#dad!tom fic

[pogueprincess]

Out Of The Woods

summary: The war is over and Rhaenyra’s daughter gets a fresh start in The North.

pairing: Cregan x Targaryen!Reader

word count: 842

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, grief, RIP Jace <\3

note: Sooo……. It appears that I’m in Cregan Simp Mode

It is a brighter day than usual when your labors start. The sun even begins to peak behind the clouds, casting a gorgeous gleam over Winterfell. It has been six months since the civil war between your family has ended and it seems as though the smoke-like grief that clouds your mind is finally beginning to clear. After all of your pain and suffering, you are now far away from Dragonstone and even farther away from King’s Landing. As your younger brother sits the Iron Throne, you have a hope for a peaceful realm. As well as hope that you and Cregan will finally be able to start anew.

Things are different in Winterfell, especially now that the dance has ended. There is no pressure for your babe to have silver hair or violet eyes. No pressure for it to be born with a cock. All that matters is that the babe is healthy. Your child will not suffer the same hardships as you and your siblings once did.

You can hear heavy footsteps outside of the chamber as Cregan paces restlessly. While you endure another hour of labor, you try to keep your mind elsewhere. Your gaze is fixed on the flicker of the candle that sits in the chandelier above your head.

One of your earlier memories is your mother being in labor with Joffrey. You remember wincing at her screams and placing judgement on the names she called her midwives. Now you don’t blame her. You even admire her for going through this so many times. You miss her terribly.

Your hand grips tightly onto the wooden headboard as you try your hardest to listen to the instructions of your midwife.

“Push into the pain,” she advises you, “when the pain is at its worst, that’s when you will want to push the hardest, my lady.”

Your knees are at your chest, a thin layer of sweat covers your entire body, and your once white nightgown is now stained red. You inhale deeply as you brace yourself for another painful contraction.

And just like that, it’s happening again. It begins as a dull ache in your spine that eventually overtakes you completely. It feels as if you were being torn to shreds. Your muscles begin to spasm and each wave of pain is worse than the last.

A particularly loud scream echoes out into the hallway and it has Cregan bursting through the door into the room, his auburn brows furrowed.

“This is not the place for men, my Lord,” your midwife sternly warns him.

“I do not care! What’s happened?”

“Nothing!” you bark at him, your teeth gritted. This is a pain he is unable to comprehend.

“I’m fine, we’re fine. It just hurts. That’s all.”

Cregan frowns at you as he comes to stand at your side.

“My lord—” your midwife tries to interject once again.

“I’m staying.”

He keeps true to his word and remains at your side for the rest of your labor, despite your midwife’s wishes — earning him many dirty looks.

Another painful contraction comes and the pain is mind blowing. But it seems to be the light at the end of the tunnel. You bring your chin down to your chest and push with all of your might. You push as if your life depends on it, because it does.

“That’s it, my lady! Perfect. I can see the babe already, a full head of hair,” she states.

Just when you swear you cannot push anymore, you feel sudden relief and loud cries fill the room.

“It’s a boy,” your midwife declares, and Cregan squeezes onto your hand tightly.

“And he is one healthy pup! With quite the set of lungs!” she adds.

About an hour later, once you are moved from the birthing bed and all cleaned up, you sit in your large bed that you and Cregan share. Your babe is cozily bundled up and suckling at your breast, his tiny gums gnawing at your flesh.

“Do we have a name for him?” Cregan asks you as he comes to take solace beside you, peering down at the tiny babe.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” you reply, your mind still hazy, your heart full, “did you have something in mind?”

“I was thinking… he holds a striking resemblance to your brother. What do you think?”

You glance down at your newborn son. An angelic face matched with tiny wisps of dark hair that threaten to grow into a thick head of curls.

“Oh,” you coo, “yeah… yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”

Cregan smiles widely at you, in a way that makes your heart want to burst right out of your chest.

You and Cregan both held great love for Jacaerys. It was something you bonded over when you were first getting to know one another. After spending so much time with him at the beginning of the dance, Cregan began to care for Jace as if he was a brother of his own.

“So it’s settled then,” he states with pride, “we’ll call him Jacaerys.”

“Jacaerys,” you breathe out in agreement as your husband places as gentle kiss on your forehead.

[torchflies]

Me, sobbing as I imagine an AU where Rooster runs away at seventeen, once he finds out that Mav, Slider and Ice pulled his papers.  

Where Rooster meets a girl who treats him like shit, so desperate to be loved that he puts up with it, and then — there's a baby. 

A baby boy that Rooster spends over twenty-two years raising all by himself after she leaves them, begging for help from the baby’s maternal grandparents because he has no other option. 

A perfect little boy that makes Bradley understand everything that Mav, Ice and Sli gave up to raise him, after his Mom died when he was little. He forgives them somewhere between his little boy’s first day of kindergarten and the first time his baby looks up at a jet plane and says “I wanna fly too, Daddy!”

His baby boy, who grows like a weed and then there's NROTC, college in two years flat and his little smarty pants graduates Top Gun the youngest ever — as a wizzo. His baby boy is a Weapons Systems Officer (WSO) and gets the callsign Kiwi for his big green eyes and love of the damn things. Bradley spends hours laughing his ass off, the minute he realizes a Kiwi is also a little fluffy bird. 

I need this AU so much, you don't understand. 

I need them to pull Bradley’s baby boy for the Dagger mission as a spare wizzo. 

Because you know who is going to have to demonstrate the same techniques in a F-18 single and double seater? Mav. 

You know who isn't prepared to get a backseater for the first time in decades? Mav. 

Especially not one named Nicky Bradshaw. 

[wheredafandomat]

I’ll stay

Divorced dad! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains smut, angst - Loki and reader are divorced and share a child

“Okay, okay, I’m coming now, alright, bye” you sighed as you hung up the phone, daring a glance into the restaurant at your date, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs as he waited for you to come back inside. Another sigh escaped you as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection. Tired eyes were hidden behind layers of mascara and eyeshadow. Your frown masked by the rouge tint you had haplessly rubbed onto your lips. Your eyes wandered down to your dress. You looked good overall, there was no denying that. You ran your hands down your sides, taking a deep breath before plastering on a smile and heading back inside.

“Y/n, is everything alright?” He asked, trying to hide his elation at the fact you had returned until he saw you reaching for the jacket you had draped behind your chair when you first arrived.

“I’m so sorry but I’ve got to go, it’s an emergency” you apologised earnestly “it’s Sienna, she’s not feeling well and she’s asking for me” you explained, putting your jacket on.

“Isn’t she with her dad?”

“Yes” you nodded “but—”

“So she’s fine, have another glass of wine” he insisted, gesturing to the chair you just tucked in.

“I can’t, I—” you tried to excuse “I’ll call you okay” you rushed out, turning around before heading out of the restaurant and hailing a taxi.

“She’s sleeping now” Loki spoke, opening the door as you stepped inside.

“So why did you call me?” You huffed as you entered, Loki closing the door behind you as you breathed in through your nose smelling that familiar aftershave.

“I was unsure if she’d settle without your presence. Besides, I didn’t know it’d take you so long to arrive” Loki added almost bitterly as he took you in.

“I was on the other side of the city” you shrugged “I was on a date” you admitted, surprising even yourself at the confession.

“Oh, I see” Loki spoke, almost dejectedly as he looked away from you. “How was it?” He decided to ask, looking back up at you.

“Short” you stated, ignoring the pang of what could only be stupidly described as guilt that evaded you.

“My apologies” Loki replied, glancing away before his eyes met yours again. “You look” he paused “good”

“Thank y—” you began.

“You always look good” he seemingly huffed to himself at the thoughtless compliment. “You look beautiful y/n” he interrupted.

“Thank you” you smiled chastely as a conspicuous pause filled the space between you both. Doting eyes boared into yours as you swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze away from Loki’s. His stare was primal, lustful, almost charged as you took a sharp breath, trying to forget the fact that you hadn’t been laid in almost a year and that Loki had that familiar aftershave on.

“Don’t look at me like that” you finally broke the silence.

“Like what?” He almost smirked.

“Loki you love me” you frowned.

“Y/n” Loki halted “I adore you” he expressed.

“Stop” you shook your head, willing the tears that were now brimming in your eyes to stop. You didn’t know whether they were from your lack of blinking after staring at him or the emotions coursing through you.

“I’m truly enamored” he continued to your chagrin as he stepped towards you “you bewitch me. You—”

“Stop!” You raised your voice.

“I can’t let you go y/n, why can’t I quit you?”

“You already have Loki, you let me go the moment you—”

“Tell me you don’t love me” he dared.

“Loki I—” you stopped, your lip beginning to quiver as a tear escaped you.

“Tell me you don’t love me” he murmured, kissing the tear away from your cheek “and I’ll stop.”

Your knees felt weak beneath you as his lips met the bare skin of your neck as he pushed your jacket off of your shoulders. Tender kisses met behind your ear as you held your breath, eyes falling closed. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore y/n” he whispered, kissing your earlobe “please” he almost begged, unable to restrain himself, the only thing able to stop him being your words.

“I-I” you stuttered, melting against Loki as his lips met yours.

You were quick to deepen the kiss, your tongue moving against his as his arms wrapped around you. He felt perfect against you. You barely broke for breath, kissing him passionately as you pushed him back against the couch, Loki pulling you down with him. You straddled him, hips moving to and fro above him as your body ached for more. You could feel him hardening beneath you as you practically ripped his shirt off of him, your lips meeting the warmth of his skin. You ran your hands across his torso, your nails lightly scratching him as you kissed his neck, moving lower. You moved down the couch, almost hanging off of it as your fingers undone his belt.

“Slow down” Loki jested as you kissed across his lower abdomen, pulling his boxers down.

“Shut up” you snapped, freeing his erection as Loki’s eyes fell closed.

“Fuckk” he exhaled, relaxing as you kissed the tip before taking it into your mouth. Your hand moved across his length in light strokes as you flicked your tongue around the head of his cock, eliciting a quiet moan from him. His hand found the back of your head, guiding your movements gently as he hit the back of your throat. You continued, your head moving up and down before Loki tried to push you away. He was close.

Wordlessly, you straddled him again, lifting your dress as Loki pushed your panties to the side, helping you lower yourself against him.

“Lokiii” you mewled as he filled you to the hilt, his cock throbbing against your walls.

“Just like that” Loki spoke through gritted teeth, thrusting up inside of you as you bounced above him.

“Fuckk” you moaned, trying to stay quiet as he fucked you.

“Taking me so well” he praised, looking up at you through hooded eyes “good girl, that’s my good fucking girl.”

“Ughh, I—I’m soo—” you moaned.

“I know, I know” Loki rasped, jaw clenched as he continued thrusting.

Your eyes met. You had to look away.

“I’m gonna cum” you cried, eyes closed tightly as your breaths grew heavier.

“Fuck!” Loki hollered, his orgasm hitting him as he came inside of you, his seed oozing out as your walls tightened around him.

As you floated down from your high, you eventually looked down at Loki.

“I don’t, Loki” you shook your head, Loki’s eyes pleading for you not to continue. “I don’t love you, not now, not anymore.” You sniffled, unsure whether or not you believed yourself.

“You’ll stay? Tonight?” Loki asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah” you nodded “I’ll stay.”

<<it’s been a while since I’ve written << and a boy called me good girl the other day << I hope you enjoyed!!

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @asgards-princess-of-mischief @anundyingfidelity @buttercupcookies-blog

[noirsnonsense]

I'm sorry but I can't STAND those little fanfic stories when the characters do something they'd NEVER actually do. Like I just read one where Tony Stark PUNCHED Peter Parker. twice. ATP JUST SAY YOU DONT FUCKING KNOW ANYTHING, TONY STARK INVENTED TIME TRAVEL FOR THAT KID, AND UR WRITING ABT HIM PUNCHIN PETER????? MAKE IT MAKE SENSEEEEA PUH-LEASEEE

[the-ace-with-spades]

The year is 1995 and Mav disappears off radars on a mission overseas. He's declared MIA and then when satellite pictures of an F-14's wreck show up, declared KIA.

It's a hot August evening when Ice opens his front doors to see a Navy officer with a precisely folded flag in his arms and a JAG lawyer with a suitcase full of documents. Baby Goose should be already sleeping upstairs, preparing for their planned camping trip the day after.

Ice lets them in without a word.

They walk past the living room where Ice had been checking their tent for rust, straight to the kitchen table. They don't sit down.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy—"

"Spare me the bullshit."

He's still holding the flag, letter on top of it, seal unbroken.

"Why are you even here? I'm not his—" Loved one. Ice was just—there. A close friend. A wingman. It doesn't matter whether he loves Mav or not, he will always be just someone in his life, not his loved one. "I'm just his best friend."

"Commander Mitchell stated this address as Bradley Bradshaw's main residence during deployment."

Jesus Christ. He can't—Bradley. What was he going to tell Bradley?

"Commander Mitchell's sole beneficiary is Bradley Bradshaw, and since he's a minor, we need to execute his will alongside our condolences." Bradley lost another parent. And all he has left is a will. "You've been named as Bradley Bradshaw's legal guardian if Commander Mitchell was—unable to take care of him."

"He's never told me that."

He didn't. Not even a word. He knew Mav had a will, they all did. But he never thought enough to make sense of the details.

It couldn't be Ice. He couldn't exist on paper in Mav's life or in Bradley's life.

"You can refuse—"

Ice phases out the words that come after — Mav can't be gone, Mav couldn't have left Bradley to him, Mav couldn't have thought he would be able to care for Bradley alone, without Mav's help and guidance. He couldn't have left them both there with broken hearts.

Ice doesn't believe this. It can't be true. If he stares long enough, the two officers in front of him are going to disappear and he will get a late night call from Mav from the ship and will wake up Baby Goose so they could chat and—

"Ice, I know I should be asleep but can we check if we got enough jars for bugs? I really want to—"

Ice finally comes back to the surroundings.

Bradley stands in the kitchen door, noticing the two people in there, in uniforms. "I'm sorry, sirs, I didn't know—"

At that exact moment, Bradley notices the flag and the unopen letter. He can see it nice and clear — his face falls and he doesn't look at anything but the goddamn flag and the stupid letter made on behalf of the President.

Ice stops breathing. "Bradley—"

"No," he says, shaking his head, so quiet. "Not again, no—"

Before Ice can say anything, Bradley is running back up the stairs.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Tom Riddle x reader - The bet.

Modernish? Au? one of those -son of Voldemort Tom's that has Mattheo as a brother n stuffs like that-none of thats important to the fic i just wanted to put that up so them having phones makes sense, also they have charmed phones so they work within hogwarts. :p

starts off with texts messages --(two dashes) with italics for (y/n) and -(one dash) and bold for Tom.

=

It was a stupid bet, one that Tom was already regretting even thought it hadn't started yet. it all started with his girlfriend (y/n) being cheeky while she was supposed to be in class and asking for a bloody abs picture from him while he was trying to study.

--hey tommy~?

Tom didn't know why he didn't put on the 'do not disturb' feature on when he was studying, because (y/n) always bugged him when he studied. he picked up his phone that had vibrated when he got a text and saw what his girlfriend texted him, he quickly sent a reply back and then set his phone back down.

-What is it this time (y/n)? -Did you get detention, again? -I'm not getting you out of it this time.

(y/n) replied quickly, which told Tom she wasnt paying attention at all while she was supposed to be in charms class.

--nooo that was one time tommy --okay maybe two times --okay three....five times --whatevs thats not what im texting u for --do you think you could to me a favors? ill return it?

Now Tom was, slightly(emphasis on slightly) intrigued, sighing as he picked his phone back up after reading the texts as they came in and messing (y/n) back.

-What is it (y/n)?

(y/n) replied almost instantly, which made Tom annoyed because merlin's beard she was in class!!

--ab pic? plssss???

-...Are you actually serious?? Did you just text me to ask me for an ab picture?

--yes. pls? ill send something back? pls? pls pls pls? all the other girls get ab pics from their boys? and you've got a baaaady bb~

-No.

--plsss?

-(y/n) I'm busy.

--does that mean 'im busy so ill send one later' orrrrr

-(y/n).

--Tommy.

Tom sighed, setting his phone down, willing himself back to studying, but curiosity had him picking his phone back up and typing a response.

-Why do you even want an ab pic?

--cuz

-That's not an answer (y/n).

--plllllllls tommy? ill send you something back i stg

Tom's interest was once again piqued, his brow raising. she would...send something back?

-And I'm supposed to take your word for that?

-bet

Tom scrambled to catch his phone when another message was sent from his girlfriend, except it wasn't a text, it was a photo. Of her in nothing but his jumper, sitting in front of mirror, the jumper pulled up above her chest to show off her body that got him feeling feral, her face just barely obscured in the photo-but he could see her tantalizing smirk that always had him going nuts.

He quickly got a handle on his phone and texted (y/n) back with a clench in his jaw.

-CHRIST (y/n)!!! -You're in class!!!

--and you, aren't~! --enjoy bb~ now about that ab pic?

He was blushing for sure, his face hot and red and he felt his trousers get tight. He shuffled in his seat, running his hand through his hair. He thought about it for a hot moment before he groaned and stood up, going into his bathroom and turning the light on.

He texted (y/n) one last time before pulling his button-up off and snapping a picture of his upper body. He wasn't really built like Draco or his brother Mattheo was, he wasn't a quidditch player, but he did have defined muscles and (y/n) liked them, so that was fine.

-ffs fine. -photo sent.

-Happy?

--👀👀🥵😍💞🥰👌👌👌👌👌👌

Tom let out a soft snort, leaning against the wall of his bathroom, holding his shirt in his hand as he looked down at (y/n)'s message. Yep, she was happy. he looked back at the photo she had sent him and swallowed, the flush in his face returning as a spark went down his spine, looking at the way her chest was pushed out, her breasts soft and round and such a perfect size for him. her thighs looked bloody gorgeous as well, he wanted to sink his teeth into them again, seeing in the picture some of his previous marks on her skin.

"Fuck," Tom muttered, his head hitting the wall as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his hand falling to smack against his thigh. This girl was going to be the death of him.

he got another message and if he wasn't already flustered, he sure was now because he pulled his phone up so quick. yeah-(y/n) was going to be the death of him.

--thnk u bb~ i can just imagine ur face rn, all red n flustered~ --🥰😂

Tom huffed, rolling his eyes, throwing his shirt onto the sink counter and messaging his girlfriend back(honestly how he had even gotten one was a mystery to not just him, but to all his little 'friend' group.)

-You're a menace. -Your imagination does too many favors for you.

i mean, she was right-his face was all flushed and he definitely was flustered, plus he had a bloody hard on thanks to that hoodie picture; but did she need to know that? Nope.

--oh LOADS --like imagining what you would sound like whimpering for me --thats always a good daydream for me 😈🥵🤪

Tom flushed again, puffing his cheeks too. Whimper? Him? Never.

-I Don't whimper. Not for anyone. -Not even you.

Tom huffed through his nose, his cheeks flushing still as his own imagination began to wander off. but he was brought back to reality when he got another message from (y/n).

--wanna bet? 😈

Oh Fuck.

"Fuck," Tom muttered under his breath, ignoring the way his fingers twitched for a moment as he thought of a response. She was riling up intentionally, he knew that, she wanted to see what he would do-how he would respond to her challenge.

-Menace.

--scared Riddle?

-Don't do the fucking 'scared potter' thing on me.

--its working isnt it? i know how you tick bb~ ur just scared i'll make u whimper and i'll make you lose control~

-Shut the fuck up.

--oh swearing now are we? you are flustered

He was, his face was red now and his leg was bouncing, somehow even harder imagining (y/n) doing her absolute best to make him whimper.

--so --wanna bet?

Tom took a long deep breath, running his hand through his hand and then down his face. would he regret this? probably.

Fuck it.

-fine. you're on. what do you wanna bet?

he could feel the feral grin through the phone screen.

--i get five minutes to try and make you whimper, i can do whatever i need to do, if you dont whimper-moaning and other shit you usually do is fine im not cruel bb-in those five minutes you cannnnnn, idk, do whatever you want to me?

Now that was enticing.

-What do you get if you do make me whimper? Which wont happen of course.

--you gotta be REALLY vocal next time we do it. i wanna hear allll the sounds you can make, whimpers, moans, grunts, ANYTHING.

Tom flushed, really? All she wanted was for him to be a bit more...vocal during sex? weirdo.

-Weirdo.

--im UR weirdo.

Damn straight. Tom thought about it for a long moment and then groaned. Ffffine. fucking fine.

-Fine. Bet.

--BET!

Tom let out a long sigh, checking the time. it was still another half hour before (y/n) was done with classes for the day, but he suspected she was going to be heading straight to him as soon as she was done-when she was all excited like this-she wouldn't let go of her 'mission' until she got it done.

And this time-her mission was making him whimper. Well, he would make sure she wouldn't hear a single peep out of him this time.

He put his shirt back on and tucked it back into his pants, sighing when he saw he still had a hard on and simply ignored it, going back to his desk and going back to studying-he needed to get this done before (y/n) relentlessly distracted him later.

His timer went off exactly 30 minutes later and he sighed, pushing away from his desk, setting down his quill. Right on the dot-he got a text from (y/n) and he glanced at it with flushed ears.

--omw.

Yep. He knew it. He began mentally preparing himself for whatever sensual onslaught (y/n) had planned for him, crossing his leg over the other as stared at his almost finished essay, before he could think too much on it-the door to his room opened and in stepped in his girlfriend, looking positively giddy.

Oh boy, he was in trouble.

He stared at her as she locked the door behind her and walked right over to him, huffing a bit when she swung her leg over his lap and sat right down, her arms resting over his shoulder as she leaned in close, grinning like a cat that caught her prey.

"Ready to whimper for me baby?" (y/n) cooed and Tom rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms and resting his hand's on her thighs.

"You wont hear a thing," Tom muttered, keeping his voice monotone and his eyes cold, but (y/n) could see the warmth they had for her, and only her. (y/n) grinned and got right to work, cradling his jaw in both hands and pressing her lips to hiss in a passionate and hungry kiss, quickly heating things up as her tongue licked his bottom lip and then pushed into his mouth.

Tom's breath caught in his chest for a split second, his eyes snapping closed as his grip on her thighs tightened, holding back a groan that wanted to escape as (y/n) practically devoured his lips. 'fuck' he thought, this was going to be harder than he thought.

(y/n) kept kissing him in a way that made him breathless and her hips began to grind down against him-making him gasp a bit as he felt her brush against his bulge that had quickly grown the moment (y/n) had stepped into the room. "(y/n)," Tom hissed quietly, his lips, swollen and shiny with spit, parted as (y/n) pulled away and went down to his jaw, nipping and kissing his skin.

She kept moving her hips down into his and he felt his resolve slowly start to crumble as her lips explored his neck, the sensation of her nibbling, biting down, and sucking all over his neck drove him nearly mad. He couldn't help but groan as he tilted his head back, exposing his neck for her.

(y/n) grinned against his neck, licking up the side and trying to find his sweet spot, anything to make him break. "Gonna whimper for me yet?" she asked sweetly, whispering into his ear and kissing the spot behind it.

"Not a chance." Tom said, every word a struggle to get out, his eyes still closed as (y/n) chuckled and went back to his neck, grazing her teeth and tongue against every spot she could-searching for that one spot that would make him break.

"Guess I'll hav'ta try harder then," she whispered, latching onto the slope of his neck where it met his shoulder as one of her hands went between them and Tom let out a choked groan, his face rising with heat as he heard and felt her undoing his belt and pulling his shirt out of his trousers.

"Don't you dare," Tom warned, but if only so he didn't lose this bet. He knew if (y/n) started touching him, his resistance would quickly fall. She was too good at this. (y/n) smirked against his neck and shimmied his trousers and boxers down-Tom's breath caught and his back arched a bit as (y/n)'s soft fingers wrapped around his aching cock, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

His hips jolted up and then back as her hand began to move, up and down the shaft of his cock, the feeling of her hand driving him mad as the sound of it made it harder to focus on not making those sounds (y/n) so desperately wanted to hear.

"(y/n)," he hissed out, his jaw dropping open as he panted, his breath shuddering with each stroke of his cock and graze of her teeth on his neck. He jolted again when she found the sweet spot on his neck and heat grew in his core as her teeth and tongue lavished that spot with attention while her hand stroked him with increasing intensity, making it harder and harder for him to keep his resolve.

(y/n) shuffled just a bit closer on his lap, his cock pressed against her clothed belly and adding more friction as she moved her hips with her hand, his pre-cum smearing against her skin and clothes.

Fuck.

Tom felt his control falter further as he felt (y/n)'s mouth and her hand work together over his neck and cock. His resolve was broken and he was lost in sensation. A single sound came forth before he could stop it, a hoarse whimper leaving his lips.

(y/n) grinned against his skin, kissing his sweet spot before she pulled back just a bit-her hand continuing to go as she rut her stomach against his cock-feeling him dripping helplessly against her hand and clothes, soaking her shirt in his fluids.

"aww baby, you whimpered," (y/n) cooed-and just then-the five minute timer (y/n) had sneakily set up went off-he had just missed the mark-if he had just lasted another few seconds, he would've won. but he had lost-(y/n) made him whimper.

"Sh-shut-" he let out another hoarse whimper, his breath catching as (y/n) pressed his cock against her belly. "Wh-whatever just-fuck-don't-mmfh- don't tell-tell, shit, tell anyone." Tom commanded, his vision blurry when he looked at (y/n), who was grinning like a bloody basilisk.

"Oh don't worry darling, this is for me and me alone." (y/n)purred, kissing him deeply again, her chest pressed against his as her hand practically fucked his cock, giving him just the right grip as more embarrassing sounds pushed forth from his throat, whimpering into (y/n)'s mouth as she kissed him.

He felt the heat in his core start to spread, his breath and heart going rapid as his head started to fog over with unrelenting pleasure. "shit-(y/n)-FUCK-don't stop-don't stop-don't stop-" Tom babbled as his eyes snapped shut, his head going back as well as (y/n) made out with his jaw and neck, leaving more and more marks on his pale skin as her hand kept going, and going, and going, faster and faster, squeezing a bit whenever she got to the tip-pushing more pre-cum from him until-

Tom's muscles tensed, He gripped the plush of (y/n)'s thighs, his teeth clenching as he felt a tingling throughout his body. His eyes remained shut, although he could still see the world around him somehow.

Then, an intense feeling of warmth started at his core and spread out throughout his entire body. His muscles trembled and shook as he felt pleasure like he hadn't felt before.

A deep moan escaped his lips.

Cum soaked (y/n)'s hand and shirt, some arching over and landing on Tom's belly and thighs while (y/n) began to slowly calm down, her eyes locked onto Tom's bright red face as he let out those little sounds she had been so patiently waiting to hear from him.

"Ahhn, hahh-fuckin hell-" Tom groaned, shuddering as his orgasm washed over him. He whimpered a bit when (y/n)'s hand slightly pushed him into 'too much' territory and he shakily grabbed her wrist that was slick with his cum. "Fuck." he sighed, his body slumping in his desk chair as (y/n) sat triumphantly on his lap, giggling away while he caught his breath.

When his vision finally cleared and he caught his breath, he saw his all too proud of herself girlfriend grinning at him, cum soaking her shirt and her hand covered in it as well, his softened cock just inches away from her hand.

"I hate you," Tom grumbled, his eyes fluttering closed when (y/n) laughed and pecked his lips.

"No you don't~ also i knew you'd sound adorable whimpering, wanna do it for me again?"

...

"Yeah,"

-end-

[prismuffin]

I just watched MI:V and I was searching for Ethan son reader fics and yours was the only one 🥺 I'm really grateful for that one though, it was perfect, wonderfully written. I guess my ask is similar and of course you can completely choose to ignore this too. But, yeah, Ethan comes home to get to know that his son is practically off the rails, has fallen into bad company which has given some bad habits too like maybe Ethan catches him smoking or something. Ethan then realises that he has to fix this and be home more often or it can even be that Solomon Lane captures the son to get Ethan to agree to him, anything works. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this!

A/n: I'm gonna try and filter out some of the asks in my inbox today!! A M:I ask to start off my day- I wrote way more than I planned to with this ask so I just made it a mini fic LMFAO

"You're My Son."

Dad!Ethan Hunt x Son!Reader

( summary: Ethan often worries what affect his absence is having on you and when he takes a break to head home he finds out )

warning?: mentions of smoking and drinking, readers depicted to be a teen of sorts but age is still fluid, semi-angsty? gets kinda sad

!-!more under the cut!-!

Ethan often wonders how his absence affects you, especially during such crucial years of you life and your development. He wishes he was the perfect father, maybe even just a good one but he knows that's easier said than done. On one hand he feels like the world needs him, and on the other, he knows that you do too. The guilt of leaving you to your own devices was catching up to him. No amount of daily calls to home could quell this concerned feeling within him so for the first time in who knows how long he took some time off. It was only two weeks, he just wanted enough time to let you know that he still cares, that he's still there for you, and then he'd go back to work feeling much better knowing that you don't feel like he's forgotten you.

After getting home he was a bit shocked to find you not there but didn't think anything of it, you're young and probably have friends you're hanging out with right now. But after a while it started to get late and dark and you weren't answering your phone so he decided to go out looking for you. He drove around his town searching for you, luckily his job made him very perceptive as it didn't take him long to find you. You stood outside a corner store surrounded by men that were obviously older than you, he watched in shock as you smoked with them, taking a swig of god knows what from a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. He was furious but that anger quickly turned into something else as he realized his fears were coming true. How could he blame you for something like this when he is obviously the responsible one. He should've been here more.

Flashing his headlights, your group stopped throwing rocks at signs in confusion, and you cursed under your breath as you prayed it wasn't the cops. Who stepped out the car was much worse though in your opinion.

Your father.

He stood by the side of his car with his hands in his leather jacket, staring directly at you with a face that told you, you were in for it. Clicking your tongue, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at him before dropping your cigarette and putting it out with your boot before saying bye to your group as you reluctantly walked up to the car. "Get in, y/n." was all your dad said when you got close enough.

The drive home was silent for only a minute before he spoke up. "Smoking y/n? Really?" You just stayed silent, continuing to look out the window, staring up at the moon. "And don't think I didn't see you drinking either, with older guys? Y/n, that's dangerous-" "They look out for me" You cut him off, daring to look at him. He opened his mouth before closing it with a sigh, not taking his eyes off the road. He thought for a moment, letting go the slight anger he felt at the situation, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he spoke again. "I know I'm not always around and I'm sorry." His tone was sincere and you looked away from him, maybe it was because what he said made you angry, angry at the fact that it meant nothing. He was sorry? Does that even matter, the damage is already done. "But hanging out with men like them can get you in a lot of trouble." He stopped the car and it was only then that you'd noticed you'd made it back home but neither of you moved, he just simply turned to you with a worried expression. "Trouble I don't want to see you in. And look, I know I haven't been the best dad in the world, I know I'm never around but I still care about you. I think about you all day, everyday, whether I'm on a mission or not I wonder how you're doing without me and my worst fear was that my absence was making you bitter or sad and to see that I was right it's…" He trails off and you glanced at him, seeing the tears that had welled up in his eyes, your own looking quite similar as he placed his hand on your shoulder. "I'm gonna start being here for you okay? Not just with daily phone calls, I mean here." Though the angle was a little awkward with you both being in a car, he hugged you- and no matter how much you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself you couldn't, because you realized you missed him just as much as he missed you. You thought about him all day, everyday, whether you were busy or not. Wondering if he was alright or alive, knowing he risks his life everyday to save thousands if not millions of people.

So you hugged him back and let the tears flow, your grip on him tightening as you heard his next words. "You're my son, and I'm gonna take care of you again."

Ethan called IMF Headquarters that night, requesting much more than two weeks off.

----!----

( This was gonna be an ask but it turned out so long I just kinda made it a mini-fic )

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

Check my page for my Request Taking Status !!

See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!

Masterlist

[katewritesss]

Hey Top Gun fans, don't imagine "Nothing New" by Taylor ft. Phoebe with Ice and definitely don't imagine Ice lying awake at night, fearing that Maverick won't want him anymore and grow bored of him as his father often told him.

[aemonds-wifey]

A lullaby

Summary : you catch A sweet moment between Aemond and your new born daughter

Your hand met with the lukewarm space on the sheet, as your fingers scrunched the fabric you opened your eyes. Aemond was missing. You raised yourself up, carefully moving yourself to the edge of the bed you slowly got out, delicately wrapping a night robe around your still tender and sore body. Your chambers were deadly silent, this frightened you.

You opened the bedchamber door and stood down the cold steps, your bare feet meeting the silky comfort of the rug beneath you feet. At that moment you heard a distant low humming mixed with words you did not fully understand , coming from the nursery .

Following the voice your eyes widened as you recognized the voice , you made your way to the nursery and stood looking in as the door was halfway open . Aemond stood there, you noticed his eye patch was on, yet he was cradling your newborn daughter , singing softly …in high Valyrian. You heard Visera coo as he sang a little more. Your hand clutched over your chest, in awe of what you were witnessing

Perzyro udrȳssi

Ezīmptos laehossi

Hārossa letagon

Aōt vāedan

(With words of flame

With clear eyes

To bind the three

To you I sing)

He was so attentive and gentle, Visera was not even an month old and Aemond was already so devoted.

You smiled gently as your fingers found the door and nudged it open. Aemonds head turned ever so slowly and he too beamed when he saw you standing there. He looked at Visera then back at you as he gently swayed her , before slowly placing her back down in her crib., he rested his hands on the wooden frame of the cradle …you wondered over and looped your arm with his, resting your shoulder on his.

“She’s perfect.” He whispered

You agreed with him, her labour was difficult and frightening but to have her here safely was worth it.

“Thank you…” he whispered quickly kissing the side of your forehead

You looked up at him “whatever for my love?” You asked

He cupped the side of your face gently “You have given me two beautiful children…at almost the great cost of your own life…and I have been foolish…” he couldn’t finish his words…Storms End still tormented him greatly

“I do not know what I would do…if you were taken from me…or our children…” his voice broke . Your heart twinged with sorrow at seeing him express his deepest fear, not falling from Vhagar or dying in battle. Loosing his family was his greatest trepidation- to admit to this vulnerability somehow made you feel more connected …as it was your fear too.

Your hand found it’s way to his neck met his jaw and you held him, delicately as you saw the distress and conflict in his eyes

“Nothing in this gritty world will separate me from you , nor our children from us…if Rhaenyra comes for us…we will be ready.” You said.

He glanced down at Visera “The thought of anything happening to my children-“ he closed his eye in fear, you leaned up and kissed him slowly but with reassurance.

When his eye opened he nodded once, you rested your head against his and smiled softly as his arms met around your back, holding you.

“I’ve known you for most of my life and have been your wife for only four years…yet I never knew how beautifully you sang.”

You felt his exhale against the top of your head “I like to keep some mystery from you.” He teased

“Nothing too mysterious I hope.” You said looking up at him.

He let go of you “I was …saving this surprise until the morn but…” he swiftly moved to a large cloth bag that was sat on the table next to where Visera slept. You watched him, curiously.

“Aemond what is it?”

He held the bag in front of you, slowly removing the cloth- you covered your hand to mask you gasp of awe. In his hands sat a tainted crimson dragon egg, with gold dust speckled across the scales

“Aemond it’s…” you were lost for words

“You like it?” He asked

“It’s beautiful …when did you….” You said not taking your eyes off the egg.

“Earlier today…I wanted to surprise you .” He said sweetly

You nodded “You already have…It is a majestic dragon egg. “ he held it out offering it

“I want you to place it in our daughters crib…”

Your eyes glowed wide in shock “Aemond…I….no you should do this for her…”

He shook his head taking a step closer “I was fortunate enough to gift Aelor his dragon egg…I want my wife , who I adore , to give Visera hers.”

You were speechless, utterly left in silence and Marvellous wonder at Aemonds request.

“Together?” You suggested

He relented , you took the egg and one of Aemonds hands lightly went against yours as you lay it down beside Visera’s Tiny feet. She gurgled slightly as you both watched her. Aemond put his arm around you slowly, smiling and when you turned to look at him - letting your lips meet , he then peppered small kisses on your nose

“I love you so much Aemond..” you breathed

“And I love you.” He smiled kissing you once more.

You both took another look at Visera before leaving her to rest with her egg, you both returned to your bedchamber and slept so peacefully no force on earth could shatter this perfect evening.

TAGS

@schniiipsel @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @chainsawsangel @mischiefmanaged71 @nolongereviliwantlove @motley-baby @bcon24 @lauraneedstochill @tssf-imagines @polkadotsocks1993 @bbyaemond @yentroucnagol @sscreamingbanshee @arcielee @talesofoldandnew @namoreno

[awhoreintheory]

Welcome to the Circus

check tags / here / ch2 / ch3 / ch4 /

ao3 link

Summary:

As Peter lay there, gasping for breath and trying to clear his mind, the green haze persisted, swirling around him like a sinister fog. He coughed and sputtered, wiping the remnants of the acrid goop from his mouth and eyes, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with every movement. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his vision swam as he tried to take stock of his surroundings. This wasn't Queens. This wasn't home.

Good ol' Peter Parker in Gotham trope, for those interested ;)

Drowning. 

Peter was drowning. Why was he drowning? 

He was just with Doctor Strange… Why was he with Doctor Strange? It was important. It was important… 

Why is he drowning? 

Panic surged through him as he thrashed, inhaling mouthfuls of something thick and acrid. It wasn’t water—it was something worse. The green liquid filled his mouth, his lungs. It was inside him, choking him, suffocating him. Peter was drowning in it.

getoutgetoutgetout

His mind screamed as he flailed, desperate for something solid, something that could save him. His hand grazed a surface, something cold and unyielding. He fumbled, but his limbs were heavy, numb, uncooperative. His legs felt like they were made of lead, sinking him deeper into the suffocating green.

Peter’s fingers searched frantically along the surface, but there was nothing—no hatch, no ridges, no sign of an escape. Just a smooth, cold wall that offered no mercy.

Green panic swirled, Peter’s search for an exit becoming desperate. 

The green panic inside him swelled, his thoughts scattering as his need for air became unbearable. Trembling, Peter cracked his eyes open, hoping for a miracle. Instead, he was met with a blinding, searing pain. The green liquid burned his eyes, his throat, his lungs—every breath, every swallow, was agony.

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt.  

His body convulsed as the burning intensified, the green liquid seeping into every part of him, robbing him of breath, of thought, of hope. The idea of finding an exit, of escaping, slipped away as the pain consumed him. The burning in his lungs was unbearable, and his mind grew hazy from the lack of oxygen, from the relentless assault of the green.

He was going to drown. He was going to die here, suffocated by this toxic green hell.

GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT

Desperation took over, and Peter thrashed wildly, slamming his fists and feet against the smooth walls that confined him. The space was too small, too tight, the green pressing in on him from all sides. His movements were frantic, uncoordinated, but he didn’t care—he couldn’t stop. He had to fight, had to find a way out, even if it meant tearing himself apart.

Cracks spread, spiderwebbing outwards. 

Peter heard every crack of the glass and every vibration. It was overwhelming. 

As his vision spotted and his arms grew sluggish, the glass shattered. Peter was all but thrown out, catching on more than his fair share of jagged glass on the way out. 

He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but the adrenaline kept him moving. Peter shivered violently, his body reacting to the sudden cold as he felt around in a panic. For what, he wasn’t quite sure—something solid, something familiar, something that wasn’t green. Someone. He was looking for someone, he thought. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, drowned out by the all-consuming need to breathe.

He gasped, sputtering, and suddenly he was retching, hacking up mouthful after mouthful of the thick, acrid green goop that had filled his lungs. It clung to his throat, slimy and suffocating, and he damn near passed out before he finally managed to draw in his first breath of air. The taste in his mouth was revolting, a nauseating blend of bile and chemicals that made him gag.

Greedily, Peter gulped down the stale, musty air, his chest heaving as he lay there, too exhausted to move. Jagged pieces of glass dug into his skin, new homes found in the raw flesh exposed by his shredded clothes. The smell of stomach acid mixed with the pungent odor of the green liquid, a stench that made his head swim. But despite it all, despite the pain and the filth and the cold, he was just so tired—

getupgetoutGO

The command sliced through his haze of exhaustion, dragging him back to the present. He’d been operating on pure instinct, his eyes tightly shut against the world. But now, blinking rapidly, Peter tried to force his vision to clear.

Hissing, Peter rubbed his eyes harshly, only seeming to aid in the green water’s goal of burning his poor eyeballs. 

“Son of a—” he choked out, but the words were a mistake. His throat was still coated in that vile sludge, and the effort to speak sent him into another fit of coughing, each spasm more painful than the last.

Tears welled up, slipping down his face and mingling with the green, but they at least helped to wash some of it away. Slowly, painfully, his vision began to clear.

His sight cleared, but the green did not. 

Peter shakily sat up, taking each breath as though it were his last, he tried to clear his mind and make heads or tails of his situation. But the green haze persisted, swirling around him like a sinister fog. He coughed and sputtered, burning his throat as he wiped the remnants of the acrid goop from his mouth and eyes. 

Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with every movement. His head throbbed with a sharp pain, and his vision swam. 

badbadleavegonow

It took a moment for the fog of confusion to lift, but when it did, Peter's heart sank like a stone in his chest. 

He was supposed to be in Doctore Strange’s sanctum right now. They were doing something important, Peter thinks. 

Except… He wasn't in Doctor Strange's sanctum anymore. He wasn't anywhere familiar at all. Somewhere badnotgoodleave.

The room around him was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of decay and neglect and green. Crumbling concrete walls surrounded him, and the hum of machinery reverberated through the air. It was some sort of lab, or at least something resembling one, judging by the various bits of scientific equipment scattered around. Peter's stomach churned with unease.

He staggered to his feet, the adrenaline coursing through his veins driving him forward despite the pain and disorientation. With each step, he struggled to shake off the remnants of his ordeal, but the memory of drowning in that thick, green substance lingered like a nightmare he couldn't escape.

Peter stumbled, hands flying out to steady himself, making contact with glass. He stuck himself there as his limbs shook with the effort it took to hold himself up. Letting out a breath once he was stable, Peter looked up. 

Straight into the eyes of a corpse. 

Peter froze, the air catching in his throat. The body in front of him was that of a girl—maybe nineteen or so—floating lifelessly in the same green liquid that had nearly drowned him. Her inhuman green eyes were open, staring unseeingly into the void, her skin pale and tinged with the same sickly green hue that filled the tube. Horror gripped Peter as he forced himself to look away, but everywhere he turned, he was met with the same sight—tube after tube, each containing a body suspended in the green liquid. All of them a teenager of younger, and all of them were silent, unmoving, trapped in this grotesque display.

And then he saw it—the one empty tube. The tube he had broken out of.

Peter panicked, and the more he panicked, the greener everything became. This— this wasn’t the sanctum? Why was he drowning? Where was Doctor Strange? Why were all these people in these tubes? What was happening? Where was he?

notsafebadleave

As Peter's panic threatened to overwhelm him, the green haze seemed to intensify, enveloping him in its sickly embrace. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing loudly in his ears as he struggled to make sense of the horrifying scene before him.

The girl in the tube floated eerily, suspended in the green substance like a macabre display. Her expression was serene, almost peaceful, but Peter couldn't shake the sense of dread that settled like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.

With trembling hands, Peter reached out, his fingers hovering over the glass of another nearby tube. Inside, he could see the outline of another person, their features obscured by the murky liquid that surrounded them. They had a small silhouette— a child, barely seven, by the looks of it. 

A wave of nausea washed over him as he realized the extent of the horror that surrounded him. These people, trapped in these tubes like specimens in some twisted experiment... what had happened to them? 

Peter forced himself to listen, straining his enhanced senses to detect any sign of life within the room. But there was nothing. No shallow breaths, no muffled heartbeats, no sounds of movement. Only the cold, oppressive silence of death, punctuated by the relentless thumping of his own heartbeat, the only one left in this chamber of horrors.

Panic clawed at him, the walls closing in as the green haze began to blur his vision. His breathing grew ragged, his chest tightening as the realization settled over him—he was alone here. Whoever these people had been, whatever had happened to them, they were gone. He was the only one left.

But why? Why was he here? Why had he survived when they hadn’t?

The questions swirled in his mind, but he had no answers. All he knew was that he had to get out. He had to escape this place before whatever nightmare had claimed these lives claimed his as well. The green, the tubes, the dead—it was too much, too overwhelming. He needed to breathe, to think, to live.

Peter stumbled back, looking frantically around. Shards of glass made themselves known as Peter made his way toward a bin filled with— clothes? 

One sniff made it apparent they were dead people’s clothes. Peter glanced at the clothes, then to the bodies suspended in green, then at his own similarly undressed form. Man, that was… that was fucking dark. They— whoever was running this shitshow— kept a bunch of dead kids’ clothes? 

The realization fueled a surge of disgust and rage, a combination that made his skin crawl. His hand clenched around the edge of the counter, the metal creaking ominously before snapping beneath his grip. Peter barely managed to pull himself back from the brink, forcing deep breaths through clenched teeth as he counted backward from ten. But even that brought on a fit of coughing, the green sludge still clinging to his lungs like poison. (Jesus, Peter was going to be coughing up the green stuff for the next week.) 

Peter sighed, resigned in what he was about to do. 

He… He didn’t have any clothes. And there were clothes right in front of him. If Peter hadn’t vomited up everything he had in his stomach already, he’d have thrown up again. 

Gingerly sifting through the pile of clothes— they were clearly taken with no care, haphazardly ripped and thrown onto the table— he grabbed a shirt and a pair of sweats. They were big, way too big, swallowing his frame like he was a child. The shirt enveloped him, and he’d pulled the drawstrings on the sweats as tight as he could. In all honesty, they were hanging onto his frame by a thin piece of string and a prayer. 

Which was odd, because they were only a men’s medium. 

As he dressed, he made a silent vow. He’d give these poor souls a proper burial as soon as he could. Fresh, new clothes. A casket. A headstone. Flowers. Everything they deserved, everything they had been denied in this nightmare.

Peter fumbled with the glass in his feet, ripping them out, uncaring of the blood that came gushing out. That didn’t matter. He needed to get out and find Doctor Strange. And maybe alert the police. And… Something. He was forgetting something. 

Using the wall as support, Peter made his way to the only door in the room. He only stopped because he caught sight of something shiny hidden beneath some of the bloodier clothes. Upon looking closer, it was two red metal bracelets. Specifically, the red bracelets that made up the Iron Spider. The green in his chest reared its ugly head, mixed emotions swirling that left a sour taste in his mouth. 

With trembling hands and hope fluttering in his chest, Peter reached out, picking up the bracelets and clutching them tightly, as though they’d disappear. The bracelets were a reminder of who he was; a symbol of the hero he had become. And more importantly, they were the last thing he had to remember Mr. Stark by. Peter’s lip trembled as he slipped them on. At least he had this— a reminder he was Spider-man. He used that reminder to cool the green. He was Spider-Man.  

“Kar—” Peter delved into another coughing fit, his body convulsing with each hack.

“Karen?” A hoarse whisper was the best Peter could manage, staring hopefully at the bracelets. 

No response. 

Unsurprising, but it hurt nonetheless. 

Peter huffed, placating the green that had settled in his chest for the umpteenth time. He needs a working computer, with an outlet. Something to get Karen online and powered up. It’s unlikely the arc reactor powering the Iron Spider gave out that easily. Karen probably just needs a kickstart. 

Continuing the trek to leave this nightmare building, Peter stopped to listen every so often. No heartbeats. No people. At least, no one alive, anyway. He heard the faint sounds of a bustling city, as well as the hum of electricity in the room with the… tubes, but that was it. It was like this place was abandoned. Not that Peter is complaining! He was barely coordinated enough to walk while leaning on the wall, there was absolutely no chance he could have fought his way out. 

Small mercies, he supposed. 

The building was trashed, but not in a deliberate sense. It was dusty, clearly abandoned, with paper and trash littering the floor, but it was not like there was mold or signs of a struggle. It looked closer to a hasty evacuation than a subsequent abandonment. The paper looked vaguely important, but when Peter tried to read them, it all jumbled up into nonsense in his mind. He huffed in irritation, ditching the papers in favor of his first task: finding an exit. His Peter-tingl— spidey-sense quieted down after he left the green room, for the most part, mainly just a low hum of cautiouscarefulwary.  

After who-knows-how-long of wandering, (Karen would’ve known), and a near endless staircase, Peter finally stumbled upon a door through which he could distinctly hear the aforementioned sounds of the city beyond. He only hesitated for a second before pushing this door open. 

A gust of city-polluted air rushed in, replacing the previously stale air. The light left Peter momentarily blinded, his sensitive eyesight taking the cloud-covered sun as though it were a flash grenade. 

Wincing, Peter covered his eyes until they adjusted. Cracking them open, Peter looked out onto a city.

A city that was not Queens, New York. 

nothomenothomenothome

Granted, the door had opened into an alleyway, which was absolutely disgusting, if all the smells Peter was bombarded with were what he thought they were, and he was pretty sure it was. The nasties. 

Peter promptly slammed it shut. His head swam, ears rang, and green swirled. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? Where was he? Why was he here? Wherever here was, anyway. 

Peter ran a hand down his face, massaging his temples. Fuck, shitballs, ok, this is fine. (Read: not fine) He’d survived being dusted. He died, he actually, legitimately, bit the dust. He could handle this. Until Strange found him, at least. Strange? 

Why was he here in the first place? 

He was forgetting something…

Braving the door, Peter stumbled down the stairs, glancing up at the sky. It was noon? Maybe? The gray clouds made it hard to tell, but that was Peter’s guess. 

Peter couldn’t explain how he knew this place wasn’t Queens, but he just knew. He had been in nearly every alleyway in New York, every corner and street and rooftop. This just… This wasn’t home. He knew it. He felt it. Peter feels like he’d earned the benefit of the doubt when it came to his feelings. They were generally right, not that Peter listened to them as often as he should’ve, but semantics. 

Peter made his way to the end of the alleyway, towards a not-quite bustling street, but it wasn’t empty either. It still grated on his ears. He was almost tempted to crawl his sorry-ass back into the nightmare-lab. So, definitely noon. Another reason this place wasn’t New York, because the street would’ve been packed to the absolute brim. 

The closer he got to the end of the alleyway, the louder his spidey-sense seemed to get. Which was odd, because weren’t these all just civilians? Why was his spidey-sense going off for civilians? Well, more than average. One does not simply live in New York, they survived New York. 

Stepping out, Peter got several snide looks from passing people. And was it just him, or was everyone… really tall? Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, looking down at himself, then back up to another passerby. That’s… Huh?

He called out to a couple passing people but was oh-so kindly told to fuck off. Three times! One was even in Spanish, although butchered by the local accent. Diversity! 

cautiouswaryunsure

Peter chewed on his lips, tasting the dried remnants of green on his lips. He tried not to think about that. Looking around, Peter played a game of “Will they shank me?” with his spidey-sense, trying to find someone who looked less… stabby than everyone else. And would maybe, actually answer a question or 10 without telling him to get fucked by a three-legged chair. 

This wasn’t Queens, so Peter needed to find somewhere they'd let a grimy, homeless looking adult touch their mediocre computers so he could get Karen online. Peter doubted a computer cafe would even let him get through the doors before he was shooed out— or shot— so public library it was. 

He settled on a young lady— she was around 19 and lifeless, suspended in the green— minding her own business on the blockiest phone Peter’s seen in years. He decided against touching her, instead hesitantly waving in her peripherals to get her attention. 

niceokgood

She leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “What, kid?” 

And wow, was that an accent? Sounded Jersey to him, which, gag. Why was he in Jersey? Also rude, they were basically the same age, no need to call him a kid. Condescending much? Clearing his throat as best he could, Peter asked his question.  

“S—sorry, could you, um, point me in the direction of the public library?” Peter haorsley whispered, ducking his head, all the while giving her his best “I-mean-you-no-harm” eyes. His throat burned as he spoke, and he bet good money his breath smelled like that goop. He could feel his hair drying with the green, leaving it uncomfortably stiff and crunchy. Not to mention he was wearing dead people’s clothes. So, in short terms; he smelled and looked like death. 

She didn’t appear moved by his puppy eyes but answered anyways. “Go down this street as far as you can see, twice, then turn right. It’s the big building that doesn’t look like shit.” She put her earbuds back in, walking away, mumbling something about “Fucking New Yorkers,”.

Peter blinked. Those were certainly… directions, he supposed. Weirdest directions he’s ever received, but who is he to not listen to them? Peter rasped a small “thanks” as he hesitantly made his way in the direction she pointed, decidedly not acknowledging being called a New Yorker with the same amount of emotion Peter would’ve had about wet socks. 

Peter estimated where a normal person’s eyesight would end, and then walked (Read: stumbled) his way there. Halfway there, Peter had to stop to catch his breath, coughing up the equivalent of green phlegm. Wiping his mouth, Peter looked up, eyes catching on a decently reflective window.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck. 

Head wiping around, Peter looked for the half-dead kid in the window, which couldn’t have been him. Because… What? 

The green swirled in his chest. There’s no fucking way. 

Why the fuck did he look like his twelve-year-old self. 

Peter had dried off, for the most part, the green substance leaving his hair crunchy and dry, and a faint, greenish sheen on his skin. He looked sickly and pale, dwarfed in clothes that should’ve fit Peter. His hair was darker— basically black— with a big ol’ chunk of white hair right at Peter’s widow’s peak. 

Which, sure, this weird substance could’ve damaged his hair, and changed its color like the world’s shittiest dye, except Peter’s eyes. They were green. And not a pretty, natural green. Peter looked like he was some sort of Danny Phantom fanboy. 

Peter… Peter didn’t even look like himself. Sure, the facial shape of this body would eventually grow to be familiar, but what the fuck? You don’t just— deage! With noticeable changes to characteristics that are otherwise unchangeable! Because last Peter checked, a spider bite may have changed his DNA, but he didn’t look any different! It was all internal! 

Peter shook his head in disbelief, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation he found himself in. It was like a twisted nightmare came to life, leaving him feeling disoriented and unsettled. As he stared at his distorted reflection, a surge of frustration and anger welled up inside him. How could this be happening? Where the hel was Strange? Was he the cause of this? Was he part of this? 

With renewed vigor to get to the library, find Strange, and then throttle him, Peter pushed away from the window. Except, he must’ve pushed a little too hard, because Peter’s hand went straight through. The sound of glass shattering abused his sensitive ears. 

Peter paused, only momentarily, before very quickly moving on. Thankfully, it appeared this place was just another abandoned building, but Peter didn’t stick around to find out. People gave him odd and warry looks but otherwise did nothing. He hoped it was abandoned. He’d feel bad if he just broke some poor person’s window. 

Speed walking away, Peter shoved his hands in the pockets of his stolen sweats. It was freezing, and it hadn’t helped that he was still kind of damp when he’d stepped out. Hopefully the cold wouldn’t trigger a premature hibernation. That could land Peter in some trouble.  Peter’s walk didn’t have any more disruptions, aside from a couple people trying to pickpocket him, but since Peter literally has nothing, all they got was a handful of empty pockets. 

Coming to a stop, Peter looked up at the library. He could see what the girl meant. It really was the least shitty looking building around. 

Looking down, Peter flushed slightly in embarrassment. He looked and smelt like death, had no shoes on, and was wearing bloodied clothes. Maybe the library would kick him out… 

Worth a shot. Worst-case scenario, Peter… entered in less than legal ways after hours. 

Walking up, Peter got the sense of deja vu looking at everything. The green haze was still present in the back of his mind, and everything looked so big and overwhelming. And he felt off. Really off. Probably because he was, like, seven inches shorter than normal, with changed characteristics, and was in a completely different city. 

awaresharpwatch

Pushing open the door, Peter appreciated the blast of warm air and the relative silence of this building. Hesitantly walking up to the abnormally tall front desk (not tall— Peter was now just short, he reminded himself) Peter hesitantly waved to get the red-haired lady’s attention. She set off his spidey-sense, but she was also the only person upfront, so he took his chances. 

“Um, hi, can— can you point me in the direction of the computers?” Peter mumbled, throat protesting, eyes darting around before looking back up at her. He swallowed a cough that made his eyes water. He did not want to choke up a green loogie on this poor civilian-librarian-lady. 

The librarian turned to Peter with a smile, but it faltered slightly as soon as she saw him. She stared in… disbelief? Shock? Anger? Resentment? The green was not at all helping Peter decipher facial expressions and emotions. Did news of Peter being Spider-man reach Jersey too? Was that why? But wasn’t Strange supposed to… 

Strange was supposed to… 

“Sorry about that! I’m Barabara, the Librarian. Please sign in here, and then the computers are free to use until we close. They’re over there,” Barbara points over to a comfy-looking corner, with a couple of college students typing away like their lives depended on it. Probably did, in this economy. “And can I… help you with anything else?” 

It felt like there was more behind her question, but Peter wasn’t sure. 

Peter cleared his throat. This green phlegm was gonna be the end of him. “Oh, no, um, thank you, Miss Barbara.” Peter ducked his head, offering a small smile that felt more like a grimace. 

She was, quite literally, the first nice person Peter had talked to. Which only accounted for like, maybe seven people, but still. Reaching for a pen to sign himself in with, Peter fumbled for a second, his hand and brain not cooperating. It took him a couple of tries to read the sign-in sheet, and even more to get his hand to cooperate on the writing department, but he (probably) got the gist of it. He thinks. (He signed his name on the phone number line with the legibility of a seven year old.) 

She sent him a kind smile as Peter walked away. Peter wrung his hands together anxiously, glancing at the clunky computer, then back to his sleek bracelets that housed Karen. 

Dear Thor and Loki, and any other gods or demi-gods listening that might hold a smidgen of favor for him, he hoped this worked. 

— 

Barbara was in shock. 

Actually, shock might have been an understatement. Disbelief? Utter disbelief might have been more accurate. Yeah, yeah that sounded accurate. 

She’d felt a stab of sympathy first. This poor kid— Peter, read the sign-in sheet, on the wrong line— looked like he’d been to hell and back. Thrice. He was small, in the malnourished sense. Cheeks caved in, thin wrists and arms, a sickly sort of sheen to him, as well. He was tan in a way that was foreign to Gotham’s consistant cloud covered skies. Dark hair, that was probably wavy, if how it dried was any pointers. Baggy clothes that clearly didn’t fit him, blood dried on them, as well as the various cuts that marred his arms, with a good chance of even more injuries hidden under his weather-innapropriate clothes. She hadn’t seen his face too clearly, Peter’s eyes practically glued to the ground, but she thought they were green. A boyish face with freckles— he fit a certain broody man’s adoption criteria. 

Most notably, though, was the shock of white hair at his widow’s peak. He vaguely resembled Jason when he was that age. What with the matching tufts of white hair, which was a problem if it was what she thought it was. 

Barbara pursed her lips, watching Peter fiddle with the computer. His eyes darted around the room, never staying in one place too long.

Skittish. Unsure. Scared.

It was a conclusion not many would have jumped to. “This skittish kid must have died!” But she was god-damn Oracle, okay? She’d honed her senses over many years—along with dealing with this batshit family. She’d been around the block.

She’d thought Bruce had taken care of all the Lazarus Pits in Gotham. And, hell, he could’ve! Maybe that white streak is natural, but the odds of that were as slim as Harley turning in her hyenas for a pair of poodles. No, there was something about Peter Parker that didn't add up, and she wasn’t one to ignore her instincts.

It was something in the kid's nose, his eye shape, his face—hell! Even the dimples Barbara had caught a glimpse of screamed familiar.

Barbara pulled out her phone, typing furiously before deleting her message.

If she texted Bruce, he’d rush down here from the very important JL meeting he was peer-pressured into going to, and definitely overwhelm the kid. He’d try to immediately interrogate Peter, find out where the Pits were, and figure out how to dispose of them.

It would absolutely demolish any chance of Peter trusting them. And from what Barbara spied, he was a runner if the record of one Peter Benjamin Parker proved correct.

Thankfully, Peter had looked around the library when he walked in, straight into a camera. Face ID brought him up as one of the many missing kids in Gotham.

No one she texted in the manor would keep silent from Bruce, either. The poor kid would be ratted out within twenty-four hours.

(Probably adopted. The man is a genuine addict, and the kid fit the bill to a tee. Black hair? Check. More-than-likely traumatic backstory? Barbara was near certain.)

So Barbara messaged someone who didn’t live in the manor—and, more importantly—wouldn’t immediately run to Bruce with this information. Was it born of stubbornness and a desire to be an ass? Absolutely.

Barbara took a quick photo of Peter sitting at the computer, deep in concentration. His shirt was a little bloody, with a suspiciously knife-shaped hole on the side and random cuts along his forearms.

Hoodlum   [1:12 PM]  

Babs: I need a favor. 

Jason: I’m not interested in doing your dirty work, Barbie. 

Babs: It's about the Lazarus Pits in Gotham. 

Jason: Didn’t B say he wiped those out? The hells happening?

Babs: [Image attached]

Babs: I’m not so sure about that anymore.[read 1:27 PM]

Jason: Is that a kid? The hell happened to him?

Babs: Yeah. I know. 

Jason: If this is some kind of joke, it ain’t funny. Babs, the kid looks like he’s been through hell.

Babs: Trust me, it’s no joke. He came into the library looking like that.

Jason: Shit… Has B see this yet?

Babs: No. And I’d like to keep it that way for now. He’s too skittish. If Bruce charges in, we’ll lose him before we get any answers. [read 1:34 PM]

Jason: Good. 

Jason: You think he’s been in a Lazarus Pit?

Babs: It's possible. Something about him doesn’t add up. I don’t want to risk scaring him off before we know more. 

Jason: I’ll keep an eye out for the kid. Try to see if I can dig anything up on my end. Keep me updated. 

Babs: Thanks, Jay. I appreciate it. (Read at 1:42 PM) 

Barbara sighed as she put her phone away. If anyone could handle this without Bruce finding out too soon, it was Jason. He might be rough around the edges, but he understood what it was like to be young, lost, and scared. More importantly, he knew how to approach someone like Peter without spooking him.

He liked to deny it, push it off on Dick, say he was the emotional one. But Jason is a liar.

Underneath the sarcasm and the tough exterior, Jason had a heart that bled for people like Peter—kids who’d been through the wringer, who wore their trauma like a second skin. Jason could relate to that in a way none of the others could. Maybe it was the Lazarus Pit’s influence, maybe it was just who he was at his core, but Jason had a softness that he kept buried deep under layers of anger and bravado.

He’d scoff at the idea, roll his eyes and crack a joke to deflect, but Barbara knew better. She’d seen the way he was with the strays—human or otherwise—that crossed his path. He wasn’t as callous as he liked to pretend. And when it came to a kid like Peter, someone who was clearly in over their head, Jason’s protective instincts would kick in whether he admitted it or not.

Barbara knew she could count on him. Jason had a way of making people feel like they weren’t alone in their pain, like they had someone who truly understood. And that was exactly what Peter needed right now—someone who could see through the cracks in his armor without trying to pry them open.

She glanced at Peter again, noticing the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he typed. The kid was barely holding it together, and any wrong move could send him spiraling. Barbara wasn’t going to let that happen. Not on her watch. 

Jason might act like he was all guns and gritted teeth, but he had the ability to reach out to the lost and the broken in a way that even Bruce couldn’t. And that, more than anything, was why Barbara trusted him with this. Peter needed someone who wouldn’t judge him, who wouldn’t push him too hard or too fast.

Jason could be that person, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Barbara just hoped it would be enough to keep Peter from slipping through their fingers before they could figure out what had really happened to him—and what it meant for Gotham.

Bruce would come down like a hammer eventually, but until then, she had to make sure Peter felt safe— at least as safe as anyone could feel in Gotham.

[v4mp1res3verywhere]

Waiting for the inevitable surge of dilf! Morpheus fics

[irondadspiderson4evr]

Wrote an IRONDAD one shot for a small writing comp in a server! It’s 622 words.

In Another Life, Kid…

No trigger warnings? Just some crying and angst.

Peter Parker stood in the lab that previously belonged to Tony Stark. It felt so wrong, so empty, despite the tools and suits filling the room. Its warmth was gone, its energy depleted, and that spark that Tony brought into the lab, that spark of wonder, was gone.

Tony was gone.

Peter walked over to the workbench, his feet echoing against the walls of the glass-walled lab. He pushed papers aside, looking at what Tony was working on before everything happened, before the blip, before he was dead. A blue paper caught his eyes and he pulled it to the front. It was a suit. A spider suit. For him.

Peter’s eyes scanned over it, the blueprints of something that was going to be a gift, the blueprints that his mentor had planned on making a reality. Everything was set in stone, but it looked like it hadn’t been touched in ages. Nothing in here except for a single picture had been touched. The picture of Tony and Peter with Peter holding his internship plaque.

A sad smile crossed over the boy’s face as he stepped over and picked it up. He brushed it off. “Hey, Mr. Stark. I hope things are nice up there, you know? I hope you’re not in pain or anything, and I hope you’re finally able to say what you wanted to say to your dad.” He frowned. “Hey, maybe if you see my parents, you can tell ‘em I said hi?”

No response. There was never a response, there would never be a response again. Tony Stark was dead. Peter sat down in the chair that Tony once had and put on his headset. He spun around and began to work on things, projects that Tony left unfinished because he was trying to get Peter back. He was going to make that suit.

But something Peter couldn’t see was nearby. The ghost of Tony Stark, watching what he was doing, a frown on his face. “Yeah kid,” he responded. “No pain. No pain at all.”

Tony watched as Peter started to go into the files on the system. He watched as Peter pulled up the layout for the suit and as he froze. On the screen it said for my son, Peter. He forgot he’d written that. He watched as Peter’s eyes welled up and as the kid completely broke down, sobs escaping his throat.

Tony wrapped his arms around him, despite the fact that he couldn’t feel his comfort.

“Why- why couldn’t I- I- why couldn’t I save you Mr. stark? I should’ve done something I-“ he sniffled, looking back at the screen. “I miss you, sir. Dad. Tony, whatever the hell you want me to call you! I just- I miss you. I wish I could’ve saved you…”

Tony nodded in agreement, despite not being able to be seen. “I know, kid, I know. I miss you too.” He sat on the workbench.

“Maybe in another life we’re- we’re happy. You’re alive, you take me in and- and things are okay. Things are more than okay. I think- I think I’ll believe that.”

“Whatever comforts you, Pete.” He sighed. “But yeah, in another life, kid, in another life.”

Peter spent the rest of the day in that lab. It was time spent partially well? He was either crying or building. Peter stayed there until he fell asleep, just like Tony used to do. And Tony? Well, he stayed there too. He didn’t need to sleep anymore, that was something that he left behind with the mortal realm. So now, he could just watch and make sure the kid was safe.

And that’s what he did. Every day of his life. Tony stark just watched.

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

HAPPY (slightly late) FATHER'S DAY!!! HERE IS THE PROMISED TREAT OF A FATHER'S DAY ONE SHOT ABOUT SONIC AND TOM!!! 🥰🥰🥰

"Tom's First (official) Father's Day."

[wheredafandomat]

I love you

Dad! Loki x ex F! reader

18+ | contains alcohol, smut

Running around the house with one heel on, you tried to put your earring in whilst looking for your phone. Victorious, you called Loki’s number as you put your other heel on.

“When are you going to be here?” You asked once Loki had finally answered.

“I’m pulling up now.” He replied. Glancing out of the window, you watched as he parked onto the driveway. Making your way to the door, you let him inside.

“Daddy.” Amelia squealed, running towards Loki as he entered before wrapping her arms around his legs.

“Sweetheart.” He greeted, picking her up.

“Be good for daddy okay.” You spoke, pecking her cheek.

“You look nice.” Loki noted, quickly taking you in.

“Thanks.” You answered, flashing a hint of a smile but not meeting his eyes. “She’s already eaten, you’ve just got to read her a story before bed.”

“I have her on weekends y/n, I know how to look after our princess.” Loki replied.

“Yea, yes of course.” You agreed, feeling stupid for even mentioning it.

“Anyways, where are you off to? Somewhere nice?” Loki questioned.

“Just a restaurant.” You shrugged.

“A date.” He guessed.

“With friends” you lied, not sure why you felt the need to.

“Well, have fun.” Loki wished.

“Thanks.” You said again with another hint of a smile as you glanced up at Loki, standing tall, holding your daughter, a reminder of how things were before. Saying bye to the two of them, you left.

“So, what are your interests?”

You almost flinched as you were brought back to reality, your daydream slipping from you as your surroundings came back into focus. You were on a date, in a restaurant with a cute guy yet all you could think about was how Loki looked.

“I—umm” you thought, “I like to write.”

“Sounds interesting.” He replied before silence settled between you both again. Picking the glass of wine up in front of you, you brought it to your lips, smiling over it as your eyes met with the man sitting opposite you. Before you could swallow your sip, your phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up in the process.

“Is that your niece?” He asked, looking down at your phone, the screensaver a picture of you and Amelia.

“It’s my daughter.” You spoke, putting your glass down.

“Oh” he almost choked on his wine, “wow, you’re a—you have a—” he stuttered.

“Child” you finished for him “is that a problem?”

“No I just” he swallowed thickly “I wasn’t looking to raise someone else’s child so soon.”

“Good thing I’m not asking you to then” you smiled sarcastically, offended by his assumption that you’d want him anywhere near your child; she already has a father. “Bill please!” You called the waiter over.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to order any food?” The waiter asked, standing next to your table.

“Come on, we can still have a good night, even if it’s the only one we share.” Your date intoned suggestively causing your eyes to widen.

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re back early.” Loki greeted you as you entered the house, stepping out of your heels. Looking at him, you noticed that he was lounging on the couch with Amelia asleep against him.

“You didn’t put her to bed?” You asked, walking into the living room.

“She wanted a movie night with daddy, I couldn’t deny her.” Loki smiled, causing you to do the same as you reached out for her.

“Come on princess, let’s put you to bed.” You cooed.

“I’ll take her.” Loki insisted, gesturing for you to sit.

When Loki went upstairs, you made your way into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine and having a sip of it.

“So, how was your date? Bad I assume.” Loki teased, entering.

“It wasn’t a date.” You lied, still not sure why you felt the need to.

“You’re wearing that perfume” Loki inhaled “your date perfume.”

“I do not have a date perfume.” You chuckled.

“You do, you wore it every date night.” He persisted.

“Whatever you say.” You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“So how was it?”

Sighing, you took another sip of wine.

“Do you really want to know how my date went, Loki?”

“Yes.”

“It was awful,” you relented. “We didn't even eat, he started talking about how he doesn’t want to raise a child, like I’d ever need anyone else to help with that, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about—” you paused.

“About what?”

“About—about you.” You whispered the last word.

“I’m flattered.” Loki smiled coyly.

“I mean not you—us-no!” You stuttered.

“Y/n, it’s fine.” Loki paused your rambling. “Look, why don’t I make you something to eat quickly and then I’ll go.” He offered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Fine.” You gave in, picking up the bottle of wine and making your way back to the living room.

“You forgot your glass.” Loki called after you.

“Don’t need it.”

Smelling the food, you stood up from the couch and made your way back into the kitchen, pausing for a brief moment at the door as your eyes ran down Loki’s form. You really had missed this, him cooking, the mundane things. Approaching him, you stood behind him, his back to your chest as he mixed whatever was in the pot on the stove.

“Y/n.” Loki exhaled as you wrapped your arms around him, placing a kiss against his back.

“Something smells good” you grinned, one of your hands trailing down his torso “tasty.”

“Stop.” He uttered, unconvincingly.

“You want me to stop?” You queried, your hand sliding underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Fuck.” He bit back, removing your hand before spinning around, pushing you back against the opposite counter. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish.” Loki warned.

“I always finish with you.” You smiled coquettishly

“You’re drunk.” He stated.

“I’m horny.” You countered.

“That’s not an excuse.” He tutted.

“Isn’t it?” You grinned, biting your lip seductively, Loki’s eyes dipping to them. “Come on Loki.” You dared, hopping onto the counter and widening your legs causing Loki to inhale sharply as his gaze ventured between them. Using one of your legs, you wrapped it around his, pulling him closer. Grabbing one of his hands, you guided it underneath your dress, between your legs, exhaling as Loki took over, his fingers toying with your clit. Your mouth fell open, eyes hooded as he removed his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth before he lathered them in his saliva, bringing them back down to your centre.

“Loki.” You moaned breathily as he entered you with two of his fingers. His movements were precise, acquired, he always knew exactly how to push your buttons. Wrapping your arm around the back of his neck, you pulled him down closer to you before you kissed his ear, just how he liked. “I’m not drunk Loki, but I do want you.” You murmured against his ear before licking the shell of it again and just like that, everything was forgotten.

Drawing his hand back, Loki lifted his shirt, you helping him before discarding it on the floor. He drew his trousers and boxers down enough to expose his hard length, pointing upwards and resting against his abdomen. You licked your hand before wrapping it around his cock, rubbing it with long strokes as you and Loki’s gazes met, both lustrous, both needy. Replacing your hand, Loki lined himself up with your entrance before pushing inside of you, kissing your neck to stifle his moan. It had been so long yet you still fit him perfectly. He barely pulled out before pushing inside of you again, filling you completely as his name slipped past your lips. With each thrust, your moans grew louder. In an attempt to quieten you, Loki brought two of his fingers to your lips, prompting you to take them into your mouth which you did, you always did. He had to control himself, will himself to continue despite feeling your tongue swirling against his fingers whilst your warm heat throbbed around his cock. It was heaven, being so close to you again, breaths heavy, bodies receptive to one another’s, he felt at one with you again, like nothing had changed. He didn’t want it to end.

Lifting you, Loki made his way to the living room, laying you down against the couch before continuing to fuck you, both of you nearing the finish.

“Fuckk” you mewled, Loki grinding his hips against yours as he looked down at you “I hate that no one ever makes me feel like you do” you panted, Loki speeding his thrusts “I hate that I still love you Loki.” You almost cried, clinging onto him as your orgasm hit you like a wave.

“I know I’m sorry I-fuck—I love you y/n, so so much.” Loki admitted, movements stilling as he came before kissing you deeply.

Wordlessly, you turned over, Loki laying behind you with an arm around you as you closed your eyes.

“Should we go to bed?” He asked, quietly.

“Yes.” You agreed.

Apologies for my inactivity - I have so many amazing fics I need to catch up on and I will do! For now, I hope you enjoyed this thing I wrote in the waiting room whilst waiting for my mum to collect me from the hospital because silly me forgot that OBVIOUSLY you cannot go home alone if you’ve been sedated 😅 (I’m fine)

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @vickie5546 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @somewhereinthegalaxi @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @mushypork @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[compacflt]

Okay maybe I totally missed it in the story, but I’ve gotta ask: how did Jake find out about Ice and Mav?? I know there was a line about “figuring out who Bradley’s dads were” in Debriefing, and it seems like Jake definitely knows by the carrier for the mission, given how he reacts when Bradley says he’s gay and that they “hate him for not being able to hide it like them”, but when was the discussion about exactly what Ice and Mav are to each other? At what point did Bradley tell him, and how long did Jake spend staring at a wall and saying “huh” in a dazed sort of way???

i admit i made it confusing on purpose and i admit there isn’t much of jakes reaction but yes

it’s the third “he was my dad.” specifically about ice. whereas the other two are about goose & mav. because, you know, there are three of them. dads, that is. ice just happens to be the third

Jake canonically doesn’t know what’s up with the holy dad trinity because he doesn’t even react to seeing goose btwn ice (fucking cdr of the pacflt) and mav (his fucking CO) in that old top gun photo —only cares about goose. clueless-ass mf. and the homosexual little “what is with these two!” during the first practice dogfight.

but i bet there were clues. a lot of little things that eventually came together.

a.) scrolling through the navy times on his laptop in bed cause he’s bored one night, tilting it over so bradley can see the screen and read the headline, ‘RADM tom Kazansky named pacific fleet commander,’ just randomly asking “whaddaya make of this guy?” and next to him bradley freezes and almost refuses to speak and then snipishly says, “he’s gay.” / “what?” what a wild thing to say! / “i just know it. he’s gay. look at him. hiding it like that.” / “what a weird fucking thing to say about a guy you’ve never met, bradshaw!” / and bradley going all silent and sullen the way he does sometimes and saying “well i don’t think anything of him. whatever.” / and then both of them put it from their minds and never talk about it again.

B.) all the quiet little dad-related breakdowns over the years. Father’s Day is never happy when bradley’s around. jake made the mistake of asking him why, once. he said something to the effect of “well with three of them you’d think id be statistically likely to get a dad who wasn’t unbelievably fucked-up or dead but nope! it’s three times as bad as usual!” and refused to elaborate. bradley is often annoying this way.

c.) the fact that capt mitchell, maverick, who looks like a gracefully-aging movie star, is by all accounts nice and charming and mostly-ish respected, and yet apparently chronically single, a confirmed bachelor for as long as most officers can remember. hondo knows something, clearly, but he’s being very cagey about it, apparently out of loyalty to maverick. even on day ONE of the special training detachment at Top Gun, there are rumors. Some more mean-spirited than others (looking at you, harvard) which Jake tries to shut down, because he remembers being on the receiving end of mean-spirited rumors like that, and rumors about a guy like maverick probably aren’t true. ‘I’ve heard about him. Whispers. Watch him the next time we hit the Hard Deck. He’ll flirt with Penny the bartender, and she’ll flirt back, but he sure as hell won’t take her home. You know what I mean.’ Yeah right. dangerous to make comments about a man like maverick. jake keeps his mouth shut.

d.) but then there’s the way bradley acts around him. They’ve met before and they know each other and there is not only bad blood between them, it’s blood that’s been simmering for a while and just now boiling over. Three dads. the maverick-related rumors. hmm…

e.) that picture of goose and mav and ice. OKAY. Now we’re getting somewhere. Bradley’s dad… LTJG nick bradshaw… FLEW with maverick. Looks up the obituary online and reads the news reports he can find in the archives. Maverick was behind the stick when goose ate it. Okay. Two out of three dads found and accounted for. (Because they’re broken up, and because jakes still heartbroken, this fact will be used as ammunition. “Or that maverick was flying when his—“ “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” et cetera et cetera.)

f.) on the flight deck shaking hands with the commanding officer of every commanding officer jake has ever dad—admiral tom kazansky, come to wish the aviators good luck, and to sanction their attack. this is, like, a big deal. like a really big deal. like, makes you wanna stop and ask him for a selfie to post on your LinkedIn to advance your career kind of big deal. but out of the corner of his eye… jake’s noticing Bradley on the verge of a dad-related breakdown. bradley doesn’t seem to care how much of a big deal it is to have the privilege to shake the hand of the commander of the pacific fleet. isn’t even looking. something big and hateful between them. something like bad blood. oh oh oh. wait. It’s coming together.

g.) poking fun at him. psyching him out. what’s a little pre-suicide-mission hazing between exes? what is with you, bradshaw? you’re, like, freaking out over here..! —and Bradley, looking for someone—anyone!—to trust, tugging him into his cabin on the aircraft carrier and bursting into tears and crashing down onto the linoleum into jake’s arms and saying “he was my dad…!”

h.) bingo.

[mikeyatess]

i love extended universe doctor who because mike yates and tom osgood settling down together, starting up a tearoom and keeping bees ABSOLUTLY sounds like a fact i just made up to write a yates/osgood fic. i didnt make it up though. this is canonically true.