door opened a crack.

He’s kissing you, kicking the door with his foot. “You know how bad I wanted to kiss you today? Almost lost my cool.” His words melt into your throat, his lips going to suck on the skin. “Can’t leave any marks.” You warn. “Been wanting you too.” Your hands pull at his shirt, yanking it over his head. Sinking to your knees, you spread kisses down from his chest to his stomach. Nipping at the skin right above his sweats.

You look up at him, palming him through the fabric. “Can I show you how bad I wanted this?” The way your eyes are looking at him, he would agree to anything. Rafe groans when you give him a little squeeze. Reminding him that you are still there willing to please him. He made you feel amazing last night and you want to do the same. Nodding his head, his hand makes a ponytail with your hair. “Go for it baby.”

Without another word his pants and boxers are on the floor. Discarded to find later on when he’s scrambling to rush out early in the morning. But for now he’s only worried about the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him. The way that you hollow your cheeks as you bob your head up and down, focusing on his tip. His back hits the door helping him stay upright as his knees want to give out.

Your mouth feels like heaven. He could die at this exact moment and die a happy man. The hand holding your hair starts to help guide your movements. Giving you tugs when the pleasure is too much. Your hand that isn’t assisting your mouth slides its way into your sleep shorts. Massaging your clit and teasing your entrance with a finger. “Are you touching yourself?” His voice is shaky, getting dangerously close to cumming in your mouth.

He takes a deep breath when you disconnect, a pop sounds in the room. “Mhmm. Felt too good.” You go in again to suck it back in your mouth. He hates that he has to stop you from continuing. Rafe would love for nothing more than to be in your mouth, watching as you gag over it. Or for you to sit on his face as he eats the shit out of you. The last thought is tucked away for later use.

“Get on the bed. Ass up and you chest to the sheets.” His words emphasized with a light tap to your face. You do as he says, stripping your clothes as you walk across the room. Rafe kicks off the pants from his ankles, shirt being tossed along with it. He likes seeing you like this. Willing to do anything just to scratch the itch you can’t sedate yourself. It’s the same way you looked last night.

You wiggle your ass when you feel the bed dip, his hands finding your ass. He wants to slap it, leave it with red hand marks. Make it so you can’t sit down in your classes tomorrow. Ironically enough you are thinking the same thing. Wanting him to mark you in every way that he can. Deep down hoping he wouldn’t care what people will hear and just take you the way he wants. The rational part knows he won’t and shouldn’t but is still disappointed.

“Fuck just look at you.” His large hands are playing with your ass cheeks like their dough. Spreading them he sees your entrance fluttering, begging to be filled like a good girl. A glob of spit leaves his lips, falling right above your entrance to slide down. You moan as his thumb circles it around, making you nice and wet. The digit slips in and out, giving you just barely enough to feel full.

“Gonna be a good girl and be quiet for me.” He kisses down your spine to get to your ear. “I think you can do it. Wouldn’t want everyone in the hall to know how big of a whore you are.” An involuntary moan slips out. His thumb was replaced with his middle and ring finger. “Knew you would like being called that. Can feel how much your pretty pussy likes it.” Rafe’s fingers are stretching you out nicely.

Fingers curling to stimulate your g-spot. The feeling from yesterday starts to creep up, making it seem like you are going to pee. “Rafe I.” You are trying to warn him but the words can’t come out. They don’t need to because he already knows. Can see it written on your face. Lips parted, eyes pinched shut, and your face digging into the sheets. That’s what he wants for you to lose control to the point you drench everything.

“It’s okay baby. Let it go.” With the confirmation you do. The gushing noise filling your ears, the sheets underneath you getting wet. In hindsight he knew he should have put something down, he just didn’t care. He kinda wanted you to be left with the reminder of what he can do to your body. Your hands are gripping the sheets for dear life. All of your energy being taken out of you.

“Never going to get tired of making you do that.” He gives your left ass cheek a kiss, biting into the flesh. A shriek tears it away from your throat. “Sorry, I can't mark your neck so gotta mark something.” “It’s okay.” Your voice is soft, the post haze of your orgasim still has you under a spell.

Rafe chuckles as you push yourself back on him. Getting the hint that you want him inside, he lines himself up. “Wait, should I use a condom?” He didn’t think about that yesterday but he sure is today. You groan, taking him in your hands and pushing back again. You both moan as he fills you. “Birth Control just pull out.” He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Fleshing pounding into flesh can be heard from the hall, if anyone walked by you would be caught. It probably wouldn’t even matter at this point. Rafe’s hands can’t stay still, having to touch every inch of your skin. You were a mess, having to bite down into your pillow to swallow every moan that leaves your lips.

In this position he feels bigger than he did before. Hitting a place deep inside you, the pain only makes the experience better. He flipped you around, wanting to see your face again. You make a face when you feel the wet spot on the bed, disgusted to be laying in it. The displeasure fading once he was in you again.

The weight of him was intoxicating. Holding you in place as his hips ram into yours. He brings a hand down to play with you, trying to get you there before him. “Come on, you can do it. I know you want to cum again.” He places kisses on your neck, your fingers intertwining with his hair and pulling. Now that you fulfilled that desire you can say you want to do it again.

With a couple of more thrusts you cum, trembling as he holds you. Only pulling out when he was toeing on the line of cumming inside you. He jerks himself off, rubbing his head on your lips, rutting into your clit. He paints your pussy, making a mess of your bottom half. Out of breath you both lay there. “We should probably clean this bed.” Looking down he can see the huge wet spot you left behind, his cum adding to the mix as it drips down.

“I’ll put them in the wash. You can go sleep in my room.”

The following few days were the same. You would wake up, get dressed as a man and go to classes. Flirt with Rafe any chance you're alone or no one's watching. Pulling each other into empty classes or janitors closets to makeout. The weirdness of kissing someone who looks like a guy left Rafe pretty soon. Only focusing on the fact that the person beneath that was you.

On the last day you two skipped your classes, pretending to be too sick for them. It was wrapped in sheets. Sweating out any toxins from the vigorous exercise. That night he went with you to meet up with Max. Telling your brother everything he was kinda confused at first. He thought Rafe had a thing for you dressed as a man and decided fuck it when he found out you were a girl. But with the reluctant sharing of information he soon realized that was not the case.

The new plan the three of you created was simple. You and Rafe would still see each other and Max will butter up your parents to be nicer to you. It was the least he could do for all this trouble, which he reminded you didn’t seem as bad considering the facts. It was going well too. The boys get the weekends free, able to go out of campus and hang out. You would go visit on the weekends and hang out with them. Then go back to Rafe’s dorm at the end of the night, staying the weekend.

Max was sick of hearing the two of you from the thin wall shared between the two boys. But he was more sick of the nagging questions everyone asked. He will be walking around campus and people would just stop him to talk. “Hey man. How’s Rafe?” He looked at the guy like he was dumb. “Um, good? We watched the game last night.” The other guy would just smirk and nod. “Right the game. Good for you two.” Max would be confused as the guy walks off. Thinking what the fuck is that guy even on.

It was worse when it was girls that would talk to him. He only had access to them on the weekends and they never seemed interested. “Where’s Rafe today?” A girl would ask. “Oh he’s out with my sister right now.” He would mentally check if he looked good, thinking this might be the time a girl gives in. “That’s so sweet how close they are together. I wish my boyfriend was close to my family.” Either Max doesn’t pay attention or he really is that stupid because he was confused why you would want that.

Yeah your partner should be close with your family but Rafe is literally fucking his sister, not just having lunch. “Yeah it’s nice seeing them like that.” He would then sit there as the girl talked about her boyfriend, clothes, girl drama, you name it. Max would make the way to his dorm that night stopping at his door when he saw the two of you down the hall. “Hey Cameron.” The two of you greet him. “Anyone say anything weird to you?”

Rafe just shook his head. “Man, everyone here is weird. I don’t pay attention to what they say.” With that you two would be in his room, locked away from the rest of the world. Max just shrugs thinking nothing more of it. That was until the day of the carnival.

Rafe had been defensive when he heard that you would be working the ticket booth. Telling you that there’s no way his girlfriend will be kissing other guys. He only calmed down after you explained why you had to. “I told my mom I would do this weeks before we even met. If I don’t she’ll be upset.” Rafe still wants to argue but from what you’ve told him about your parents he doesn’t.

Let’s be clear. He HATES the idea, he just hates the idea of you being sad even more. So he gives up letting you do it. Which is where you are now. In that stupid booth as guy after guy lines up to kiss you. The first shift was some random girl he doesn’t know so it was fine. Then she went on a break and it was your turn. The first few guys were chasist kisses, if you could even call them that. Then this asshole came in and tried to makeout with you. That was his breaking point.

“Where are you going?” Max questions as Rafe leaves his side. “Going to go kiss your sister. Don’t like how that guy was kissing my girl.” Max groans. It’s been like that since he got back. The two of you and then him, your third wheel. He’s still trying to get used to it. Max trails behind Rafe, agreeing with him for a different reason. These guys seem a little too demanding for some carnival booth.

Rafe cuts the line in the front, some boys from their school protesting. “Why are you even here?” One of them shouts. Rafe turns around shooting them a death glare. “To buy bread. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” The boys look at each other then at Max and Rafe. “Are you also going to kiss her?” One of them questions Max. “Ewww no. That’s my twin sister.” He starts to gag just thinking about it.

Their confused faces turn to ones of shock. “You’re letting him makeout with your sister?” They all shout at the same time. The line keeps getting shorter, Rafe’s almost at the front. The one guy in front of him and the one currently kissing you. “Why would I care? What they do is their business.”

The line moves again, your eyes twinkle at Rafe over the guy's shoulder. He turns back to the group behind him. “Not trying to be rude. Obviously your relationship is your own issue. But you really let your boyfriend kiss your sister?” Rafe and Max share the same look, seeing if they heard the boys right. “What the fuck are you on?” Rafe is irritated now. All he wants to do is kiss you but there’s this shit.

“Well no one wanted to say anything but we know you two are together.” This caught your attention. “What do you mean?” The group looks at you. “Well they’ve been seeing each other. There was a straight week were we thought that would fuck in front of everyone. They got better at hiding it.” You can’t help but laugh at this. The whole time you and Rafe thought you were careful and you weren’t.

“This isn’t funny.” Rafe and Max yell at you, only making you laugh harder. “I’m not gay.” Max states. “It’s okay, You don’t have to hide it.” One of them tries to be nice. “He means it and neither am I. I’m dating her.” Rafe points back at you. “The only sex I am having is with my girlfriend. Now I’m you excuse me I think it’s my turn.”

Rafe walks up, handing you the ticket and kissing you. His hand engulfs your face as he deepens it. “Who kisses better, me or Max?” You joke when he pulls away. “Shut up and kiss me again.” He slams a roll of tickets on the table.

Looks like you’ll be here a while.

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

Tags:@ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #obx #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #rafe x you #rafe imagine

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lovebugdrabbles · 4 months

Text

Wriothesley Headcanons n$4w vers

notes: i need readers to please go into this believing bro is 35 years of age MINIMUM. or u won't get my VISION. also, my tags are messy bc it's my first time posting my writing on tumblr so just pretend ik how to tag my writing.

warnings: n$4w obvs, 1k words, untitled sentences for the aesthetic, semi-lit, i do use apostrophes, shortened words/abbreviations, i want him in a muzzle so that's mentioned, inappropriate use of handcuffs, i mention he gets rough, i write him as a sweetie pie lowkey tho, tbh it’s a little vanilla, i made a joke abt being ford tough and i feel that warrants a warning, biting, pet name ‘doll’ used, (brief mention) ass slapping , (brief mention) hair pulling, i call him a teddy bear a couple times, (mentioned) slight manhandling, i get a little too into imaging him subby, oops, i also get a bit caught up in soft dom wriothesley,

now playing |◁ II ▷| ‘doin time’ by sublime

methinks he's defff vers/switch but will fully let a partner take over or will take control himself. i don't believe he's picky in this department for a moment. i think he might prefer dom however his dom side has limits.

i bet he's sooo vocal. letting every little grunt and moan out. word vomits too. whatever he’s thinking, his partner will hear it.

big softie. idc. he is a SWEET MAN. 'love should be warm' headass.

so many pet names for his partner. doll, baby, baby-doll, babe, sweetheart, hon/honey. but doll or sweetheart r his faves.

using his title in bed makes him melt.

like i don't think he's malicious in bed. like truly. he seems teddy-bearish to me but i could be looking thru rose colored glasses i must say.

he's def a bit rough tho but i think it'd be in a playful way. there is times he’d get too into the moment and grab on a bit too tight to a thigh or the hair he's running a hand thru or snap his hips a little too hard but he doesn't mean to and will apologize immediately and try to make it up to a partner or even stop mid-session to make sure the other party is alright.

not opposed to using the cuffs if a partner asks. on him or his partner. but he needs enthusiastic consent before or he won't do it.

i do think he’s actually rlly good abt asking for consent to do things tho. but he does it in a way that it feels like part of sex and not just asking for permission ‘you like that?’, ‘you wanna keep going, doll?’ ‘wanna keep taking me?’ but he will make said doll use their words or he won’t keep going. mans is a whore for hearing a partner beg or ask him to do something and he's not above it either.

he seems like the type to wanna hold hands while going at it. like if his hands can reach his partners they are intertwined or at least touching. a pinkie wrapped around the other at the very least. he feels closer and just… better with it

y'all know the shirt that says 'warning this bitch bites' he needs it. will leave marks that last for days and absolutely loves if a partner does it too. but he does feel a bit guilty after especially if it's a hard bite so will pepper kisses on them after.

seeing his bite marks on a partner drives him crazy tho. like, makes him stop in his tracks and wakes up smth in him like a sleeper agent.

kisses thru-out the ordeal soz u can pry this from my cold dead hands. he feels a little guilty if he isn't kissing a hand, a clavicle or any piece of skin he can delicately place a smooch on occasionally when he's not biting ofc.

additionally: my brain has been occasionally FOGGED w thoughts of him in a muzzle. i'm drooling rn actually. i think he'd have a love-hate relationship with it since he wouldn't be able to kiss or bite a partner but he absolutely bends at a partner’s will when they tug on the bars and that's the best part for him

honestly i don't think he'd be comfortable going much harder than what i've mentioned. maybe he'd allow a few slaps on the ass but idk just seems out of character imo. being rough and tumble is for work and the ring and i think he'd keep it that way.

i did say he's a switch/vers so it's time to talk abt both sides of the coin :))))

when he's in a particularly subby mood; he's pathetic. a complete mess of a man.

its so satisfying to see a guy so high in power just groveling to someone.

i bet he looks at a partner w the biggest puppy dog eyes, mumling the softest and breathiest pleases, his hair all tousled and falling over his face. he thinks he's willing to do anything a partner orders him to do atp.

especially interested in peppering kisses on a partner when he's in this mood. nuzzling and sighing as he wraps his arms around his partner and smooches.

this is the time he is very much not opposed to the handcuffs on him.

i think he'd asked to be praised or called a good boy on these nights. i don't make the rules.

this is when he gets vocal. whimpering included too.

but the facade almost immediately drops when aftercare starts.

on the topic of a dom wriothesley; honestly i dont see him getting into the rough dom role but staying more of a soft dom and being very comfortable there.

that is where the word vomit happens, talking a partner through it all when he's in this mood, telling them how good they feel, they're being so good, or to quiet down despite being a bit noisy himself but that's what his biting is for.

moaning into every bite. teeth marks and hickeys covering a partner the next morning leading to that system overload i touched on earlier.

willing to try more positions when he's in this mood fs but he truly believes you cant go wrong w the classics. *cough cough* missionary

this is when he gets real into it and loses himself in the moment like i mentioned earlier. hips bucking and hands reaching to hold onto a partner like they'll escape.

he gets a little bit rougher but its still not in a mean way more in a 'oh yeah? watch this.' type way. pulling a partner closer of man handling them to hold their hips in a better position.

occasionally those pet names get a very adamant 'my' in front of them.

i think this is when his most comfortable area of aftercare comes in but not before one last thing.

he'd like to stay holding a partner for a bit afterwards, letting everyone regain their bearings before hopping into aftercare mode if he was the one in control.

aftercare on top tho. tea, running a bath, helping a partner bathe if they so want, helping a partner get dressed if they're super sore, massages, just all out pampering, especially if he gets a little rough.

he equally enjoys reciving aftercare but is hesitant bc he says he's fine or he's built tough. BUILT FORD TOUGH. sorry idk where that came from and he is but the guy needs to let a partner take care of him sometimes.

the 'love is supposed to be warm' line weighs heavy on me if u cant tell. he's just a teddy bear :(( ugh i'll sob.

la fin !

end notes: tysm for reading the ravings of a madman !! i've had so many random ass thoughts abt him since playing the story quests lmfao and i wanted to get out of my fluffy/horror writing comfort zone so i wrote basically what i think he's like in bed jsjsjs. i may be posting some stuff on boothill from honkai star rail but it'll probably be more rambling just about robotics and prosthesis for now if i post. if i don't post that i'm wrapping up a wriolette fic soon and that will be up here or on my ao3 under the same user !! till next timeee

#wriothesely genshin #genshin imagines #wriothesley headcanon #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #ns4w #n$4w #n$fw #genshin impact #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x gn reader #ok funnies hidden in tags #just one night pls ur grace #i am begging #i'll do what ever you want babygirl

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freimeka · 1 year

Text

am i the only one who's about to explode by thinking of a bodyguard ghost??? like he's... extremely on another level please help me !! i actually hate this and might delete this pls forgive any mistakes ans typos it's 3am . i feel like i forgot some tws and tags but oh well idc

★ obv bodyguard!ghost + pwp + just unholy thoughts + descriptions of masturbating + very brief mention of idk just a heated argument + ghost is kinda voyeur here

You have no idea how the two of you ended up like this. You clearly remember that you were screaming at Ghost's face. The reason was something completely dumb...like, he probably insulted one of your friends and you just exploded. You've been feeling on the edge because of him for the last week now—you cannot even count the times that your hand, completely out of your control, has traveled down on your body once you were alone to touch yourself.

As you think of him.

That fucker.

Ghost can easily get under your skin without even trying, it's like a love-hate relationship. You've known him for many long years—he has always been right there, next to you whenever you turn your head around to see him. He's protected you, spoiled you maybe even more than your parents did. Well, there have also been countless times that he annoyed you so much that you just wanted to slap him across his face but you just let them pass. You're used to Ghost, and he's used to you.

You should be mad at him now, your body should be on fire just by how angry you're at him but... your hand keeps traveling down on your body. You get comfortable on your bed, letting your body meet with the soft mattress as your legs immediately spread apart as if on autopilot mode. One of your hands easily travels underneath your shirt to touch your perked nipples, your fingertips pinching them just to feel a bit more. Your other hand slips past your soaked panties, and you realize that you're embarrassingly wet—with every move of your fingers you can hear a slick sound that's faint, yet loud enough to echo in your empty room.

You throw your head back when your trembling fingers start to rub circles against your clit, gathering the wetness and spreading it all over to make it easier for you to move your fingers in circles. Your eyes are shut, and you feel yourself taking short and erratic breaths as your fingers keep rubbing circles. No matter how you do or what you do, the mere idea of being stretched by Ghost's cock just doesn't leave your mind. Your fingers don't feel thick enough, they don't reach the parts that you want them to reach—and that's getting frustrating. You're usually so careful about being quiet in order not to get caught, but the feeling is overwhelming; you think that you might cry. That's why a soft, yet a bit louder than ever whine falls from your lips. You don't think that it's dangerous because everyone except Ghost is outside, your parents work long hours and that's why Ghost has become a babysitter as well as a bodyguard—that's what he says, but you know that he's trying to annoy you.

Since you two have argued like fifteen minutes ago, and his mad and hoarse voice somehow made you wet, Ghost must be outside on the balcony. He's probably smoking.

Right?

You feel your bed being crushed down under someone else's weight, and you want to open your eyes but the scent is all too familiar. And you feel like you're about to explode from embarrassment. Ghost rests his hands on your bare thighs, his fingers grazing the soft skin with such gentleness that you struggle to hold back a whimper. It's a small touch— it's obvious that he's testing the waters first.

"You're making it hard to be around you," you hear him whispering, his voice is dangerously low. You finally decide to open your eyes, to see him without his damn mask and he's already looking up at you. However, he breaks the eye contact as soon as you look back at him—he's now looking at your thighs, his lips touch your inner thigh as he speaks. "But you're also making it hard not to be around you."

You can't believe he's admitting it.

"Please—Ghost, I—," you barely whisper, your voice is shaky as your fingertips burn to feel Ghost's soft hair. "I'm... I just," it's impossible for you to explain yourself, but then again you don't have to do it since everything's pretty clear. Ghost is breathing so heavily against the skin of your inner thigh, and he's not done—for fuck's sakez he's not even started yet. Ghost's hands skillfully reach down to your sides, and he drags you against him to make you feel just how much he wants you. You hear the sounds of fabric as your body is pulled down on the bed, you're almost at the edge of the bed now while Ghost is kneeling down in front of you. He doesn't speak for a while, and you feel yourself get even more stressed. It's obvious that he has no problems with what you've been doing, but damn it, say something.

"You're perfect," he hisses, he sounds almost out of breath as he whispers against your skin. You feel him pulling your panties up, letting the already soaked fabric cover your wet pussy again. "You're so perfect."

And that's probably all you need to hear, you're way too gone, too overwhelmed to care about the consequences. You can worry about them later, but you know that this is mutual, and he wants you as much as you want him. He kisses you, it's a gentle peck on the lips first. But then, he gets harder and harder, pushing you back against the bed and holding onto your hips tighter— and you realize that he's making you think about only how badly you want him inside you. The way his big, calloused hands are touching your bare thighs, the way his kisses are getting more and more intense... He's getting you to feel hot enough to make you melt in his presence.

"I was waiting for the fun part to come," he breathes out, "But you take damn too long."

There's a moment of silence.

"I can help you with that."

You make a sound like a whine, like a soft cry of pleasure—all of those anxious thoughts that say you've embarrassed yourself are gone in a minute. Your body aches, you can feel your heartbeat getting faster just by the thought of Ghost finally filling you up to the brim.

He leans in, his broad shoulders are enough to make you disappear under his body as he presses his lips against yours desperately. There's something almost feral in the way he kisses you, as if he's even more impatient than you are. As if he's been waiting for this to happen for a long time.

Ghost's breath grows more and more desperate as the two of you kiss; his tongue licking into your mouth as your teeth bite into his bottom lip, your bodies are pressed against each other as much as they can. The feeling of him rubbing circles against your clit through the fabric of your panties drives you crazy and you feel your breath being stolen from your lungs. You need to feel him, somehow; it doesn't matter if he pushes his fingers or decides that he can pound into you, you just need him. Not through the damn panties, you need to get rid of them.

He's kissing you fiercely now, his tongue tasting your lips and then sliding inside your mouth greedily. His hands are working on your trembling body, touching your pussy through the fabric; you feel like crying, he should take it off.

"This feels so good," Ghost says, his voice is deep and it feels like he's speaking in your head. "Doesn't it? Don't you think that I can do a better job of filling up that cunt?" Ghost asks, and you know that he's taunting you—but you can't stay under that now, can you?

"Take them off," you breathlessly whimper, it's something like both a beg and a demand—Ghost can take whatever suits him. "Please, just take them off."

Ghost lets out a groan, and it's clear that hearing what you just ask him to do is driving him insane. If he was desperate to kiss you before, he's desperate to make you bury your face into the damn pillow and pound into you until your pussy remembers the shape of his dick.

"You're so wet," he chuckles deep in his throat, staring down at you for a moment as if he's trying to gather himself before he gives you what you want.

"I should keep your panties with me, you know," he lets out a deep sigh as his fingers hook around your panties and pull them down slowly but surely. As he keeps talking to you, his voice lowers. "You're not the only desperate one here."

He finally pushes a finger in, letting your walls stretch slightly to the feeling of his thick index finger—but you still feel like that's not thick enough. You're greedy when it comes to him. Your moans turn into whines as he adds the second, and the thirs finger without any prior warning. He's moving his hand quite fast now, causing your legs to tremble as your fingers wrap around his thick biceps—all you can do is cry out, whines and whimpers and string of curses fall from your lips as Ghost toys with you. Your body tenses up when his hand starts to move a bit faster, his fingers curling inside you until he finds a spot that will have you begging for more. He succeeds, and it causes your walls to get tighter around his fingers.

"Do that again for me," he mumbles against your mouth, breathlessly. "Do that again for me when I'm inside you, baby."

"It would be such a disgrace if I never tried to make you feel good," he whispers. His breath is hot against your neck. "But look at you... what happened to that fierce girl? All I'm seeing is an obedient little girl, my sweet girl, who's already getting dumb without being filled up properly."

"Oh, I hate you," you reply, your voice is low and filled with desperation as you wet your lips with your tongue. The more Ghost makes you wait, the more you feel like crying.

"Of course, you do," he replies, his voice is full of sarcasm. "That's why you're dying to get your pussy filled by me, correct? You're lucky that you're not the only one who does this," as Ghost speaks, you feel him moving around—and soon after the sound of his belt coming undone is heard. He doesn't even bother to get rid of his clothes properly, he just pushes his trousers down before he pushes your shirt above just a bit to indicate that he wants you to take it off.

Who are you to say no?

Your trembling fingers grab the hem of your t-shirt and you take it off with one swift motion, letting the piece of clothing fall to the floor.

You're way beyond gone at this point, your mind is empty, so no words come out from your mouth. You feel Ghost pulling you closer to himself on the bed. He's resting his knees on the edge of the bed as leverage while holding you by your thighs and making you spread your legs as much as you can. He's always wanted to touch you, fill you up, and the way you're looking at him through your heavy-lidded eyes is making it even harder for him to resist you.

"You know," he murmurs, "I would imagine us all over the place— my room, the backseat of cars or a damn parking lot, some closet, bending you over any surface that I find as soon as we step back in the house." His voice is thick with lust, it's like he's ready to devour you, consume you until there's nothing left of you. "I imagined you in my lap, your legs open for me, and..."

Ghost doesn't finish his sentence and instead, he finally gives you what you've been craving all along. He's big and thick, and the moment you feel the tip of his cock pushing inside you let out a soft yelp—Ghost is slow until he's fully in you, and just as you think that he'll give you some time to adjust to his size, he mercilessly thrusting. Sharp and powerful, almost abusing your cunt as his big hands spread your pussy even more just for his hungry gaze.

"I always felt like I was going to explode." You can hear him grunting, letting out low and deep sounds of pleasure as he mercilessly fucks into you. Your body moves up and down on the bed, putting on a show for Ghost that'll just drive him insane with how you look. He leans in, and his tongue licks hot stripes all over your chest before he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue flicks around it, his teeth gently and teasingly bite into it just to see your reaction. Every time you're slightly overwhelmed and sensitive, your walls clamp around his cock, making Ghost let out a string of curses as his grip on you tightens more and more.

He wraps his arms around your waist, gently rolling over to let you lie on top of him—his body presses into the mattress. You find yourself sitting on top of his body, his arms wrapped around you and his face in between your breasts. "Ride me," he whispers. "I wanna come inside you like this," and he's so, so cruel—how can he talk to you like that when he knows you're so, so, so sensitive. You whine, your arms tightly wrap around his neck as you start to do as you're told; but you're so close, so, so, so close that your movements become sloppier and messier.

"Can't," you gulp. "I can't, Ghost—," your words are breathless and low, your vision is blurry as you come all over his cock without even having the chance of letting him know. But that's Ghost, and Ghost knows you very well. He knows you better than you know yourself. "Yes, sweetheart," he whispers against your chest. "Go ahead, show me how you do it. I promise I'll make you feel even better than this."

#cod mw smut #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost riley smut

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

Text

HAND TWO - PAIR

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a deal is made.

wc: 2k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, official first meeting, banter and dialogue driven, fake dating, sassy touya again

note: idk how fake dating premises with plots are created like this took me a good 30 minutes of just straight thinking trying to figure out what is a plausible fake dating idea. anyway thank you for all the love on part one, hope you enjoy this part!! also overdue idea credit to @andypantsx3 who originally created a crown prince!touya piece (read it here!) that probably subconsciously inspired this entire series. thank you and hope you enjoy :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are greatly appreciated <3

Your maid’s face was whiter than her knuckles gripping the sides of her apron.

“You have a caller, miss,” she informs you carefully, bowing slowly and failing to hide her trembling. “It is…”

“I am aware of who it is,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose between your pointer finger and your thumb. It’d been exactly one week since Prince Touya all but julienned the ego of your pasty-faced suitor and you hadn’t received so much as a letter of greeting from him since then. All you received once the dust settled were mixed expressions of disgust and awe, along with a shit-eating smirk from the royal currently waiting to be led into the drawing room. “My stepmother?”

“At tea, miss, with the neighbors. She won’t be back for several hours.” You swear under your breath. With all other members of the family out of the house and your stepmother bragging about your prospects with the sought-after prince, you were on your own.

“Send him in when the minute hand next strikes six. Tell him I’m in the bath, or something.”

“As you wish, miss.” Your maid nods and promptly exits the room, leaving you slumped on the settee with no ideas but to beeline for the back doors and disappear among the trees of the garden. Hiking up your skirt and slipping into the yard, you’re careful to shut the door quietly behind you.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see him, even though you didn’t; in truth, it was fear of what he might say to you or how you two may interact. How are you supposed to look at a man suspected of committing treason against the king, his own father, and upkeep the manners drilled into your head since birth? It seemed too great of a burden to bear, so you resolved to forget your problems and the stranger in your house by walking amongst the flowers, blue hydrangeas that continued to bloom despite the sweltering summer heatwaves. It’s calming, being alone with nothing but the greenery. As your fingers brush over the delicately clumped petals, the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stand up stick-straight and you don't need to turn around to see why.

“It’s rude to enter a lady’s house unannounced, Your Highness,” you say into the open air and hear him step out from behind a neighboring tree.

“I believe I was announced, considering the shaken demeanor of your poor maid.” His voice is low and raspy, like he’d just woken up.

“What if I was still in the bath?”

“You’ll have to tell my maids what you use to dry your hair so rapidly,” he replies and you catch him slinking over to you from the corner of your vision, approaching you carefreely with his hands in the pockets of his coat. You don’t look at him yet; in your mind, he was like a monster under the bed. If you simply didn’t look at him, he’d go away. “Unless, of course,” his voice appears over your shoulder and goosebumps break out over your skin. Not yet. Don’t look him in the eyes yet. “You weren’t in the bath at all. At least, not recently.”

“I’m not sure what gave you the right to invade my house and muse upon my bathing habits,” you counter, finally turning to meet his stare and willing yourself not to wither under it. He wasn’t close enough to feel his body heat, but the arrogance that radiated from his entire being was enough to make you sweat more than the bright sun. He considered you curiously, tilting his head to the side and narrowing those molten blue eyes that perplexed you so. You risk a glance at the scar tissue just under his eyes and chin, its deep purple color rumored to be the result of a fire accident while he was sent away. It unnerved you, but you still found the courage to stare back with consideration of your own, challenging him to say something else. His eyes narrow again for half a second before he brushes past you, walking further down your current path in the garden.

“You were keeping me waiting,” he states simply. “Not to mention, I am royalty.” You freeze, keenly aware of the power of the man admiring your daisies. “I believe it is you who should be considered the rude one.” The teasing lilt in his voice is not lost to you, but you’re too dumbfounded by his bluntness to think on it further.

“Argues the one who won my affections and then refrained from any means of communication for a week,” you point out with slight irritation, following him around the bend at a safe distance. He hums again thoughtfully, walking among the flowers like it was his property. Your tease falls from your lips before you can stop it. “Did His Highness run out of royal parchment to write his letters?”

“Royal candle wax, actually,” he answers stoically, but you catch the mischievous shine in his eyes when they flick to meet yours. “Dreadful effort, trying to write without my beloved candle lit.”

“Oh, and what is a prince to do?” You’re unable to hide the smirk that finds its way onto your face and he seems to notice your less-hostile demeanor, the faintest amusement breaking out on his features. Handsome features, you had to stop yourself from admitting. “I don’t understand,” you say after a deep exhale.

“I believe the candle was a gift from my great-grandfather.” His eyes continue to look over the rainbow of petals lightly swaying in the breeze. “Terribly well-loved by my father and the court alike.”

“No, Your Highness–”

“If this is to work, you must refer to me as Touya.” He’s still not looking at you.

“That is precisely what I don’t understand.” You muster up what courage you could to close the distance between you two, crossing your arms to properly confront him. “What are you trying to play at, Your Highness? What is supposed to ‘work?’ With all due respect, I’d like to know now if I am one of your latest games to irritate your relatives.”

“And what would you do if you were?” Shit. His attention moves from the flowers to your face and you’re met with the same cold, unwavering stare from the week prior. “What could you do, realistically, but play along? I am royalty.”

“You needn’t keep reminding me, sir,” you mumble. “But before we continue, I feel you must know. I did not have the intention of entertaining suitors this season.” You catch one of the maids peeping from around the corner of a topiary and motion for her to prepare tea for you and your caller.

“What were you doing at the presentation duels, then?”

“Fulfilling the wishes of my stepmother,” you answer wryly. “Whatever plans you have devised, I am the wrong lady to assist in enacting them.”

“I imagine that, instead of participating in this season, you would rather be reading from the libraries of King All Might himself?” The Prince falls into step behind you while you make your way to the garden’s gazebo, fully furnished to accommodate callers. You sensed, however, this particular suitor would rather sit on the floor than at your family’s lofty dining set.

“I’m surprised you understand,” you remark, neatening a stray napkin. When you look behind you, the prince is leaning his shoulder against the frame of the gazebo and observing you. Your manners somehow return, despite his lack thereof. “Do you prefer Earl Grey or green?”

“Neither,” he replies immediately. “I don’t care for tea.”

“Nor do I, but the servants will linger if we don’t give them a chance to gossip in the kitchen.” The prince’s eyes narrow once again only for a moment, like you said something unexpected.

“In that case, tell them green.” You murmur his request to the nearest servant and the handful subtly eavesdropping politely excuse themselves back into the house, no doubt eager to relay what little information you and the prince had exchanged.

“You still haven’t enlightened me on why, of all the ladies present at the duels, you chose to duel for my hand,” you begin as he takes his seat across from you and pops a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Especially when I am guaranteed to hinder any plans you have for–”

“You know nothing of my plans, as of yet,” he interjects. His face is carefully blank, seemingly too calm for your present situation. “Your reluctance to entertain suitors is exactly what is going to help me leave this kingdom.”

“I don’t understand,” you reiterate. “Your Highness, I do not wish to be in this season at all.”

“I share the same sentiment. Here is my proposal that will, in theory, rid us of both of our stressors: I will court you and, on the night of my father’s ball where I will surely propose, I will disappear, leaving you with nothing but a broken heart and a humble reparation of $100,000. A percentage of which, I note, can then be used to book passage out of Musutafu and find those books from King All Might’s mythical library. Do you follow?” You don’t remember when your jaw fell open, but it takes significant effort to regain your composure. When you eventually register what the prince had just offered, your face burns from a feeling you had never experienced before. It was a mixture of shame and shock, but mostly…excitement?

“You’re out of your mind,” you manage to force out. “I don’t think–How could we–It would never work!” What the hell was he thinking?

“You don’t know that,” he answers coolly. Maybe he’s not thinking at all. Maybe the prince is an idiot.

“But why not leave now? Why wait until the night of your father’s ball?” An unreadable look crosses over his face, one that makes your stomach turn. He fixes himself in a blink, though, and the sudden darkness that fell over the prince’s face is gone before you can comment on it. “I just don’t understand why you need my help doing this, Your Highness.”

“My father grows impatient,” he admits bitterly and when you meet his gaze, it’s burning. “He wishes to crown me as king within three month’s time, and I–”

“You do not wish to rule,” you finish quietly, the realization clicking together in your mind. “By courting a lady, you force him to put off your coronation until you propose.”

“By courting you,” he explains further, “I also guarantee that this affair will remain strictly one of business.” You can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth.

“You think that if a woman were to fall in love with you, she would reveal your true whereabouts?”

“Women are fickle creatures,” he states simply. “You did not wish to fall in love this season, so you will not reveal my true whereabouts once I have faked my passing.” He sighs, pulling back the sleeve of his coat and checking the time on his watch. “It really is quite simple. Allow me to court you, stay silent about my disappearance, and be rewarded with $100,000.”

“And if we’re caught? If this charade is revealed as a farce and your father declares you King the following day?”

“Doubt in my plans is the first step away from succeeding,” he concludes. An approaching servant with a fresh pot of tea momentarily takes your attention and the prince stands, bowing in farewell while you’re still frozen behind your teacup. “I do hope you’ll join me at the races tomorrow afternoon,” he drawls out your name once the servant places the pot on the small table. His voice drips honey-sweet poison, drawing you in even as your body screams at you to run. The message hidden beneath his words, however, is clearer than crystal. “But, in the case of your absence, I will assume my affections have been denied.” You stand, dipping into a graceful curtsy. As you rise, your words ring in your ears before you can stop them.

“I look forward to our time together, Your Highness.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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20doozers · 5 months

Text

★Almost done★

TW: gay sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), semi-public sex, almost being caught, edging (kinda?), use of the term “good boy”, sub!tom, orgasm denial (kinda), backshots/being bent over a table

You and Tom were getting ready backstage for a show, well, more like tom was in your dressing room practicing guitar as you were changing out of your clothes from earlier.

“Y/n?” Tom questioned, looking up from his guitar at you, his face flushing a bit from seeing you only in your boxers.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You hummed, turning your head to look at Tom as he looked back at you.

“Do you think we’ll do good? It’s our last show of the tour and I’m just- I dunno.. anxious?” Tom murmured, looking back down at his guitar and strumming a few chords.

“I think we’ll be fine, we always do good on shows.” You shrugged in response, grabbing a pair of pants and pulling them on and grabbing a belt as well. Tom just shrugged and sighed, setting down his guitar and going over to the large mirror on the wall.

“God I look like scheiße..” Tom groaned, pulling at the skin of his under eye as he stared in the mirror.

“I think you look fine.” You murmured, stalking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his hips, pulling his back flush against your bare chest. You craned your neck down to nip at the flesh of Tom’s clavicle, teasing him softly.

“..y/n..” Tom whined, his face flushing even more. ”we can’t.. not before the show..”

“And why can’t we?” You teased in a sultry voice, pressing soft kissed to the side of Tom’s neck. Tom didn’t answer, only letting a quiet whimper fall from his lips as your hands slowly undid his belt and jeans.

And before he knew it he was bent over the small dressing room vanity, his pants and boxers pulled down to his mid thigh as you pounded into him from behind, his hands gripping at the edge of the vanity.

“Ah- y-y/n please..” Tom whimpered, only receiving a quiet “shush” from you as your hands gently gripped at his hips. He was so close, the familiar feeling swirling low in his belly as his chest was pressed against the vanity.

“I know, scheiße- I’m almost there too..” you groaned, your hips pistoning against Tom’s as he moaned and whined into his palm, trying to muffle his moans so you two wouldn’t get caught.

“Fuck- such a good boy.. taking me so well.” You growled lowly, thrusting in and out of Tom at a somewhat fast pace, making sure you didn’t hurt him too much. Yet before either of you could finish there was a knock on your dressing room door.

“You done in there Y/n?” Georg’s voice called out, thinking it was just you in there.

“Uh- yeah! Almost done!” You called, quickly pulling out of Tom and pulling your pants and boxers back on. Tom whined quietly, standing back up on wobbly legs to look at you, his face still flushed with arousal.

“Why’d you-“ you cut him off “shh.. we’ll finish after the show.” You huffed, quickly grabbing a t-shirt and pecking Tom’s lips before pulling on a t-shirt and leaving the dressing room to go find the others.

Tom just sighed, pulling his boxers and jeans back on, grumbling quietly as he grabbed his guitar and followed after you. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was still disappointing with how close he had been. Worst part is that he still had a boner, but at least he was the guitarist and his aching hard-on would be covered by his guitar.. or at least he hoped it wouldn’t.

YIPPEE!! I ACTUALLY POSTED! Bit of a short one but I had a burst of motivation so I did it, i MIGHT do a part 2 with the next part like when they get back to the tour bus/hotel but idk. Love you guys😘

Tags: @itsmealaiah @estxkios @madzandmore @cherry-rawr @goreishgorinthgoreofshits @charliesgoodboy @tomssexdoll

If I missed any tags or you wanna be added to the taglist let me know! Preferably in an ask :3

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

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.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #txt

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