#v writes

[minkisdoll]

Heatwave Mingi x f!reader

synopsis: mingi looks too fucking good, and not even the heatwave can stop you from getting a taste. warnings. nsfw 18+, pwnp, plot what plot, dom!mg, sub!reader, some humiliation, dryhumping, coming in your clothes, slight somno bc mingi is kinda asleep at a point?, dirty talk, nicknames (angel, baby, good girl etc.) daddy kink wc. 1.5k an. i am BACK and as horny as ever. heres smth based on a post by @809gf , tysm for the seedling. also thank you guys for being patient and waiting for me, it has paid off! enjoy :) not proofread! taglist: @yslj1n @joongnoodle @matznana @kisssan

It started innocently enough. sitting on the lounge chair of the hotel room balcony, feeling the heat trickle against your skin. the weight of your sunglasses pushed on your nose as sweat dripped down onto the pages of your book.

the midsummer heatwave was knocking the energy out of everyone, including your, typically energetic, boyfriend, mingi. fresh out the shower, his short black hair was messy, spiked over his head as he opened the balcony door. he had slipped on his matching set of a striped shirt and shorts, the buttons hanging dangerously open.

your eyes were begging to tear away from the words on the pages, catching glimpses of mingi sitting in the comfort of a plush chair opposite from you. you hadn't spoken a word, something unsaid lingered in the air.

as beads of sweat started to run down the side of your neck, you couldn't help but use your book as a makeshift fan. the view before you surely wasn't helping. mingis eyes had shifted closed, hands resting on his lap as his head was leaned back into the chair cushions.

maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the need.

but something in you snapped. nothing crazy, yet, just a floodgate of something seeping out of you. so, you pressed your book shut, and got on your feet.

mingis eyes didn't open just yet, he was basking in the sun, it hugging his features so beautifully in this warm morning. as you stood before him, you let your other hand grip the metal railing next to mingis chair, the other holding onto his shoulder blade. his lips twitched at the sudden touch, but melting into it as your familiar warmth neared him. speaking in a mumbled tone, he muttered:

"isn't it a bit too hot to cuddle hm?" you chuckled lightly, your hips now laid on top of his, chest pressed up on his.

to admit, it was definitely not making the heat go away, more so making it worse. but you couldn't possibly tear yourself off your delicious boyfriend now, his tan toned arm now tight around your waist. you just craved being close, just being here together like this.

the trip so far had been mostly you inside, alone, reading books, since mingi was on a business trip. having these little moments together was certainly more and more rare, so you had to take what there is to take.

"but it's so comfortable like this isn't it?" you asked, tracing shapes into the exposed skin of mingis collarbones. his low laugh rumbled in his chest as he nodded, eyes still hung close.

"mhm, you could say that"

you weren't sure how long you sat there, unmoved, before something started to change. maybe it was the subtle changes in your seating position, or the way your eyes were wandering, but you couldn't help but feel a new type of heat rise in your body.

your both hands laid against mingis sweat sticky chest, your thighs spread around to straddle his. looking up to see his eyes still closed, light breaths passing his lips, you let yourself experiment a bit.

your hand slid down his torso, hanging onto the buttons that remained closed a little longer then supposed, accidentally popping one open. the newly exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, making your cheeks burn red like you've never seen him like this before.

you could feel his breath catching a little, making you pause for a moment before resuming. your other hand traced down to meet the other, slowly opening the last two remaining buttons. with slow but sure movements, you moved aside the light fabric, flashing his toned chest to your vision.

you couldn’t help but feel your mouth salivating at the sight of his exposed chest, the ridges of his muscles, the light hairs below his bellybutton, all the way to to his perked brown nipples. it was all too much.

you didn’t even notice your hips moving at first, your body taking over into an animalistic state. the fabric of mingis shorts was riding up dangerously high, the skin of his toned thick thighs meeting yours as you humped down on him like a dog in heat.

you felt a grin tug on mingis plump lips, his lengthy tongue slipping past to wet the surface before he spoke in a low voice:

" tsk, now now, that's not cuddling now is it angel?"

your breath hitched, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop moving against him, hands now eagerly tugging on the remains of his shirt that hung on his chest. mingis grip on your waist adjusted a bit, both his large palms now resting against your hipbones, guiding your movements.

"couldn't help it" you mumbled, face merely inches away from his. a smirky grin appears on his lips, before he bites down into them, pulling you closer on his lap. you fall forward slightly, your hands now laid above his chest, fingers directly on his perky nipples.

"don't you dare stop now then, even if you're caught, you dirty girl"

even if you wanted to, you couldn't. the feeling of the heat radiating from mingis body, his scent, his presence. the way his eyes were slightly opened now, that dark gaze burning into your skull as you worked your hips against him. you felt your brain melt away as you eased more into it, upping the pressure as mingis hands guided you back and forth.

as you moved, you could feel tension rise below you, the hardness of mingis cock firm against your clothed pussy as you grinded with need. a twitch rippled through mingis body as your hips met up with the sensitive spot of his tip through his flimsy shorts, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“thats it baby, faster f’me, go on”

his hands are eager to pull and push you faster, the slickness of your pussy seeping through your clothes, leaving a wet patch on his shorts. moans tear past your lips as you lean forward to lay youe forehead on his shoulder, fingers digging into his chest muscles.

“min- so good.. fuck..”

raking your hands down his torso, your nails leaving behind a red trail as your chest heaves. you’re burning up, the heat of the summer air and the burning sensation of your body against mingis driving you near passing out, but it felt so worth it.

“yeah? gonna cum untouched like a fucking virgin are you baby?”

mingis words twist your gut, his pitying tone making a new wave of arousal slick down your thighs. he just smirks knowingly, beginning to thrust up into your grinds.

you shriek, digging your nails into his stomach as the new sensation takes over. you may as well be naked from how much you can feel the imprint of mingis cock in his pants. you can feel the thick shape of it, every ridge, every vein running down its sides. and its making you lose it faster then you want to.

“p..please.. d- da.. mghm min..” your words stutter as you hold onto him, teeth grazing his exposed shoulder blade.

“mmm what was that, say that again” his words sharp as his hips slow down a bit, waiting your answer.

your cheeks flare, gulping, you try again:

“please.. please daddy more!” you muster the courage, shaking as mingi chuckles against you, picking back up his page.

“that’s a good girl, always so obedient for me”

you feel the tightness in your abdomen come scarily close at his words, your body tingling with every grind, every thrust. raising your head from his shoulder, youre met with his gaze again, eyes clouded, lips parted in a smirk while low groans tear out repeatedly.

his palm smacks your right cheek before pulling on it again, spreading you open while grinding up into you, and you feel yourself lose it.

“need to.. need to cum now daddy mgmh! m coming”

mingis face dives forward, closing you into a kiss thats almost all tongue and teeth, sucking your sounds into his mouth. you pant, repeating his name like a mantra as his cockhead grinds against your clit with ease.

“thats it, cum on daddy just like this, attagirll baby” his voice mumbles against your lips, you feel him smile into it with that devious grin.

and it completely undoes you. you feel the band inside you snap, the overwhelming heat of your body peaking as you hold onto mingi for some stability, his hands on your hips grounding you.

the wet patch is even more imminent now on mingis shorts as you lean forward to his shoulder again, hanging on like a ragdoll. his hand caresses your back, soothing the burning skin as you come down from your high.

after a minute or two, you leaned up again, meeting his attentive gaze, and that never ending smirk. you raise a brow.

“now, why are you still grinning now, what’s so funny?” mingi chuckles, running his hand down your side, the other below your chin.

“oh nothing, just imagining how you’re gonna walk once we’re done on this balcony” you smack his shoulder, pretending to be hurt.

“oh? don’t think i’m not going to have you holding onto that bar for dear life while i stuff your pussy full, you know i’ll do it.”

and with that, you knew your knees would remain wobbly, and your body heated for the rest of this damned heatwave.

[v-thinks-on]

Kirk: (more flirting than being helpful) I’m sure you made the logical decision.

Spock: (successfully flattered) That is very kind of you, captain.

[venusplantt]

Trustbites is taking over my life.

@kitab00m101 opened my eyes to the wonderful world of Trustbites, and I just had to say thank you in the only way that I really know how to. (definitely not an excuse to write them together)

Not only him, there have been many, many people who have shown me the way of the polycule, but his blog and writings were the push I needed, apparently.

Inspired by this post, I just had to write it.

Go follow his trustbites blog where he talks about the blorbos a lot better than I. @trust-bites-journaling

Read under the cut! (if there is a need for it, and if I can find a title, I can upload this to AO3 as well)

Legundo doesn’t hear the door open.

He’s hunched over his desk, glasses low on his nose, pen moving steadily across a half-finished report. The late-afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust in the air, warming the wood of the shelves behind him. He’s so focused that the world has narrowed to ink and paper.

So, when a cool hand suddenly brushes the back of his head, he startles hard enough to jerk in his chair.

“Owen—!”

The word breaks off into a breath.

Owen’s fingers slip through the short fuzz of Legundo’s buzzed hair, slow and deliberate. He makes a pleased little sound at the way Legundo shivers under the touch.

“There you are,” Owen murmurs softly. “I was afraid you’d worked yourself into another near-death experience without me.”

Legundo exhales, trying and failing not to smile. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

“I absolutely can,” Owen says, leaning down just enough for his breath to ghost warm against Legundo’s ear. “And you love it.”

Before Legundo can reply, Owen hooks a finger into the edge of his collar and gently but firmly turns the chair. The motion sends Legundo swiveling toward him, and then Owen is settling into his lap with the easy familiarity of someone who belongs there.

The chair creaks softly under the added weight.

Legundo’s hands hover for a second, uncertain. Then they land at Owen’s waist on instinct.

“You’re impossible,” Legundo murmurs.

“And yet,” Owen says lightly, tilting his head, “you keep letting me in.”

They pause there, breathing each other in. Owen studies Legundo’s face, the faint crease between his brows, the tired softness around his eyes. So human. So warm.

“I was good today,” Owen says quietly.

The words are light, almost offhand, but the way his fingers twitch where they rest against Legundo’s sleeve betrays him.

Legundo’s thumb stills where it rests at Owen’s hip.

“Did that cost you?”

For a moment, Owen doesn’t answer.

His gaze slips sideways, unfocusing on the edge of the desk, on the faint scratch in the wood, on anything that isn’t Legundo’s careful, seeing eyes. The playfulness drains just enough for the truth to ripple underneath.

“A little,” he admits.

His mouth twists in something like a smile, something like a flinch.

“There were options,” he continues softly. “Plenty. Loud ones. Easy ones.” He lets out a thin breath through his teeth. “I walked past all of them.”

Legundo’s chest tightens.

Owen finally looks back at him then, really looks, and the familiar mischief returns, but it’s fragile now, held together with effort rather than ease.

“So,” he says lightly, tapping Legundo’s chest with one finger, “I feel like I deserve at least a medal. Or a cookie. Or, ideally…” His eyes flick meaningfully to Legundo’s neck.

The joke lands, but it doesn’t quite hide the tremor underneath.

Legundo shifts closer without even thinking about it, his hand firming at Owen’s waist.

“You don’t have to fight alone,” he says quietly.

Owen’s smile softens. Just a fraction.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I came here instead of anywhere else.”

Owen’s fingers curl lightly in the fabric of Legundo’s shirt, bunching it between his knuckles. He looks down at his hands like he’s surprised to find them shaking, then forces a small laugh and tilts his head.

“Guess that makes you my reward, huh?”

His eyes lift again, hopeful and careful at once.

“May I have my… medal?” he asks. “Just a little. I promise I’ll behave.”

Legundo doesn’t answer right away. He simply reaches up and loosens his collar.

The invitation is soft. Wordless.

Owen’s expression shifts instantly, gentler, reverent. He leans in slowly, giving Legundo every chance to pull back. When Legundo doesn’t, Owen’s lips brush his neck instead.

Not a bite.

Just a soft, testing lick.

Legundo inhales sharply despite himself.

Owen smiles against his skin. He does it again, slow, deliberate, watching with quiet satisfaction as heat creeps up Legundo’s throat, a blush blooming over his neck and into his chest.

“There it is,” Owen whispers. “Every time.”

He begins to kiss him then, small, unhurried presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck. Each one warmer than the last. Each one leaving Legundo just a little more unsteady.

“Owen,” Legundo breathes.

“That’s not a no,” Owen murmurs.

When he finally bites, it’s careful.

Controlled.

Legundo stiffens for half a second and then relaxes completely into him.

The taste hits Owen like sunlight through stained glass.

Sweet. Bright. Achingly familiar.

It is everything he is trying not to need too much.

His hands tighten slightly at Legundo’s shoulders as he drinks just enough, only what’s offered. When he pulls back, his breath trembles, and he presses his forehead to Legundo’s.

“Still sweet,” he murmurs.

Legundo exhales softly, fingers threading into Owen’s hair. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

For a moment, neither of them moves. The room settles around them again, the quiet, the dust, the ticking clock pretending nothing extraordinary just happened.

Owen eventually shifts, resting his head against Legundo’s shoulder.

“…Thank you,” he says, softer than usual.

Legundo tightens his arms just a little in response.

The door clicks shut behind Owen with a soft, final sound.

For a moment, he just stands there in the hallway, back against the wall, head tipped forward. The world feels too sharp at the edges, every sound too clear, every color too bright. Legundo’s blood still hums warmly through him, sweet and steady and too much in all the ways Owen can’t afford to think about.

He swallows.

Once.

Then twice.

When he finally pushes off the door and starts walking, his steps are a little unsteady, not from weakness, but from restraint. From stopping when every instinct screamed to take more.

Louis is waiting exactly where Owen expects him to be.

Leaning against the far wall. Pretending he hasn’t been counting heartbeats through the door.

The second Owen steps out, Louis straightens. His eyes scan Owen’s face first, too quickly, too carefully, tracking every detail: the faint flush still warming his cheeks, the way his breath is a little uneven, the way his shoulders sit just slightly too tense.

“Well?” Louis asks, quiet but tight.

Owen lets out a slow breath through his nose. “He’s alive,” he murmurs. “Still annoying. Still altruistic. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Louis exhales like he’s been holding it for miles. He steps forward without thinking, hands coming up to Owen’s coat, gripping fabric as if Owen might vanish if he doesn’t anchor him there.

“You scared me,” Louis admits. “You always do.”

Owen huffs softly. “You married me.”

“I married a disaster,” Louis says faintly. “This is worse.”

Their foreheads touch. Just for a second.

Then Louis tilts in and kisses him.

At first, it’s gentle. Careful. A press of lips meant purely for reassurance. The kind of kiss you give to confirm that someone is still real.

Owen melts into it with a quiet sound in his throat.

But the kiss doesn’t stay simple.

Louis’s hands slide from Owen’s collar to his jaw, cupping his face as if he needs to feel every inch of him. His mouth deepens the kiss slowly, testing, searching. There’s hunger there, but it isn’t violent. It’s aching. Wanting.

When his tongue brushes Owen’s lower lip, tentative at first, Owen freezes for the briefest moment.

Louis feels it instantly.

“Too much?” he murmurs against his mouth.

“No,” Owen whispers back. “Just—be gentle.”

Louis nods and kisses him again.

This time slower.

Softer.

His tongue slips in with care, tasting only what Owen offers. The faintest echo of warmth still lingers there, sweet and copper and human in a way neither of them is supposed to crave anymore.

Louis makes a quiet, broken sound in his throat.

Owen feels it in his chest.

He lets the kiss linger. Let's Louis chase that ghost of a taste with small, unsteady movements of his mouth. Let's him linger there like it’s a blessing instead of a reminder of what they’re both missing.

They part only when breath finally becomes necessary.

Louis’s hands are trembling.

“Still sweet,” he whispers, like a confession. Like an accusation. Like reverence.

Owen smiles faintly. “I told you.”

Louis searches his face again. “Did he give you enough?”

Owen’s expression dims just a little. “He gave what he always gives,” he says quietly. “Too much.”

Louis’s jaw tightens. “You took too much.”

“Only what he offered,” Owen replies, softer now. “And only because I couldn’t take it from anywhere else.”

That lands heavily between them.

They stand there in the quiet hallway, the echo of Legundo’s heartbeat still lingering in Owen’s veins and on Louis’s lips.

Finally, Owen glances back at the closed office door.

“You’re up,” Owen says quietly.

Louis studies him for a second. Not startled, just thoughtful. “You look steadier,” he observes.

“Don’t let that fool you.”

A faint smile curves Louis’s mouth at that. His hands slide down Owen’s arms, slow and reluctant, like he’s memorizing the weight of him before letting go.

“You’ve had enough, then,” Louis says.

Owen’s gaze flicks briefly toward the closed office door. “For today,” he answers honestly.

Louis hums softly. “Good.”

He leans in and kisses Owen again, slow, unhurried, steady. There’s no searching in it now, no hunger. Just reassurance. Just us.

When they part, Louis rests their foreheads together for a quiet second.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

Owen exhales a soft laugh. “Statistically unlikely.”

Louis gives him a look of serene warning. “I am perfectly capable of restraint.”

“That’s what everyone who absolutely is not says.”

Louis actually snorts at that, just a small, undignified sound that makes Owen’s chest loosen.

“I will be calm,” Louis says evenly. “I will be polite. I will not drain the doctor.”

Owen raises a brow. “You practiced that.”

Louis shrugs one shoulder. “I rehearse for important meetings.”

Owen’s smile turns soft around the edges. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Louis murmurs, stepping back, “you’re sending me in anyway.”

Owen nods once. “The only person I trust with him.”

That sobers Louis just slightly.

He reaches out, straightens Owen’s collar with careful fingers. “Wait here,” he says gently.

“As if I could go anywhere.”

Louis closes the door behind him with a quiet, careful click.

Louis turns toward the door and knocks.

Legundo is still seated at his desk, posture straight in the way that only means he’s forcing himself to stay that way. The papers in front of him are perfectly aligned. His hands, however, are not.

He looks up when Louis approaches.

“Hey,” Legundo says softly, like this is just another ordinary visit.

Louis doesn’t answer right away.

He walks closer at an unhurried pace, gaze steady, unreadable in its calm. When he reaches the desk, he places both hands on its surface and leans in just enough to gently, but unmistakably, invade Legundo’s space.

“You gave too much,” Louis says quietly.

Legundo blinks. “Owen needed—”

“He always does,” Louis interrupts, still gentle. “And you always forget that you also need to remain conscious afterward.”

Legundo exhales through a faint, guilty smile. “I’m fine.”

Louis tilts his head slightly. “Sit back.”

It isn’t a demand.

But it also isn’t a suggestion.

Legundo hesitates, just a second, then allows his chair to roll back a few inches under the light pressure of Louis’s hand at his shoulder.

“Good,” Louis murmurs.

He moves around the desk, then, unhurried, and comes to stand between Legundo’s knees. His hands lift and settle at the sides of Legundo’s jaw, thumbs brushing faint circles there, comfort woven seamlessly into control.

“You’re very generous,” Louis says softly. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

Legundo’s breath stutters. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Louis agrees calmly.

Then he leans in.

The first kiss lands just below Legundo’s ear, slow, grounding. No hunger yet. Reassurance. Another follows, lower this time, lingering warm against skin already sensitive from earlier. Louis takes his time, mapping gentle presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck as if reminding him where he is, who he is with.

Legundo’s hands tense instinctively in Louis’s sleeves.

“Hands down,” Louis murmurs without breaking rhythm.

Legundo obeys.

That earns him a faint, approving hum against his skin.

Only then does Louis bite.

It’s careful. Measured. Never rushed. His control is absolute, not just over himself, but over the moment. One hand brace at the back of the chair, the other steady at Legundo’s shoulder, keeping him anchored as the dizziness builds.

When Louis finally draws back, he does so slowly.

Deliberately.

Enough.

He stays close afterward, forehead resting lightly against Legundo’s temple, breath quiet and even.

“Still with me?” Louis asks softly.

Legundo nods. “Yeah. Lightheaded. Not gone.”

Louis exhales in relief. “Good. I would hate to have to explain that to Owen.”

That earns a weak, breathless laugh.

Louis straightens, adjusts Legundo’s collar with careful fingers, then presses one last gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, chaste, grounding.

“You’re done for today,” Louis says calmly. “No more generosity.”

“Yes, sir,” Legundo murmurs faintly, not entirely teasing.

Louis pauses.

Then allows himself the smallest, most dangerous hint of a smile.

“Don’t get used to saying that.”

[butchbradshaw]

“I’ll be right back,” Bradley grumbles, swivelling on his heel to leave the room. He looks over his shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

His students nod, clearly more than a little shocked.

Bradley stalks towards the adjoining room, reaching it in a few strides. When he reaches the closed door, he doesn’t even think before banging against it. 

It squeaks open, and he’s met by Jake Seresin’s annoyed face—which smooths into a smirk as soon as he sees who’s responsible for the interruption.

“Bradshaw.”

“Let me in.”

Seresin quirks an eyebrow. “I have a class, Bradshaw,” he says, hushed but confident.

“I have permanent-marker graffiti on my whiteboard, Seresin.”

“And that’s my problem why?”

“Because it apparently came from this class.”

Bradley, unfortunately, relishes in the way Seresin’s face drops. He recovers quickly, though, swinging the door open to let Bradley in. The questioning looks from Seresin’s tenth-grade math students aren’t exactly welcoming. But that’s the least of Bradley’s worries right now.

Seresin clears his throat, closing the door behind Bradley and joining him at the front of the room. “Any of you know why Mr. Bradshaw has decided to pay us a visit?”

Silence. Much like Bradley’s own classroom. 

Bradley sighs exasperatedly. “Who here wrote ‘Bradshaw sucks balls’ in Sharpie on my whiteboard?”

Unsurprisingly, laughter rips through the room. A little shocked, a lot mocking. But Seresin lifts a hand, and they go silent. 

Bradley suddenly thinks he could learn a thing or two from that. He banishes the mortifying thought as quickly as it appears. 

“It’s not funny,” Seresin adds. “If none of you come forward, we’ll have to take this to the office.”

“We’re taking it to the office no matter what,” Bradley says.

“Not if we hear a confession.”

“Especially if we hear a confession!”

“Bradshaw, it’s not your job to decide how I discipline my students.”

“It is my job if it involves my name on a whiteboard!”

“Um. Mr. Seresin? Mr. Bradshaw?” comes a voice from the desks. 

They turn back to the rest of the room. A boy has stood up from his seat, a pained expression on his face.

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[v-lar-morghulis]

How Soon is Now?

Andrew “Pope” Cody x reader

Timeline? Who knows. This is purely based off of vibes.

I saw the GIF set and was even more in love than before. Also listening to this song on repeat.

Abrupt ending, my brain just is not braining for weeks now

GIF from @wesandresons

You are unsure why you are coming to the small get-together at the beach. You are unsure if you are even really wanted there or if the mumbled “you should come” from Deran wasn't just a courtesy. You are also unsure if Pope is there. And what you two are to each other. And, even if the other wanted you there, does he?

So you slowly walk up the dune, obscuring the view to the ocean itself. You hear the waves breaking, smell the salt in the air. You hear faint laughter and music before you see the red light of the fire. You emerge between the dunes, your hands tucked inside your hoodie sleeves. You can't make out who's who just yet, most of the backs turned away, so they could see the water in front of them.

You step closer just as someone passes a pretty empty bottle to the next person. You greet everyone with a polite wave and hello while you take stock of who is here. A few faces that you don't know, you make out J. and his Girlfriend, tucked away with her on his lap, while Craig is telling them something. Baz greets you with a nod, while his eyes wander from you to someone else. You follow his gaze, only to find Andrew looking at you. His eyes soften when they meet, his mouth tucked into a smile, which lights his face up. That answers at least one of your questions, you suppose.

“I hoped you would come,” Daran cheered. “You don't even know how hard it is these days to get Pope to come out with us. I had to practically drag him here, and he would only come after he heard that you would come, sooooo” He looked between you two expectantly.

Your face heats up, and you're certain that it's not just due to the fire near you. Nevertheless, you are joining Andrew and Dearan.

You three sit on driftwood, you right next to Pope, not quite touching, who seems rigid. But as the evening continues and the sun sets behind the horizon, Andrew's knee touches you almost accidentally when he stretches his long legs. He lets them there. You shiver even though heat radiates from the fire, and, of course, he notices. Even when he doesn't have you in his direct line of sight, he seems to have a sixth sense for you.

So you find yourself bundled up in his lap, engulfed in his arms. You instinctively borrow your face in the crock of his neck, breathing him in. He holds you steady and tight to himself. You are unsure if you hear his voice muffled against your hair, “I'm glad that you came.”

From your perched position, you watch as the people get more high or drunk or both, slowly couple up or leave on their own until Deran leaves you two as the sole survivors with a huffed warning not to do anything he wouldn't do. Which means basically nothing at all.

The cold creeps in, and the heat radiating from the fire and Pope are not enough to keep you from shivering anymore. You are not entirely sure, it's only the cold, and not the fact, that you are so close to the man you have been pining after for quite a while now.

You look up, only to find Andrew already staring down at you. Time seems to slow, while he tightens the grip he has on you, pulling you closer to him. Your noses almost touch now, breathing the same air. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly. But it was enough for you to collect your courage, close your eyes, to lean in and press your lips to his.

At first, you get nothing in return, and you fear that you have overstepped. But when you pulled away, you felt a hand at your face, pulling you back. His lips captured yours, tasting the cheap beer on them. You followed, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

Panting, his hand still on your face, the thumb brushing away all thought, your foreheads pressed together. You opened your eyes to find him staring again, eyes hopeful, lips shining and quirked upwards. He leaned in again, soft and exploring, before he parted again, almost hesitant. As if you would disappear when he stopped. The only change was in your position in his lap; you were straddling him now, one of his hands securing you to him at your lower back.

You don't know whose idea it was to pack up and go back to your place. The HOW you get back to yours is also kind of a blur. You are pretty sure that Andrew was white knuckling the entire drive back. He insisted on taking his truck and getting your car back later. You are, however, very aware of Andrew's hand on your thigh. When you glance over, he is staring very deliberately ahead. When he puts his truck in park, he tells you to wait, only to open the door for you moments later. You take his offered hand to climb out.

He is walking right behind you and crowds you against the door, mouthing at your neck, while you try- and fail at first- to open the door. You both basically fall into your flat when you finally manage.

You kick the door shut behind you two, refusing to let Andrew out of your eye line. He looks positively wrecked when he asks you if you are sure, if you really want that. Instead of answering, you kiss him again, hungrier this time, while pushing him deeper into your flat.

[neiptune]

princess reader who insists she wants to learn how to swing a sword and her loyal knight who accepts to secretly train her... the same hands that commit atrocities in your name are quick and precise as he shows you the correct way to use a weapon... princess reader who grows more and more impatient by the respectful distance he keeps, orders him to touch her, demands that he closes his broad hands on top of hers to properly show her how to hold a blade... princess reader who senses her knight's hesitation and the increasing, intense magnetism each sparring session is infused with... the more you improve, the more time you spend together, the more he feels drawn to you, his role weighing oh so heavy especially when on one particular evening you command him to touch you right where you're aching for him, to show you how to touch him... perhaps with a blade held to his throat... your devoted cavalier, the loyal dog who wouldn't dare defy your father's orders... and yet you see the tension in his jaw, the way he looks at you... and decide that if he really isn't willing to touch you then so be it. you'll be the one who'll be kneeling before him for once

[venelona]

Atsushi x Dazai + BEAST Atsushi

a bit angsty (classic Atsushi self-doubt)

Deep down, Atsushi always believed that, one day, Dazai would leave him.

He never expected that his crush on the handsome, extremely intelligent and charmingly ridiculous brunet would grow into an actual proper relationship. Every soft gaze, every warm touch, every shared meal and walk home felt like fleeting moments, the older man indulging Atsushi before, inevitably, growing bored of him and leaving him behind to seek someone better, someone worthy.

And yet, Dazai's gaze never seemed to waver.

No matter who they crossed in their path, Dazai's eyes always stayed on Atsushi. The brunet never stopped being hard to read, and yet his feelings for Atsushi were clear and unquestionable. By the time they moved in together, the tiger had let go of almost all his doubts.

Almost.

It was just another case, apprehending a dangerous ability user, and Atsushi slipped up. He got caught in the ability, and, suddenly, there was another. Another him.

This Atsushi was broader, his hair more even, eyes more dull and neck dotted with scars. He didn't seem happy to be confronted with anyone from the Armed Detective Agency, but, once he saw Dazai, he looked like he had seen a ghost and spiraled into tears.

Because Dazai he knew was dead.

The Agency couldn't let a man from another world roam around, so they took him in to watch over. Nakajima (they called this other Atsushi to avoid confusion) came willingly, trembling under the concerned gaze of Dazai's amber eyes. The story he told of his life had everyone sympathetic, Atsushi included. It sounded like a nightmare even worse than his upbringing was already.

Nakajima was like a dark cloud. Only time he seemed to be more at ease was around Kyouka. Even with Atsushi he was reserved. He didn't believe when the detective told him of his and Dazai's relationship, saying how his Dazai would never look this way at him. How unworthy he was. Familiar echo of Atsushi's own thoughts regarding himself.

Dazai was very invested in what was happening with Nakajima. He tried to make sure Nakajima was comfortable at every turn, always trying his best to make him relax, even cheer up. And it worked - soon Nakajima was laughing at his silly jokes, looking less like death and more like Atsushi.

And Atsushi was happy for him. Really, he was - talking to Nakajima felt as if he suddenly had a brother, someone much like him and yet extremely different. Atsushi wanted for that ever-present shadow on Nakajima's face to disappear, and whenever Nakajima lightened up Atsushi himself felt lighter.

Although, at some point, Atsushi started to feel this... heaviness. Whenever Nakajima needed something, Dazai was there first to try and help him, and around Dazai Nakajima smiled the most. For the first time in a long time, an old, forgotten anxiety rose up in Atsushi, sinking its steel claws into his gut.

He will leave you for someone else.

Atsushi abandoned that thought ages ago, his bond with Dazai too strong to believe the man was lying about his affections for him, but... Nakajima was him. They were different, but both of them were Atsushi Nakajima at their core. Everything that Dazai loved about Atsushi, Nakajima must've had it, too. And what's more, he was more interesting. Exciting, new, literally from another world. Dazai had already learned anything there was to know about Atsushi, so boredom must've been settling in for the brunet.

Atsushi began feeling sad whenever he saw Dazai and Nakajima talk. He was... unnecessary. Dazai loved Atsushi Nakajima, and Nakajima was in so much pain that he needed Dazai more than Atsushi did. It would be better for everyone if Atsushi just... stepped aside.

Dazai was not happy to hear this.

"Atsushi-kun." His face was carefully blank, his perfected mask of indifference, but his eyes were cast down. "I suppose I am to blame. I didn't mean to overlook your feelings. He's filled with so much pain that it was hard for me to think of anything else. I hate seeing your face in pain."

Atsushi willed himself not to show any pain.

"But even though you share a face, there's place for only one Atsushi in my heart." Dazai framed Atsushi's face with his hands, tenderness blooming in his eyes. "I love you. The boy who pulled me out from a river. Who saw light in me, even when I believed there was none. Who never gave up on me, even though I had already gave up on life." He pressed a kiss to his cheek. "My Atsushi-kun."

Dazai tenderly wiped tears from Atsushi's, and held him until he was no longer shaking.