#roommate!brunnhilde x black!reader

[galatially]

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 — thinking about roommate!brunnhilde spending the afternoon with you, enjoying an edible. (tw: 18+, strong language, mentions of body mods (nipple piercings), weed consumption, dry humping, nipple play, thigh riding, brunnhilde being a fucking slut)

you were laying across her lap as your giggles filled the room.

"i'm serious! i can't sleep unless i have one foot outside of the covers or i get too hot!"

val snorted. "just put an air conditioner in your room! that fan is ancient."

"with what money? plus, those things are fucking heavy. almost took out one of my piercings once."

val's eyes slowly dragged from your half-lidded gaze to your breasts. you could feel your nipples harden through the thin fabric.

"you got both of them pierced?"

you sat up. the roughness of her voice made your throat drier than the weed had, but you managed a slow nod.

"can...i see?"

your pulse kicked up. her gaze on you was dichotomous: smoldering yet soft. sensuous yet innocent. beneath the fog in your mind, you knew that the lines between roommates could disappear very quickly tonight. you loved having val as a roommate; she kept clean, had the best hoodies to steal, and didn't mind watching trashy tv and movies with you.

and val's not bad to look at, either. big brown eyes, full, pillowy lips. soft skin that you've been itching to run your fingers along all day. your eyes went down to the hand lazily gripping your thigh and you almost moaned about the thought of the pads of her fingers rubbing and pinching your nipples, admiring your barbells.

"you don't have to if you don't want to, babe. s'cool. i was just curious."

you boldly took one of her hands and cupped it around your left breast. the warmth of her palm bled through your thin slip of a tank top.

she let out a soft chuckle and cupped the other breast. "i knew these would be heavy as fuck." the pads of her thumbs brushed up against your nipples, the bars helping push them out further. "your skin is so soft, y'know that?"

"and you're oddly poetic right now, did you know that?"

in an instant, val had lifted you onto her lap, a small squeak spilling from your mouth as you were face to face — or rather, tits to face — with those brown eyes that you sometimes had to stop yourself from getting lost in.

"sue me for telling you how beautiful parts of your body are." not breaking eye contact, she ducked her chin to kitten lick at one of your sensitive nipples. your back arched and started to grind against her.

she suckled on your breasts, alternating between left and right with loud, messy pops, her low groans vibrating along your spine.

"val..."

"what's wrong? what does my baby need?"

your face warmed at her taunts but you could feel your underwear getting more soaked. how long had you been like this in her lap? the edible had just started to kick in and all you could do was rut against her like a horny teenager.

"aw, were you all worked up, baby? needed daddy to help you get off?"

somewhere, in the dark recesses of your mind, you were mentally high-fiving yourself because of course she wanted to be called daddy. that's such a val thing, it's insane.

one of val's hands went to cup your cheek, her thumb teasing at the seam of your lips. her pupils, darkened with lust, were half-hidden behind her eyelids and a lazy smile curved into the corners of her mouth. "i didn't know you were this shy. 's just me."

"'m not," you murmured. "it just feels s'good."

"can i kiss you?"

you paused. "what?"

her cheeks dimpled when she smirked. "you heard me."

your heart pounded against your chest as you leaned forward and softly pressed your lips to hers. as if possessed, val deepened the kiss, moaning into your mouth. you fisted her hoodie to keep from falling over and she laughed against your mouth.

"keep riding my thigh, pretty girl." your breath caught. "i wanna see the face you make when you cum."

i —

[nomadmilk]

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble – 2

Summary: With Ragnarok decimating Asgard, Thor and Loki and their people return to Earth searching for refuge. Everyone else has seemed to settle, except for Loki - the God of Mischief and Chaos - who isn’t willing to live the domesticated Midgard life, and getting utterly bored out of his mind... Until he discovered you. 

Word Count: 1.6K (Is this a drabble anymore?)

Warnings: Rated M/18+ Almost nudity, and sexually suggestive themes. uh... Uh... Swearing.

Author’s Note: I have been racking on a next chapter for this as the response to the first piece was better than I expected [And I am super grateful for all the love it got ^o^ <3]. But I ended up writing things that felt too rushed, and/or something I wasn’t happy with, and got caught in some ruts. So, I LITERALLY started and finished this in a day, and now I’m uploading it after AGES of deliberating about it. I honestly want this series to be something I can have fun with, so I’m really sorry if uploading parts take a long time. Hope you enjoy!! ^-^

Links to other parts of the series: Part 1     Part 2 Part 3     Part 4 Part 5     Part 6 Part 7     Part 8 (First Half)     Part 8.5 (Second Half) Part 9

Since Loki’s move in, he hardly saw you in the apartment.

Whilst you had agreed to cohabitate with him, you weren’t exactly too happy with it; when he had his breakfast, you barely had anything but a hot drink before leaving. When it came to night time, Loki would find himself waking up to the sound of the door opening and you returning from an entire day of not being around. 

When he realized this was a regular occurring pattern, Loki was curious as to what you got up to. However, when he recognized that he was feeling this way towards you, he ceased it; what ever you did was your business, and if living with you was like this, he was going to just let you be. It wasn’t like he wanted your company, anyway.

But he was definitely bored.

His days had been limited to libraries and coffee, but the God of Mischief can only do so much with books and hot beverages. As he finished and picked up new books, he was starting to get almost despondent towards Midgardian Literature, and even got Thor to see if S.H.E.I.L.D hid any Asgardian novels in their vaults.

Loki was tempted to break in himself but thought it wise to not tamper with his ‘bad-guy-turned-good’ image. But it nevertheless sparked his need for trouble; he almost got an inkling of that over a latte that had a love heart drawn on top of it. All it took was a gesture of his fingers to turn that heart into something else, and maybe that would sate him a little. Or maybe he should cast an illusion that something was inside, and Loki could sit and watch this person unfold into this crazy person paranoid that Fenrir was inside his coffee cup… 

It seemed like Fury could sense his mind of chaos from where he stood and, with you out of the apartment again, visited Loki as soon as possible.“How about getting a job?”

Loki sat on the opposite side of the table, eyeing the agent. “A job?”

“You wanna’ stay on Earth, you gotta’ earn your keep.”

The chaotic god smirked. “I don’t work.”

“We can find something that could utilize your talents.”

“If that were the case, I would be at the Avengers headquarters on my first mission already.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you’d know I’d be an excellent spy working for S.H.E.I.L.D.”

“Something tells me you don’t take orders well.”

The Prince smirk grew wider; he would surely be a valuable asset regardless.

Fury sifted through his jacket pockets to slide him a business card. “You have an interview tomorrow at 12 at this place.”

Loki scoffed, not touching the card and barely glancing at what it was. “And if I refuse?”

“I hear Brunnhilde needs a cleaner.”

With that, and knowing Brunnhilde’s habits, Loki took the card.

Meanwhile with you, the past few months has been shaping up to becoming the start of the worst year of your life. You had moved away from your hometown to be with your long-term boyfriend, only to be dumped a couple of weeks or so in cohabiting. You luckily had the apartment, and your ex had moved out after finding a new home. 

However, things didn’t fare any better. 

You had been bouncing from job to job until you finally found one you were able to cope in. Your colleagues were jerks, and the pay was abysmal, but you managed to do the desk work, and it gave you enough money to get by. Then you had to be let go because of company budget cuts.

And then now you had to deal with your new living situation. You avoided him as much as possible; never making eye contact, no small talk, and you usually left the premise before he took a step out of his bedroom. You admit it was a bit of a hassle, but you weren’t just going to make friends with someone that just wanted to push themselves into your life. So, you kept yourself occupied with job interviews, drinks with friends, and, eventually, dating.

It’s been a while since you’ve met new people, but it wasn’t too difficult to get into the groove of socializing and seeing new faces. The dates have been over lunch, or dinner, or coffee. Sometimes dates weren’t over a table but to a movie, bowling, and one time you were taken to a racing track. All of the people you met were luckily super fun and sweet. 

You had a good time, but there was no spark. You didn’t even know if you were looking for anyone right now; you were just happy having fun little dates here and there.

On one date, it had ended short; the guy had an emergency, and you weren’t too bothered whether the situation was genuine, or if it was a scapegoat cause the date was going stale for him. So, you headed home; you had another lined up for the evening over dinner with a hot doctor.  

You arrive at the apartment, unlock the door and push it open.

“Oh. My. God.” 

Your brown sofa was replaced with one of those angular, L-shaped couches. The photos of you, and your family were taken down. Your book shelf was replaced with a new glass shelving with books of a language you couldn’t even understand. He took out your T.V, and your kitchen, with all of its doilies and its gas stove and the patterned kitchen towel matching your oven mitts, was replaced with white and black marble counters and an electric oven.

Stunned in silence, you hear a faint sound of water running in the direction of the bathroom. He must have renovated that too… When did he have time to do all of this? Did that ass of a landlord approve all of this? If he didn’t, and the case was that your roommate went ahead with it anyway, you would have to commend him for standing his ground.

You walk over to the kitchen; the monochrome tone continuing to confuse and awe you at the same time. You weren’t sure whether you were mad or in fascination of everything. You turn around, noticing the sound of the shower coming from one door where a slight steam was emitting from the gaps. You approached the other door beside it, turning the knob to reveal a hallway with two more doors and, what looked like, a small library at the end of the hall.

There was no way he could have done any of this all in one day. And you weren’t even out that long.

The bathroom door swings open, scaring you a little towards the sight of Loki.“H-“ 

Your jaw drops and shuts.

Loki was naked, and the only thing keeping him decent was towel wrapped around his waist.

Your face reddens, and your eyes hastily evade eye contact from him. “A-are you done?”

His furrowed eyes bore into your skin. “Good afternoon.”

You tut, finally having the courage to look at him. Focusing on his eyes was proving to be challenging. “Are you done? With-“ – you were trying to find the words. – “With the shower?”

He was obviously done, but he hadn’t dried himself properly; he stands there, black hair straggled in water and in need of a brush. His forearms seemed firm and toned, his abdomen muscled and sculpt. His shoulders were broad and, although he did look lithe and lean when you last saw him, evidence proved otherwise. 

You didn’t dare to look any further down his stature.

“Yes, I’m all finished.” He coughed, sauntering slowly towards you.

“Ah!” You jolt a step backwards and wave a cautionary hand at him. You feel your face redden some more. “Uh, great. I’m gonna’- uh – where’s my room?”

“Down the hallway.” He replies, squinting at your hand in front of him. “The door on the right.”

Mumbling a word of gratitude, you follow his directions, missing the handle of the door before quickly grasping it again and pushing yourself into the room. You slam the door behind you, and your back immediately hits its cool surface. You slide down, your knees huddle to your chest in humiliation and slight panic. 

What the hell happened? It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen naked men before; you’ve had your fair share of athletic bods, slim bods, dad bods… But nothing ever made you speechless. Maybe you weren’t expecting his body to be that attractive…

You close your eyes, and see his face, then his body, then his gorgeous blue-green eyes…

“Fuck.” Your face buries into your palms as you noticed these, almost juvenile, emotions. Your heart could not stop beating so loudly, and a knot was forming from a place that ached to be touched. You desist the feeling by squeezing your thighs close together.

You rub your face, pretending your hands were wiping the embarrassment off your visage, and glance around your room. With all the changes he had done to the apartment, your room remained unchanged, completely untouched except for the positioning of the room in the apartment.

For some reason, your undisturbed room gives you a sense of ease, and you steady yourself up to your feet to grab a towel. You needed to get ready for your evening dinner and, if you were going to some urges, you were hoping that your date was going to allow you to act upon it.

Loki was left in the hallway, smiling to himself. It’s been a while since he’s seen someone feel so uneasy with his presence. It felt strangely familiar, but exciting that he couldn’t help but glance towards the direction you disappeared, hoping to see your flustered face all over again. 

If he knew it was this easy to mess with you, he wouldn’t have taken Nick Fury’s job offer. And, since the interviewers hired him on the spot, all his spare time was going to have to be dedicated towards it.

But he wasn’t too worried; he was sure he could find the time for you.

[helpinghanikan]

End of the game

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Game has played and the war has won, now live with it's consequences.

AN: My attempt at angst

Steve Rogers:

         It’s hard to hear what was being said from so far away. Mouths are moving after Sam approached. A small glance towards you before he was at this familiar stranger’s side.

           “It was beautiful,” said in the same tone as the rest but might as well be screamed.

           A verbal gunshot through your heart.

           Your bleeding out with realization with every clear cloud. When an opportunity arose to with the one you love nobody would pass it up. The years and decades you dreamed of, Steve had lived it without you, living in a house bought with a wife with someone else’s face, having children that weren’t yours.

           Your Steve had left in a machine of science-fiction come alive. It was easy to think of the billion different ways he could have been convinced to stay. Hug him tighter before he leaves, do more of those things he liked weeks before. Maybe you should hop into that machine yourself, try and start over and hope it’s good enough.

           It would never be, though. He was yours because he couldn’t have her.

           You were just borrowing him.

 Tony Stark:

         There is a weight on either side of you in the form of a person. Happy on your right and Rhodey to your left. Both there for their own grieving and to counteract the weight dragging you down towards the lake.

           Just like a wedding we’ve all had fantasies of our funeral. How we’d refuse the clichés and go our own route. That we’d be able to have a say in what happens. Change it from a day of mourning to that of celebration. Where there is to be nothing black, the music going, and drinks raised in our name. That won’t happened most of the time.

           Death is more likely to grab you before any plans can be put into action. What little can be done for the dead’s wishes still won’t change the “cliques”. Every story of a wild party, of the great deeds and everything he’s ever done that’d go in history was covered. A thick layer of depression frosting you were forced to choke down with every bite.

           You unknowingly start to waver back and forth. Happy’s arm slides into yours, your head resting into his shoulder, his head on yours.

           Pepper took the reins of the entire funeral. A strong woman handling a horrid time with the grace of a CEO. A wavered voice here and there, tears on the bridge of her eyes that refuse to fall but constantly threating to.

           That was okay, you could do that for her.

 Thor:

           “You’re still tired,” your hands disappear into his blonde beard.

           You were too after the long nights alone in New Asgard.

           “And you’re still gorgeous,” He says.

           He was probably hoping that his pick-up lines (which were starting to become cheaper than cute) would make up for his ‘loss of looks’ and detachment from you in the five years. Ironically you had gained muscle; Brunnhilde putting you to work minutes after arriving to New Asgard.

            “And I’m gonna throw up,” The, despite Thor’s protests, raccoon says from a chair somewhere in the background.

           You probably had roommates before, maybe even gone to college. But this ship, although massive on the outside, was cramped on the inside. Dorm with roommates wasn’t the best description of the ship. Camping would be a better way of putting it. Sharing a tent with several people, things and animal that yells at you is the best way to describe.

           There was no way Thor would leave the Earth again without you. With only one thing left to lose he wouldn’t be leaving you alone.

 Bucky Barnes:

         Bucky falls backwards like he’s full of cement. Although the comforter feels to be almost half a foot thick it still bounces you when he lands. He only made it to the middle of the bed, legs hanging off the side and spread out. With his long hair and beard it could be considered religious imagery.

           “You’ve slept way too much to be tired.” You comment, sliding along the bed until you were looking down at him.

           “Apparently I haven’t slept in five year.” He says, refusing to open his eyes. Another groan, bringing the metal arm over his already closed eyes. “Lights are making it worse.”

           Another headache.

           Reaching towards the lamp and clicking it off. The hotel room you’ve paid out of pocket was put into a shade of almost complete darkness. Light from the curtained window put the room into a blue haze, Bucky beneath you nothing more then a very detailed shadow.

           “How’s that?” You whisper, hands going to either side of his head.

           He nods slightly, letting his arm go down but kept his eyes closed.

           They shoot open when your hands go on either side of his head. Thumbs gently rubbing over the temples, fingers sliding through the brown hair and to his scalp.

           After the uncertainty of your touch is gone it’s like watching a full puppy. Trying their best to stay awake with a tummy full of food and laying down in a large blanket. Little noises at the back of the throat, whining that he was starting to fall asleep when he wanted to stay awake.

           His head curls backwards when your hands slide through his hair. Scratching your way back upwards and smoothing the brown locks back down.

           By the time your thumbs rub over his eyebrows his jaw slackened and let the moans out easy. Every hardship of the last day, past problems he’d live with forever were all gone. At least for a moment, with your scratches and gentle touch.

 Natasha Romanoff:

           The first invitation came minutes after your face is buried in Clint’s chest. Your hands are trapped between you, his head rests onto of yours. His arms around your back; holding your weight from falling to the ground then actually hugging you.

           He stayed in arm’s length the entire ride to the farm. Only letting go when the jet’s door opened and the yelling of “Dad! Dad!” comes with the air through the open door.

           You were the new adoptive member of the Barton family. An extra plate was added to the dinner table, a guest room was always ready, and Laura’s arms were always open when you entered the room and a beer was ready in the back, farthest part of the fridge when you would eventually need to talk.

           That entire time you kept it together; lips in a thin line at any mention of the past few weeks and always a half-hearted smile towards the children who look at you with questions they aren’t allowed to ask.

           It’s ironically little Nathan who breaks the hold on your emotions.

           “Where’s Auntie Nat?” A whispered question to the older, wiser, Lila unfortunately made in the same room as you.

           Trying to hide behind your book as the tears started running worked for a few seconds before Clint appeared in place of his children. Bottle opener ready in his back pocket for the next step of the healing process.  

 Bruce Banner:

           Even standing on the kitchen chair you had to stand on your tippy-tip-toes to reach the back of the arm strap. Bruce could probably do it himself, but he stays perfectly still until you tightened it perfectly.

           It horrible and unfair to say, but your lives had turned for the better in the five years. It was still a permeant memory of Bruce raising a human hand in a thumbs up for the last time before you slapped and turned on the machines.

           It took some more weeks before you felt as comfortable with this Bruce/Hulk hybrid. A horrid mix of uncanny valley and outright monster forcing a few foot gap between you for a while. When you finally closed your notebook, unofficially completing your observation, his hands almost absorbed your head when he cupped your face.

 T’challa:

         It was a waiting line to get to your man;

           His mother gets to him first. Cupping his face, kissing his face and forehead in quick succession. She coos in their mother language quickly. T’challa regressing to his mama’s little boy. Only able to stand there and take the affectionate assault.

           Next is his sister. A side arm bump and the Wakandan salute, Shuri immediately starts laughing after words. T’challa practically grabs her, pulling her into his chest in a hug that Shuri still laughs at. Better to laugh then to start crying as she so obviously wanted.

           Third was Okoye. She was respectful, butt of the spear slamming into the ground twice, an arm across her chest and fist over her heart. He, again, did the same, two handed version, of the salute. Bowing his head as she did hers.

           Finally, there was you, hands behind your back. Pretending this was the same as any other situation you had ever been in.

           He doesn’t play this game for every long. The moment you were close enough his hand goes out to your face. Cupping your cheek, forehead pressing against yours.

           This wasn’t the first time you had seen him after he came back. The first lasted mere seconds before that wizard appeared and he was gone again. That hurt worst then when the snap took him from you. At least then he hadn’t left by choice.

 Pietro Maximoff:

         It’s hard to breath with your face pressed into a toned chest and long hair getting into what little opening your mouth could get.

           He had probably thought when he reunited with you it was be romantic. He’d hugged you tight, maybe spin you around. Do all that cute sappy shit you’d mock on all the movies you unironically watched.

           When he’d reunite with Wanda it would be more intimate in the opposite direction of yours. They wouldn’t have to say as much as all the cooing and almost tears he’d express with you. Try as you might, it would be hard to match the connection the twins had with each other.

           Now, maybe if he had seen you individually after the massive battle this could have happened. Instead he found you both at the same time. Wave of emotions for both of you combined until words were impossible. A combination of both scenarios when he rushed forward. No words, and a combination of a strong hugs pressed you both into his chest.

 Peter Parker:

         May holds herself on the armchair like a teenager. Knees pressed to her chest, tea on the coffee table forgotten seconds after being set down.

           It became a weekly tradition that you’d visit at least twice a week. May would open the door with tired eyes and an even worse smile. She’s been burying herself in charity work days after the Snap, staying up her eyeballs in work to keep from coming home and seeing the empty room.

           Conversation was never the reason for your visits. Instead just taking comfort in each other’s isolation on separate sides of the living room.

           This night was no different as your own tea was already gone. Laying the exact opposite way of May with your legs outstretched and arms hanging off the chair’s arms.

           Sudden light takes over a quarter of the room. May’s legs stretch out from the chair as slow as the light had appeared. You rose at the same speed. Coming together between the chair and coffee table. May holding your shoulder, both to throw you backwards or to stop you from going forward, her nails digging into your shoulder.

           It’s dark on the other side with the only color being shifting shadows.

           Color finally comes through in shiny shades of red and blue covering one leg. Then another. Both attached to hips and a torso, leading to a brown-haired head who can’t speak through his tears.

           “Peter…” May gets him first.

           He wraps both arms around her neck, almost crushing her in a headlock. He presses his face against the side of her face. May holds him with almost equal strength. Holding him against her the same as she had after the plane crash years ago.

           The golden circle tightens and closes behind them. It’s a tie between the circle and the extremely intimate moment that you kept a generous distance from Aunt May and Peter.

           “Oh, I missed you.” She said, starting to rock him slightly.

           “I’m sorry…” She says into her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

           Your phone had five years’ worth of texts to Peter. Little good mornings and good nights. A few “I miss you” and other small messages. That Peter would read through every single one when May lets go of him grew a guilt garden in your stomach.

           Your hand reaches out and touches his shoulder. When he looks up, sees your attempt of a smile, he starts sobbing even harder.

 Stephen Strange:

           His hands are shaking more then usual now. Old doorknobs were the enemy as every door you added a stop, only after permission of course. Any meals had to be pre-cut, you casually taking his plate and going to work without a single pause in conversation.

           It hard to say if Stephen still counts as mentally human by this point. That maybe God or the universe or whatever created the world in it’s infamy had no intention of humans knowing everything that Stephen now possessed. He combs over books he’s had to had memorized by now. Snapping them closed when you’d look over his shoulder. Warning you from trying to read some as you were either not prepared or just wouldn’t be able to handle the information.

           Stephen never outright told you he wanted to be alone. Instead moving through the sanctum at a pace you jogged to keep up with. Becoming more of a puppy or a side kick then as a romantic partner.

           It’s rare that he in body sleeps. No matter if he’s twitching beside you or an astral projection above you take possession of his body. Legs wrapped around his center, arms keeping him close as possible, everything to keep him from escaping from you again.

 Matt Murdock:

         Your mug shatters across the floor. White pieces of glass stop from skirting around the floor by socks with sweatpants tucked into them.

           You should probably feel bad that you basically took over his apartment. Turning the place into an almost shrine to your lost man. Coming in every few days to make sure it wasn’t broken into during the few days you stayed at your place.

           Matt’s head tilts side to side for a few seconds. The shattering mug probably sent his senses into a spiral for a few seconds. Focusing instead on you, his partner, who had a five-year difference in their smell, heart beat and overall feel.

           Your name coming from his mouth was the greatest song ever sang.

           Hands cupping his face without saying anything. Matt standing there as you basically frisk him. Making sure he was completely there and not just some dream here to mock you.

           “Um, Honey?” He says, using the almost mocking version of a pet name.

           “If you do this again I’m gonna fucking kill you.” You whisper into his chest.

           It was a promise you made every time he didn’t answer his phone or came home late. Unsure what was going on he said the same he did every time. “Wear something nice to my funeral.”

 Carol Danvers

This moment was for Carol, a woman desperate to get drunk on nothing but you. Holding you in your practically abandoned apartment, the heater and power still out. No blanket was needed, though. Just being the little spoon with a leg over yours to keep you still would do.

           It doesn’t matter how often or not she holds you. Nobody is ever prepared for that amount of heat to come from somebody. Her star’s breath on the back of your neck, nose in your hair and arms finding every inch to feel. Make sure nothing is broken and everything is the same. Even as a superhero, and a woman, she still found annoyance at the thickness of your bra cups.

           Your turn to check her over would come later. For now, you just enjoy reaching back into her new haircut. Just to make sure it was still able to be tugged.