quaranmeme | MISTLEGLOW: a kissing meme

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!mod meme: holiday

MISTLEGLOW: a kissing meme

mistleglow: a kissing meme

Some residents may remember that back in September, a love-drunk and confusion-spell-addled newlywed mage from Gramarye Magic Research let loose some pretty little fairy lights that trapped people in the city in little invisible bubbles until they kissed (and any kind of kiss would do). Well, the same slightly-less-newlywed but no less romantically-inclined mage happens to really, really enjoy the winter season, and thinks it's totally romantic. That particular sentiment is pretty common in the Quarantine - while Hygge is the celebration of familial love, the residents of the Quarantine all agree that that family often includes partners and lovers. Besides that, the folklore of mistletoe as being representative of love and friendship is something that the Quarantine has in common with the universes many residents inhabit.

So, as the last week and a half of December rolls around, residents around the Quarantine will see the result of the resident romantic trying to share a bit of Hygge love - small, glowing sprigs of mistletoe will be floating around the Quarantine, ready to trap people up and make them share a bit of affection.

how it works

● Two or more characters walking under one of these glowing, floating sprigs will get stuck for one hour, trapped inside an invisible enclosure with an approximate three foot radius. The only options are to either wait out the hour, or to kiss! Characters will know they're meant to kiss, because part of the magic spell is the sudden and intense knowledge that they should kiss in order to break free. There is no compulsion to kiss, just the knowledge that that's how to get free. This time, instead of any kind of kiss working, there will be different types of kisses that will work to release the trapped residents depending on the color of mistleglow:

RED: MOUTH ● ORANGE: NECK ● YELLOW: CHEEK
GREEN: FOREHEAD ● BLUE: HAND ● VIOLET: BUTTERFLY

Trapped residents will not know what kind of kiss will work for each color and may have to experiment before finding the right one.

● Post up a top-level for your character with the types of kisses you're interested in threading out, and then go forth and have your character kiss (or refuse to kiss) others!
● This meme is for characters already accepted into the game to play with the mistleglow prompt from this month's test drive meme. If your character is not yet accepted into the game, please use the TDM post!
● This meme is GAME CANON, so any threads played out in this meme can be carried through into the actual canon of the game.
● Much like the TDM, threads on this meme can count for Activity Points, but not the monthly Activity Check.

header image is from santa's factory by Clement Danveau

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ His reaction is encouraging, if nothing else. It doesn't altogether surprise her, considering Peter, but she's gratified to know that such a light touch can get a pleasant response. She nearly asks if he's all right with the sound caught in their kiss, but then he's rocking towards her hand, silently demanding more, and she smiles against his lips, completely willing to accommodate that need. Rather than try to push his pants completely out of the way, she uses her free hand to shove them down enough to pull his cock free, fingers curling around him for one proper, long stroke.

She doesn't break away to look at him yet – plenty of time for that later – but she does break the kiss to tease his bottom lip with the edge of her teeth, that satisfied smile still in place.

What she really wants is to explore every inch of him, to test and discover what gets her the best response – where, how much pressure, with her hands, her mouth, anything. Peter is hers to ravish and appreciate, just as much as she's his, and she intends to take full advantage of that privilege. ]

[ He shuffles a little, propping himself up on an elbow to help her shoves his pants away – apparently he doesn't have patience or mind enough to kick them away entirely, not yet, not when her hand is warm against his aching cock, her fingers grasping the length of him.

When she strokes him, he makes another of those strained, startled noises – startled because it's been forever since he's enjoyed someone else's touch, and he didn't realize how much he missed it until this very instant. And, hell, it's even better now, because he's probably dreamed about Gamora being in his bed, touching him, kissing him, and for a brief, wild second, he has to appreciate just how goddamn lucky he is.

He bucks up into her hand, hissing at the sudden contrast from the wet heat of her mouth to the light press of her teeth, and he moves to capture her lips again, to deepen the kiss. His hand curls against her cheek, fingers tangling in the curls that spill away from her. ]

[ Deep, eager, Gamora presses into the kiss, her lips molding to Peter's as she allows him to dictate the pace. She's in no rush, because she has nowhere to be but here, in Peter's bed and Peter's arms, and she has nowhere else she'd rather be.

She finds a rhythm with ease, though she keeps it slow, keeps her ears pricked for reactions, her senses keenly attuned to him. She's happy to alternate pressure, speed, focus depending on what gets the best noises, what makes him twitch and buck a little harder – even if her attention is torn between the movement of her hand and Peter's talented mouth.

(She's infinitely grateful that he's already a good kisser.)

Breaking away just to catch her breath, she eases back from Peter to drink him in for a few heartbeats as she pants softly. ]

... You look good like this.

[ Her voice is a little lower, darker as her thumb traces circles around the head of his cock. ]

[ Peter's always been a pretty shameless person in general, and that hardly changes once he climbs into bed with someone. Positive feedback is the best kind of feedback, right?

That's what Peter figures, anyway.

So when she finds a rhythm, he moves with her, but— god, he wants her to speed up, wants to chase his release, and— a small part of him realizes what she's doing. She's exploring him, trying to find what he likes, and as flattering as that all is, it's driving him a little – a lot – insane. He groans and hisses, rutting into her hand, and when her wrist twists just so, when her fingers tighten in just the right way, he whines against her, thrusting into her hand with a little more purpose and need.

And he makes a dismayed noise when she pulls away, though he comes back to herself when he notices the weight in her gaze, her breathlessness, the darkness of her eyes.

Her— compliment? actually manages to make him flush a little (well, more than he already is) – self-consciousness rather than outright embarrassment – because that's a surprising bit of praise from Gamora. He's torn between replying with a teasing, "I always look good," or a slightly less eloquent and much more shy, "Shut up," but—

Thankfully ("thankfully?") she interrupts him by teasing the head of his dick, and he rocks against her again, biting down on a moan. ]

Gamora.

[ Caught somewhere between a demand and a plea, but he hasn't quite devolved into begging. Not yet, anyway, but even Peter has to admit if she keeps teasing him like this, he's going to turn into a sobbing, babbling mess.

He ducks down again, mouthing at her neck, just beneath the line of her jaw. He props himself up with an elbow, and with his other hand, he fumbles at the fastenings of her pants, impatience making him clumsy. ]

[ He's so deliciously responsive, and she makes mental notes of what gets him to squirm, what makes him groan and gasp, and oh, he whines. In the back of her mind, Gamora imagines how satisfying it would be to pin him to the bed, hold him down and wring all of these sounds from him again and again and again, until he's pleading and sobbing with it. She wants to see that, and the idea of it burns her mind just as brightly as every sound from him sends thrills of want shooting straight through her.

She wonders how much it would take to drive him out of his mind.

But all of this, and she knows she's ruined her panties. That arousal is coiled low in her belly, making it harder and harder to stay still, but she also can't bring herself to let go of Peter's dick long enough to focus on getting naked. She's sure he can manage it, even as he's fumbling and tripping over his own fingers, and she only helps by lifting her hips to make it that much easier to tug her pants down properly, kicking them free to leave them tangled with the rest of Peter's blankets.

Has her hand stopped? Absolutely not. And now that she's starting to get a better idea of what produces the best results, she's returning to the patterns that had him rocking demandingly into her hand. ]

[ Gamora is being totally, willfully, maliciously unhelpful, right now, and—

You know what? Peter can’t really resent her for it, even if he wants to, not when it feels this fucking good.

Once she’s stripped of her pants, Peter readjusts, settling between her legs and falling forward against her. He buries his face against her neck, rocking into her hand. He keeps mouthing at her throat, her shoulder, alternating between open-mouthed kisses and quick, teasing bites, though he’s often interrupted when he catches his lower lip with his teeth to cage in a desperate, needy moan when her grip is just right. He splays his hand around her hip, his thumb tracing the blade, but when she strokes him this time, heat slams through him, and his grip on her hip tightens. ]

Fuck. [ And it’s moaned against her shoulder, a shudder running down his spine. When he gets his breath back, he props himself back up on an elbow. ]

God, Gamora, let me— I want to—

[ She loves the way his voice changes as she works him. The note of need builds higher, and he pants, fumbles, gripping her tighter as he rains kisses and nips along her skin, and—

She wonders if he would let her tease him to the edge only to deny him. She wonders if he'd give her the control to drive him so close, over and over, until she decided he'd had enough. She wonders—

Oh, but the way he sounds right now. She's losing herself in it, just as much as she's lost in the heat burning between her legs, aching and begging for him, for some kind of relief. She can't remember the last time she was this turned on (has she ever been?), and she has to dig her teeth in her own lip in an effort to focus. Otherwise, she might not have this same level of self-control; she might throw herself head-first into the frenzy of needing Peter, and... well, maybe that's not so bad, after all. ]

Say it.

[ Her voice is neither a purr nor a growl, but something in between as she reaches up with her free hand, knotting fingers into his hair, tight and maybe a little harder than she intended.

Of course, she doesn't make it any easier on him, because that thing that made him moan and squeeze her hip? She's absolutely doing it again. ]

[ That’s a tall order, considering Peter can hardly string together a coherent thought, aside from “Holy shit,” playing on a loop.

He hisses in a breath, startled by the sting of her grip in his hair. It hurt a little, but apparently it didn’t hurt enough that it puts an end to this – in fact, it seems to spur something in him, and unconsciously, he rocks into her hand, letting out a small, approving sound.

Naturally, though, that small sound turns into an outright groan as she does that thing again, and he sobs out a swear, falling against her again and panting against her neck, thrusting into her grip. He could come just like this, he thinks, which would be a seriously unimpressive showing. But she’s playing him like a fiddle, and god, it feels amazing, and part of him had assumed Gamora would, like, want to jump straight into it? She was direct in so many other things, straight to the point, but apparently not with this. With this, she’s herding him to the edge, slowly but surely, and if it keeps up, he’s going to plummet straight over. ]

Let me fuck you. [ A pleading note in his voice, and a distant part of him pats himself on the back for managing an intelligible sentence, for not begging outright. (He still has a shred of pride left, apparently.) He says it against the column of her throat, nipping at her skin as an outlet for that golden heat surging through him. ] God, I need to— I need you—

[ It's honestly so tempting to just keep doing this to him, to see him come just like this, panting and moaning and falling against her like he can barely keep himself afloat. (And that's so painfully attractive to her, even if she can't even begin to parse out the why right now.)

A soft sound of approval rumbles in her throat, definitely nearing a proper purr this time as she arches against the light sting of his teeth. Husky, wanting, she licks her lips before she speaks, ]

Then fuck me.

[ She hitches her leg up, squeezes her knee around his hip, but her hand hasn't left him, offering another twist, another stroke, a teasing swipe over the tip to smear a bead of precum across his skin. ]

[ Oh, fuck.

He bites down on another moan, thrusting into her grip, gasping against her shoulder, and—

He should point out that she is being seriously unhelpful. That she's giving him some serious mixed signals, here. That she's saying one thing – and holy fuck, she had sounded good like that – but doing another thing entirely, and which is he supposed to go with, here?

When he comes back to himself, he reluctantly lifts himself up, tugging her hand away from his cock. ]

This— [ And his voice cracks a little, want and need making his mouth run dry. ] This is gonna be over real quick if you keep doing that.

[ As much as she wants him right now, the delay had been so worth it.

She lets him pull her hand away, releasing him without complaint to set her palm on his shoulder, her thumb smoothing over his throat. She isn’t quite the mess that he is, still composed in her own right, but her breathing is heavier, her eyes darker, and the way he’s unraveling makes her momentarily drag her teeth across her bottom lip. She’s never seen Peter like this – though it would be a lie to say she hasn’t imagined it – and it’s a good look for him.

Cracking voice and all. ]

I didn’t mean to distract you.

[ Yes, she did. ]

[ He huffs out a breath, something that should have sounded annoyed, if not for the way the corner of his mouth curls up. ]

You liar.

[ And he ducks down again, nipping at the skin just beneath her clavicle as a muted reprimand. He takes a few moments to explore her body, easing himself back away from the edge. His fingers trace the deep, silver scars curling along her ribs until he works his way to her breast. His thumb brushes over her nipple again, watching and listening for her reactions, before he ducks down to take her nipple between his lips. ]

[ Trying to argue would be pointless – and also definitely a lie – so Gamora doesn’t bother offering a token protest; instead, she seems pleased by the path of his fingers, how he follows her scars in much the same way she’d done for him. She accepts the marks on her body, but something warms in her chest, sweet and bright, at the careful attention Peter offers the silver lines.

The grip she has on his hair doesn’t disappear, though without the same pull of before – until his mouth is at her breast, his hot tongue sliding over her nipple. Her gasp is less subtle this time with a repeat of that purring approval as she arches just slightly into the attention.

A dig of her nails across his shoulder is meant to be encouraging, a quiet request for more as she squeezes his hips with her knees. ]

[ Okay. Cool. This is good. That's a good reaction, and he's glad for it, considering a maneuver like this hasn't always gone well for him.

(Once, he had been unceremoniously dumped out of the bed while his company for the evening had shouted in disgust.

Not a great night.)

She pulls him closer, presses into him, and Peter hums quietly in equal parts approval and encouragement, and he presses his tongue against her again, takes her nipple between his teeth in a light pinch. He switches to her other breast to offer it the same attention.

It seems only fair, he thinks, that if Gamora gets to explore him, he gets to explore her. ]

[ Complaining is fairly low on her list of priorities, and Gamora intends to bask in the attention as Peter offers it. She's never truly allowed any of her partners to discover her body, always taken full control as long as she needed to for the sake of whatever task she was accomplishing – be it murder, information-gathering, or otherwise. If she held the reins, the encounter was hers, no matter how little interest she may have had in it. She chose what she allowed, and somehow that made it easier to ply marks with her body in the same manner she would wield a sword.

Her breathing stutters at the light scrape of teeth, and she realizes she's far more sensitive than she'd previously anticipated. Maybe it's because she's truly allowing herself to enjoy what Peter's doing or that she's already so aroused from the kissing, the groping, from seeing Peter moan for her. Whatever the case, she practically squirms under him as he moves to her previously neglected breast, a softer moan leaving her as her fingers reflexively tighten and release – ostensibly continuing to telegraph what she likes. The right flick, the perfect pressure makes her grab at his curls before reminding herself to ease back all over again. ]

Peter.

[ Just his name at the same pitch as that quieter moan; it's gentler, a fraction – a flicker – of vulnerability. ]

[ It's— really fucking hot, the way she moves beneath him, the quiet noises she makes, the way her breath hitches whenever he hits something just right. Even when her grip tightens in his hair, it sends heat surging through him, and he makes a strained, startled sound for it.

(It's a good sound, though. The sort of sound that says, "Oh fuck, I think I'm into that.")

And there's his name again, and god, that quality of her voice is good. Fantastic. Almost a gift, because he's never heard it before – hell, a part of him wonders if anyone ever has – and he slips that memory away to be treasured.

He takes it as his sign to move things along, and he shifts, teasing her folds with the head of his cock – though that move is something of a double-edged sword, since the warmth of her, how wet she is, makes him moan quietly. Slowly, carefully, he slides himself in with gentle little thrusts, all the while listening for her reactions in case he needs to back off.

But once he's fully inside her, he takes a moment to catch his breath, holding himself up on one elbow while his other hand cups her cheek. He searches her face.

Checking again, though silently this time, as if to ask, Is this still okay? ]

[ As much as she'd like to give him all the time in the world to map her body with his hands, his mouth – and she'd like to return the favor – that impatient need burns low in her belly. Physically, every inch of her is screaming for him to fuck her, but something that clenches so sweetly in her chest wants this so she can be— close to him.

She would never admit that aloud, shockingly sentimental as it may be, but it's there in the dark softness of her eyes behind her lashes.

She's grateful he doesn't keep her waiting much longer, and a gasp catches in her throat as he finally – finally – begins to fill her. Her fingers remain in his hair, but her other arm comes up around his back, gripping his broad shoulders like he's the only thing anchoring her in place as her muscles clench around him. When was the last time she even did this, she has to wonder? It's never felt like this to begin with, but it's been a long damn time, anyway, and she's tight, so damnably wet, and she might actually kill Peter if he tries to pull out of her now.

She pants softly beneath him, quiet sounds catching occasionally on each little gasp, but then he's just looking at her. Warm and open and caring about her.

That aches in the best way.

She shifts to hook her legs around his hips, tightening like she can pull him even more flush against her – but also ensuring he doesn't go anywhere.

Yes, yes, so very much yes.

Instead of yanking, the fingers in his hair are gentle, combing through and brushing errant locks from his forehead, and even through her breathlessness, through the glassy haze in her eyes—

She smiles at him. ]

[ He breathes out a slightly surprised sound when she hooks her leg around him, pulling him in closer; he nearly breathes out a laugh, but—

That smile punches the air out of him, and for a few seconds, he forgets to move, forgets to even breathe, with how startled he is by it. His chest twists with it, tender and warm, and he can't help but smile back.

God, he thinks he— no, he knows he—

Not for the first time, he thinks, he's absolutely, completely—

... no. Ugh. That's way too heavy. That's a thought for another time. That's something for when they aren't stumbling their way through this whole relationship thing.

So for now, he ducks down to claim her lips – a quick, gentle kiss at first, at least until he reminds himself to move, slowly pulling out (even if the leg around his hips limits that a bit) and pressing back in. A few passes, and eventually he finds a rhythm, still listening for her reactions, waiting for her direction to either speed up or slow down. ]

[ That smile shouldn't do the things to her that it does. Nothing should send warmth singing through like this, so separate from need that builds with every slow rock of his hips. But all he has to do is look at her, smile at her, kiss her, and she's swept away by something she can't even name. Sweeter than any chocolate, better than any catchy song, more satisfying than a skillful victory – it's just Peter.

What the hell has he done to her?

She kisses him back, sweet and easy, breaking away only to gasp out a moan of approval as he settles into a rhythm, and it's— perfect. Far be it for Gamora to keep still, though, and she arches against him, presses into each slow thrust to undulate with every slide of his cock. Part of her had been concerned they might not be compatible, that something might not fit right, given their difference in species, but that concern has flown right out the window because he feels so damn good.

She lifts her head from the pillow, messy curls haphazardly framing her face, clinging to her cheeks, as she noses at Peter's jaw, kisses and nips higher to catch the spot behind his ear with a swipe of her tongue. ]

Don't stop.

[ Don't ever stop. ]

[ Oh, thank god.

He was hoping she'd say that. Or, like, at least he was hoping she was thinking that, because even if he would stop if she asked. If she told him right then and there that this wasn't happening anymore, he'd happily back off, but he's pretty sure he'd, like, fall straight off the bed in a dead faint.

But she responds in kind, meeting him thrust for thrust, pressing against him so that her body is a long line of heat against his. Each touch of their bare skin sends something thrumming through him, like the hum of a magnet, and he seeks out more and more contact with her. He mouths at her neck, alternating between open-mouthed kisses and panting against her shoulder.

They find their rhythm together, and as they do, Peter feels that golden heat pooling in him, flowing through him, building and building until he feels like he's nearing that edge – close, but not quite falling over. ]

[ She needed this. She needed it, and she didn't even know it, because she'd been shut off from this piece of herself for so long. But here, she can be swept away in the moment, in Peter, and this is just one more instance of Gamora getting to be... Gamora. It feels like her sexuality was yet another part of herself that Thanos stripped away, forced into the role of weaponry, but no more. She's this, here with Peter, connected in every possible way, and she can't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.

The sounds of their breathing, of skin sliding against skin, moans and gasps and snippets of words— Gamora's senses are overwhelmed. Pleasure sparks through her with every point of contact, and the longer he fucks her, the more intense that electricity becomes. ]

Peter—

[ Gasped against his ear, higher, needier, as she detaches one hand from his shoulders, slipping between their bodies to find where they're joined. She rolls her clit with a somewhat less-practiced touch, but that doesn't seem to matter much as her muscles tighten around his cock with each jolt through her system. ]

Harder—

[ Let it never be said that Peter doesn't take direction well.

Because he's pretty sure he'd do almost anything Gamora asked – though he may kick up a bit of a fuss beforehand, just to keep up appearances. And this particular direction is easy enough to follow.

He picks up his pace, thrusts into her with more purpose, and fuck, she's so tight and hot and wet around him, her walls clenching down on his cock. He shifts to claim her lips again, the kiss bruising and desperate and frantic as he moves up to that edge, as that heat coils in him, tighter and tighter, higher and higher. ]

[ It's exactly what she needs – harder, faster, deeper – and the sounds falling from her lips are far freer, less controlled until he's kissing her all over again. She loses herself in the kiss, even as teeth catch on skin, gasps and moans muffled between them.

She's so close, so painfully close—

And the climax breaks over her in waves before she can brace herself.

Sensations sweep through her system, making her arch and tremble against him, her mouth tearing away from his for an unfettered cry. She doesn't stifle herself as her body tenses, muscles clamping around his cock, as she shakes her way through it, and instead of going limp and boneless, she just clings to him. ]

[ He's not too far behind, swearing low and heated against her throat as she pulls him in close, as she tightens around him. Fuck, she sounded good like that, and she feels equally amazing, and the way she clings to him makes him thrust harder and faster until he's lost the rhythm.

He comes, moaning her name like a prayer, and he buries his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck.

Unlike Gamora, once he's spent, he falls against her, almost boneless. He has the presence of mind to keep himself partially propped up on an elbow, though, to avoid smothering her entirely, but he's definitely going to need a few seconds (a few minutes, possibly a few hours?) before he has energy enough to move again. ]

[ There's something thrilling about feeling him come, shaking and gasping against her, filling her as he moans her name.

She loves it.

But in the wake of that intense pleasure, she feels like she's floating as she holds onto him, warm and content and totally at ease, tangled and messy as they are. She nuzzles at the angle of his jaw, dropping absent little kisses over skin that she can reach, and barely paying any mind to how... affectionate she's being.

Apparently, Gamora, the deadliest woman in the universe, is especially cuddly after sex.

Peter will obviously lose every limb he possesses if he tells anyone.]

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