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periprose · 1 year

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Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms.

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you.

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says.

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him.

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask.

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one.

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity.

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs.

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday.

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

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seiwas · 5 months

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₊˚⊹｡ keep this drive to just us two | fushiguro megumi

wc: 2.7k

summary: megumi is a liar, but there’s a reason for all this.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, college!megumi, pre-relationship stuff, feelings, some swear words

a/n: happy birthday to our boy ♡ set in the same universe as this megumi fic (so a ~kind of part 2); some songs that inspired this & ones i imagine playing in the car: the shining by the neighbourhood, paradise by chase atlantic, & over the moon by the marías

part 1 <- you are here

It’s just you and Megumi on a late night drive—a quarter past 11 p.m.

The passenger seat has long since been adjusted to you, his car a somewhat second home. There’s that characteristic reverb accompanying the deep bass of the music he listens to, and his knee is bobbing to the beat of it, like it always does when the music is good.

Megumi’s car always smells of mint, a fresh, crisp scent that cuts through—an accurate depiction of the man: level-headed, cool. A sharp honesty exists in every word he speaks; it’s the only way he knows how to be.

Except, maybe, lately. Like this moment.

Megumi’s a liar right now.

He feels a little guilty for it, tricking you into coming out tonight. But how bad can it be to invite you under the guise of it being from Yuuji?

“Yuuji said he’ll meet us there?” you settle into your seat, dragging the seatbelt across your body before locking it into place.

Megumi shifts the gear to drive, nodding as he turns the wheel to get out of the parking lane. He can’t trust himself to speak.

The ride is quiet save for the music, a comfortable silence he seems to only have with you. Nobara and Yuuji like to talk, to fill in the empty pockets of air he never feels the need to. You—you adjust, read the room; you become what the situation calls for all on your own.

That’s what he likes about you, among many other things—he’s stopped lying to himself about that, at least.

The streets whiz past you in a blur, both vaguely familiar and unrecognizable. There’s a fast food joint your group of four frequents as a post-party drive-thru, and the holiday lights are strung up on lampposts lining the sidewalks.

Yellows, reds, and greens melt into one another as the backdrop of your window. But all Megumi sees is gray—

When he dislodges his phone from the stand clipped to the AC vents at the center console, handing it over so you can control the music. His eyes stay locked on the road until he feels it, the slightest brush of your fingers against his.

He turns to you, a quick glance; you’d shrugged off your puffer jacket some time during the drive and tossed it to the backseat, leaving you in this right now.

—the gray sweater that he knows all too well; that you haven’t returned but you wear like it’s yours, as if this piece of him is something you’ve chosen to keep.

It looks better on you, anyway, he thinks.

He turns back to the road, breathing a little quicker, grip tighter and knuckles a bit whiter.

If he listens carefully, the comfortable silence between you hasn’t actually been all that silent lately. A constant beat’s been drumming in his ears, exacerbated only every time you’re near. You’ve locked eyes far too often for two people sitting in a car, driving from point A to point B, and this isn’t the first time your fingers have brushed, nor is it the second, or third (or even fourth if he’s thinking about the technicalities).

He finds himself smiling too easily when you speak, the corners of his lips aching by the time he’s dropped you off on the way home. You’ve looked at him fondly too, a handful of times, when you think he won’t notice; but it’s impossible not to when he’s paying just as much attention—from the corner of his eye, in his periphery. A responsible side-glance that inconspicuously catches everything.

There’s something between you two, and he’s grown more confident of that the more he’s accepted his fate:

He likes you.

It’s why he called you tonight, out of all nights, in the first place.

Aimless driving can only be so convincing up to a certain point, and that point comes fast approaching as Megumi is about to pass the same street for the third time. You don’t notice because you’re queueing songs on his phone, but he has to think of a diversion—just something to tide him over past midnight.

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he signals to the left, pulling over to a 7-Eleven.

“Oh!” you look up from his phone, swapping it for yours, “I’ll ask Yuuji if he wants anything. Did he mention if Nobara’s coming?”

Megumi freezes, panic setting in—if you message Yuuji now, you’ll realize that he’s been lying. He holds his breath, shifting the gear to park before pulling at the edges of his sleeves.

Think.

“He’ll eat anything, it’s fine. Nobara probably won’t come too. Wouldn’t pick up when he called.”

For someone who always puts things bluntly, he’s surprisingly good at coming up with lies right now.

You hum, nodding, “Okay. Do you want me to go down?”

“I’ll be quick,” he shakes his head, fishing around the center console for his wallet, “you want anything?”

Then he looks at you, your head tilted to the side as you think. A little pout causes your lips to jut out and he can’t help it, how his eyes fall to them, shiny in the way only your lip balm can make them.

“Maybe something warm?”

Your voice snaps him out of it, but the moment is frozen—like he’s been caught red-handed. He’s so sure you saw him staring, your eyebrows shooting up, flustered while watching his gaze shift from your lips to your eyes.

He doesn’t expect it when you do the same thing.

It’s freezing outside and his lips feel chapped; he wonders if they’re cracked, if you’re studying the grooves of split skin—if he should buy lip balm by the counter, on the way out.

He looks away, clearing his throat, one hand to the door handle.

“Okay,” he opens it, “turn up the heat if you’re–”

You nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

He steps out.

The cold is biting as he tucks his hands inside his pockets, rushing to get into the convenience store.

(You watch his back retreat from the window of his carseat, and the influx of cool air should make you shiver, but you feel warm, heat rushing to your cheeks.

This whole night has been confusing; the subtle touches and lingering gazes—ones like just moments ago, especially. Being alone with Megumi lately has been both comfortable and nerve-wracking; you have feelings that you aren’t quite sure are reciprocated, no matter how much Nobara teases the both of you already.

You can’t take it; you need a buffer—where is Yuuji?

11:41 p.m.

< are you otw already? we just went to grab some snacks

You wait, fingers tapping on the back of your phone.

11:42 p.m.

yuuji 🍡

> huh?

> otw where?

> who’s we?

> i’m outside fushiguro’s rn! with gojo-sensei!! apparently he surprises him every bday…

> you should come! you live near right?

You scrunch your eyebrows, confused. There are too many thoughts in your head right now—has Megumi been lying?

11:43 p.m.

< oh ok, i probs misunderstood!!

< and i’m out tonight, idt i can make it but lmk how it goes!!

You’ve never known Megumi to be a liar, but he’s definitely in it right now for some questioning.)

The 7-Eleven doors swing open, revealing Megumi with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, hands deep inside his pockets as a plastic bag hangs around his wrist. He opens the car door, immediately settling in his seat before shutting it.

He still won’t meet your eyes, fishing through the random snacks he bought instead. It’s awkward, the air in the car tense; and it takes the biggest guts in him to look up as he hands over the warm bottle of tea he got you, just like you wanted.

It’s even worse when you’re staring right back, expecting—almost like you’re about to confront him.

“Be honest,” you start, eyes squinting.

Shit. Sweat forms at his palms as he blinks, the beat drumming in his ears intensifying.

“Did you bring me out here to murder me?”

He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to convict him for lying, “The fu–”

Which you do, bringing your phone up so he can read. Your text chain with Yuuji casts a white light over his face, his eyes darting from side-to-side as he scans each message.

(You aren’t mad or anything, just even more confused than you already are; some clarity would be nice, once and for all.

Embarrassment is painted on his face the more he reads through your phone screen, lashes entirely too long as it bats against the tip of his cheeks; a faint pink blooms on his skin, like winter peonies.)

There’s a reason for all this.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath; he’s dreading having to open them—do you think he’s weird now? That he had some ulterior motive bringing you out? His jaw clenches at the thought—

But then you laugh, a soft chuckle that accompanies the ‘click’ of your phone turning off. And when he takes a peek, squints one eye to catch a glimpse, you’re smiling; your lips are pressed together with the corners curled up slightly, as if you find this entire thing funny.

The tension dissipates, but he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he considers whether he wants to be the reason for whatever it is you’re thinking.

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” his head turns to the side.

You chuckle again, biting your bottom lip, “You’re just too cute.”

A beat.

(It slips out before you can catch yourself, heat rising to your cheeks. Megumi isn’t doing any better; his ears are flushed red, crawling down to the sides of his neck as he swallows.)

The plastic bag crinkles on his lap, cutting through the silence.

How can you just… say that?

You clear your throat, “So, uh, did you know about the surprise?”

(Your eyes shift to the corner of the infotainment system, 11:52 p.m. in white.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans back on his seat.

“Gojo-sensei tries to surprise me every year, I didn’t think he’d call Itadori this time.”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…” you tilt your head, curious.

He pauses, staring ahead as he considers his response, “Not bad… just,” his fingers fiddle with the plastic bag, “too loud, sometimes.”

(Megumi’s mentioned a bit about this ‘Gojo-sensei’ guy, his kind-of-mentor slash benefactor since being orphaned with his step-sister at age 6. You’ve never met him, but Yuuji never stops talking about how fun he is, how cool.

It makes sense why Megumi finds him a bit much, if anything.)

“And you think I’m any better?” you snort offhandedly, joking as you turn to the side, facing him.

He tilts his head towards you, leaning back on the headrest; your eyes lock for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly before he looks away, straight ahead again.

If he had the courage, he’d tell you that you’re the only company he wants to spend this birthday with—

That there are songs in his playlist he’d otherwise never listen to, but repeats and repeats and repeats because it reminds him of you;

That he looks forward to doing deep cleans on his car every weekend, but has started to dread it once he noticed that it washes away your scent from the Fridays that he drops you home;

That he’s a liar because he really likes you, but can’t find the words to tell you.

So he doesn’t say anything, shrugging.

The silence is telling.

(You feel too warm, whether from the heating system or from the implications of this moment. The 11:58 p.m. on the clock adds a pressure that it shouldn’t, an almost taunting presence that tells you if you act now, tomorrow could be very different.

Are you reading the signs right?

Should you just say it?

Each second drags on twice as long, and you think—

Fuck it.)

“Megumi?” your voice breaks through softly.

The plastic crinkles on his lap as he turns to you.

He could be any other place right now.

But he’s chosen to be here, with you, parked outside a 7-Eleven, minutes before midnight.

“If I tell you something, will you be honest with me?”

He blinks before humming, nodding. This is the least he can do after today’s blatant lying.

There’s an intensity to your gaze that makes him nervous; your fingers tug at the edges of his (your) gray sweater, a piece of him you’ve taken with you. Then you speak—

“I like you,” you say it plainly, unblinking, “and I need you to tell me if you don’t feel the same.”

—and you take the rest of him too.

12:01 a.m.

He stares at you, turning the confession over and over in his head. He’s always had a feeling but it’s different when it’s out in the open, when it’s from you and isn’t based on some gut-feeling.

There are so many things he can say, but you did ask him to be honest—to tell you if he didn’t feel the same.

“Do I stay quiet if I do?” he mumbles, cheeks deepening into red.

There’s a smile he’s trying to hide, one he won’t allow himself to let out until he gets one from you too.

You visibly relax, releasing the breath you were holding. Your lips curl up instinctively, wide and infectious—that feeling of your heart bursting.

“Smartass,” you scrunch your nose before glancing at the time, “happy birthday.”

When you look at him this fondly, there’s not much else he can ask for, really.

You eat the snacks in his car (an exception—whether it’s because of you or his birthday, you’re not sure) and tell him that your actual gift is back home, sitting in dog-patterned wrapping paper by your entryway.

The drive back is, for the most part, the same—lingering gazes when the stoplight permits, a brush of your fingers when you hand him his phone after queueing songs. You’re wearing his sweater and his car still smells like mint.

But you both can’t stop smiling.

And when he drops you off, he’s tempted to tell you to stay longer for just one more song, but he figures there’s lots of time for that now. So instead, he grabs your puffer from the back, gets down and rushes over to open your door, helping you out.

He holds up your jacket as you slip your arms into it, zipping it up so you stay warm and toasty. Cute, he thinks, when your grin reaches your cheeks; he could pinch them, would you complain if his fingers are too chilly?

Your hesitance is evident in the way you bite your lip, but you go for it anyway, diving in to land a soft kiss to his cheek. It happens so quickly, it barely registers to him—the touch of your lips to his skin. When you pull away, you look shy.

He doesn’t say anything, heat rushing to the place you’d kissed. You take this as a sign to go ahead, so you move, but he can’t—

—can’t let you go just like this.

Not when he’s been thinking about those lips since he last laid his eyes on it.

It’s reflex, the way he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. He lets go immediately, hovering, but his eyes drop dangerously, down to your lips—shiny and plump from the lip balm he knows you carry.

His breathing quickens and he asks so softly, “Can…”, he gulps, nervous, “Can I?”

You nod, humming.

(When Megumi leans in, long lashes fluttering over your eyelids, you think, this can’t possibly be real. But then his lips slide over yours, cold but not cracked, and you move yours against them, gentle in the same way he is.

His fingers slot themselves at the edge of your jaw, palm pressed to your cheek; it makes you shiver, how cool it is, but it warms up quickly.)

The kiss is over far too soon (you think so, too), and when you part, you’re beaming, a twinkle in your eyes that makes him want to kiss you again, if only to keep them shining the way they do.

It’s the end of the night, but the beginning of something new and Megumi’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the noise; this constant beat drumming in his ear is all he can hear now, swiping his tongue over his lips to taste mint—your lip balm of choice.

thank you note: to everyone who was just as excited abt this as i was—@soumies @mysugu @augustinewrites @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @selarina @pastelle-rabbit @mymegumi @kagelun @irisintheafterglow & @shidouryusm for making me see that paradise is so megumi 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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taffywabbit · 2 months

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every time dilbert gets mentioned in a conversation/post i think about how hilarious it is that scott adams turned out to be such a deranged alt-right fuckwit, considering the fact that his comics indisputably radicalized me against capitalism as a kid and probably did so earlier than anything else

like there IS some pretty iffy stuff in dilbert for sure (particularly a lot of casual misogyny and xenophobia), and it definitely increased over time as the author got more edgy and self-important. i don't think i read anything from later than like 2003 and it was already starting to get pretty unreadable by then - LONG before he started openly being a turbo-racist podcaster weirdo. but the earlier stuff (especially before there were a lot of established recurring characters or running gags) was largely just a satirical cartoon focused on how corporations are evil and exploitative, and how you'd have to be completely detached from reality to truly enjoy working for them, and how trying to climb the ladder of success is a futile pursuit within a capitalist society where the upper class needs to keep pulling that ladder up behind them to keep the rest of us in our place and maintain their own status. it was basically vent art by a guy stuck working in mind-numbing desk jobs, who barely knew how to draw but just wanted to get his thoughts out and reach other people who were frustrated in the same ways he was. it's really weird but also fascinating to compare that to how it (and adams himself) ended up in the long run

i don't think it was particularly funny most of the time, and when it did have actual jokes, they were often pretty mean-spirited and/or cynical. i don't remember more than one or two specific bits from the comic that actually ever made me laugh, and i read a LOT of them as a kid (my grandpa had a massive collection of newspaper comic compilation books at his house that he'd let me look through and borrow stuff from - this is also how i discovered garfield and calvin & hobbes). but i DO remember having it instilled in me from an early age that there was nothing really exciting or praiseworthy about grinding your life away for a company that profits off your skilled labor and gives you pennies in return - which is especially noteworthy considering i was also raised by mormons, who are famously all about that "nobility in suffering" and "work your way to heaven" type bullshit. i'm genuinely unsure how this happened

anyways i think scott adams would probably piss his pants and explode if he ever took a break from peddling his psychic penis hypnosis and killer burrito podcasts long enough to seriously think about any of this stuff. (and i hope he does. it would be funnier than anything he's ever written.)

#buny text #dilbert #capitalism

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teaboot · 1 year

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I spent a lot of time alone outdoors growing up.

A lot of time.

It got to the point that some days I'd be sitting in the back of my dull beige classroom, and on the outside I'd be staring out into nothing but on the inside I'd be remembering how it felt being barefoot and knee-deep in sun-warmed mud, cutting my palms and soles to bits against craggy rock, leaning into the wind and screaming into the ocean, sprinting through the woods and standing dead silent in the dark in a wheat field in a thunderstorm, and feeling grit under my nails and bone and wood and rock and metal in my hands

And I'd look around at my stupid, flimsy pressboard desk, and the beige walls, and the grey ceiling, and feel soft, stagnant air circulate through the vents in delicate, dainty little puffs against my cheeks, and listen to kids my age who I couldn't understand and didn't feel connected to talk about things that made my brain go numb and melt out my ears while some fake-smiley adult pretended they knew how I felt

While back home where my siblings didnt know me and my parents didn't like me the house would be dark, empty, and cold, day after day, and the only satisfaction I knew I'd get would be if someone twice my size and three times my age got in my face and fucking tried it,

And I'd think,

This isn't real.

This is designed, and this is weak.

This is cardboard façades with nothing inside, this is tissue paper, this is Styrofoam packing peanuts and puffed rice wafers and the bottom three millimeters of day-old room-temperature water

And I'd get so fucking angry, so frustrated, just so stone-cold livid, helpless and furious, that sometimes I'd start to cry, not because I was sad but because my teeth were soft and round and dull and my fingers felt like they were brand-new pink pearl erasers splitting in half and everything was too much and not enough and all I needed in the whole wild world was to shred the air to pieces for the crime of being too fucking empty, too fucking soft, not *real* enough, like a wild animal clawing into prey only to have puffy cotton candy and soap bubbles spill out, sweet and tasteless and saccharine where it should be hot, bright, loud and solid and sharp.

So when the English teacher- a tall, thin man with glasses who smelled like strong patchouli and liked to ask us to "talk about our feelings" asked me to write about my life, that was what I wrote.

He told me I had a "powerful gift" and smiled, flashing straight, dull, soft round teeth.

I remember he'd ask me every day if he could read my work aloud to the class, every single day, and every day I would say "no", until one afternoon he just took my paper off my desk and did it anyways.

I was a rule-follower. Never broke the rules, never stepped out of line. I would never just leave class in the middle of a lesson, so I guess for a moment I was someone else.

I don't remember hearing him start to speak, but I remember sprinting out the door, hearing it slam behind me, and just not stopping until I was somewhere outside with the grass and the sky and the sun and a ringing inside my head.

After a while, I went back, and by then I guess he'd finished talking.

I sat down at my desk and finished the lesson.

I thought I'd be in trouble or something after that, but nobody mentioned it.

After the bell, I went home to the dark, cold, empty house and waited for something to fight.

That was years ago. Decades, now.

To tell you the truth, though, I don't think anything has changed.

#Writing #Long post #Lol #Sensory issues and social issues and isolation and fear #And anger and joy and the loneliness of not understanding #Probably just anxious understimulated and a lil bit feral #What can ya do #Shrug #Old memories

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choccy-milky · 2 months

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bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

#choccytalky #finally using that tag #tho its more like CHOCCYRANTY holy this is so long BHAHAHA #also one more thing idk why ppl think its ok to give unsolicited criticism to fanfic writers. like these are stories we're writing for US #and for free like u dont have to rudely declare how unhappy you are with it and that youre stopping. like what do u want me to do #do u want a refund?? BYE!! JUST GO!! like. i also wouldnt want unsolicited criticism or critiques on my visual/drawn art #and ppl understand that. so whys it so hard to understand ppl ALSO dont want it on their writing? both take effort #and giving actual valid criticism is a skill (which is why it was literally a CLASS when i was in uni)#i need a drink #and by that i mean COKE ZERO BABYYYYYYY #AND MORE DRAGONS DOGMA 2

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therhythmafterthesummer · 11 months

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Got a case of reaaallly sensitive breasts so !!!

Werewolf chris and nipple play 🐺

funny thing... i already had a drabble with this scenario, so i started tweaking it as soon as i received this ask... now i don't think i can call this a drabble anymore lmao. hope y'all enjoy it.

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. you don’t really need to read any other instalment to understand/enjoy this piece). | Word Count: ~4k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · smut | established relationship | reader is chubby based on former instalments, but there’s no focus on it in this piece · pet names · lots and lots of praising · nipple play · cock warming · interruptions (but it’s fine, i promise) · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method used, but the reader is presumed to be on birth control] · creampie.

minors do not interact.

When Chris came home earlier this afternoon, all sad and pouty because nothing seemed to have gone how he wanted it to today, you offered the one thing you knew would help him start improving his mood.

‘Do you want me to help you find solutions, or do you just want to vent?’ You’d asked him while you prepared some relaxing tea.

‘God, I really just want to vent…’ Chris replied simply, which was perfectly valid.

So he did just that, all while you delicately massaged his broad–and admittedly tense–shoulders, taking the occasional sip of your cups of tea. Chris sat on one of the kitchen stools, and you stood behind him, listening intently to him for as long as he needed you to.

“…But it’s all boring, stupid shit. I know, I know. I need to let it go”, Chris finished his rant with a sigh, tilting his head back to lean it against you.

“It’s not stupid, baby. You’ve got very valid reasons to be frustrated about it”, you moved your hands from where they’d been kneading his shoulders to his hair, so you could caress the soft strands.

Chris immediately closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was quiet for a while, just enjoying the movements of your fingers against his scalp.

“Thank you, love”, he mumbled eventually, finally opening his eyes and turning around to place his hands on your waist.

“Nothing to thank me for, darling”, you mumbled back, just as you looped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss.

Chris pulled you closer to him so you could stand between his parted legs, chest against chest. The stools of your kitchen were tall, so it was easy to just melt into the kiss, he might as well have been standing with how minimal the height difference was.

After a while of just kissing, one of his hands found its way under the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to grab a handful of your ass. The sudden action made you squeal in surprise, but the sound quickly evolved into a chuckle.

“Handsy, huh?” You asked between pecks of your lips, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Mhm…” Chris’ lips were on your neck in an instant, slowly, oh, so very slowly leaving open mouthed kisses on your skin. You’d lie if you said it wasn’t heating you up. It was almost like he just knew you’d been dying to be with him all day. “Don’t see you complaining. If anything, your heart’s beating faster, and you know I can just smell how horny you are”.

Caught red-handed, as always.

As your boyfriend nibbled on your pulsepoint, his free hand joined the other on your backside, for him to knead and squeeze your buttocks to his heart’s content. You could stop him whenever. You knew that the second the words came out of your mouth he’d stop completely… But you honestly didn’t want him to.

“You know…” Chris mumbled against the skin of your neck, coaxing goosebumps to raise on your flesh. “I think I’m still a bit stressed”.

He wasn’t stressed anymore. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew that you knew, but you decided to humour him anyway.

“Are you?” You chuckled, grabbing a handful of his hair to pull him away from your neck. Chris just let you move him like that, and the moment his eyes landed on yours, you started to feel tingly all over.

You weren’t sure if it was due to how blown his pupils suddenly were, or if it was that damned animal stare of his that always seemed to affect you in ways it certainly shouldn’t have, but you immediately felt your breath catch in your throat. Especially when his grip on your bum tightened.

“Mm. Very”, Chris grinned at you–a wolfish grin, very fitting for someone like him. “Think my pretty girlfriend would like to help out with that?”

“Mmm…” You acted as if you were thinking about his question, as if it needed an in depth analysis before you could answer it, but, ultimately, you grinned back at him. “You’re saying that your pretty girlfriend listening to your problems for almost twenty minutes isn’t enough?”

Chris’ smug façade immediately crumbled, replaced with the most adorable pout and puppy eyes you’d ever seen. “Baaabe, that’s not what I meeeaan…”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I know, I know. I’m just teasing you, I’m sorry. Tell me, baby, what do you want from me? Whatever it is, just say it, and it’s yours”.

“…Whatever I want?” Chris asked, as if he didn’t know that he could ask absolutely anything of you, and that you’d give him exactly what he wanted. Just like he would do for you.

“Whatever you want, baby”.

Chris hummed. His eyes jumped all over your face, taking in your features, until they finally started travelling further down to look at your neck, your chest, your legs… Even if your body was covered by his t-shirt, it was like the garment simply didn’t exist.

Finally, when he had seemingly decided just what he wanted, he took a deep breath. One of his hands let go of your bum to start making its way towards your tummy. Chris squeezed the flesh briefly, then he dragged that same hand all the way up your torso, until it reached one of your breasts.

It was such a simple thing, but the way his palm wouldn’t detach from your skin had heat spreading all throughout your body, even more so when he gave your breast a hefty squeeze, only to finally pinch your nipple.

You bit your lip at the sensation, tugging a bit on his hair. For no particular reason other than because you could.

Chris’ eyes were focused on your chest, on the movement of his hand under the fabric. After a deep breath, he finally spoke again.

“I know what I want…”

Soft, wet sounds filled the space of your living room. They mingled with the content sighs leaving your boyfriend’s mouth, and with your occasional quiet moans.

When Chris told you this was what he wanted, it hadn’t been exactly what you had expected, but you certainly weren’t going to complain. Not when his monster cock was buried deep within your walls, not when his lips were attached to your chest…

You were certain you had surpassed the thirty minute mark already. Over thirty minutes spent sitting on this armchair, straddling him, becoming putty in his hands. Thirty minutes of sweet, sweet torture.

Chris detached his mouth from your chest. Squeezing your breasts gently with both hands, he blew on your nipples, the feeling was enhanced by the remnants of his saliva spread all over. You felt your walls clamp around his length, and a whine escaped your mouth.

“You’re dripping, pretty baby. I can feel it trickling down”, Chris chuckled, kneading your breasts. He sounded immensely amused, and you attempted to bury your face in the crook of his neck as soon as you felt your cheeks heating up.

“That’s because my boyfriend has been playing with my tits for almost an hour”, you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“Should we stop?” His hands immediately stopped their motions on your chest, although he didn’t remove them. The question was genuine, it spread a pleasant warmth within you, and you couldn’t help but appreciate that he checked in on you. He always did, and you always appreciated it.

“No”, you replied almost immediately, trying not to pout at the dwindling of your pleasure when his fingers stopped stimulating your nipples. “I love when you play with them…”

“You do?” Chris smiled at you, dipping his hands from your tits briefly to caress your sides, making goosebumps raise on your skin.

You nodded in response, swallowing the saliva that had pooled in your mouth. His hands continued their path lower, finding your thighs, gripping the flesh tightly while biting his bottom lip. Your mind was already drifting elsewhere, transported by the dark haze in Chris’ eyes, by his hands on your body.

“You like it when I fondle them?” Chris brought his hands back to your breasts, and started kneading them gently. You nodded, absentmindedly licking your lower lip while you stared into his eyes.

“Yeah? Mmm… You like it when I… ghost my fingers over your nipples like this?” He dragged his thumbs over the stiffened buds, slowly, with barely any pressure, but the movement had you inhaling deeply, and your thighs twitching with need. You nodded again.

“What about… when I roll them between my fingers like this?” As soon as both his thumbs and index fingers pinched each nipple, rolling them softly, you couldn’t contain the moan that came out of your mouth. The contact had sparks of pleasure shooting from your chest to your core, making you clench around his length, making Chris inhale deeply at the tight grip of your walls.

“I–I do”, you replied simply, closing your eyes and throwing your head back as your boyfriend kept rolling your nipples between his fingers, slowly increasing the pressure.

“You always make the prettiest noises when I play with your tits, love”, Chris kissed your cheek, making you flush impossibly further.

He left a trail of kisses from your cheek to your ear, whispering as he went. “My girl’s perfect tits, hm? So full and soft… I love playing with them, too, you know?”

A shiver ran up and down your spine when he whispered in your ear. You did know, but you loved hearing it anyway. Once again, you nodded, taking in deep breaths, whining a bit the more he played with your chest.

“What about my mouth, baby?” Chris mumbled, still close to your ear, pressing his cheek against yours. “Do you like my mouth on your tits, too?”

You nodded, eagerly, desperately… Your body started to tremble because of the way he talked to you, because of his hands working your chest, and his cock stretching you open. “Love your mouth on my tits…”

“Mmm… Love having your tits in my mouth, too”, Chris pressed a kiss to your cheek, an oddly tender gesture considering the circumstances. You whimpered as soon as his lips were pressed to your heated skin, digging your nails further into his shoulders.

Chris finally stopped stimulating your chest, and you exhaled, finding both agony and relief in the lack of contact. Cupping your breasts, squeezing them, he took them in his hands, and he leaned in, slowly, almost tentatively landing a lick on one of your nipples. Before you could even react, his lips closed around the sensitive bud, and it made you moan again, a bit more desperate this time.

His languid licks had you trembling once again, they had you whining like a hungry puppy, and you supposed you were. Right then, you certainly felt like one.

You wanted to roll your hips, to try to find some delicious friction by rubbing your clit against his pubic bone, but you knew he wanted you to be still. So you tried your best to not move, you simply held onto his shoulders as tightly as you could, getting increasingly more worked up the longer he sucked, and licked, and touched your sensitive breasts.

The rumble on the side table next to the armchair pulled you out of the daze Chris’ attention had you in. He detached his mouth from your chest to look at the rumbling device, and you immediately whined at the loss of contact. He read the caller ID out loud. You couldn’t help but sigh, annoyed. It was your boss, of all people…

“You should take that”, Chris removed his hands from your chest, leaning back on the armchair and placing his hands on your thighs, squeezing them. “Could be important”.

A pout immediately formed on your lips. He just giggled when he saw it, cupping your cheek and tugging your bottom lip with his thumb.

Finally, with another sigh of annoyance, you reached for your phone and answered the call. “Hello?”

The audacity of your boss to call you out of your business hours… And for something so stupid. It was like all those delicious endorphins that had flooded your brain throughout the past hour were forcibly flushed out of your system as soon as you heard her voice.

A frown made its way to your face while you listened to her oh, so urgent query. Momentarily, you forgot about your boyfriend’s thickness deep inside you. At least, until he leaned into you again, wrapping his arms around your waist and attaching his lips to your collarbone.

Saliva pooled in your mouth, so you swallowed, closing your eyes to attempt to focus on what your boss was telling you. Admittedly, it was much harder than you could ever imagine, especially when Chris kissed your skin so lovingly and tenderly, when he whispered words of appreciation between each kiss. ‘Gorgeous… Pretty… Soft… Beautiful… So smart in your work call, huh?’

You just couldn’t take it anymore, you needed this call to end now, or you’d die due to lack of intimacy with your gorgeous boyfriend. So you cleared your throat–both to get the attention of your boss who was still rambling on the other side of the line, and to conceal a whimper that almost came out of your mouth once Chris’ lips attached to your pulse point.

“Listen, the files I sent out today have the answer to all of those questions. My shift ended, like, two hours ago. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can call me out of hours, much less for something like this?” You might’ve spoken a bit harsher than you intended, but you needed to get your point across.

Chris squeezed your ass, tightly, almost making you moan right on the speaker. Thankfully, your boss stuttered a ‘Oh, shit I thought you were still working, I forgot your shift changed this month. I’m so sorry! Let’s talk tomorrow!’

You said your goodbyes and pressed the red button on your screen. After a double take to make sure the call had been hung up, you dropped it back on the side table, sighing. But this time, you didn’t sigh out of annoyance, but due to the fact that Chris had tugged your earlobe with his teeth.

“You’re so fucking hot when you get all bossy, fuck”, he attached his lips to your pulse point once again, sucking on the skin. “Talking about your spreadsheets, and pivots, and numbers, and shit”.

You chuckled, bringing your arms to Chris’ shoulders and pulling him further into you. “That’s the true boring stuff, babe”.

“Mmm… Still…” Chris peppered kisses all over your face–your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your chin… “Wanna keep going? Or is the mood ruined for you?”

“Does it feel like it’s ruined for me?” You clenched around his length, voluntarily, making him twitch inside you. “You’re still rock hard, baby. So I’ll take a guess and say the mood hasn’t been ruined for you, either”.

“How could I not be rock hard when I have a Goddess on my lap? When you’re so deliciously warm around my cock?” Chris pulled away from your hug, cradling your face in his hands to plant a loud, wet kiss on your lips. “Should I continue where we left off?”

You nodded, and immediately your boyfriend’s mouth was back on your chest, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, all while his other hand squeezed your other breast, stimulating the hardened bud with his fingers.

In no time, Chris had you a whimpering, moaning mess again. You were seriously dripping, you could feel your own juices leaking out, and if you hadn’t been too engrossed in the tingles of pleasure coursing throughout your body, you would’ve stopped to put a towel under your bodies.

“Baby…” You mumbled, threading your fingers in the hair on the back of Chris’ head, tugging the slightest bit. “Bite?”

He opened his eyes, looking at you with that dark, predatory look that always made you want to submit, to let him make you feel good however he pleased, to let him ruin you. He didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just did as you asked, nibbling on your sensitive skin as his other hand pinched the other nipple.

He kept the slow rhythm of his tongue, of his teeth, and his lips, every second bringing you closer to a ledge you weren’t even sure you’d be able to fall over like this. Eventually, he switched sides, attaching his mouth to the other nipple to get it just as wet and puffy as the other.

You could feel yourself clench around him, just like you could feel him twitch every time you moaned his name. Something was brewing in the pit of your stomach, something warm and familiar…

“Oh, fuck! Chris!”

All of a sudden, your release hit you like a truck, your entire body shook, your boyfriend groaned against your chest, and tears quickly welled in your eyes. It was so much, an explosion of pleasure that dragged warmth everywhere within your body. Familiar, yet new at the same time.

Your thighs flexed with exertion, you were trembling, and as you started to come down from your high, you just couldn’t stand any more stimulation to your chest.

“Fuck, fuck, babe–stop, please…”

Chris detached his mouth from your abused nipple as soon as the words came out of your mouth. Your body slumped, your world started to spin, you were panting still, and all you could do to keep yourself grounded was pressing your forehead on your boyfriend’s shoulder. He simply hugged you close, caressing your hair, whispering soothing words. You could vaguely register them among the ringing in your ears.

“Baby, talk to me. Are you okay?” Threading his fingers in your hair, Chris massaged your scalp. His tone was gentle, but slightly urgent. It wouldn’t have been the first time you passed out after an orgasm, so you could totally understand why he was trying to get a reply from you.

You nodded, still panting a bit. With a deep breath you removed your head from his shoulder, placing your hands on his chest for stability. “I’m okay. But, holy shit. What was that?”

“One of the hottest things you’ve ever done, holy fuck”, immediately, Chris attached his lips to your cheeks, kissing away the tears that had inadvertently fallen from your eyes. “I really… I mean, it wasn’t my intention to make you come from that. I didn’t even know you could do that”.

“I didn’t know I could do that, fuck…" You’d always had sensitive nipples, they’d always been a good trigger for your pleasure, but only when it was coupled with clit stimulation, so this certainly caught you off guard.

Chris looked at you for a moment, all starry eyed, as if he had just been given a Christmas present. In an instant his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply, adoringly, all as he groaned against your mouth and groped your ass. “So fucking perfect, shit…”

When he pulled back from the kiss, he held you close, pressing kisses on your cheek while you tried your best to catch your breath.

He was still hard inside you, you could feel him twitch sporadically as he caressed your body, and even if you had just come a handful of minutes prior, you had been waiting way too long already.

“Babe…” Bringing your hands to his face, you cradled it, and leaned in to kiss him. You barely detached your lips from his, simply letting them brush against his lips with every word that came out of your mouth. “Please, Chris. Fuck me. Fuck me good, please I need–”

Your sentence got cut short, what should’ve been the rest of it was replaced with a yelp as your boyfriend held you tightly and moved. He moved so fast you registered it only when you were already with your back against the armchair, with your boyfriend hovering over you and with your hips in just the right angle by the edge of the seat.

“Want me to fuck you good?” Chris mumbled against your mouth, throwing your legs over his shoulders and holding your hips tightly. “I’ll fuck you so fucking good, my prettiest. Just like you deserve”.

Whatever response you had died on your tongue, replaced by broken moans of his name as your boyfriend started to ram into you, so hard you could practically feel him in your throat.

“So fucking perfect coming because I was playing with your tits, shit…” The sound of sweaty skin hitting sweaty skin filled the room, mingling with the obscene squelching sounds produced by his cock going in and out of your cunt at such an aggressive pace. “How lucky am I, huh? Every day… you just remind me… how lucky I am… because I’m able to call you mine. Fuck!”

You couldn’t speak. The only noises you could produce were whines, and whimpers, and moans, and your boyfriend’s name as he kept stimulating that sweet spot within your walls, bringing you alarmingly fast towards your second high.

“My perfect girl, and her perfect tits, and her perfect body just for me. Just for me, hm?”

You just nodded in response to his question. Because you were. you were his girl, and your body was his to enjoy.

“Mine. My pretty baby all for me, fuck…” Removing one of your legs from where it had been resting on his shoulder, Chris’ hand got easy access to your centre, and you immediately held your leg against your chest, letting him work you up just how he wanted, just how you wanted. “C’mon, baby. Give me another”.

In no time, you were trembling with your release, tearing up at the onslaught of sensations coursing through your body. Chris rammed into you once, twice, thrice, and with the fourth thrust he dived in, finding your mouth and kissing you sloppily right before he finally exploded within your warmth. Keeping his hips pressed against you, he shot his load deep into you, all as he groaned, and grunted, and borderline growled within the kiss.

Panting a bit, Chris moved away from your lips, pressing a trail of kisses from your face to your shoulder, eventually resting his head there while he composed himself. You were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than bring your hand to the back of his head to play with his now sweaty hair.

After a minute, he detached himself from you, kissing you one more time before he was pulling out. “Stay still”.

When he came back with a soaked washcloth, he cleaned you up, getting as much of his cum on the rag before he dropped it to the floor and scooped you into his arms. You weakly held onto him, letting him carry you to your bedroom.

“Love you. You know that, right?” Chris pressed a kiss on your forehead, placing you down on your shared bed.

You hummed. “I love you, too”.

Chris smiled brightly at you, kissing you on the cheek one more time before he was pulling himself away from your space.

You grabbed his hand, pouting, and he immediately giggled. “Where are you going? You gonna leave me all alone here? No cuddles?”

“Baby, of course not. If I ever skip our post-sex cuddles, assume I’m gravely ill and take me to the hospital”, Chris leaned down so he could place a kiss on the back of your hand. “I’m going to get you some water. You need to hydrate, pretty. I’m nowhere near done with you yet”.

“O–oh”, you started to feel tingly all over again, just as you felt heat creep on your face.

“Yeah, oh”, Chris chuckled, pressing another kiss on the back of your hand before he mumbled a ‘Be right back’.

You unashamedly stared at his ass until he left the room. You were definitely getting a handful of that later, since it seemed to be like it was going to be one of those long, strenuous, yet immensely satisfying nights.

As you laid there on your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, you honestly couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face while you waited for your boyfriend to come back.

special thanks to @notastraykid for giving me her much valued opinion before i posted this.

figured i’d tag anyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

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