Pass The Weed

Call me Lina (she/her) I’m a nice stoner MINORS DNI

[cafeconmota]

✧ ㅤ♡ྀི I’m your dream girl’s, dream girlㅤㅤ ♡ྀི ✧

── ✧ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✧ ──

♡ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Latina ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 23 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Stoner ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♡

︵‿ ♡ ‿︵ Queer as hell ︵‿ ♡ ‿︵

This is a side blog so I can’t follow back

Masterlist

Requests: slow

Rules/Disclaimers

☆☆⋆☆☆ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 + 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 ☆☆⋆☆☆

[fluoresensitives]

Women stick thin and malnourished on the red carpet, and people are saying you can't point out that these women are dying because that's body shaming. Girl.

[doctordaemon]

@whitenikes

[livelyspaghetti-blog]

When I tell people to delete anon hate, to not publish it, it’s not me saying “ignore it and it’ll stop; don’t fight back.” It is 100% petty and spiteful. Honestly, I can’t think of anything better than the person who sent the hate obsessively checking your blog and refreshing and refreshing, waiting for you to reply, and getting increasingly frustrated when the ask they so masterfully crafted never pops up & you just keep posting cute pictures of your pets and talking about how nice your day was.

[crucifem]

18+ mdni.

Thinks about...Gentlemen!James Bucky Barnes. . .

James who crosses his hands behind his back everytime he kisses you. Leaning down to press the softest little kiss against your mouth that leaves you aching for more.

James who always ties your shoes or straps your heels on. Always kissing your foot and up your shin to your knee—even if you have jeans on.

James who always opens the car door, any door really, ushering you with a soft hand on the dip of your back.

James who brushes your hair whenever he can—loving having your hair in his hands, scratching at your scalp with the brush and watching your shoulders relax.

James who takes it so painfully slow when he's sliding your clothes off. Making sure to kiss and touch every ounce of skin—nothing goes untouched.

James who is always soft with you in bed, you're too beautiful to cause wreckage and harm to. Though if you beg him enough he might indulge in a rougher scene so to say...

James who eats you out like it's all he needs to survive. He doesn't care if he can't breathe he doesn't care if you're self conscious or nervous—he just needs you, your scent, your energy he craves it all.

James who's fingers never leave your core, either on your clit or inside. He'll even commonly just have his hand down your pants while lounging to trace onto your pubic bone. even better if you have hair he'll sometimes just mess with it like he's petting a cat.

James who always makes your pleasure a priority.

[wannabeluvr]

adrian being so deeply whipped by you to the point where he can never stop talking! ✩‧₊ 𝜗𝜚

cw: fem!reader, light PiV smut! slightly pervy adrian (if you squint) minors and ageless blogs dni!!!

“does he have an off button?” an initial thought of yours that promptly became a consistent conviction. the guy just couldn’t shut up. with Adrian, the accustomed “hi,” or “morning!” fabricated into a string of unintelligible words, desperate for conversation. There’d be compliments, random ones like “has that shirt always been that form fitting?” or whatever other weird shit he could come up with before you parted ways, leaving him alone only with the appreciativeness that you fled the scene before he could inadvertently sputter something disgusting. perhaps like the frequent shameful idea etched in his brain of his dick fucking your cum covered tits and your mouth wrapped around his leaking tip.

silent car rides in his sebring would immediately be filled by irrelevant conversation. he’d pester you about something he saw on National Geographic last night and practically beg you to quiz him on his knowledge. this week it’s birds.

“i’m serious! i’m like a freak when it comes to this stuff, go ahead.”

even after a million variations of “thanks, but i’m good adrian” you could always tell when he was still just itching to say something as he continuously adjusted himself. little did you know it was admittedly because of how painfully hard you made him with the amount of times you spoke his name, surpassing the count of times he pictured you breathlessly bouncing on his cock in his car.

and to Adrian’s surprise, when you finally do give him the time of day, he found himself still uncontrollably prattling. pretty praises slurring from his lips as he pounded into you.

“you kinda—fuck—remind me of a Barred owl—they squeeze the shit outta their prey.”

unlike him you can only whine in return, face smushed against your drool covered pillow sheets, your brain only filled with thoughts of him balls deep inside you, dumb in comparison as he bottomed out.

“and their eyes —fuuuck—you’re making a mess all over me baby—they’re actually tubes it’s fucking insane.”

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝜗𝜚 ✩‧₊ ౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝜗𝜚✩‧₊ ౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝜗𝜚

[cafeconmota]

Hehehehehehot

[doechiisource]

DOECHII ready to perform at Asuncionico Festival in Paraguay (2026)

[maiamore]

know how some pet owners 'clicker-train' their pets? drawing a sound that they recognise and then rewarding them right after?

yeah clark kent is one-hundred-percent clicker-trained by his bossy, needy girlfriend.

starts off small, at the disgruntled sigh you give that often indicates something wasn't going right. he would be there in seconds, coming to your aid. need more references? he's elbow deep in archival boxes. printer empty? clark's already behind you with stack of fresh papers in his arms.

he lives to please you. so it's only fair that you reward him.

two taps of your manicured fingernails on his desk, and he shoots right up. if he had a tail, it would be wagging and hitting everyones knick-knacks off their cubicle.

fire-escape stairwell, supply closet, handicapped restroom — he didn't care wherever it was. clark kent simply waits patiently for you to say the words 'c'mere big guy', before he's hoisting you onto the nearest surface.

[cafeconmota]

Ugh I wishhhhh

[maiamore]

you greet clark with a handjob after he has a tiring day

tags: pwp, smut, showers, handjobs, m!receiving orgasm, tired!clark (900+ wc)

—

you don't realise clark had come home until you hear the water running.

it was odd for him not to greet you first. not to come over to the couch, peel ma's knitted blanket off your body, and smother you with kisses.

something must've been wrong.

curiously, you warily push past the half-opened door to the master bathroom. vaguely, you're able to make out a sillouhette, that could only be clark's. (or some other six-foot-four intruder.)

"babe?"

when there's no answer, you call out for him louder. only then do you hear the water stop.

you frown at the lack of response, slowly pushing past the heavily fogged glass partition. "…are you alright?" dark, rust coloured water has pooled beneath his feet, his shoulders tense from shallow breaths.

clark doesn't seem alarmed at your presence, not turning over to look over his shoulders, "yeah."

running water fills the tense silence, and before you relent to give him some space, he speaks up in a hoarse tone, "m'just tired. is all."

you're stepping past the threshold, a palm pressed against his bicep to quickly turn him. thankfully, he didnt have any visible wounds aside from the grime and mud that collected. "oh honey…you're all filthy…"

there's no bite to your tone when you squeeze out a decent amount of soap to your palms. deep blue eyes tracking how you've activated the suds in your smaller palms.

his shoulders relaxes at the lather of coconut and vanilla leaving his shoulders and arms all foamy. he drags a gaze over your figure, particularly at your sweats that have now gotten wet, along with your top. "you don't have to do this."

"turn around for me?" you interrupt.

clark knew better than to fight you, especially when you sounded this determined. he sluggishly turns, his fisted hands resting against the glass.

he remains quiet for the most part, tense exhales filling the already humid space. you carefully slide your palms up his ribs, gently scrubbing away any of the healed over wounds he might've gotten throughout the day. they glide past his chest, and down his soft belly.

“you know you can lean on me, right?”

"i know — i'm not injured, or anything."

"you don't have to visibly injured for you to need me. jesus."

clark fully senses the disgruntled tone you say that with, nodding to himself. he knew that, yet, he didn't want to subject you with another thing to have to deal with, given your line of work.

"i get that," he bites back, "i jus' — …!"

his breath stutters, when he feels your nails graze his navel.

"…sweetheart…you don't need t —"

"shhh."

you're met with the jolt of his back at the press of your lips to colder skin. It relaxes, as you venture lower. "let me take care of you?"

his throat bobs with effort, a gravelly 'mhm' rumbling from deep within his chest. you trace the rigid spine of his back, all while the tips of your fingers smearing the trail of hair leading down his chest to his happy trail.

it'd almost been reminiscent of a comforting massage, if not for the persistent nudge of his hard cock, threatening to stiffen if you'd even touched him.

after you'd gotten him sufficiently worked up to your liking, you give him the attention he needed. clark lets out a low grunt the second your palms curl at the base of his length. it pulses in your hold, and turns rigid to touch.

"mmhm. tell me what you need?" you whisper softly, to which he bucks into your hold.

"you're doing good." he manages in a tight breath, "little tighter…"

you comply as requested, squeezing him with more pressure, pumping him slowly. he's quickly nudging his hips, slightly at first, then begins to rock his hips to the pace you've set.

"ah — …" he's grunting louder and louder at each of your strokes, the sounds of his voice echoing embarrassingly loudly, though the sounds of still running water dulls the noise. it's seen in the manner the tips of his ears have turned pink, trying not to let it show just how badly he needed this.

a release, any release would've sufficed, and ever nerve ending of his was being lit on fire. clumsily, his hand snaps out to turn the water off, and you've only just realised how wanton and pitchy his voice was getting.

"there, harder baby — ah… shit."

his voice wraps around you, further stoking your own arousal, that was growing increasingly damp between you thighs. "okay…are you close?…"

"m-mhm."

his voice teeters on pitchy, short, quick pants, paired with the haphazard manner you've begun to milk his cock has him unravel much faster than normal, "sweetheart — ah, m'gonna —"

your fingers form a tight ring, just beneath the head of his cock, jerking in hard and quickly until his hips tense, jolting with strained, loud, whines. thick, creamy white spurts all over the adjacent wall, the rest of his spend, bubbling over your knuckles, as you pump him lazily.

clark's hand tugs you off when he feels he's far too sensitive to touch, turning you around swiftly with a dazed expression.

his eyes are completely glazed over, cheeks flushed with the dizzy orgasm you'd subjected him to. "i don't deserve you. gosh." they're mostly mutters, and you feel water run down your cum slick palms, that clark washes off, in the same coconut-scented soap you'd so generously cleaned him with.

you tip your head up, flashing him a wide smile when he meets your gaze properly.

"hi, baby."

clark exhales, then shakes his head with a reluctant, lop-sided smile before pulling you into his chest.

"i'm home." he humours, with the familiar, routine words you'd normally greet him with.

[cafeconmota]

🙂‍↕️

[theworstwolvie]

you love me, love me?

summary: clark gets a pretty big confession out of you only one month into your relationship. did it have to be while he had your face pressed in your pillows?

galentine's day 10 prompt: accidental "i love you"

CWs: 18+, mdni!!!!!! explicit sexual content, fem!reader x clark kent, clark's got a dirty mouth, doggy + missionary, no use of y/n, use of pet names, established relationship, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks!), pussy pronouns, sudden love confessions, some kissing, reader already knows he's superman, size kink if you squint? i think that's it!

word count: a little over 1.2k!

author's note: this one is short and sweet, straight to the POINT!!! i hope u all enjoy, my darling house guests <3 leave me a comment/reblog reply if you do!!!

galentine's series masterlist!

“That’s it, honey. There’s my good girl,” Clark coos as his fingers curl around your hips when he sinks into you from behind. The pads of his fingers threaten to tattoo themselves in your skin, his grip almost as scorching hot as the stretch of his thick cock splitting you in two right now.

“Greedy little thing. She’s sucking me right in.” 

Your mouth falls open as you try to come up with words to respond, but your brain betrays you. Instead, you push out a loud moan—one spawning from his filthy comments—that gets muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. Clark chuckles and rubs soft, slow circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“Love it when you make those pretty noises for me, sweetheart.”

He leans down and presses a few hot, open-mouthed kisses onto your shoulder and back, allowing him to push deeper into you with the new angle. You couldn’t have held back the whimper flying out of your throat if you tried. 

“Clark,” you cry out, pushing your ass against his pelvis and somehow getting him to go even deeper. “Feels—Feels s’good!”

Clark hums. The vibration from his lips sends a shockwave down your spine. His proud, cocky smirk on your skin, though? That has you clenching around him already. He groans as soon as your plush walls tighten like a vice and pulls away, straightening up and tilting his head back a little. 

“Goodness. M’not even moving and she’s already squeezing the life outta me. You needed me that bad, baby?” 

You reach behind you and grab onto one of his hands, the other attaching to your bedsheets. Your nails dig into his skin and you blabber something you don’t even remember, an almost unintelligible plea for him to start moving those perfect hips. Clark happily obliges, pulling out of you almost completely before he sinks right back in. Clearly, you’re not the only impatient one here. 

Each thrust of his hips is borderline obscene. Deep, slow, a little rough. Skin slapping against skin. Your wetness echoing throughout the room as it drips down and spills all over your own thighs with each of Clark’s movements. The best of it all, though? The filth he’s committed to spewing into your ears while he pistons his cock in and out of you.

After a particularly tight, involuntary clenching of your walls around him, he hisses and stills his hips. His hold on you strengthens, his voice unfaltering when he mutters, “So tight. She’s taking me so well that I’m starting to think she was made just for me.”

The ache in your throat from all the noise you’ve been making tonight is unbearable; it gets even worse when you scream out a moan from his dirty words. He starts thrusting into you again, one hand pressing against the arch in your back so he can get deeper and slam the tip of his cock against that sweet spot only he can reach. Your thighs start to tremble, nails attempting to claw at the steel-like skin on the back of his hand. You don’t make a mark on it, though. You never can. That’s why being so rough with him feels so damn good. 

You struggle to convince yourself that you haven’t came already. It’s hard to believe when you feel so good and you’re making a mess all over yourself, the sheets, and Clark at the same time. Each intoxicating drag of his cock in and out of you produces a lewd, loud squelch that tells you—and your lovely, adoring boyfriend—that this might just be the best night of your life.  

“Gosh, honey…you hear that? She’s singing for me. Sounds so pretty,” he pants. Your face burns hot, humiliation and overexertion getting to you. If you had the ability to speak, you’d fuss at him.

He shifts again; this time, he’s bending forward, his massive body pressing against your back while he picks up the pace of his thrusts. 

His brute force is methodical in a way. He knows the exact amount of strength he needs to use in order to fuck your brains out but keep you from being immobile in the morning. He knows how much of his weight you can handle on top of you, and how fast you like him to move, and how you love when his hands caress your body. It’s the most beautiful softness to contrast his rough thrusts, and it’s just what you need. 

You’ve never felt more secure in your entire life.

So, despite the fact that you’ve only been together a month, you blurt out three little words:

“I love you!”

It’s more of a squeal, maybe a little bit of a moan; the one thing that’s true, though, is that it was completely out of your control. Came from deep within you, pushed straight out of your chest as if it came directly from the heart. It stood no chance at hiding in the shadows of your subconscious anymore. Not with Clark Kent’s weight, his heat, on you and inside of you. 

Clark stills. Your confession hangs in the air, an unaddressed elephant in the room that you don’t exactly want to address. He pushes his hands into the pillows on the sides of your head, breathing steady as ever right next to your ear. 

“You…what was that?” 

You wish you could say you were too fucked out to respond to him. Instead, you’re painfully aware of yourself. Of what you just said. Of how you might have just messed everything up right now. You bury your face in the pillow and shake your head. 

“Nothing, just—just keep going,” you whine, hips rolling back against his so you can get a taste of the friction he just ripped away from you when he put those thrusts on pause. 

“No, you…” he trails off. Wraps one arm around your waist to stop you from moving. Brushes off the frustrated groan that you give him when he prevents you from getting what you want. 

“You love me?” he asks, quietly, softly, hopefully. Then he pulls out of you. In the blink of an eye, he’s got you flipped over onto your back on the mattress. For the first time since you stumbled into your room with him, you’re looking into his eyes. You didn’t think it’d be possible for the burn in your face to get worse, but here you are, basically on fire. 

“Like, you love me, love me?” 

You wrap your arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair. His thick, dark, curly hair that you fell in love with the first second you saw it. 

Much like the way you fell in love with him the first time you saw him. 

You sigh in defeat. Smile up at him with a sheepish little grin and lean up to kiss him. The featherlight kiss lingers, leaving a soft tingle on your lips when you pull back. 

“Of course I do, Clark.” 

“I love you, too,” he purrs. The smile on his face is contagious. You find yourself sharing it with him, then kissing him once more while he wraps your legs around his waist. 

“Let me show you just how much I love you, honey.” 

taglist: @clarkscolumn @luvekent @tooloudarts @anon-188 @middleofmiami @angelkisscherie @clarknsun @pinksplace @tw1sters @kryptidfiles @neeeed-y @wildflowersandvibranium

[cafeconmota]

Cuuuuuuuteeeeee

[crotalusruber]

i need everyone to look at this dog that came to the state park today

[sweetseaswallowme]

no one noticed

pairing: mcu!peter parker x reader (before dating)

summary: after you spend a lonely night of drinking, peter grows concerned and comes looking for you.

themes: emotional hurt/comfort

warnings: alcohol consumption, excessive drinking, sort of depressing thoughts on the reader’s behalf?

word count: 3.2k

song: no one noticed by the marías – not based on the song, but i found it fitting

my masterlist <3

You were growing increasingly desperate for a form of fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you had properly hung out with anyone. You saw your friends at school, but since you had very few classes together, you only got to hang out during break times. And given it was prime-assignment time, most of the breaks were spent with people going to the library. Tonight, Ned was at a family dinner, you had just about no idea what MJ was doing, Peter was patrolling, and all your other school friends were not replying to your messages. On top of that, each of your parents was away on some business trip, meaning you were really, truly alone.

You sat at your desk, the blue light of your laptop burning your eyes as you stared at the blank document in front of you. You leaned backwards in your chair, picking up your phone for the umpteenth time to see if you had missed a message from anyone.

Upon seeing you had none, you rolled your eyes and threw your phone at your bed positioned behind you. Turning back to your Word document, you began to type.

“The biopsychosocial model explores the biogvaeyufodsgiy89u[0-’;,.w.” you groaned, resting your head on the keyboard that was now typing absolute gibberish. Exasperated, you shut your laptop before jumping onto your bed.

Still no notifications.

Growing incredibly desperate for a form of socialisation, you sent a quick text to one of your school friends you considered yourself to be close with.

“r u free soon???” you typed out, internally despising yourself for coming off so desperate.

You knew her well enough to know you wouldn’t get a reply for at least a couple of hours, throwing your phone back onto the bed as you began to look around your room. Your fingers nimbly slid over the books across your bookshelf before the glint of glass caught your eye. Behind the books lay a glass bottle, the label worn and faded, but you were certain it was some form of alcohol. You had hidden it there after a night out with your friends and completely forgotten about it.

Before giving it much thought, you heedlessly grabbed the bottle, spinning the cap until it popped off. Feeling giddy at the mere thought of the alcohol, you touched your lips to the bottle, the stench of alcohol burning your nose. Leaving little time for consideration, you rashly took a gulp. Then another, and another and just one more until you felt the burning warmth in your stomach.

Slightly gagging at the rough taste that lingered on your tongue, you grasped the bottle of Raspberry Coke from your desk. As you swallowed the Coke, you checked your phone yet again, seeing absolutely no messages, which shouldn’t have surprised you at this point. It was then that you remembered the park just down the street. The time read 12:23am, but the alcohol was beginning to have an effect on you, leading to you deciding that now was the perfect time to go on the swings. Thrilled with yourself for thinking of the idea, you messily changed your clothes into something you deemed presentable as you gulped more alcohol from the bottle. The awful taste of the alcohol was barely registering anymore, making drinking from the bottle all the more fun.

As you pranced out of your room, clumsily twirling around as your jacket slipped off your shoulders. You hummed a song, slipping in and out of mumbling the words between hums. Taking a final swig, you shoved the bottle in your tote bag and roughly grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter before leaving the apartment.

The hallway was eerily quiet, all doors shut, and each apartment silent. You opted for the stairs, deciding the elevator would simply take far too long. You very nearly fell right down the stairs as you attempted to skip down the stairs. Finally reaching the ground floor, you pranced outside gracelessly without turning back.

The icy air harshly hit your skin, feeling as though your skin was being pinched and pulled. You grabbed the bottle from your bag and began to eagerly gulp the alcohol as though it would protect you from the cold.

The streetlights glowed down on you as if they were a spotlight, amber light illuminating the puddles of rainwater on the street. Deciding it was simply too beautiful to ignore, you fumbled around your pocket until you felt your phone.

You quickly pulled out your phone and began to squint with one of your eyes as if you were a professional photographer. Clumsily clutching at your phone, you took a photo of the puddle, attempting to capture the supposed beauty of the light’s illumination.

Unfortunately, you zoomed out to a point where the only focus was the grey footpath slick in the rain. Much to your oblivion, the photo was a blurry mess. This was unsurprising, considering you had not stopped incessantly swaying since taking your first gulps of the alcohol.

Admiring your masterpiece as you walked, you sent it to Peter with a smug grin, proud to show off that you could have fun whether he was with you or not. What’s so wrong with being alone?

You hastily pushed your phone back into the pocket of your skirt that you stupidly decided to wear despite it being the middle of winter. You took a swig from the bottle you had now deemed to be your best and only friend as you reached the playground.

Finding the gate to be significantly too much of a struggle, you heaved yourself over the relatively low fence, falling into the bark below. Much to your delight, you located the swings and paraded over to them.

You quickly found that swinging and drinking simultaneously was quite the struggle and resulted in the alcohol falling onto you more than into your mouth.

Distracted, you neglected to realise the number of texts coming through your phone from Peter, who had seen the mess of a photo and was growing concerned as to why you had sent it to him with absolutely no context.

Giving up on the swings, you climbed up the stairs leading to the top of the slide. It was then that you saw Peter’s name lighting up your screen. You laughed to yourself at the idea of him asking to come join you after ditching you for his patrol.

You sat atop the slide with the bottle held between your legs, as you attempted to pick up the call.

“Y/n?” Peter asked, his voice pinched with anxiety.

“Hi, Petey.” You slurred. “How’s your patrol?”

You rolled your eyes and fiddled with your hair as you awaited his response.

“Where are you, Y/n? Are you okay?” Peter asked, ignoring your question.

“I’m fine, I’m having some fun by myself, thank you very much!”

“Are you at home?” Peter’s voice was laced with concern, so much so that you could practically picture his furrowed eyebrows and sad brown eyes.

“I’ve gone for a walk. We should go on swings more often, Peter. They’re good fun.” You garbled, eyes beginning to grow weary.

Peter paused for a second, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, his voice quiet.

You pinched your pointer finger and thumb together as though to indicate a small bit. Realising he maybe couldn’t see that through the phone, you answered.

“Maybe a little bit. What’s it matter to you anyway? You’re too busy patrolling.” You over-enunciated.

“Y/-,” Peter started, growing concerned.

“I’ve gotta go, I’m incredibly busy.” You interrupted. “Byebye, Spidey!”

And with that, you ended the call. Feeling pleased with yourself for showing him how unbothered you were for over him being too busy for you, you clutched the bottle and slid down the slide.

You landed in a muddled heap on the floor, bark intertwining with your hair and clinging to your jacket. You hugged the bottle against your chest as though it were a delicate little baby you needed to care for. Feeling incredibly dizzy to the point you believed standing up may be impossible at this point, you decided to remain lying on the floor, looking up at the stars sprinkled across the navy sky.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was swinging across the city like a maniac in an attempt to find you before you got hurt. He was already deeply concerned to know you were out late alone, but the fact that you were drunk just worsened it. At least if you were sober, he would have been able to talk to you properly. But being drunk while out alone in the middle of the night was a terrifying combination that had Peter trying to internally calm himself down so he could stop shaking so violently.

You had only moved into your apartment recently, so he knew neither of were entirely used to the area just yet. Thankfully, he remembered there was a park nearby that you had excitedly insisted on Peter coming with you to test out the swings.

He was hoping this was where you had gone to, and worried what he could do if that wasn’t the case. He considered whether he would be able to ask Tony to track your phone.

Swinging over the fence and arriving at the park in a hasty mess, he ripped his mask off. Anxiously combing his fingers through his curls, he called out your name hurriedly.

“Y/n, if you’re here, please, please, please say something,” He begged, wringing his mask in between his hands as he looked around the seemingly abandoned playground.

You groaned as you attempted to push yourself up from your position sprawled across the floor.

“Pete?” You murmured, your voice raspy and quiet.

The relief that flooded through him after finding you was immediately drained when he noticed the state you were in. Your hair was tangled, and your eyes were bloodshot as you looked over at him with a frown.

“Hey-,” Peter’s voice was low, quiet and cautious. “Hey, Y/n/n. What are you doing here?”

You sighed, the initial thrill of the alcohol was rapidly draining as a wave of depression washed over you — cold and unwelcoming. Feeling defeated and miserable, you nibbled at your lip in an attempt to hold back the tears that had come to your eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Peter felt a part of him break at hearing how small your voice was, laced with sadness. Peter hurried over to you, his hand reached out to help you sit up. Your head was downturned, and your bloodshot eyes were hazy and unfocused in a way that made Peter even more concerned.

“Has something happened?” He pried apprehensively.

This elicited a deep sigh from you, heavy and pointed.

“Of course you don’t know if anything’s happened, Petey,” you nearly spat his nickname out. “You’ve got no idea what’s going on in my life. You’re never around.”

Peter bit his cheek, starting to get an idea of why you were behaving this way.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” Peter said.

His voice was soft, delicate, as if he feared how you’d react.

“It’s not just you, it’s everyone,” you garbled. “No one’s ever around.”

“I’ll be better, I’ll be around so much you get sick of me,” Peter insisted, eyes wildly scanning your face to see if you registered anything he was saying.

“You always say that,” you sighed, sinking back into the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know,” he dipped his head in shame. “I promise you, I won’t ever do this to you again.”

His tone was begging, desperate and laced with worried.

While he tried his hardest to contain it, he could feel a tear slip from his eye and race down his cheek. With a quick wipe at his cheek, it was gone. He refused to let your sadness be overshadowed by his.

“I promise you, Y/n. Never again,” he clutched your hand, gently shaking it to try and get you to focus.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly, leaning into him.

“Hey, you’ve done nothing wrong,” he assured you. “Well, maybe tonight wasn’t filled with your best decisions, but none of the emotions or feelings can be blamed on you.”

“Thank you for getting me,” you spoke.

“Always, always Y/n,” he insisted, his tone sickly sweet.

After a beat of silence, Peter gave your hand another squeeze.

“Let’s go back to your apartment,” Peter murmured, his eyebrows frowning with concern.

“Are you prep-pro-propositioning me, Petey?” You attempted to joke as you stumbled through the words. “Ya know… I reckon I must’ve heard that you aren’t meant to do that when someone’s drunk.”

Peter coughed back a laugh.

“No, not tonight at least,” Peter joked, although he was being partly honest. “I meant so you could go to sleep.”

“Are you staying?” You widened your eyes as you looked at the three Peters that appeared in front of you.

Forcing your eyes to focus, it was back to just the one.

The one, concerned and awkward but ever so lovely Peter.

“I’ll stay with you,” Peter spoke, his voice soft. “I’ll just sleep on the couch or the floor.”

You hummed absentmindedly in response.

You could faintly feel the smooth fabric of Peter’s suit on your arm as he tried to secure a hold of you. It appeared his apology hadn’t assisted in making you sober up.

As he pulled you off the floor, his brows furrowed with concern. You stood limply, as though you would fall if not for Peter clutching you tightly. He bit the inside of his cheek as he pulled your body closer to him, letting you lean your weight onto him. He held you up, guiding you as the two of you walked towards the park’s gate.

Your cheeks felt warm, yet your fingertips were painfully cold, and you were subconsciously aware of how your teeth were madly chattering.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” You murmured, your words still slurring together.

“It’s okay.” He responded as he fumbled with the gate’s entrance. “I understand.”

You allowed Peter to guide you through the exit as you struggled to keep your eyes open. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and had very little understanding of your surroundings. Thankfully, Peter was well aware and carefully guided you back home.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

Neither of you had spoken on your way home. Peter was too distracted to say anything; a million thoughts were rushing through his head as he desperately tried to figure out what was going on with you. Meanwhile, your focus had been drawn to clinging tightly to Peter’s arm and desperately trying not to fall or throw up.

After a long walk consisting of a significant amount of stumbling, you and Peter had finally made it to your apartment. Locking the door behind him, he guided you over to your bedroom. This proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated, as you were simultaneously trying to tug your shoes off.

Pick your shoes up off the floor as he followed you to your room, Peter attempted to guide you to your bedroom, where you immediately flopped onto the bed.

He looked at you for a moment, trying to decide what to do from here.

He was pretty sure you’d rather be in pyjamas, but he felt a bit odd changing your clothes.

He was very certain he should at least get you water, though, maybe put some Asprin on your bedside table for the next morning.

You groaned as you turned over in your mattress, lying on your back.

“Hey, uh– maybe let’s lie on our side,” Peter hurried, reaching for your body as he attempted to turn you to the side. “It’s unsafe on your back.”

You tossed out a hand lazily, waving him off, which caused Peter to frown.

Nervous to leave you alone, he looked around your room for a water bottle until he found a metal one with the Avengers’ label displayed across its middle. He shook it lightly, and the sound of ice clicking against the metal indicated the water was cold.

He brought it over to you as he gently pulled your body up to a sitting position. Your posture was slumped, and your head was hung forward, but it was better than nothing, Peter assured himself.

“Here, have some water before bed,” he insisted, holding the water bottle to your lips. “A couple of gulps, please.”

You obediently swallowed some water, some drops occasionally slipping out of your mouth.

“Thank you,” Peter said after you finished drinking the water. “Do you uh– wanna get changed?”

He wasn’t sure if this was an okay thing to offer a girl who was drunk, but he felt so uncertain of what to do that he was sure this was the only option.

You nodded slowly, eyes falling closed.

“Okay, right. Okay,” Peter mumbled to himself as he tried to think of what to do.

Knowing you kept your pyjamas behind your pillow, he reached behind your pillow to fetch the neatly folded clothes. He paid special attention to keeping his hand holding yours so he could keep you stable.

“Here, how about you change yourself?” he offered with a nervous smile. “I’ll just turn my back, okay?”

You silently nodded your head, drunkenly grabbing onto the clothes Peter held in front of you. Turning away, Peter gave you time to change your clothes. While he couldn’t see, based on the sounds made, he was pretty sure you weren’t doing a very good job of it.

“Done,” you slurred, slumping back onto the bed.

Turning back to face you, Peter scanned you to see that you had done a reasonably okay job at changing yourself. One pant leg was tucked into your sock, though, so he reached down and gently pulled it free, allowing the hem to loosely float around your ankle.

“Good job,” Peter murmured.

Pulling the quilt and sheets back, Peter readied the bed for your weary form. Eager for sleep, you moved yourself into the space Peter had made for you. Swiftly, Peter covered you back up with the quilt and tucked you in.

“There’s water and Aspirin on your bedside table,” he softly whispered.

You nodded and incoherantly mumbled a response that Peter assumed to mean ‘thank you’. Pleased you were safely in bed, Peter moved your desk bin beside your bed (just in case) and flicked off the light switch.

“Come to sleep, Pete,” you mumbled.

“I can’t,” he breathed. “Any other night, I will, but I can’t when you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”

You frowned but nodded, eyes still shut.

“Just please don’t leave, at least.”

“Of course not.” He reassured you.

And he didn’t leave.

After fetching his own change of clothes (borrowed from you, of course) and changing in the bathroom, he went to the small armchair in the corner of your room and sat down. He tucked himself into a ball so he could comfortably fit. It was tight, but the chair was soft and velvety, which made it at least bearable. Truth be told, he would’ve slept on the floor if he needed to.

Taking one final glance at your resting frame, he allowed his eyes to close and for his body to finally relax with one thought on repeat in his mind: Never leave her again.

And he didn’t.

[cafeconmota]

Cute

[byjove]

cis people will say “I found out I’m having a baby girl at my anatomy scan and I’m experiencing gender disappointment” but be mad when you say “who knows? maybe you’ll end up with a son anyway”

[byjove]

they found this post and they’re very very in their feelings about it

[blue-eyes-white-cheddar]

Cis people will basically just sag “I’m sexist” and you say “maybe you don’t have to be” and they say “well now I’m gonna be transphobic too”

[paperrrat]

[sabenito]

Benito Antonio

Throwback/ Met Gala 2023

[probablyasocialecologist]

[shop5]

Happy March 15th to those who celebrate.

[cherrywineisawaltz]

MINORS DNI

Peter Parker who always has a hand on his camera when he’s with you. Candid photos of you flood his memory card, snapshots of every moment he spent with you engrained beyond his lens, immortalized in a computer drive he labeled with your name. You come to roll your eyes when you see the familiar gleam of his camera lens pull out from his bag, a wide grin stretching across his face while you try to pry it from his hands, “Come on—it’s the perfect lighting! Just one more—okay three more,” the shutter clicks catching the moments of your snatching hands in perfect progression. It's his favorite thing. There isn’t a single moment he considers unworthy of capturing.

Photos of the summer sun peering over your shoulder, a bright smile on your face, mid laugh, a joke either of you had made, making your nose crinkle, hair curling the cusp of your ear as you threw your head back. Another with a backdrop of pollen-green, beyond a body of water, sun kissed skin glowing under a hazy sunset, stringy bikini slipping down the slope of your shoulder, the wet drip of cool water dripping down the swell of your chest. A photo of a grey hue overtaking your bedroom, his hand up your top, his other hands fumbling for the camera on the bedside dresser. The fabric ripples over his knuckles, snagging against his watch, flash illuminating the shadow of your arched silhouette against the apartment wall, cleavage peering through the stretched fabric of your collar, swell pushed up by his palm kneading your flesh. Another with the fluorescent street sign outside your bedroom window accompanying the flash of his camera between your spread thighs, slick spilling onto crumpled sheets, pussy raw and swollen, cum shoved back in by two fingers on Peter's free hand, the other maneuvering his camera above you, “That it, baby, easy—can give me one more right? Gotta capture the moment,” he hums, fingers curling up into you, keeps leaving your kiss bitten lips, “Knew you were made for this. My little model, hm?”

[cafeconmota]

Hot

[naiaswims]

paparazzi

benito ocasio x reader

synopsis - a night time date turns into a fan’s number-one dream

cw - none!

word count - 705

─────────── ୨୧ ────────────

CLICK. benito switched on the radio in the car, it now hummed a soft spanish tune. he quietly mumbled the lyrics while he pulled into your local mcdonald’s.

usually the singer wasn’t one to go for fast-food, but it was late at night and you both were hungry.

he arrived in a slow roll at the ordering machine. “hello?” benito spoke in a thick accent. his body was leaning out the window in order to provide a greater volume for the worker.

a small tap came through and suddenly, “hello! what can i get for you today?” a young girl called out. she sounded overly cheery for the egregious hour which it was.

you softly giggled to yourself as benito carefully studied the menu, the foods seemed gross for his taste. “umm . . . may i please get a . . . regular hamburger . . . ?” anyone would be able to tell his confusion at all the colorful options.

the girl’s voice crackled over the intercom once more, “yes you may! would you like anything else?”

swiftly, he turned around to face you. “¿qué quieres?” he asked.

instead, you pushed yourself towards the window to talk to the girl directly, “yes please!” you nearly shouted. benito’s warm hand laid over your back rubbing comforting circles up and down.

after you ordered, you sunk back into your seat. “¡puedo pagar! ¡desde que lo hiciste la última vez!” you kindly offered.

in return, benito shot you an offended look. “cariño, soy tu novio, es mi trabajo pagar por ti.” he repeated the same monologue he told you whenever you offered to pay. you thought he was just too sweet.

you stayed silent in response. letting your eyes drift off into the trafficked streets of los angeles. benito grabbed ahold of your palm and interlaced your fingers smoothly.

as he arrived at the purchasing window, the same teenage girl peeked her head out. the shy expression she wore was abruptly replaced with one of shock. “sandy!” she called for her coworker.

“oh my god. are you bad bunny?” she inquired with her mouth widely agape.

“oh uh . . . yeah!” he answered with a laugh. you changed your focus to his sheepish expression. you then moved your free hand to cover your lips, containing a giggle.

“can i get like a photo? oh right, paying! um, you know what? don’t even bother you can like . . . just take the food.” she stuttered out her words. you could tell she was nervous.

instead of covering up your grin, you let out a small laugh at her actions. squeezing benito’s hand.

he also chuckled softly, “no! let me pay, please!” he extended his credit-card out for her to take, smiling kindly at her.

“oh well . . . okay!” she grabbed the credit card and turned towards her machine. she entered a couple codes and then swiped the card which was greeted with an approving beep.

“could i . . . get a photo?” she repeated

“yes! yes you can!” you suddenly chimed in, scooching in closer to your boyfriend. he wrapped an arm protectively over your shoulder, letting his hand rest on your forearm, bringing you closer.

she brought her phone out and the two of you smiled brightly. “thank you! for like . . . everything” she giggled nervously.

her coworker brought out your food as you both exchanged gratitudes. benito waited until the window slid shut before pulling away slowly, the bag of food crinkling softly in his lap.

“she was shaking,” you teased, nudging him.

he glanced over at you, smiling in that shy way he only ever did when it was just the two of you. “i think you were more excited than her.”

you gasped. “please. i see you every day.”

“exactly,” he replied, squeezing your hand again.

fame followed him everywhere with cameras, questions, flashing lights around every corner. but right now it was just the low hum of the radio, greasy paper bags, and your intertwined fingers resting on the center console.

he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“we should never go back there again." he murmured. you agreed with a small laugh through your bite of food.

and somehow, even in a mcdonald’s parking lot, it felt perfect.

─────────── ୨୧ ────────────

© naiaswims 2026. do not copy and repost.

[cafeconmota]

Cute