#to the point where she laughs at things that used to annoy her or ribs him back

[arttheclown]

twicord isn’t a bad ship people are just mean ):

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It's like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

You huff, “Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you guys 're hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and his chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I'm not sure any of us were that invested hearing you drone on about the ‘big tip’ some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve. C'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugs, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet, alright? It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just because you're a jackass, that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you. The rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background, the rest mist of your rage yet again blinding you to anything that isn't Steve fucking Harrington. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“So what, if I don't care that some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “Sue me. If that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, except I'm able to do so without acting like such a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? He'd been the highlight of your god-awful day. The rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. Subsequently, you'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks that squelched wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit for the whole mess, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd proceeded to burn yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had little choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what?” You grumble in defeat, “Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your half-finished beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of your own emotional state.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, as if he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are scattered protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

You're not sure why, but Steve's voice makes you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around to face him. He calls out to you again as he finally catches up with you. He all but throws himself into your path and at the risk of running straight into him, your steps finally come to a stop.

“C'mon, honey. Wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that's begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back. You nearly lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. Warmth seeps into your palms from beneath the thin cotton of Steve's tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from back inside the house. Your eyes are level with Steve's chin, your wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You're still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly — unexpectedly earnest.

It's only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face, smelling of the gum he's always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he's leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can't think, and you're not entirely sure you're even breathing, but Steve's lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You're gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve' arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes warmly against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when you separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you're gasping almost comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve's quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the nape of your neck.

“You kissed me.”

The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — Casual and tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he's kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve's breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D'you want me to stop?”

“No, no, I- Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The streetlight light at the end of his driveway catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to get you to shut up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Yeah.. Yeah, Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it's ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It's like there are hearts in his eyes.

[biblical-chronicles]

Double trouble

________________________________________________

where Liam finally meets his match making Noel regret ever introducing them to each other.

________________________________________________

The interview was taking place in a cramped, dimly lit room in the back of some music magazine’s office. Liam Gallagher was leaning forward in his chair, shades perched on his nose even though the lighting was anything but bright. His legs jiggled impatiently under the table, his pint of water untouched. Across from him, Noel sat slumped, arms folded, his expression halfway between bored and annoyed. The rest of the band flanked them, adding little more than the occasional grunt of agreement or laughter whenever things got heated.

The reporter had been asking questions for what felt like hours, most of them the usual drivel. Who’s the better artist? What’s next for the band? Are you two ever going to stop fighting? None of it seemed to warrant a decent response.

But then she switched gears. “Alright, let’s lighten it up,” she said, flipping through her notes. “What’s your type? You know, ideal girl and all that.”

Noel groaned immediately, rubbing his temples like the question physically pained him. “My type? Don’t have one. So long as she doesn’t talk as much as Liam and knows how to pour a drink, that’ll do me.”

The others chuckled, but Liam shot him a sharp look. “That’s what you’re goin’ with? Jesus, Noel, no wonder you’re always miserable.”

The reporter turned to Liam, sensing an opportunity. “And what about you then?”

Noel groaned again, louder this time. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here we go again.”

“What?” Liam shot back, leaning forward. “This is what the people want to know! Right, so listen—me type isn’t just some bird who looks nice and stays quiet, yeah? I’m talkin’ soulmate material.”

The others started laughing, clearly already having heard this monologue countless of times before.

“I’m serious!” Liam insisted, looking around the room as if daring anyone to disagree. “I want someone who’s the same as me. Someone with the same fire, the same madness. We’d be like—what’s it called—yin and yang.”

Noel rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his head. “Yin and yang? You’re talking bollocks again.”

“I’m not! I’d know her the second I saw her. It’d be like lookin’ in a mirror, but better.”

“You’ve been saying this for years,” Noel said, waving him off. “Meanwhile, every girl you meet legs it after a week.”

Liam sat back, smirking. “That’s just ‘cause I haven’t found the right one yet. You’re jealous of me drive, that’s all.”

“Jealous of what?” Noel shot back. “Your delusions?”

The reporter was trying to keep up, but by this point, the brothers were fully locked in their usual bickering.

“Alright,” she said, trying to steer the conversation back on track, “so we’ve established Noel doesn’t have a type, and Liam’s looking for… himself, essentially.”

“Exactly,” Liam said proudly, ignoring Noel’s exaggerated sigh. “When I meet her, you’ll know. She’ll be a proper rock ‘n’ roller, just like me.”

“God help us all,” Noel muttered, shaking his head.

The interview wrapped up not long after that, the tension between the brothers now at its usual simmer, with the band deciding to head to the pub, eager to wash down the awkwardness with a few pints.

The place hummed with the kind of lively chaos that felt perfect for the night—warm, loud, and packed with just enough familiar faces to make it feel like home. The group had staked out their usual corner table, pints in hand, falling effortlessly into their routine of banter, shared stories, and occasional ribbing. It was the kind of night where everything felt easy, like it always did in places like this.

Liam, as ever, couldn’t sit still. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the battered tabletop, his leg bouncing under the table, his energy spilling over as he grinned at anyone who made eye contact. He was restless, the kind of restless that needed an outlet, and tonight that outlet seemed to be winding Noel up.

“Come on, Noel,” Liam said, tilting his head with a sly smile. “Cheer up, mate. You look like a sad dog and not a cute one at that”

Noel, who had been perfectly fine until then, rolled his eyes and muttered, “I’m plenty cheerful. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

“Nah, this is you cheerful?” Liam laughed, loud enough to draw a few looks from neighboring tables. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Noel’s jaw tightened, and he took a deliberate sip of his drink, refusing to rise to the bait. “Christ, you’re like a bloody child sometimes,” he said, voice level but sharp at the edges.

Liam wasn’t done. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve got all the charm of a brick wall tonight. What’s the matter? Pub not posh enough for you?” He grinned wide, eyes glinting with mischief.

Noel set his pint down a little harder than necessary. “If I needed someone to talk bollocks at me all night, I’d have stayed at home and turned the telly on.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?” Liam shot back, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, mate, not everyone’s cut out for a laugh. You’ve got other talents, though I’ll be damned if I can name one right now.”

That was enough for Noel. He pushed his chair back with a screech and stood, shaking his head. “I need a smoke before I end up decking you,” he muttered, grabbing his coat and making his way toward the door.

“Good idea,” Liam called after him, laughing. “Maybe you’ll come back with a personality!”

The group chuckled at the exchange, though a few threw Liam a look that said he might’ve pushed it a bit far. But Liam, leaning back in his chair with an air of triumph, didn’t seem to notice nor care. As the others resumed their chatter, his focus began to wander, his gaze drifting toward the bar, where something seemed to have caught his eye.

Outside, the street was calm, a stark contrast to the pub's relentless noise and energy. Noel leaned against the cold brick wall, fishing a cigarette from his pocket and sparking it to life with a quick flick of his lighter. The chill in the air felt good, a welcome break from the heat and chaos inside. He exhaled slowly, savoring the silence as it wrapped around him.

But peace was short-lived.

“Oi! Watch where you’re bloody goin’, you knobhead!”

Noel turned his head at the sound, one eyebrow quirking up. Down the street, some bird was tearing into a bloke with sharp words that carried clearly through the night. Her gestures matched her voice—big, wild, and entirely unbothered by who might be watching.

“Christ,” Noel muttered, shaking his head as he took another drag of his cigarette. “What is it about this city?”

He tried to tune it out, focusing on the curl of smoke leaving his lips, but you were already headed his way. Your strides were confident, and when you caught his eye, you stopped short, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

“Oi, you got a light?”

Noel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What, you just finished tearing some poor sod a new one, and now you want me lighter?”

Your grin widened, unapologetic. “Pretty much.”

With a sigh, he handed it over, watching as you cupped your hands against the cold and lit your cigarette with ease. You exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall beside him.

“Cheers,” you said, returning the lighter. “You’re Noel Gallagher, yeah?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Depends. Who’s askin’?”

“Relax,” you said with a smirk. “I’m not about to ask for an autograph or a selfie or any of that bollocks. Just wanted to say your music’s decent.”

“Cheers,” he replied, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of you yet.

You took another drag before adding, “I’m a musician too. Not big or anything, but I’m working on it.”

“What kind of music?”

“The loud kind,” you said, grinning around the filter of your cigarette.

Despite himself, Noel chuckled. There was something about your energy—raw, untamed, and completely unconcerned with how you came across. He liked it, though he’d never admit that outright.

“Well,” he said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out under his boot, “you seem mad enough to keep up with this lot. Come meet the lads yeah?”

You hesitated for half a second, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if he was serious. But then you shrugged, your grin widening. “Why not?”

And just like that, you followed him back into the chaos.

Noel pushed through the door, holding it just long enough for you to follow behind. The energy of the pub hit you right away, the kind that made you want to jump in even if you didn’t know what you were jumping into. It felt... comfortable.

Noel tilted his head toward the table, smirking. “Go on, then. Reckon you’ll survive.”

Without missing a beat, you strode over and slid into the seat next to Bonehead, who blinked like you’d just apparated out of thin air. Noel followed with the same nonchalance he carried everywhere, flopping into a chair like he owned the place.

Bonehead squinted at you. “Who’s this, then?”

“This,” Noel said, gesturing vaguely in your direction, “is some lunatic I found screaming at a bloke down the street. Thought I’d save the city a call to the bobbies and bring ’er in here.”

You smirked. “Lunatic’s a bit harsh. Let’s go with ‘charismatic.’”

“Sure,” Noel replied dryly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Bonehead chuckled. “Right, well, charismatic lunatic, I’m Bonehead. That’s Guigsy, Alan, and you’ll meet Liam eventually—unless he’s wandered into traffic again.” He tilted his head, still grinning. “You got a name, or are we sticking with ‘Liam Lite’?”

You introduced yourself, leaning back in the chair like you’d been sitting there for years. “Liam Lite? Is that what you lot see in me?”

“Trust me,” Bonehead said, raising his pint, “You’ll see I'm right, oh and ask him about soulmates when you'll see him”

The others laughed, and you rolled your eyes but let it slide. The conversation started easy—music, gigs, stories about dodgy venues—but it didn’t take long for you to find your rhythm. Soon enough, you were trading barbs with the lot of them, sliding into the flow like it was second nature.

Eventually, Liam sauntered back to the table, pint in hand, his attitude turned up to eleven. He stopped dead when he saw you, eyebrows shooting up in theatrical surprise.

“Oi,” he said, grinning. “What’s this, then? Me future missus showin’ up early?”

Without hesitation, you looked him dead in the eye. “Depends. You the one who can’t shut up about soulmates in every interview then? I've heard all about it”

The table laughed as Noel, already prepared for this exact moment, leaned back with his arms crossed, smirking at Liam like a proud instigator.

Liam blinked, caught off guard for all of two seconds, before his grin widened. “Cheeky, aren’t ya? I like that.”

“Good for you,” you said casually, grabbing your drink like this was all perfectly normal.

Liam dropped into the seat next to you, still grinning but quieter than usual. He watched you with the kind of intensity that was almost unnerving—if you hadn’t already pegged him as someone who liked to think he was more mysterious than he actually was.

The others, of course, didn’t miss a thing.

“Would you look at that,” Noel said, shaking his head in mock amazement. “Big mouth’s gone all shy. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut it, Noel,” Liam muttered, though his tone lacked bite. He was too distracted, his gaze fixed on the way you laughed at one of Bonehead’s jokes, your smile sharp enough to cut through the haze of the pub.

Noel raised his pint with a grin. “Cheers to that,” he said. “Gonna be a long night.”

The conversation carried on, bouncing from one topic to another, and every so often, Liam would chime in, only for you to chime in at the exact same time with the same thought. It happened once, then twice, and by the third time, the table erupted into laughter.

“You two are ridiculous,” Guigsy said, shaking his head. “It’s like watchin’ a mirror argue with itself.”

After brushing off the initial embarassement Liam leaned towards you. “Fancy gettin’ out of here? These lot’ll drive you mad.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got."

You found yourselves in a quiet corner of the pub, sinking into a sagging, threadbare couch that felt like it had been through as many wild nights as the pub itself. The noise around you faded into a distant hum, leaving just the two of you in your own little world. For the first time all night, Liam was at a loss for words, his usual quick wit caught somewhere between his thoughts and the way you were looking at him.

You tilted your head, breaking the silence with a teasing smirk. “What’s this, then? You forget how to talk?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, just… thinkin’. You’re not what I expected, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, leaning forward, your tone light but curious. “What’d you expect? Someone who’d faint the second you flashed that grin?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips twitching into a smile. “But this—this is better.”

“Better, huh?” you arched an eyebrow, your eyes challenging him. “How’s that?”

His grin faltered, softening into something more genuine. “’Cause you’re exactly what I’ve been bangin’ on about all this time,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’ve got that same fire, same madness. I reckon you’re the closest thing to a soulmate I’ll ever find.”

For a moment, you studied him, your expression unreadable, and he held his breath without even realizing it. Then you leaned back slightly, your smirk reappearing. “You really believe in that soulmate theory, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said, no trace of sarcasm in his voice. Just something raw and real. “And I think I just found mine.”

Your retort, so quick and cutting earlier, didn’t come this time. Instead, you leaned in, your eyes holding his in a way that made his chest tighten. He didn’t wait any longer. Couldn’t.

Liam closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours with a heat that felt like it had been building forever. The kiss was urgent, messy, like neither of you could get enough. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if proximity alone could satisfy whatever storm was surging between you.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers sliding into his hair, gripping like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. The sagging couch creaked under your shifting weight as you climbed into his lap, straddling him without a second thought. His hands roamed, sliding up your back, holding on as if anchoring himself to you.

It was desperate and consuming, a clash of hunger and relief. When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. His thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze locked on you like you were the only thing in the room. “I’ve been lookin’ for you forever.”

You grinned, catching your breath. “Took you long enough.”

His hands slid down your back again, pulling you closer until you were flush against him. You could feel the sharp edge of his breath against your lips, the slight tremor in his hands as he held you, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to slow down or completely lose himself in the moment. Your hands found their way to his neck, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss, the pressure building as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

Liam groaned, low and guttural, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a new wave of heat through your body. His hands moved to your thighs, pulling you further into his lap as if he needed to feel every inch of you pressed against him.

You could hardly think, your thoughts scattered in the haze of him—his touch, his kiss, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. Your own hands roamed across his chest, feeling the hard, steady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips. The world outside of the small corner of the pub disappeared entirely, and all that mattered was the raw energy between you, the way his lips moved over your skin, claiming you as his.

Back at the table, the rest of the band had already started wrapping up the night. Drinks were finished, jackets were being pulled on, and the usual chatter was winding down. But as Noel glanced around, he realized something—Liam and you were nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Romeo and Juliet, then?” Bonehead asked, lifting his jacket over his shoulder with a smirk.

Before anyone could respond, a commotion near the bar caught their attention. The sound of raised voices was impossible to ignore, and they all turned just in time to see Liam and you standing over some poor bloke. The guy looked absolutely drenched, clearly the victim of a pint or two being thrown over his head. His clothes were clinging to him, and he was frantically trying to dry himself off with a napkin, but it was clear the damage was done.

Noel let out a long, exasperated breath. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, standing up quickly and pushing his way through the crowd to intervene.

When he reached them, both Liam and you were still shouting, your voices raised in unison as you pointed at the poor bloke.

“Oi, settle down, you two!” Noel snapped, stepping in between them before things could escalate any further.

“He deserved it!” you shot back, your face flushed with anger as you pointed at the guy, who was still sputtering and trying to wipe the beer from his shirt.

Liam nodded, his expression equally fired up. “He’s lucky that’s all he got,” he added, his voice still laced with irritation, clearly not ready to back down.

Noel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on him. “Right, that’s enough. You’re both done, playtime is over.” he said, grabbing each of you by the arm and steering you toward the door.

“You should’ve seen what he said to her!” Liam muttered, barely under his breath, still fuming.

“Yeah, he had it coming,” you added, your eyes flashing with defiance.

Noel didn’t even try to reason with you two at this point. “Great,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he dragged you both outside. “Now I’ve got two of ‘em.”

____________________________________________________

over 3k words that's how you know I was buzzin to write it, hopefully you lot enjoy reading it just as much xx lmk what you thought !!

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 6

Chapter 6 is here and since we left Frankie on his way back to the ranch in Montana, and Aisling still in New York, how are they going to work this out after the way they left it?

Summery: Cowboy Frankie returns to New York to work things out with his 'maybe girlfriend' Eva. But he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series can be found here

“You’re the only one who makes my mind as quiet as the prairie.” 

His parting words remained with her but Aisling didn’t expect Frankie to bury himself so deep in her head. Heartbreaks, guys ghosting her, cheating on her, it had all happened before, apparently she had a knack for picking the losers. But it never took her long to get over them, a week or two of being a bit down, nothing a night out with friends couldn’t fix. 

With Frankie, it had been twelve fucking weeks. Three months of her mind drifting to him whenever there was a slow moment at work, getting annoyed when someone sat in ‘his’ spot at the bar, dreaming about him almost every night. 

Jenny noticed and tried pulling her out of it, taking her to their favorite BBQ place, sitting at long trestle tables, laughing at the ridiculous mason jars the drinks were served in. But then Jenny left for the rest room, and Aisling’s eyes drifted to the Texas flag hanging on the wall and then he was back in her head. 

“You could just call him, you know,” Jenny said, sitting down opposite Aisling and handing over another mason jar of lemonade spiked with bourbon, seeing where her friend’s mind was at. 

“Why would I do that? To get fresh material for the delusion living in my head?” Aisling snorted, shaking her head. 

“To get him out of your system, ask him to come back here, or better yet, go see him. You’ve never been out of the city. Go see Montana.” 

“Jenny, now you’re being the delusional one, how would seeing him again get him out of my system?” 

“I just think, the way you talk about him-” 

“I don’t talk about him,” Aisling interrupted, almost slamming her drink down on the table at the very notion. 

“I hate to break it to you, Ash, but you talk about him almost every day,” Jenny raised her eyebrows, daring Aisling to challenge her. “Only last night at the bar, you said Frankie would like that new beer we’re stocking.” 

“That was just an observation, I wasn’t talking about him.” 

“And when we had lunch on Thursday you told me the story about how he delivered a foal all by himself.” 

“There was a nature documentary about wild horses on the tv!” Aisling protested, “It was an interesting story!”

“You’d already told me that story twice,” Jenny said, “And I’ve known you for over twenty years, never, ever, have you talked about horses. I don’t think you’ve ever even been near a horse.” 

“I have,” Aisling objected, “Remember when Jules worked selling tickets for the horse carriages by Central Park? We used to hang out there and bug her the whole summer.” 

“Doesn’t count. And the point stands; you talk about him almost every day, he’s clearly still on your mind and you need to get him out of your system. Or move to Montana. Whichever one seems easiest to you.” 

“Maybe she just needs to get laid? I volunteer.” 

The voice of a man a few years younger came into the conversation as he sat down next to Jenny, grinning at Aisling. 

“Fuck off, Pete,” Aisling snapped, rolling her eyes at the blonde man. 

“Shut up,” Jenny said at the same time, digging her elbow into Pete’s ribs, making him wince, “This is serious, Aisling is going to be pining over this cowboy for the rest of her life if we can’t figure out how she’ll get over him.” 

“I’m not moving to Montana, and I can’t call him, I don’t have his number,” Aisling said and downed the last of her drink, scowling at Pete’s unwelcome addition to the table. 

“You can actually call him,” Jenny replied, fishing a folded piece of paper from her tote bag. “I got it from the trash after you threw it away. Just in case, you know.” 

She smoothed out the paper and pushed it over the table to Aisling, who looked down at it without touching. There, on the wrinkled page from the bar’s notepad, in Frankie’s neat handwriting, his name and number, Francisco Morales. 

Seeing his name, in his writing, suddenly made her throat close up and she blinked a few times. 

“Just call him,” Pete said, “I don’t really want to have sex with you, so calling him is clearly the only option.” 

Aisling rolled her eyes at Jenny who swatted his arm. 

“Fuck off, Pete.” 

Aisling looked down at the paper again and pushed herself to her feet. 

“I’m over him. And I’m not moving to Montana. I’ll just hang out with Ben and Jerry until this blows over, as usual.” 

Jenny sighed, took the paper and folded it up again, leaned over the table and stuffed it into the pocket of Aisling’s jacket. 

“Just in case, if there’s an emergency and you need someone to deliver a foal or something,” she said, giving Aisling another look that meant ‘Don’t you fucking dare throw that piece of paper away’. 

“Fine, whatever, see you tomorrow,” Aisling replied, giving them both a wave as she left the restaurant. 

The piece of paper burnt a hole in her pocket on the way home and she tucked it out of sight between the pages of a book as soon as she could.

Out of sight, out of mind

When the bus dumped him outside the gas station on the outskirts of Big Sky, Frankie drew a deep breath of relief. He never thought he’d feel so light just seeing the prairie in front of him as the bus pulled away. He stood several minutes just staring at the rolling plain and the sky above until the honk of a horn behind him pulled him out of his reverie. 

Herb waved at him from his truck, right on time as usual and Frankie hoisted his bag up on his shoulder and crossed the road. 

“Hey, man, admiring the view?” 

The older man greeted him with a grin as Frankie slid into the passenger side of the truck. 

“Hey, Herb, yeah, good to be back,” he replied, sinking back in the seat and rubbing a hand over his face, “Long fucking journey.”

“How was New York? You were gone a while, wasn’t sure you’d come back.” 

Herb knew most of his history with Eva, Frankie had told him things were over between them when he got back from New York last time. And he was smart enough to guess that Frankie’s sudden departure five weeks earlier had something to do with her too, even though Frankie hadn’t told him exactly why he was leaving. Frankie usually made a point of being as truthful as possible with Herb, but when Eva called, he’d chickened out

Now Frankie sighed as Herb put the truck in drive and pulled out from the gas station. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure either,” Frankie replied, “Eva called to tell me she was pregnant, that’s why I Ieft.” 

“Pregnant?” Frankie could see Herb’s eyebrows rise from the corner of his eye, “How did you feel about that?” 

Typical Herb question, always asking how it made him feel. Frankie almost chuckled at the older man but it just came out as a strangled snort and he rubbed a hand over his face again. 

“Scared, hopeful, nervous, petrified,” he shook his head, “fucking terrified. But it’s over, she had an abortion, I’m not gonna be a dad.” 

“That why you came back?” 

“It’s a long story, and it might need a beer or two for the details,” Frankie replied, “but yeah, things got messy, she had the abortion without telling me about it, I got involved with another woman, she found out I had a girlfriend, Eva found out I’d cheated, I stayed to make things right again, but in the end, it wasn’t going to work.” 

Frankie leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes briefly as Herb turned down the smaller road that led back to the ranch.

“That’s a lot for just five weeks, but tell me about it when you’re ready, Frank,” Herb said, glancing over at the furrow between Frankie’s eyes. 

“I don’t think there’s more to tell,” Frankie shrugged, “New York kicked my ass, and I’m more sure than ever that I can’t live in a big city.” 

“Any regrets?” Herb asked and Frankie knew what he meant, Herb was asking if he’d used any drugs while he was there.

Frankie shook his head, “No, not in that way, I was tempted but I stayed away from it, I know it would only make things worse.” 

“Not in that way?” Herb looked over at Frankie again, “What do you regret?” 

Frankie looked out through the passenger side window and sighed, the memory of Aisling filling his mind. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts much in the past two days, constantly at the forefront of his mind as he debated his decision while stuck on the endless bus ride. 

“That I fucked up, hurt someone else again,” he said, “I should’ve walked away but the need to make myself feel good first…I couldn’t resist.” 

“The other woman?” Herb asked and Frankie nodded, guilt creeping into his chest. 

“She’s…she’s great, fucking amazing…” Frankie shook his head, self-deprecation creeping into his voice, “she works in a bar, I ended up there on my first day back, and she just…fuck…It felt like she saw me but it sounds so pathetic when I say it.” 

“But that’s what it felt like?” Herb recognised the turbulent emotions on the face of the younger man, “like she saw you, and not just some stranger in a bar?” 

“Yeah, like she saw something else than everyone else sees, not the addict or the ex-soldier with a bunch of issues, or the miserable fuck who has to live away from everything to keep his shit together.” 

“Take a step back, Frankie,” Herb said, putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze to pull him out of the spiral, “Those things are not you, they don’t define you. They are issues you need to deal with, but they are not who you are.”  

Frankie nodded, taking a deep breath, “She made me feel like that, like that stuff doesn’t define me. She didn’t know about it all, I didn’t tell her, but…I don’t know…” Frankie trailed off, trying to figure out how to put into words how someone who didn’t know him, could make his head so peaceful. “She just…made it feel…right?” He shook his head, “I don’t know Herb, I can’t get my head around it, she made me feel peaceful, my head was quiet when I was with her and I craved it.” 

“It must’ve been hard to resist being around her if she had that effect on you, especially in the city,” Herb replied and Frankie nodded. 

“I never should’ve gone back to the bar after the first time, but shit…” Frankie trailed off again and Herb glanced over at him as the truck bounced over the last mile of dirt road up to Frankie’s cabin. He pulled up in front of it and killed the engine. 

“Are you staying in touch with her? The other woman?” he asked, and Frankie shook his head. 

“Na, I fucked up, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I told her I was leaving though, so that’s it, I’m out of her life.” 

“Take it as a lesson Frankie,” the older man said, putting his hand on his shoulder again, “Take it as a lesson and learn from it, even though you feel like shit about it now. Maybe you’ll find your way back to her some day, or maybe you’ll find someone who makes you feel the same as she did. Either way, when that day comes, make sure you’ve learned from your mistakes and don’t repeat them. Be honest to yourself and to those around you. That's all you can do.” 

Frankie nodded and put his hand over Herb’s on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “Thanks man, I needed to hear that. I already know it, but I needed to hear it.”

He pushed the door to the truck open and raised his hand in a wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for the ride.” 

“Miranda is cooking you dinner tomorrow, you can’t say no,” Herb grinned and Frankie gave him a quick thumbs up. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I know she’s fed up with your conversation topics,” He grinned at Herb and closed the truck door. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

That's what she'd thought, but no such luck. It was like knowing that she had a way to contact him made the intrusive thoughts even louder. Not even the loud noise in the bar that evening could drown them out. She sighed loudly as she called dibs on dishwasher duty and took a stack of glasses into the back. The murmur of the guests, the low bass of the music, it was muted back here and she took a moment. Leaning her forehead against the warm metal of the industrial dishwasher hood, she closed her eyes. 

Frankie’s face drifted into her mind and she remembered what he’d said about the noise, how it grated on his ears. She’d never thought about the noise of the city like that before. To her it was just a constant buzz in the background, a comforting hum that let her know that she wasn’t ever truly alone. But Frankie hadn’t felt that, and the way he talked about the quiet of the prairie, of where he lived in Montana, made her long for that kind of silence.

“Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.” 

For the first time she thought she might understand what he meant, she felt like she wanted to sit in a quiet room and just sort through her thoughts, like sorting a bookshelf. What to keep, what to throw out, what should she read next? 

What should her next step be? All she knew was that living with Frankie as a constant distraction in her head wasn’t going to work. 

With a groan she pushed herself upright again and went back to the bar. A woman snapped her fingers at her as soon as she opened the door, snapping and waving for her to come over. 

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?” she called while Aisling made her way over to the table. 

“How can I-” 

Aisling didn’t even get to finish her question before the woman was talking over her. 

“I had this wine, in a bar over on India Street, it was red, from Bulgaria I think, maybe Romania. Do you have anything like that?” 

“No, sorry, we don’t have any wines on the menu. We only have beer, but we have some re-” 

“You don’t have any wine?” The woman interrupted her again and Aisling forced her customer service smile to stay put, her cheeks aching. “What kind of a bar doesn’t serve wine?” She looked over at her laughing friends, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You’ve got to have something? Can’t you go to the bodega, or like the bar next door and buy a bottle?” 

“The owner of the bar has decided to specialize in beer only, but we do have some very light, fruity beers that are almost wine-like, if you’d like to try one?” 

The woman pursed her lips and looked like Aisling just deeply offended her, but then she shrugged, waving her hand in Aisling’s direction as she turned back to her friends. 

“Sure, whatever, just get me something to drink.” 

Aisling gritted her teeth into a smile, “Ok then, coming right up,” and turned back to the bar. She grabbed the Belgian beer and sent the runner over to the table with it, before she got back to serving the line of patrons at the bar. 

The bar got louder and rowdier as the evening moved on, and both Jenny and Aisling had to dodge unwelcome advances from tipsy customers. Jenny slapped away the hand of a man who reached across the counter in an attempt to hook a finger into her neckline, shouting abuse at her as he spilled his drink in the process. Aisling stepped in and chewed him out, getting the bouncer to bar him, to loud protests from his equally drunk friends. 

The whole vibe was in itself not unusual, a regular Saturday night, but Aisling felt her patience running thin, impatiently snapping at any man who got too close. The table with the rude woman left and Aisling cursed under her breath when she saw that they’d left no tip, scooping up the exact change from the table. 

The final straw came when she was collecting glasses towards the end of the evening, the bar crowd thinning out as people went home or on to some club. A man stumbled from the rest room as she bent forward over a table to retrieve a glass. As he walked behind her, he grabbed her hips and grinded his groin into her ass, groaning loudly and whooping. She pushed back, making him stumble backwards into the wall, and he cursed loudly as his head made sharp impact with wooden slats. 

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, grabbing the back of his head, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Keep your fucking hands off me!” Aisling snapped back at him, getting ready to kick him in the balls if he tried advancing on her. The drunk man took one stumbling step forward, rage across his features, but was halted by Mickey, the owner, holding up his hands in front of the man in a placating gesture. 

“Sir, please, the next drink is on the house, I apologize for her behavior,” he said, attempting to usher the man away from Aisling and towards his friends at a nearby table. 

“She fucking assaulted me,” the man protested, “I want her fired.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Mickey!” Aisling spluttered, “He was dry humping my ass and you’re giving him a drink on the house?!”

“Fucking fire the bitch!” the man yelled as Mickey ushered him towards his friends who were waving at him to join them. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Mickey assured him, snapping his fingers at Jenny to bring over another beer. 

“Mickey!” Aisling protested, and he rounded on her, hissing as he got up in her face. 

“It’s part of the job, Aisling, just brush it off. Your attitude is bad enough as it is these days, making a scene isn’t exactly helping your case. Or your tips.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Aisling blurted, “You’re telling me you’re fine with a guest grabbing my ass and dry humping just so that we can get more tips? Why don’t you just hire a prostitute?!”

“Now, listen, Aisling-” 

“No, you fucking listen!” Aisling snapped, her temper getting the better of her as she felt the injustice of the whole fucking night fuel her rage. “Fuck that guy, and fuck you for taking his side, fuck your bar and your stupid fucking overpriced pretentious beer.”  

Aisling threw the rag she’d been holding on the floor as Jenny stared at her from across the bar, as did pretty much everyone else. But Aisling was too furious to care, and she didn’t even register Mickey yelling at her as she stormed through the back door. Cursing she wiped at the tears that welled up, she hated how she always cried when she got mad, and grabbed her bag and jacket. She was outside in the back alley before she’d even gotten out of her uniform shirt, and with an angry growl she ripped it off, buttons bouncing over the ground. She pulled her own shirt from the bag and yanked it over her head as the back door opened. It was Jenny, her eyes wide as she glanced back over her shoulder. 

“Mickey’s livid, I think he might really fire you this time,” she gasped, “Come back in and apologize, please!” 

“No fucking way, I quit, I’m fucking done,” Aisling replied, tugging her jacket over the t-shirt as she started to walk away down the alley. 

“Aisling!” Jenny called after her, nervously looking between the door to the bar and Aisling’s retreating back. “Aisling! I’ll call you tomorrow! I’ll get him to not fire you, ok?” 

The interior of the cabin smelled stale and musty as Frankie pushed open the door. Leaving it open, he dumped his duffel bag on the nearest chair and went to open the windows and let the clean air inside. The smell of the prairie drifted in on the draft and he inhaled again, it smelled like home in a way he’d never felt anywhere else. A little it reminded him of his childhood back in Texas, but mostly it just reminded him of life here. 

He sank down on the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He should shower, should heat up a can of something for dinner, but he just needed to relax for a minute. A coyote barked from somewhere outside and Frankie pushed himself off the couch and went to the front door, sinking down on the porch swing. The night in front him was dark but he could make out the shadows as his eyes got used to the faint light. 

The coyote barked again, and Frankie heard the underbrush rustle as a startled rabbit scurried away. He relaxed back against the wooden slats and kicked it into a slow swing. The sky above him was sparkling with stars and out of habit he found the North Star, a constant in the northern hemisphere, it had helped guide him many times. 

The coyote yapped again, closer this time, and Frankie scanned the darkness just out of his field of vision, straining his eyes to spot the glimmer of the animal's eyes. His ears felt unfamiliar with the silence after the weeks in the city, but after a while he could pick up the faint rustle of the wind through the dry grass. A twig snapped nearby and as Frankie looked over, he saw the coyote. It had frozen mid step as it spotted Frankie’s movement, and now the two of them stared at each other across the front yard. 

“Hey there, boy,” Frankie said in a low voice, “what you up too?” 

The coyote blinked as its ears moved forward towards the voice and Frankie chuckled. 

“Are you the welcome wagon? I appreciate you keeping an eye on the place while I was gone, but there’s no food here, boy. Better get a move on or that jackrabbit’s gonna get even further away.” 

The animal regarded Frankie with curiosity for a few more seconds, before a sound behind drew its attention and it turned its head towards the darkness. 

“Go on, boy,” Frankie said, keeping his voice low, and the coyote looked back at him once again, before it turned and disappeared into the night. Frankie watched the spot where it had been swallowed up by the shadows for a while before he got to his feet with a sigh. He felt content. There was a dull ache in him, a hole left by Aisling, shaped by the guilt and regret he felt, but he hoped it would fade over time. He would take Herb’s advice and learn the lesson, make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again. 

Aisling slammed the door to her tiny apartment, reality starting to catch up with her as the rage abated. Sinking down on the bed she dropped her head in her hands, sighing deeply. It wasn’t that she got fired, she could probably convince Mickey to take her back. If not, there were thousands of bars and cafés around Brooklyn, she’d find a new job. 

No, it was the idea of going back to another bartending job, or being a barista, smiling for tips, being polite to rude customers and dodging their advances. She was in her forties, and up until now, her life hadn’t bothered her. She made enough to pay her small bills, buy bodega sandwiches and the odd evening out with friends. It had been enough. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

It had been enough. Past tense. 

It irked her to admit, but at the root of it, was Frankie. The way he’d talked about his life in Montana, so different to how she lived. How he couldn’t handle the noise and the rush of New York that she just took for granted. He just wanted to go back home to the silence, the big open sky, where his mind could be quiet. And for the first time in her life, she craved the same silence. And she craved him. 

She sat up on the bed, staring at her small bookshelf. She could almost reach it from the bed, the room was that small and suddenly she couldn’t stand it. She took two steps across the floor and pulled out the book, finding his note at once. The handwriting was so neat and precise, it didn’t really say anything about the man who’d jotted it down. As she sat down on the bed again, she smoothed out the paper, ran her hand across his name before she looked around the the room again. 

What do you have to lose apart from time? 

Dignity? 

Girl, what fucking dignity? You’ve just been fired from a dead end job, you live in a derelict Greenpoint relic that’s about to be knocked down, your life fits into two bags, one if you leave the books behind, what the fuck do you have to lose? 

It was no effort to pull her phone from her pocket and look up the bus time table, just looking. Just checking to see what it would cost and how long it would take. She could afford the one way ticket, but not the return. 

Fuck it. 

They had bars in Montana. 

Before she could change her mind, she pulled the duffel bag from under the bed. Her life really did fit into it, but she had to leave almost all the books, only two for the bus fit in the bag. In a final moment of uncertainty, she pocketed the key for her apartment instead of dropping it in the mail slot. Her whole life was packed up and on her shoulder in less than an hour, the thought both made her feel free and miserable. So many years with so little to show for it. But there was nothing to hold her back. One big leap made easier by her small bag, and it made her feel free. 

The window in his bedroom was open when he went to bed a little bit later on the first night back, and he crawled under the covers, feeling his mind starting to churn the second he closed his eyes, the events of the past three days rolling inside him.

Maybe I should’ve tried a little bit harder? What if I’d stayed, got my own place? 

He shook his head even as it lay on the pillow, he knew it was a pipe dream. 

On my own, I would’ve been so fucked. Probably gone back to Eva, or worse. But maybe I should’ve asked for Aisling’s number, or given her mine, just to stay in touch. She must’ve felt the same thing, right? 

He chewed his lip in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the prairie night outside with half an ear. 

She probably didn’t feel the same way, why would she? You’re grasping at the thinnest fucking straws, Morales. She’s not fucked up like you, doesn’t need saving, she’s got her shit together. It was just like a regular hook up to her, she’ll forget you in a week or two. 

He grabbed the pillow and rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in it as he shook his head. 

Yeah, maybe, but she was still fucking pissed at me three days ago, and it had been what? A month? Would she still be that pissed if it meant nothing to her? Maybe if I give her some time? 

Pendejo, she was pissed because you didn’t tell her you had a fucking girlfriend, any woman would be pissed about that. 

He rolled the thoughts around his head, making lists in his head, pros and cons, feeling like his old army brother Will who always counted things, bullets, kills, days, months, number of times Frankie had fucked up. 

But as his mind drifted back to his trio of close friends he could hear the advice they’d give, and in the darkness, it made him smile as their voices echoed in his head. 

Will, the oldest and definitely the wisest, would cross his arms and give Frankie a thoughtful look, thinking through the options before he answered. 

Herb’s right, Fish. Take it as a lesson for your next step in life. Maybe you’ll see her again, maybe you won’t, but don’t waste this opportunity to learn something about yourself. 

Benny, the younger brother of Will, would shrug as he furrowed his forehead with a sympathetic look that didn’t really mean much, Benny could pull new women every night if he wanted too. 

It sucks, Fish, she sounds special, but I mean…do you really want to be in a relationship now? We should go out sometime and have a bit of fun. You know I’m a great wingman.

Yeah right, Frankie thought, grinning to himself. Going out with Benny to a bar meant Frankie ended up as the wingman instead while every woman in the place made eyes at the muscular blonde guy. No one looked at Frankie when Benny was in the room. 

And then there was Pope, his real brother in everything but blood. The disappointment from him about his many relapses had always been the worst to endure and it had made Frankie withdraw. In hindsight he knew it was all on him, but a piece of him wished Pope had tried harder to stay in touch when Frankie needed him the most. By now, it had been over a year since they last spoke. But Pope would always take one look at Frankie with those sharp eyes and see straight through him. And in this, he would set him straight about what he needed to do. 

Go back, hermano. If she makes you feel like that, go do what it takes to have her in your life. Even if it’s just as a friend. What have you got to lose? Not many good things have happened to you lately, if she’s one of the few, fight for it. 

Frankie sighed, rolling onto his back again, staring at the open window, a few faint stars visible. He’d pulled away from them all, from everyone in the past, in the depth of his addiction and then during his slow road to sobriety. He’d told them he’d moved to Montana only after he’d moved, sending them a text in the group chat about his whereabouts. Benny had given him a thumbs up, Will had replied saying something about whatever he needed. Pope hadn’t even replied. 

Suddenly he missed them, more than he had in a long time, ever since they came back from the doomed mission to Colombia. A mission they had no business being on, a greedy grab for money disguised behind some sort of invented moral about going after a top narco lord. It had been a disaster, leaving them more broken than ever, their team leader dead, and their brotherhood almost torn a part. 

He reached for his phone, finding Pope’s number and quickly, before he could change his mind, he typed a message and hit send. 

Port Authority after midnight was even more of a shitshow than she’d expected, and she quickly made her way through the sparse crowd to the right bus stop. The bus wasn’t due to leave for another forty minutes and she pulled out her phone again, nervously tapping the locked screen. She hadn’t bought a ticket yet, her nerves holding her back. Butterflies, and not the good kind, fluttered in her stomach. Apart from short trips to Long Island, a few weeks living on Staten Island that she’d rather forget about, she’d never left New York. Never left the state, never had the money, or the need too. Now she was facing two days on a bus, leaving everything behind based on a shitty night and a man she hadn’t spoken to in three months. Her lip was chewed raw by the time she unlocked the phone and the bus rolled into the stop.

She stood with the phone in hand, looking at the screen, the small ‘Buy’ button taunting her, even as the driver opened the door and announced the departure. The other passengers began to load their bags into the hold, and still her thumb hovered over the button. 

A high pitched squeak pulled her attention away from the phone and she looked towards the source of the sound, further down the plattform. A fat, well fed New York city rat, was attacking a pigeon, it looked like it’s wing was broken. As Aisling watched, the rat sank its long, yellow teeth into the neck of the bird, and dragged it underneath a dumpster by the wall. She heard another pathetic squawk from the pigeon and then it went quiet. With a shudder she turned back to the phone and hit ‘Buy’. 

Fuck this city. 

Frankie blinked in confusion at the bright sunlight that streamed across his face.

“Jeez…” he muttered to himself as he rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and glanced over at the clock radio on his bedside table. He hadn’t set his alarm and now he was later than he usually would be. His belly growled, reminding him that he’d forgotten to eat last night, and with a yawn, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower to start the day. 

He ate a can of ravioli from the pan while standing at the stove and poured the black coffee in a travel mug before he headed out the door. After reconnecting the battery the old truck rumbled to life and he gave it a grateful pat. At least some things were always dependable. 

Herb greeted him back at the ranch and then sent him back into the routine of the day without nonsense, telling him to go over the tack of the horses that would be going out on the trail with a group of guests the next day. 

Frankie was met by a sharp whicker as he stepped into the stable, two large heads turned to him as he pulled the door closed. The buckskin horse whickered again, bobbing its head up and down and Frankie chuckled, stepping over to her. 

“Hey, Dolly, my girl. Did you miss me?” he muttered, scratching her forelock as she nudged his arm for treats, nuzzling close to his shoulder. Frankie rested his head against hers and inhaled the familiar smell of her coat as she affectionately nipped at his shirt. 

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye,” he said, “but I’m back now, and I think I’ll stay. Gonna take you out later today, you can make sure I can’t walk tomorrow, my butt’s gonna be so sore.” 

He chuckled at his own joke as Dolly gave a low whicker, her soft nose bumping his pocket. 

“Sorry, I forgot to bring something, I’ll make it up to you later.” 

She gave him a snort but seemed to forgive him as he continued to scratch her mane. After a few minutes he gave her a final pat and went over to the tack room, giving the other horse a pat too. His phone started ringing as he opened the door to the tack room and Pope’s name flashed across the screen. His thumb hovered over the green button for a few seconds before he drew a deep breath and hit it. 

“Hey Pope, it’s been a while,” he said in greeting, dropping his eyes to his boots without even realizing, as if Pope was standing in front of him with those sharp eyes. 

“It has, but it’s good to hear from you, Fish,” came the voice of his oldest friend on the other end, “You still in Montana?” 

“Yeah, but I just got back from New York, long story,” Frankie replied, “All good with you, hermano?” Calling Pope brother was almost a code between them, a word only used when it meant something, when it was time to listen. The word a special signal between just the two of them, brothers in all but blood. 

Frankie could hear Pope’s smile through the phone, a low chuckle almost in relief, “I’m good, hermano. Still in Florida, still with Linda.” Pope had started dating her back when Frankie had been deep in his addiction, and he’d only met her twice, neither time a very good memory. But from what he’d heard from Benny, she made Pope happy and they were good together. 

“That’s great, man, I’m happy for you, I…I know I didn’t make the best impression on her, but she seemed great for you.” 

“She is, and I’m…” Pope trailed off for a few seconds as Frankie heard the sound of someone moving on the other end, a low ‘bye, love you’ from Pope, and a door closing. “Sorry, she’s just off to work, yeah, she’s amazing, I’m really happy, found some peace, you know?” 

Frankie shuffled his boots on the rough concrete floor of the tack room and leaned against the workbench, a sudden spout of jealousy tightening his throat. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m happy for you, really, man. It’s great to hear that you found it.” 

“What about you, Fish? You still clean, doing ok out there in cowboy country?” 

Frankie could hear the smirk and the exaggerated twang in Pope’s voice and he chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m good, still clean, still working the ranch, but…uhm...Eva and I broke up. She moved to New York a while back.” 

“Shit, sorry to hear that,” Pope replied, “But I…” 

“Listen, man,” Frankie interrupted Pope, he didn’t want to go into the whole business with Eva over the phone, and he could hear his friend gearing up for a longer conversation, “I was thinking last night. I know I’ve been shit at staying in touch, but I want to change that. I’m not coming back to Florida any time soon, but maybe you and the Millers could come out here? I wanna show you guys my life out here.” 

“Frankie,” Pope smiled down the phone, “I’d fucking love that, and you know the Miller’s won’t say no to some ranching. Let me talk to them, we’ll find some dates that work and let you know.” 

“Awesome, man, it’ll be good, I’ll make sure Herb books you into one of the nice cabins.” 

“And get me a horse that won’t buck me off,” Pope laughed at the other end and Frankie grinned. 

“I’m not promising anything, might put you on the mule.” 

“Fuck off,” came the instant reply. 

“You’ll love the mule, Pope,” Frankie laughed before he glanced over at the saddles waiting for him, “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, we’ve got guests coming tomorrow,” 

“Alright, hermano, we’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Yeah, see you soon, hermano.” 

Frankie felt the smile stretching his face as he hung up the phone, he felt lighter already. Guilt and shame had kept him away from his old friends, and reconnecting might not be easy. But this was a small step towards it and he needed to move forward. Put Eva and New York behind him, get over Aisling, learn from his mistake and rectify those he could. With a deep exhale, he hoisted the first saddle off its perch on the wall. 

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sunk behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’s left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind hurtling down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugged at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

Aisling turned around and crossed the road, the bright lights of the gas station at the edge of town spilling across the dusty asphalt. She pushed open the door and nodded to the clerk behind the counter, dropping her bag by one of the small tables next to the coffee machine. His number was already in her phone, but she hadn’t had the courage to call him yet. But now she was here, and he was only a short car ride away. 

She closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer, and tapped Frankie’s name on the screen, pressing the phone to her ear as it rang. 

Chapter 7

A/N: So Aisling finally got herself out to Montana on a bit of a whim, spur of the moment decision. But how is Frankie going to react when she suddenly turns up on his doorstep?

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @amyispxnk @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury @typewriter83 @anoverwhelmingdin @vabeachazn

[starlightingsss]

mad woman (laxus x reader)

my man so fine ong 🤭🤭

part one

dialogue is not my strong suit yall.

as night fell, the other 4 started setting up their camp.

well not necessarily the other four , just the 3 that you wreaked havoc onto her guild, while the blonde sat and stared at her, a blank expression on his face.

she was a little lost on what to do or how she could help, until he seemed to snap out og his thoughts and walk over to her.

"shower." he instructed, handing her a towel.

"excuse me?" she snapped, indignantly.

"go take a shower." he repeated, irritated with her already.

"we're in the middle of nowhere!" she hissed, not appreciating his tone.

"theres a waterfall a few hundred feet to the left," he grunted, pointing in the direction as she took the towel and walked away.

after an hour or so, she returned.

"jeez! you took forever! even longer than me!" evergreen remarked, putting down the fish she was eating.

the other 3 just continued in their hushed conversation, as she sat with them by the fire.

they were all eating fish, and she was a little hungry too. but still a little too shy to ask, so instead, she stood up and walked around the clearing - looking for berries on some of the bushes.

"what are you doing?" laxus snapped, watching her walk around.

"looking for something to eat." she replied defensively, as she finally found some berries.

"in a bush?" he sneered, raising his eyebrows.

"berries." she snapped.

he scoffed before portioning some of his fish for her, as she picked from the bush.

they continued in their conversation, not paying much attention to the girl. before freed turned to her, and asked her, "where do you plan on sleeping?"

"in a tent..?" she said, confused.

"in which tent," freed said curtly, elaborating, "either with us or with laxus."

"how about you all stay together and i get a tent to myself?" she piped, not liking either of her options.

"now don't be like that," bickslow laughed, as his puppets mimicked.

laxus narrowed his eyes before deciding for her, "you'll just stay with me."

eventually they finished their meal, and evergreen returned, and they all retreated into their tents.

"do you snore?" she asked, as she watched laxus get ready for bed.

"do you snore?" he snapped in reply, annoyed with her question.

"is that a yes?" she asked, as he shrugged. uncontent with her answer, she grunted and laid down to sleep.

after a few hours, laxus was awoken by screaming.

he mumbled some curses, before lighting the lamp, and seeing her drenched in blood, with her ribs protruding from her chest, her back arching and hands clawing into the ground.

despite all of this, she was still sound asleep, and laxus didn't seem to know what to do except wake her.

once he recovered from his shock, he neared her, shaking her awake, as her eyes snapped open.

she gasped as she realized what had happened to her in her sleep, before 'fixing' it.

"i'm so sorry.. this just happens sometimes when things happen to me, it's totally nothing, im so sorry." she mumbled, to a shocked laxus, who just shook his head and told her it was fine.

after that night, they packed up their camp, and their track back to the guild was pretty short, even thought they ran into a vulcan or two.

as they re-entered the blososmimg town of magnolia, it seemed it was just in time for their annual harvest festival.

she had heard a lot about it, it was a nationally renowned event - people woukd travel from all over to see it, and to watch the fantasia parade.

there was also a kind of pageant taking place, miss fairy tail.

as they all walked, the green haired guy and laxus continued in whispered conversation, they appeared to be arguing in a way.

when they finished, they told "ever" something and she backtracked tappning y/n on her shoulder.

"you're going to join our guild." she proclaimed, not leaving room for argument.

"i'm already in a guild."

"well! you're going to join ours," bickslow cackled, "my babies love you already!"

"don't be so sure yet, makarov still needs to approve her." freed spurred, his voice still stern.

"that old geezer will let her in justttt fine," laxus snapped, "just in time for the miss fairy tail contest too!"

"excuse me?", i asked, insure exactly why he wanted me to be in the pageant.

"with that pretty face, you'll win that 500.000 jewel just fine, can't have you lounging around for free!" laxus thundered, wrapping his arm around the girl.

as they approached the guild hall, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

laxus and the rest of them practically blew the door in, before storming their way into the guild hall, invoking a ton of whispers and stares.

"oh! laxus, you're back in town!" smiled a white haired girl, mirajane strauss - i recognized her from a few magazine covers.

laxus just scoffed in her direction, before making his way over to the guild master, who was sitting and just drinking.

"well?" the master asked, as laxus stood in front of him.

laxus tugged me in fromt of him, "she wants to join the guild."

the master seemed to sober at that moment, staring at the girl, taking in her face and her figure, "shes a mage?"

"of course shes a mage!" laxus snapped, "wouldn't bring in some weakling.."

"laxus, let me speak with her." the man instructed, as laxus scoffed and walked off, climbing the stairs to the second floor.

"so," makarov said, swinging his feet a bit, "what magic do you use, y/n?"

"is it really important?" i growled, coming off harsher than i should have.

"well it is a wizards guild!" he said, still jolly, "i don't sense any particular magic power from you.. but you might just be powerful enough to conceal it."

"bones. i control bones, they speak to me, i instruct them, they obey. every bone in your body, every bone in my body, every bone in the world." i replied briskly.

"no wonder laxus brought you over here.. is there anything else you can do?" the master continued, humming and swinging his legs on the bar.

"some shadow magick, some requip .. a bit of rune magick too."

"shadow magick? could you elaborate on that?" he murmured, seeming to be deeper in thought.

"i can merge with that shadows, sneak around." she munbled, "it's not really anything."

"well! you certainly are a mage.. a quite powerful one at that.. im glad to say, welcome to the guild, y/n!" makarov said, before announcing to the guild, "now you buffoons welcome our new member!"

"YEAHH!!!" yelled out a pink haired guy, before he launched himself at her, slamming her straight into the floor with a fire engulfed punch.

"OI! NATSU YOU MIGHTVE KILLED HER" the master exclaimed, in shock, before the girl got right back up.

"oi natsu! hands off my girl." thundered laxus from upstairs, who was now leaning over the balcony.

"OHOH A FIGHT!" natsu exclaimed, "happy!", as a flying blue cat lifted him, launching him at laxus as his fist was now again engulfed in fire. laxus struck him down mid air with lightning, as natsu laid on the floor knocked out, his cat next to him.

the girl just stumbled out of the rubble, as laxus made his way down stairs to meet her. his arm wrapped around her waist as they both exited the guild as quickly as they came.

[thebest-medicine]

Day 12: Bites / Nibbles

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - Mighty Nein C2 - lee!Caleb

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: [continuation of this] in which Yasha and Beau get some tasty revenge on Caleb [continued here] [read it all on AO3]

Words: 766

—

“Hey Beau?” Yasha says from her perch above Caleb’s hips.

“Yeah?” Beau replies from over Caleb’s head.

“I’m kind of hungry.” 

“Oh, are you?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ve been really craving ribs lately.” Caleb listens to the sound of his own frantic breathing, trying to gauge exactly where Yasha is. His skin begins to crawl. “And these look absolutely delicious.” 

“What?” Caleb cries with a gasp. “No no no no- Yasha dohon’t!” His struggling starts to really pick up, not that it does him any good pinned beneath Beau and Yasha. Caleb’s face and neck are flushed, his ears burning from all the teasing, but at least he is spared the extra embarrassment within his shirt. 

Yasha starts to move and Caleb makes a sound between a whine and a squeal, getting louder and more panicked the more he feels her leaning forward.

Beau is beaming, smug and satisfied, down at the lump of cloth that is Caleb below her. 

He’s babbling some semblance of a plea by the time he feels her warm breath against the skin of his lower ribs. “Nein!” He squeals, kicking harder behind her. 

Inevitably, the warmth is followed by the sensation of lips pressing against his lowest rib. He nearly chokes on the next squeal that starts to rip out of him- and then, oh fuck, teeth?

Yasha gently clips her teeth over his skin, lightly nibbling against the protruding bone. Caleb squirms and wriggles beneath her, only adding to the surface area of his sensitive skin that connects with teeth and lips. She moves up a rib, then another, taking her time nuzzling and biting at each. 

“D-Du wirst mihihihihich noch mahahaahaha- aha! Ha nein! - noch mal umbringen ahaha!”

Beau tries to discern what Caleb is saying beneath her, but he’s just babbling in Zemnian at this point. 

She chuckles and uses her hands to hold his arms just below the elbow, stretching him out further. As soon as she does, he shouts some things - Wischer, Arschloch, Hodenkobold - that certainly sound like unfriendly words in Zemnian at her. 

“What’s that?” She laughs. “Still haven’t learned any manners, huh?” 

Caleb finally gets in a full breath, relief washing over him when Yasha pulls away to look at Beau. “No, I don’t believe he has.” 

“Wait, wait- I’m sorry I- hehe’m sorryhehe- listen. I,” he hiccups, caving, “I don’t deheheheserve this.”

“Yeah? You don’t think so? Not after your annoying little fucking tickle spell?”

Caleb is tellingly silent.

“Yeah, and since we can’t do that,” Beau continues, shuddering for a fraction of a moment at the memory. “We have to get a little more physical, so, this is what you get.” She rearranges her hands until she’s just pushing down his elbows with her palms, but her fingers can reach into the shirt pile tucked up around Caleb’s head and trace against the sensitive skin on the undersides of his arms. Caleb squirms. “Yasha? Your lunch.” Beau laughs.

Yasha grins at her and lets out a silly, playful growl. “Om nom nom nom nom.” Caleb is squealing, kicking again before she touches him. She teases him as she dives back in to nip and tickle along his rib cage with her mouth. Her fingers come around to poke and pinch lightly at his sides, and Caleb’s squirming starts to pick up further. His wriggling grows more and more desperate as he shakes his head, twisted up in the disorienting pile of shirt he is wearing over his face. It’s not long before Caleb worries that he might snap his own spine in half, writhing and twisting uselessly beneath two dangerous ticklers as Yasha nibbles on and on and on. Beau’s fingers twitch and wriggle methodically on the sensitive undersides of his arms as Caleb laughs and shrieks beneath her.

They keep at him for a while longer until he starts hiccuping between laughs and Beau pulls down his shirt to check on him. She notices his face has grown to a dangerous shade of red. “Learned your lesson yet?” Beau offers. Yasha stops nibbling and rests her chin on Caleb’s chest, watching him curiously.

“Bitte, ja- yes. Hehehe-” Caleb caves.

“You gonna be fucking nice?”

“Are- are you hehehe going to be fucking nihihiice?” Caleb counters, earning himself a pinch to the ribs that makes him gasp and let out a little shriek. “Fine! Yes! Yes!”

Beauregard grins. “Say please.”

Caleb rolls his eyes before huffing out a breath and giving her the angriest glare he can manage while still smiling up at her from his shirt prison. “Please.”

[loveemii]

PLEASE..

can you do an inosuke x reader where the reader is similar to him???!???

for ex:

she grew up in the mountains

she attracts animals/has exotic animals

dresses a little.. 😧

u get the point 😭😭

love u and ur work 💕

hey anon! i LOVE this request i can definitely see this lmao 😂 (p.s. you are so sweet and i love u too also thank you it means a lot to me💕) - enjoy :)

ꨄ—————————————————————ꨄ

y/n and inosuke are completely alike they both grew up in the mountains and have inhuman like behavior, while inosuke grew up with boars y/n grew up with many other animals. she lived in the rain forest most of her life so she was very exotic and definitely WILD.

when they first met inosuke obviously wanted to fight y/n and took her animal instincts into charge and agreed, while they fought inosuke used mostly low attacks since he was raised by boars and on the plus side for y/n she ended up winning since she had experienced life with other animals and not just one kind.

“H-how the hell did you win?!”

“Because I’m Y/n L/n Goddess of the Rainforest! And don’t you forget it!”

y/n had a similar laugh to inosuke except it was a little more high pitch later throughout inosuke grew a certain type of fond over her, and his second nature kicked in when he caught y/n changing into her night clothes while they stayed at the butterfly mansion.

when i say night clothes i mean a black lingerie dress, ever since he had been trying to catch that moment again and not in a crappy way although it did seem like it was since he was inosuke and didn’t really know abt that stuff.

in the morning when you woke up he was just looking at you but he was quiet, you got annoyed easily and got mad that he was being annoying but just looking at you.

“What the hell are you looking at? You obsessed with me or something?”

y/n spoke in annoyance, inosuke got pissed and he began to shout things that y/n wasn’t even listening to at this point.

“What the hell did you say?! I am not obsessed with you! YOU JUST LOOK SEXY! AND I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”

after he said that sexy part about y/n she ended up grabbing her pillow and throwing it really hard against inosuke’s face she then jumped on him and pushed the pillow down on his face after a while they stopped fighting.

one day as they walked through the woods for their next mission y/n sensed a Toucan and began to swing up into the trees looking for it, she made these Toucan noises and it gave her something she went back to inosuke who had this sour look on his face

“What the hell did you just do?”

“Got directions bastard.”

“From that thing? And who the hell are you calling bastard?!”

“You little-..!”

y/n punched inosuke’s ribs and they both heard some break inosuke then went on his arms and arched his back forwards facing y/n and kicked her head down to the ground.

they began to fight, once again..sigh

ꨄ—————————————————————ꨄ

hey! i really hope this is what your looking for anon (ToT) - please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes thank you :)

[driftward]

3) fully clothed x stark naked

For witchshield please!

For witchshield? Well, what can I do but oblige. Still making my way through the inbox, and as usual, the work is beneath the cut. Content warning: explicit sex happens

~*~

Y’shtola stepped out of the washroom, having finished her bath, still toweling herself dry. As she began to head towards the bedroom where her clothes were, she happened to look over and see Zoissette, not at all subtly pretending to be spying on her over the top of the book she was supposedly reading. Her eyes trailed slowly from Y’shtola’s head to her toes and back, before locking eyes with Y’shtola and pretending to have just been caught, moving the book up to hide her face.

Y’shtola stopped, and just laughed, crossing her arms to lean against the door frame.

“Will you never tire of these antics?”

“I am certain I do not know what you mean. Also, no.”

Y’shtola just shook her head. “It is well that I enjoy your attentions, but I feel I must needs point out that you see me near every day.”

Zoissette set the book aside, and held out a hand towards Y’shtola. Y’shtola pushed off the doorframe, setting the towel aside, and sauntered over, still nude, to where Zoissette was laying on the couch.

“I see the same ocean, the same mountains, the same plains, for days, sennights, moons in many places,” said Zoissette. “Every day, they are the same in the usual ways I expect. But also every day, they’re a little different. Usually in predictable ways. Sometimes in surprising ways. And every day, they are beautiful, too. So why not you?”

Y’shtola’s smile grew softer as she came close, taking Zoissette’s hands and moving to straddle her on the couch, sitting on her knees, her weight just below Zoissette’s ribs.

“You become poetic when you are feeling sentimental.”

Zoissette ran her hands gently up Y’shtola’s sides, from hip to arm and back down, detouring enough to flutter fingers on the counter of her breasts. “I am always poetic. I just usually keep it to myself. Nobody likes a boor.”

Y’shtola leaned forward a little to place her hands on Zoissette’s stomach. “As though I could ever find you such. But pray tell, what little ways do you see of me?”

Zoissette’s face softened. “Grace. Confidence. That you do not need me to tell me you that you are beautiful.” She picked up one of Y’shtola’s hands in her own, gently pressing a thumb into the palm. “That you move like a dream. That you stand straight and tall, in the face of every challenge. Intelligent, strong, every day, my Shtola.”

Y’shtola let out a little pleased ‘hmn!’. “And what of those things which change?”

“I think you are friendlier than you used to be. No, that is not quite it. More open, perhaps?”

“Such as I have learned from you.”

Zoissette let go, and ran her hand up Y’shtola’s arm, coming to cup her hand against a cheek. “Have you?”

“I am still wont to keep my own counsel, in the end.”

“And I would have it no other way, and could not even if I wanted to. Ever willful Y’shtola Rhul.”

Y’shtola laughed, and ran her fingers up Zoissette’s chest a little. “As if you did not know me well enough by now, and if you could not accept such, more the fool you.”

“But I do.”

“But you do, and so all is well.”

Zoissette rubbed Y’shtola’s cheek a little. Her eyes crinkled a little in wry amusement. “The gentle touch of time. The fine lines of crow’s feet,” and her other hand traced Y’shtola’s side, “some wrinkles for taste.”

Y’shtola huffed, annoyed, her ears folding back slightly as she now sat back and began to cross her arms. Zoissette sat up a bit, her reach giving chase.

“Well now. Perhaps I ought to be insulted.”

“No, no. Hear me out.”

Y’shtola frowned, but did not move further, and Zoissette reached around her. She smiled, an apologetic thing, as her fingers found the base of Y’shtola’s tail, and began to gently massage the sensitive muscles that existed where tail became spine.

“You are attempting to change the subject by mollifying me,” said Y’shtola, her voice going low, as her eyes half-fluttered shut seemingly of their own accord. Behind her, her tail waved back and forth.

“Mollify, a little bit. But, no. I do not want to change the subject. I want to be serious, for a moment.”

Y’shtola looked into Zoissette’s eyes, and she saw an unusual sternness in them.

“We are not young, Shtola. Nor are we yet old, but we do both near our fourth tenyear. I know you have your vanity-”

Y’shtola huffed.

“-and you have your ways. Forever twenty summers, indeed.”

“Merely guidance to live a life well.”

“Yes. I know. We have talked about it before. But we can maintain that vigor, that wonder of youth, and also accept that we are aging.”

“I am in no hurry to join Matoya as a wizened old crone.”

“And yet in Matoya’s countenance, the evidence of life lived. Rather than regret that we are no longer young, I want to celebrate that we are still alive. And I want to see the evidence of that, as it develops. I want… I want to see the lines on your face grow deep. The seasons of the shieldmaiden, as trees turn with the star, as the sands of time flow.”

“I am in no hurry to rush forward and meet the future.”

“Neither am I, but I do want to accept it, as it meets us.”

Deft fingers continued to massage Y’shtola’s tail muscles, and she had to admit, it was very nice. The feeling was radiating out from there, just a plain sense of simple pleasantness, flowing through her body. She uncrossed her arms so they could support her as she leaned forward.

“You call it vanity, but I maintain my appearance for myself and none other. I exult in it, as it is not only a celebration of myself, but a demonstration of my skill in living my life as I see fit.”

“I know. I am not talking about trying to please the eyes of others, but being satisfied with what we see ourselves. You are beautiful to me, and I do not think that will ever change. I do not think that it can.”

Zoissette flexed her fingers, now, scratching. Y’shtola curved her back into it, and made a soft, satisfied noise, bringing her hands forward, to knead gently at Zoissette’s chest.

“And there is still much here to exult in yet,” said Y’shtola.

“I never said there was not. In fact, I think I am trying to say the opposite. I celebrate it, all of it.”

Zoissette dropped her hands, to cup Y’shtola’s ass on either side with a squeeze. Y’shtola walked her hands up, up Zoissette’s chest. She pulled herself forward, until she could comfortably lean on Zoissette’s shoulders.

Gods, she was so much muscle.

“And though our lives are joined now, our early experiences were very different,” said Zoissette, her voice not quite unhappy, but definitely quiet. “I was dead in my twenties, Shtola. Killed in my thirties.” Zoissette shifted, fingers back in the cluster of tail muscles, now, and Y’shtola arched her back, feeling fingerprints of pressure push deep against her muscle. She murred, and the end of her tail twitched with the luxury of attention. “Only as I see my fourth tenyear do I feel like I am remembering to age again.”

Y’shtola placed a hand gently on Zoissette’s cheek, and pushed herself forward, again, this time far enough she had to crawl a bit, until she could comfortably bring the two of them together, and gave her the gentlest and softest of kisses, slow, tender.

One of Zoissette’s hands wandered up the side of her stomach, and fingers played along a breast. Y’shtola made a gentle noise of appreciation.

They separated, and Y’shtola played her fingers through Zoissette’s hair as Zoissette treated her with a small smile.

“You have near made your case,” she said, gently tapping Zoissette on the nose. “Long though our path has been, and not without difficulty. You would remember our age. I would remind you of what vigor you yet have.”

“The two are not exclusive.”

Y’shtola’s tail swayed, slow. Carefully.

“Prove it.”

Zoissette laughed, and pulled Y’shtola down, and they kissed, once more. Y’shtola, bare and naked in the air, Zoissette still in her outfit of the day. Zoissette placed her hands on Y’shtola’s bottom, and pulled her gently, even as Zoissette tried to move herself further down the couch. It took a few moments for them to figure one another out, but shortly Zoissette was rather more directly beneath Y’shtola, and Y’shtola was nearly sitting on Zoissette’s face.

Zoissette’s hands moved to Y’shtola’s hips, strong and firm, and she positioned her to exactly where she wanted her to be. Y’shtola, her legs bent, on her knees so she could more easily control how much weight she brought to bear, allowed herself to be lowered.

And then the kiss, lips meeting. Y’shtola used one arm to steady herself, and the other hand she reached up, to cup her own breast, to knead her fingers into its flesh while Zoissette’s tongue explored her crevasse.

It was quiet in the room. This was not, despite their banter, a moment of vigor and heat. Passion, to be sure, but a slow, patient passion, as Zoissette’s head mouth tongue lips made slow, carefully measured movements. A long slow lick against the labia. The firm push of lips. A kiss to the clitoral hood before retreating again. Y’shtola lifted her head, closing her eyes, facing heaven, while she tried to buck her hips against Zoissette. But despite the far superior leverage she should have been able to exercise, it was Zoissette who was controlling the experience. The firm grip of her hands and press of her fingers informing Y’shtola where she wanted her, and Y’shtola obliging willingly.

A long, slow way of making love. Zoissette only periodically having to tilt her head back to take a breath, before plunging in again. Y’shtola feeling the building of the waves, beginning to push back a bit more, and Zoissette letting her, letting go of control. Y’shtola bucking her hips further. Curling over herself. A moment of not knowing what to do with her hands. Take Zoissette’s hair in them? Take control of stimulating her own clit with her fingers? Keep a hand free to maintain her balance?

None of it mattered, and all of it was lost, as the first full wave pulsed up through her spine and was released from her mouth, as she cried out. In the end, she kept her balance by pressing her fingers through Zoissette’s hair, fingers intwined and tips bearing into her scalp as though her life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

She took several deep gasps, finding herself again, and Zoissette pushed her hips up just a bit, tilting her head so she could breath, so she could speak.

“This is a terrible way to continue a conversation,” she said.

Y’shtola laughed breathlessly. “Are you certain? I fair believe you have made quite the convincing argument.”

“Hmn,” said Zoissette. “Closing statements.”

She pulled her back down, and Y’shtola almost pushed off of her just to be an imp about the matter. But then her tongue was in her again, and oh, the talent that tongue had. Experienced, it knew Y’shtola well.

And while it was strong, and its initial foray eager, it quickly slowed, showing patience, stamina, determination. All those qualities that Y’shtola loved in Zoissette, and loved in their love-making, and it was not long until her eyes were rolled back and she was riding the building pressure again. Zoissette was taking her time, going slow, but not allowing it to ebb at all. Meeting small not quite waves, building them up, and letting them out slow.

The next wave was a crash, and Y’shtola was near certain this one had killed her. As it subsided, and she could hear Zoissette gasping for breath beneath her once more, she allowed herself to be free, to lose herself, to laugh in a moment of true openness.

She let go of Zoissette’s hair, and this time, she did push away, and Zoissette let her go. She shifted, to use Zoissette as a bed, and held herself tight against her, still giggling between breaths.

Zoissette petted a hand through her hair. “I did not think I was that funny,” she said.

Y’shtola just shook her head. “Forgive me, I know not what comes over me,” she said. But she was still smiling, as she rested her head on Zoissette’s chest. “Perhaps it is the culmination of this argument, and the proof is not merely in your words but in your tongue. Perhaps it is the practice that comes with age - and in putting it to use, you make me feel so young.”

Zoissette kissed the top of her head, and she curled up.

“Or mayhaps it is that I must needs shower, again, as someone interrupted me on my way to finding my clothes.”

“I apologise,” said Zoissette. She did not sound at all apologetic.

Y’shtola brought up a hand, to walk two fingers up Zoissette’s chest. “Well. I am not sure I am fully convinced. But, I think on one thought, we can agree.”

She pushed herself up, and looked down at Zoissette, running a hand through her hair fondly.

“I look forward to growing old with you.”

Zoissette pulled Y’shtola’s hand out of her hair so that she could turn her head and kiss its palm.

“That is all I can ask.”

“You may ask for that, and still more. And I may yet deliver it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Always. Now, though, I find that as this bliss fades a bit, I am rather cold, and shall be taking that wash. This time, might you let me actually get to my clothes?”

“Maybe.”

Y’shtola laughed, a youthful, joyful thing, and she pulled herself off Zoissette, and headed to the washroom.

[wrencatte]

i accidentally started writing a follow up to the life in my veins is molten, which is not a fic I'd planned on writing a follow up to. I have so many other fics that need their follow ups.

People are arguing.

Jason ignores it in favor of luxuriating in this wonderful soft bed with the haze of good drugs fogging up the pain he still feels deep in his neck and feet and, well, everywhere. He wasn’t so out of his mind to forget about last night – and it was probably last night. The color of his closed eyelids tells him he’s next to a window and the sun is up, for the given meaning of ‘sunup’ when it comes to Gotham. He knows Tim and Stephanie came for him; he remembers using the last of his energy for that circle. He remembers staring up at Cass, half-believing what he was seeing.

So, he knows where he is. He knows he’s safe. Just like he knows the argument is happening between Dick and Babs. Just like he knows someone is in the room with him, quiet and small enough he’s pretty sure it’s Cassandra. Jason doesn’t want to move, so he doesn’t. He hears a door open and then a weight drapes over his legs, carefully avoiding his knee. Steph lets out a loud, dramatic sigh.

His hands ache when he lifts them to sign a shaky, “Get off” without opening his eyes. He drops them to his stomach, annoyed that doing that is enough to exhaust him.

Steph laughs. “Good morning to you too,” she says quietly, probably to keep the others from realizing he’s awake. She really is his favorite sometimes. “How you feeling?”

Jason wiggles his head in some form of a so-so gesture. He curls his hands into fists, his index fingers left extended, and points them at each other, bringing them together twice. “Hurt,” he admits.

Even with the drugs, he can feel the deep ache in the bottom of his feet, can feel pain sit heavily in his neck to press against his throat. His hand hurts more than he thought it would, and those memories are vague. It’s a blur of panicked hope and someone shouting as he finally tore free and scrambled for the first weapon he could find, hand curling around it tightly so no one could take it from him. Pain – pain and desperation and terror –

“Breathe.”

He hadn’t realized he wasn’t. Jason sucks in a sharp breath that hurts. Cass’s hand is in his hair. Steph hasn’t moved from her spot on his legs and it’s more of a comfort than it should be. He can feel her ribs press against his shin as her chest expands with each inhale. It’s probably uncomfortable for her, but it’s literally the best thing in the world right now. A living weight instead of the cold, impersonal pressure of that room.

[sunflowerboymilo]

Hello I must talk about Hobie Brown or I will actively die. I have been hyper focusing on this man since I saw ATSP. This is a collection of things that I’ve seen others pointed out or my own thoughts compiled into one big list. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE

The scene where Pavi, Gwen and Miles chase Spot to the force field just before Hobie shows up gives us the basic premise of this technology. It is “impossible” to go through. Miles tries anyway and is struggling with it.

Absolutely no hesitation from Hobie as he blasts through the force field with a wave of sound and a kick.

He does a cool pose. What a nerd.

Hobie canonically knows how to get through the force fields, which makes a lot of sense for his character.

Him and Pavi have a v cute moment and he definitely gives big brother energy.

He immediately knows who Miles is by Universe, which is interesting, isn’t it?

Despite Miles showing obvious irritation/dislike for him, he gives him advice, but also ribs him. Huge big brother vibes to the spider band. Also confirms that he knows exactly how to dismantle the force field and then teaches Miles.

Goes against the dynamic of how every other spider person has introduced themselves.

“And I was bitten by a … wouldn’t you like to know?” >:) Hot

Refuses to show off secret identity which is weird right? He just said his name. Specifically, he doesn’t show his face until Spot isn’t close by. Is he worried about retaliation?

We learn he is an activist, an anarchist, hates the AM, hates the PM, hates labels.

I personally think that his rant about hero being a term used by “self-mythologizing narcissistic autocrat” is targeted. Probably at Miguel who we later learn very much thinks of himself as the good guy.

This man has read Marx and that’s hot.

Him and Gwen are close and this annoys Miles. He brings it up casually and is very nonchalant about her leaving stuff at his place. I def think they are platonic. Specifically I think he’s queer and she’s like way too young for him.

“Are those my chucks?” “Heh.” SIBLING VIIIIIIBES also someone pointed out that specifically her shoes don’t change like his do and that they’re in her size which probably means he bought them and pretended to leave them out

Him saying he doesn’t believe in teams is interesting to me. He’s an anarchist. What do you mean he doesn’t believe in teams??? Nah nah I think this is much more specific. One of two possibilities I think. 1) Lost a lot of people and teams are scary. It means you care about someone and trust someone, and you could lose them. 2) He’s specifically taking about the Spider Society and/or another “team” that screwed him over/other people over. Juries still out, but it doesn’t make sense.

He hates consistency, yet he’s consistently funny? Doesn’t believe in comedy, yet he makes me laugh so much? Curious 🧐

He and Gwen are immediately going to pick Miles back up after the blast from Spot. Mans cares.

“I’ll do it, but not because you told me to.” DYING. STOOOOOP

Him and Gwen do the exact same technique to pull up the building which means more than likely he taught her that.

This man is wearing full skinny jeans, doc mhartins, leather vest and carrying a guitar. He is DEDICATED to the aesthetic.

Despite knowing that Pav is supposed to lose either the inspector or his Gwen, he immediately goes to help save her.

Does not scold or patronize Miles after he “messed up”. Encourages him and hypes him up.

“It’s a metaphor for capitalism.” 💀

“I don’t follow orders and neither does he.” Hobie is trying to persuade Miles not to go back to HQ. He already knows something will happen if he goes, but he follows anyway knowing.

“I was this cool the whole time.” YEAH YOU WERE!

“Bit much, innit?” Slowly building up negativity to the society. He knows how to talk people out of joining things like this.

GWENDY!!! Adorable and not being scolding

“How much have you told him? Bout his place in all of this.” Assessing the situation while Jessica is right in front of them and can most likely hear everything.

Also knows A LOT about what’s going on. That Miles is a key player, an anomaly. That he is someone who means a lot to his friend, Gwen, and that he matters in taking this place down.

“Maybe not enough.” Miles doesn’t even know about glitching, which means he’s coming from a place of ignorance to the whole thing.

“Apart from having a great name? Yeah it’s super cool and not creepy.” Planting the seed about this place whereas Gwen is downplaying the red flags.

“Bet this doesn’t even do anything.” Actively stealing from this place to build the watch more than likely, and is showing the security theatre of the place. Showing Miles that this place isn’t as high tech and air tight as one would think.

“Propaganda, bro! It’s to distract you from the truth.” His voice is so sincere here, and it’s for sure how he feels. But when Miles pushes back, he changes tactics.

“I ain’t got a Scooby Doo mate.” Yes he does. He knows something, or at least has theories. Also keeping it nonchalant and chill so as not to upset Miles, which would push him further into the Society.

“That’s what they want.” He is correct though. We’ve seen they keep things from people in the society if they think it will make things go smoother.

“Why do you want to be apart of this stuff?” Trying to figure out what he’s missing from home that would make him want to join this cult

“Make your own watch.” Not only does he believe Miles can do that himself, but he’s actively stealing parts to do just that.

The little roll he does and hanging off that thing 😍😳😩🥵 God he’s just so casually hot

“Bet you got a nice set up, nice parents.” Checking on his living situation, establishing if he has parents what kind of relationship he has with them.

The way he looks at Miles when he says he got in a fight with his parents is very telling. It’s like a seriously? kind of face. In the comics, he is an orphan which I think will carry over, so it makes sense he might be jealous.

“That’s a bloody shame. Cuz you’re not ready for everybody else.” He knows about the canon events and if Miles dad isn’t dead, he won’t want to join if he knows.

Trying to convince him not to join, and almost pitting his happy home life against the Spider Society. After that line it immediately cuts to Miguel which means he knows about Miguel’s hatred for him/intentions for him

Physically puts himself in Miles way to block him from going forward.

“The whole point of being Spider-Man is your independence. Being your own boss, you don’t need all this.” Trying to convince Miles right before they go in. He has a chance to run right now without all the chaos that will happen. He’s trying to give him a chance to run.

“Then why are you here?” “Looking out for my drummer is all.” He’s looking out for Gwen and for Miles. Putting himself in a place that allowed horrible stuff to happen to him and his friends. More stealing for the watch.

“Alright, squashed! But don’t enlist until you know what war you’re fighting.” Doesn’t want to test Miles or Gwen when they still have allegiance to this place. Giving him one last piece of advice so he continues to ask questions and not blindly trust.

Hobie is actively hiding in the shadows trying not to be noticed. Obviously knows Miguel is a threat.

He looks so anxious when Miguel speaks to Miles. Knows what’s to come and is ready to throw down. Possibly afraid of him.

Seems unphased when the box is thrown at Miles. Bad home life? Knows Miguel’s temper is bad?

Immediately eats the Empanada. Based.

The little wave he does. It’s so sarcastic and obviously making fun of him.

Puts his feet up on something, acting all cool and aloof.

“I’m ain’t even here. Or here.” He’s testing Miguel’s patience and having a blast doing so. Also he’s sneaking around looking at shit and being fairly open about it.

“The kids an anarchist.” V cute, loves how it pisses of Miguel

“Taking a crap on the establishment? I salute you.” She obviously knows him as she likes being picked up by him. V cute together. He’s great with kids.

Kind of fades in and out as the tension escalates.

“Yeah what of it?” Defensive much? Was once close with a cop. My personal head cannon is that something forced him to kill a cop and he’s embraced it. More than likely the fact that in his universe in the comics Venom is used on cops to make them stronger.

Reminds Miles how to break free when he is panicking.

THAT SMIIIIIIRK 😭😍😳

“Just for the record I quit.” Actively leaving the watch so no possibility of being tracked and in the middle of the commotion so nobody is paying attention.

Makes a watch for Gwen!!!!!! Also he makes it all punk which confirms that stuff from his universe stays punk after leaving, interesting.

Joins the Spider band!!! He def believes in teams.

Editing to add “You’re not helping.” “Good.” Like god he’s such a rebel and actively antagonizing the situation bc he knows where this is going. Thank you Robnicole for the note!

Also adding to point out that his Docs are laced with blue shoelaces which if you weren’t aware is a code in the punk community. Blue signified you’ve killed a cop.

[trrickytickle]

ICarly: Tickle Headcanons 🎥📺

I kid you not this song goes so hard

ok this feels SLIGHTLY offensive to write for some reason, but I enjoyed it a bunch, request for @tickle-beans

Carly Shay 🌐

As a ler: Her years of living together with Spencer have made her a professional ler. She's mastered quite a few techniques, including tummy-squeezes and dreaded claws of anticipation.. Gangs up on Freddie with Sam, because obviously! Also always gets her chances to get revenge on Spencer, who always teases her for being ticklish when really he's where she got that gene. Once collaborated with Socko to create tickle socks for the show. Most def switch vibes up the wazoo, and is the type to laugh while tickling her ler. Will come up with tickle activities for the webshow (because she HAS)

As a lee: Carly's very obviously and canonically got a ticklish tummy, and it's even canon that Spencer tickles her to cheer her up/annoy her most of the time. They ABSOLUTELY tk fight literally because it's so canonically implied and sibling dynamics have some of the best tickle potential because like??? HELLO. Sam and Freddie also tickle her frequently. A more general headcanon I have is that Carly gang sans Spencer also tickle each other a ton. Her worst spots besides her tummy are her sides and armpits.

Sam Puckett 🧦

As a ler:

Feral as a ler. Will literally just jump at wherever she can tickle and tickle it good. Likes to tease- but it sounds more like threatening. She definitely gets more injured than the lee when she's tickling someone (Freddie and Carly, mainly) and likes to chase lees with wiggling fingers. Knows all of Freddie and Carly's spots, even has charts of them because you know, feral. Whenever a tickle fight starts between the gang, the word "fight" sends a feral response into her brain and she becomes evil asf like she already is. Let's face it, she probably has some strange tk tool, think butter sock. When she goes on to live with Cat, she's the main ler for her, same goes for Carly. Doesn't help that she's stubborn and ticklish and iCarly probably has had a ton of tickle episodes though. Always takes advantage of Freddie's ticklishness because he's Freddie. The butt of the joke, duh

As a lee-

Kicker. Scrapper. Squealer. All of the -ers. Will curse people's firstborns. Spencer is the only one who can manage to hold her down- has the advantage of size. Freddie always tries to tickle her but she turns the tables immediately. Ticklish literally everywhere, only Carly is able to tickle her successfully even IF she does bite- or probably worse. Definetly worse. According to the DGITVSCU (Dan Get In The Van Schneider Cinematic Universe) Sam literally is banned in 6 US states. I'm scared of her, always have been.

Freddie Benson 📽️ As a lee: Always been tickled, like his whole life. Ticklish everywhere, most often tickled by his senile mother AND to make it worse, his friends. Most frequent ler is Sam, who's the most evil ler out of the gang. Honestly, scratch the "his friends" part. Mostly Sam. Still, though, singled out as the lee of the gang. Also bro wears like, the same 5 polo shirts. It was just funny so I pointed it out. Has a loud, wheezy and snorty laugh, which Carly, Sam and Gibby (and potential other guest stars) think is hilarious- well except the main 2 girls, they secretly find it adorable of the love triangle thing they got going for them.

As a ler: This man is out for blood and revenge. Favorite spots to tickle are the sides, ribs and armpits, and always revenge-tickles to no avail, except when he does. He would engage in great switch-banter with any of the girls, though.

Spencer Shay 🎨

As a lee: Reluctant, but doesn't hate it. Often tickled as a bribe by Carly and/or the iCarly crew (most frequently as a means to convince him to do Baby Spencer) Worst spot is his tummy much like his similarly creative sister. Will get tickled as a means of performance art or anything similar. I want this guy as a brother so bad. His laugh is frantic, loud and he's a thrasher but tries not to hurt his ler. Will shut his eyes and whatnot and try to retaliate using his strength advantages.

As a ler: Corny, cheesy, fatherly. Incredibly dorky, will make dad-jokes and play tickle games, as well as pretend to sculpt his lee (typically Carly) like clay. Has lots of fun as a ler, it's all in part to his duty as the fun, paternal figure to be good at tickling. Her favorite spot to tickle is the tummy (it's Carly's worst spot, sooo) and reluctantly takes part in the iCarly.com tickling escapades. Has tickle techniques memorized and whatnot, and enjoys making his lee immobile by pinning them.

[argisthebulwark]

WIP Whenever feat. Arnbjorn & Vyrth

thank you my beloved @elfinismsarts for tagging me<3 <3 Here's a little snippet of what I've been working on in the background. It's unfinished and hasn't been edited quite yet, still very much a WIP :) Tagging some friends: @debaited @pav0-ocellus if u guys wanna share some bits of ur beautiful writing <3

Arnbjorn hated it when she looked at him like that. He hated her big eyes that bore straight into his soul and the annoyed wrinkle in her nose. Most of all he hated the smirk she always got when she caught him looking.  He swore that he detested the Listener. Arnbjorn tried to keep his distance from her but the Sanctuary was only so big. It was nice when she took contracts - he could breathe a little easier, only had one clown to worry about. Sometimes Cicero tagged along on her missions and Arnbjorn got a few days of peace and quiet. He could go about his work mending everyone’s weapons without her shrill voice intruding on his solitude.  Being around her raised too many questions. He’d decided long ago that it was easier to not think about them. Arnbjorn was comfortable in his life - wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Sleeping was the only time his mind tended to wander but he’d learned how to avoid thinking about the things that haunted him.  Despite his insistence, Arnbjorn couldn’t help but worry when she was gone for too long. The others didn’t seem too worried about her - ‘she’s fine. She’ll be back soon. She probably had other errands to take care of.’ If they weren’t concerned, why was he? Why did it worry him when the Listener didn’t return? Why did he want to see her? She always came back, of course. He had no clue how she was so effective as an assassin when she loudly announced her presence the moment she bounced through the door. She was always noisy - giggles echoing through the Sanctuary and regaling the new recruits with every gory detail of her contract. Arnbjorn kicked himself for lingering in the main hall for longer than necessary, nursing whatever meal he’d been eating just to hear her story.  He noticed that she never talked about why it took so long. She’d laugh it off or tell some joke - ‘I considered abandoning you lot but decided against it.’ ‘Had to restock on candles since assassins live underground these days.’ For some unknown reason he yearned to know where she went.  “Looks like it’s just the two of us.” The Listener sighed and Arnbjorn snapped out of his thoughts. He’d been so lost in his own head he hadn’t realized all the other members leaving, there was no one to buffer for him. No one to draw her attention away.  She dangled her glass between lazy fingers, a flush in her cheeks from the wine. Arnbjorn ignored her pointed look at his own unfinished food or the knowing smile on her face. It was too easy for her to get under his skin. She could do it with a single look. No one had ever bothered him so much before.  “You were gone a while.” Arnbjorn commented and willed her to look away. He noticed the dark bags under her eyes and fresh bandages lining her arm. She was exhausted. “You worried?” “Just making conversation.” “Maybe I have a secret life.” Her grin was predatory. Arnbjorn wanted to look away but refused to be the first to break eye contact. “I could have a whole family I never told anyone about.” “Sure, sure.” Arnbjorn began gathering his dishes, intent on leaving the room. He couldn’t talk to her this much, couldn’t stand being alone with her. “I could have a husband, maybe a couple kids.” That stopped him in his tracks.  What the fuck was happening to him? His heart was railing against his ribs so hard it hurt. Why was he angry? The thought of her having a family shouldn’t make him upset but gods help him, it did. Rage sent his blood boiling in his veins, face undeniably hot. It was exactly what she wanted.  “Would that bother you?” The Listener's head cocked, white hair spilling over her shoulder. Her eyes were locked on him. Arnbjorn cleared his throat and turned away, hoping it looked casual. “That’s your business.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Copycat: Genesis —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: May you are mother -Danny

Words: 1,741

Phase Six Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Sad Girl’ -by Valley Boy

iv: Aunt May

Cat woke up on Parker's bed, even though she remembered falling asleep on the couch. She sat groggily and pushed her curls away from her eyes. Peter was in the shower, so her anxiety didn't blow up right away, her hearing was way better than the day prior.

Something itched on her neck and she reached to scratch it, then winced when she came into contact with the tender skin, but at least the blisters had vanished. Memories of the last couple of months forced her back onto the bed, and once again she stared at the ceiling not knowing what to do.

She was completely safe for the first time ever, she could go out looking like Copycat and no one would try to hurt her. Best of all, she had a Peter Parker to keep her company. The distance between her and her universe (and the dangers that lived within it) lifted her spirits.

Parker walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, he had a dark blue hoodie on and a pair of worn-out jeans. The cut on his hand was looking better, but it was still red and a little swollen.

"You patrolled last night," she stated.

He stopped in shock. "Did I wake you?"

"No, but I can smell it," she vaguely pointed at the suit under his clothes. "You still don't wash that thing. Where are you going?"

"School," he said. "And I'm late. I'm sorry, I really wish I could stay but it's not like I can pause my whole life— But don't worry, I won't leave you alone."

Cat hesitated. "You're not taking me to school?"

"No, of course not," he grabbed his backpack from the couch and started to collect several items from around the apartment. "I called May. She helps at a welfare organization, and they're looking for volunteers. I told her my friend Janie was visiting and she was interested, so you'll stay there until I finish my day."

Cat's heart did a summersault. "I'm meeting your aunt?"

He gave her an annoyed look. "Why is she getting that reaction when I got stabbed?"

"Because every May that's ever existed is probably the sweetest woman in every universe," she retorted. "And I didn't stab you that badly. I stabbed my Peter in the rib and he barely complained!"

"We'll go back to what you just said in a moment," he raised a brow, Parker grabbed a square bandaid from the kit on his coffee table and put it over his wound. "But there are a few things we need to clarify first."

"What things?"

"Your story."

Cat made a face. "She'll want to know about me..."

"There's a way to keep it simple."

"I'm listening."

Parker sat at the foot of the bed. "You're Jane M. Maximoff, born in Sokovia but left early in life. You've lived here and there with an eccentric uncle but he died last year, and you were left on the streets because you used all of your money trying to save him—"

"And I'm here because..?"

"I invited you over and you accepted to come."

"I'm poorer than you are."

"Why do I feel that's coming out with disdain?" He frowned.

"Well, not towards you," she said. "I just don't know if your aunt will believe that. How would you even afford to look after me?"

"Oh this is very on brand for us Parkers, don't worry about it," he brushed it aside, getting up and hanging his towel where the small window let a bit of sunlight hit. "If anything, she'll be super proud 'cause I took in a friend in need, she'll try her best to help us out."

"You're manipulating your aunt so she feeds us for free?"

He snorted. "My aunt will manipulate us, trust me."

Cat wanted to laugh, but she stopped herself from doing so. It didn't feel right when she'd left behind a dying friend running for his life. Parker noticed this and he spoke in a gentler voice. "We can work as fast as humanly possible and you'd still have to wait at least a month. You'll probably resent me..."

"I won't." He gave her a look and she felt forced to explain further. "I lost my suit, my weapons, and my secret identities... all I have is this," she gestured at herself, "flesh and bone. And you saved that."

"That's not so bad, you still have thumbs," he replied humorously. "You want to go back, don't you?"

"Obviously."

He picked up his backpack and hung it on his shoulder. "You say you have to go back, that you should — but you don't sound exactly eager to do so..."

"No. I'm going through a process of grief," she said, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. "I'm probably doing it wrong, 'cause last night I was pissed, now I'm okay, so it's obviously not in the right order... maybe I'll stare at the wall in denial until you get me out of here."

Parker's lips twisted into a bemused smirk, tight-lipped and discrete, yet transparent. He didn't want to laugh, but Cat had a way to describe her tragedies that made them too funny.

"Okay, well, I'll try my best to work while you're not in a zombie state," he pointed at the closet. "Get dressed, I'm leaving you with May on my way to school."

"About that," she mentioned, "what are you going to do to get the beeper working again?"

Parker shrugged. "Gotta replaced the broken pieces, see if it works the same way as the last even if those belong in my universe... it might just implode the moment we switch it on..."

"What?"

"I'm just messing with you," he grinned, walking towards the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, Janie, I'll figure it out. Enjoy your time-out."

Cat scowled at him, she didn't want to leave everything to him, but at the same time, it was a nice change to be looked after instead of carrying her own weight every second of the day. She wasn't going to admit that out loud, though, Parker would be insufferable otherwise.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop glaring," he glimpsed at her over his shoulder. "If my aunt sees you're miserable she'll file for adoption papers and then she won't let you leave her side—"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why were these shoes in your closet?" Cat looked down at the sneakers she was currently using. "Am I using your girlfriend's clothes? Cause that feels invasive—"

"No, those aren't—" he turned and face her without stopping, Cat didn't worry about him crashing against things, but she still gave a start at the action. "I got the idea from you."

"What idea?"

"To keep a pair of women's shoes in my closet just in case."

Cat bit her lip to avoid laughing. "Just in case one of your hookups loses their shoe?"

"No." His cheeks were turning red. "Maybe. I don't know, I just thought it was a good idea!"

The mutant let out a short laugh that died too quickly for Parker's liking, but at least she'd laughed, so that was an improvement. "Gotta say the shoes feel extremely intuitive, and it doesn't help that you went to my world just to kidnap me."

"Why would I kidnap you?" He rolled his eyes, turning his back on her.

"Lonely men do weird things. Just look at Billy Russo building his entire plan around the fantasy of choking me to death..."

"Russo's a jackass," he said bluntly. "If I ever run into him..."

"That's something my Peter would say," she chuckled. "He kinda did, when he saw me after all those years apart."

"We are variants of the same person," he hummed in agreement, "but not exactly the same, you know? I still am fifteen inches taller, right? I'm older—"

She looked at the building ahead. "Is that the place?"

Parker nodded, when they entered, the young man got showered with a string of greetings, most of the people there were over thirty, which brought her back to her days being the Avenger's youngest asset. It was only when she reached the main room that she realized this was the same building her May had worked in. She was still in a New York, and that would have to suffice for a while.

"Hi May," Parker gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. "This is Jane..."

Cat waved at the woman. "Hi."

"So you do exist," May beamed. "Such a sweet-looking girl! Did you have breakfast?"

It'd been a long time since she'd interacted with someone whose first reaction wasn't to poke fun at her. It made her uncomfortable. "No. Sorry."

"We left the apartment in a hurry 'cause I'm running late," Parker explained to his aunt, he checked his watch and circled her, kissing the woman's other cheek. "I should get going, actually— see you in a few hours, Jane! I'll pick you up, so don't leave this place alone alright?"

"Okay."

"See ya!"

Parker ran out of the building leaving a severely stressed Cat behind. He hadn't mentioned an important part of her story in this universe: How they first met. May placed her hand on Cat's shoulder to get her attention, she was a short woman.

"How's your stay in New York going?"

"It's been nice. Uneventful," she smiled awkwardly. "I'm not used to having all this free time..."

"Peter told me about your uncle," she patted her back, "I'm so sorry..."

"I've had enough time to grieve... it's funny, people worry about how we feel when our tutors die, but they never care about kids struggling to navigate the adult aspects of life when there's no one to teach them... I don't wanna sound like a brat or anything..." Cat stopped, realizing she was rambling.

"Oh no no, it's completely okay," May eased her. "All that happens once you become an adult, if no one teaches you to handle it, it can feel like a maze with no exit."

"That's exactly what I mean. You're the smartest woman on earth, May," she grinned. "Can I call you May?"

"Aunt May if you want, dear. Come this way, I'll introduce you to everybody."

The mutant wanted to tell her how much she'd missed her, but this wasn't her May, she didn't look like her at all. Worse yet, she would never see this version of May again once Parker took her back to her universe, so she had to keep some distance between them.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go over to that table and take clothes for yourself."

Cat stepped back. "I don't— it's not—" but it was, so she made her way to the table with a somber air and picked whatever she felt would do in the meantime.

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae​​​​ @ieatpanicattacksforlunch​​​​​​​ @jesuswasnotawhiteman​​​​​​​ @siriuslysirius1107​​​​​​​ @greengarsstuff​​​​​​​ @itsyagirl01 @23victoria​​​​​​​ @espressopatronum454​​​​​​​​ @jkthinkstoomuch

[trashyswitch]

Do you have any tickle headcanons for Henry?

-FoxBat

Ler:

-This man is a playful, silly ler with a great sense of humor while he's doing it. He treats every lee like royalty and uses specific teases, specific tickle strategies and specific aftercare ideas for each person. -With William, he is more of a carefree, almost embarrassing individual with jokes out the wazoo. He often usually tickles William to prove a point, make him admit to lying, or just to get him to shut up. -But if you piss off the man (Which William has obviously done many times), then DEAR GOD, RUN WHILE YOU CAN. Henry will turn into an absolute menace. It's almost like something in him will snap out of place momentarily! He will chase you down, capture you in a slightly rough manner, and completely destroy you with tickles in your worst spots. And the most confusing part? He'll start off with the most annoyed, pissed off face while tickling Will to pieces! But eventually, he'll calm down and continue tickling William with a bit more of a smile and a calm spirit. But William has grown to both relish in this crazy side of Henry, and also grow terrified of this side of him. It's a complicated relationship with this side of Henry, for sure. -For Charlie, he is the most innocent, loving, and silly dad to ever live. He just loves giving his little girl lots of belly and armpit tickles while assuming his role as the infamous 'tickle monster'. But his tickle monster's a bit different. Henry's tickle monster is blind (he takes off his glasses to make it more convincing) and pokes around with his hands to identify what ticklish spot he's tickling. -Example of tickle monster dialogue: "Ooooh! This little spot feels veeeery soft! And squishy! And not to mention, quiiite ticklish~! Is this your belly, by any chance?" -For aftercare, he'll often make her a chocolate beverage depending on if she's hot or cold, and he'll snuggle her while watching her favorite cartoons. -For Mrs. Emily, he just loves getting into casual tickle fights with her! He prefers rib and neck tickles for her, and absolutely loves tickling her neck with his beard. -When Charlie's asleep, his tickles with his wife become more affectionate with kisses and cuddles. One of his favorite things to do with his wife, is hold onto her with her back against his chest, and tickle her while whispering loving compliments and affirmations into her ear. This gets her all blushy and giddy, which in Henry's opinion, is capable of making the coldest heart just melt. -For aftercare, Henry will cuddle his wife and kiss the top of her head and/or her forehead for hours if she needs it.

Lee:

-This man is a cute little lee, actually. The people around him just love to tickle him to make him smile, make him laugh, or to lessen his stress momentarily. How he reacts to these tickles will depend on where you tickle him. -If you tickle him on his belly, ribs, or sides, He'll often curl his body up like a turtle and flop onto his side while kicking his widdle feetsies. If you tickle him on the neck, he'll most likely snort and lift his shoulders up in an attempt to cover up his neck. -If you tickle him on his feet, he'll arch his back and throw his head back with the loudest laughter possible while occasionally clapping his hands. -As you can tell, his feet are his most ticklish spot. Though you can tickle him a little on almost every spot. And of course, everyone in his life has used these spots to their advantages. -William often loves poking him in the ribs just to keep his stress levels evened out. But he'll go a bit farther if he's being unintentionally stubborn. William actually proved himself to be an absolute crook by telling Mrs. Emily all Henry's tickle spots when she first met Henry. Henry then proceeded to wreck William in front of her, showing a bit of that pissed off reaction to her for the first time. -Mrs. Emily is loving to Henry whenever she teases and tickles him. She absolutely loves tickling his neck and ribs, making him blush and snort all the while. She also loves bunching her long hair into a makeshift brush of its own, and using it to tickle his neck. He often calls it 'unfair', while she retorts by saying "Why would you need long hair if you have your facial hair to tickle with?". -Believe it or not, Charlie loves tickling her father back. And to everyone's surprise (especially Henry's when he found out mid-tickle session), Charlie is able to give big, powerful raspberries! Henry had been giving her belly raspberries, when she declared that she wanted to try raspberrying him back. Thinking her attempt would fail, he let her try over his shirt. But DEAR GOD, was he wrong to underestimate her! Henry genuinely bursted out laughing, which only ended up encouraging her. Henry ended up becoming a complete mess of giggles and laughter after about 6 raspberries back-to-back. It blew her parents' minds, especially Henry's at the time! That's the end of my headcanons! I hope you enjoyed!

[koala-fluff]

Here we go! The second part! Just one more after... Hope you guys enjoy!

(Enid and Wednesday are my favorite characters and you can probably tell from this post...)

---------------

✨ Wednesday Tickle Headcannons Part 2✨

Wednesday Addams

Lee Headcannons

Obviously, she denies being ticklish even if someone is tickling her

Doesn't change the fact that she is anyway

Is the most resilient out of the group

Will never laugh to something as childish as tickling

Shockingly, she is one of the more ticklish out of the group

Is just ticklish everywhere, but is so good at hiding it no one notices

Poking and light tickles do not effect her if she is expecting it

Will hold her breath and glare at her attacker if they try

It used to be that she would break her attacker's fingers when they tried

But now...

She kinda grabs their hands and pushes them away

(Enid probably effected her more than she thought)

Her initial laugh is quiet and breathy, almost inaudible

But if you get her good...

Her true laugh is this raspy cackle with a few squeaks thrown in

She will deny she squeaks, but that is a lie

There is a point on her ribs where if her attacker squeezes it, she will instantly crumple to the ground

After that, she will probably get up like nothing happened. She is a tough girl after all

Thing knows this spot, but has been sufficiently threatened to never reveal it

Thing also tickles her quite frequently without terrible punishment

Except her vengeance

The first person to figure out she was ticklish was Eugene, because of his defender bees

Teases do not work on her

But, compliments do

She is so used to people just insulting her, that getting an honest compliment puts her off

That combined with the vulnerability of being tickled just completely flusters her

In all honesty, she doesn't completely hate being tickled, as long as her attacker is someone she trusts

She kinda made herself touch starved and lonely, so obviously tickling is a great cure for that

Her worst spots are her ribs and her forearms

(also, Jenna Ortega has dimples, ergo, Wednesday has dimples. I have not been able to stop thinking about this fact so now I curse you all with it)

Ler Headcannons

If she intends to tickle you

RUN

This girl has learned all of the ways to properly torture someone, and that includes tickling

She is by far the worst Ler in the group

Every single time her friends have tried to tickle her, she just turns the tables

No one can hold their laughter if she's tickling them

Gentle is not in her vocabulary

She will go straight for the kill

And she will tickle her victim to tears

She will pin her victim down and go to town

Plus, she has Thing on her side

She never used tools. Using her own hands is more fun

She will find any reason to tickle her friends

Too loud? Wrecked

Too hyper? Wrecked

Too annoying? Wrecked

Looked at her weirdly? Wrecked

Interrupted her writing time? Double Wrecked

Does tease her victim with a straight face

"Are you ticklish here?"

"Bad spot? Noted."

"What if I do this?"

"You are really ticklish."

To add on to this evil Ler energy:

She loves to build anticipation

It's just another way to torture her victim

She will go days on end, reaching for their sides, whispering that they have a limited time left, wiggle her fingers from across the room, etc.

All with a completely straight face

Or a slight smirk if she's feeling especially wicked

She will do this until either they break, or she grows bored

At first, aftercare was not a thing for her

Until Enid talked to her about it

Now, she will get some water and wait next to her victim, occasionally asking if they're ok

✨Bonus Secret✨

If you think she will be completely straight faced while wrecking someone,

You are wrong

When her victim can't see her face,

She will smile

Not smirk, smile

A massive, bright smile

Of course, she will wipe it off her face as soon as they are done

But if you somehow open your eyes discreetly,

You will see a beautiful sight

Enid Sinclair

Lee Headcannons

THIS LITTLE, TICKLISH BEAN

(sorry)

Anyway

This girl is really ticklish

It's honestly a shock that no one found out about it sooner

She tries to deny that she is ticklish, but her bright pink face would say otherwise

Has barely no resilience to tickling

She can hold out for about thirty seconds before giggling like mad

Light and hard tickles are super effective

Sneaking up behind her and poking her back will make her jump ten feet into the air

Will bolt away giggling if someone says they'll tickle her

Any variation of the word 'tickle' will send her face aflame

Giggles if someone wiggles their fingers at her

She will grab onto her attacker's hands, but never push them away

Squirms

Her laugh is as bright and loud as her side of the room

Definitely snorts and squeals

The first people to figure out she was ticklish we're Wednesday and Thing

That was an... Interesting day for her

She %100 loves being tickled

I like to think werewolves are very physically affectionate and she was tickled all the time as a child

When she didn't wolf out at the right time, that stopped completely

Now, she has found that affection in her friends

Will deny that she likes it, but no one believes her

She's just too obviously happy to not enjoy it

Teases of any kind are the death of her

She will melt into a puddle of embarrassed giggles if someone teases her without tickling her

Calling her "cutie" will make her cover her face, even if she is being wrecked

Her worst spots are her stomach and her back

Also, her cheeks are ticklish

Ler Headcannons

If there is one thing she loves almost as much as being tickled, it's tickling her friends

If she finds out one of her friends is ticklish, her eyes will light up like the moon and she will immediately pounce on them

She will smile the entire time as she tickles someone

Is definitely super playful

Loves chasing them down

Is somehow good at teasing, despite her own weakness to it

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna getcha~!"

She is probably just very distracted

Still can't say 'tickle' when tickling someone

Will give raspberries to her victims

Also, claws

CLAWS

My goodness, her claws are deadly

Enjoys lightly tickling them along with wrecking

She gets so many adorable reactions when she tickles lightly

Will bring her victims somewhere comfortable when they're done and cuddle them

Such a cuddler

(I fluffing love her more than life itself)

Bianca Barclay

Lee Headcannons

Is only ticklish in a few spots

Won't deny her ticklishness

If someone asks, she'll answer honestly

Is the second hardest to tickle

Has a great resilience to it

Teases and wiggling fingers do not affect her

In other words, she is really hard to get

Is not ticklish on her sides, ribs, or stomach

People try and she will just shrug then grab them to dish out what they tried to serve

This makes people believe she isn't ticklish

Her laugh is very loud and high pitched

Cannot use her siren powers when she's laughing

Doesn't necessarily hate being tickled, it's just not something she thinks about frequently

Her palms, feet, and neck are her worst spots.

She is also ticklish on her knees, though they're not as bad

The point where her gills come out in the water is especially sensitive

The first person in the group to find out she was ticklish was actually Enid

Ler Headcannons

Only tickles people if they tickle her first or if someone recruits her to help

Will use her siren powers to keep her victim from running

Has used her siren powers to make them tickle someone else

Basically, she can be a menace with that power

Her nails are pretty deadly

Never tickles people for too long for retaliation

Not unless they ask...

If someone wants her help to tickle someone, she will go along with it

She knows they'd probably drag her into it anyway, so might as well get it over with

Will tease people in a bratty way

"Are you seriously this ticklish?"

"I'm not killing you, stop being so dramatic!"

"Not here? I mean, I kinda feel like staying here, so sucks for you."

Grows to like tickling people the more she hangs out with the others

Will help her victim to the kitchen when she's done and get them some snacks and water

---------------

My goodness, Bianca's is so much shorter than the other two's... Whoops. Hope that's ok!

Part three will come out soon. (It is also the one I'm most excited about!)

May you guys be blessed with a good day/night and don't anger Wednesday into tickling you!

[writingfics-passingtime]

Hide and Seek

~6500 words of ler!loki fluff

CW: light swearing. Otherwise SFW.

As you army-crawled through an air vent of the Avengers Compound, you reminisced on some of the times the euphemism “sticky situation” was most applicable to you.

There was that time when you got the hiccups during a funeral. A mild embarrassment, nothing too drastic.

Another time, perhaps a bit more drastic, is when the branch you were perched on cracked just as an enemy convoy was passing underneath. You scrambled for another hold and managed to swing your body behind the large oak tree before the bullets could catch you.

Or that time an enemy clocked you from behind and knocked you unconscious. You woke up in a cage that was about to be dropped into the ocean when one of your colleagues, undercover on the bad guys’ side, took them all out and pulled you back onto the boat. That one took a little while longer to recover from, emotionally.

You could list off dozens of these cases. All of them mostly turned out okay because, hey, you were still alive. But dodging bullets, escaping cages, and a loud hiccup during a eulogy paled in comparison, in your mind, to the situation that had occurred not ten minutes prior to you crawling through this vent.

It was a relatively quiet morning in the compound. Most of the team, including you, had returned from a peacekeeping mission two days prior. Injuries were healing, nothing major, some minor scratches and bruises. Sam had a cracked rib and that was the worst of it really.

Leaving the comfort of your bed, you showered and slipped on some exercise clothing for the recovery training you’d do later in the day, then left your bedroom. Yawning loudly, you walked down the hallway to the kitchen in search of coffee. Wanda had just made a fresh pot. You could have kissed her. Instead, you hugged her tight from behind, declaring your love, and she cracked a smile, pouring you a mug and handing it to you without a word.

You blew on the steam as you two walked into the living room together and sat on the armchairs, chatting about the training you’d do later today and the movie you’d watched with Peter and Bruce last night.

“Ah, good morning, fair maidens” Thor’s voice boomed cheerily as he passed through the living room and noticed the coffee in your hands, nodding approvingly and seemingly going in search of his own.

“Where’s Vision?” You asked, taking another sip and leaning back in the chair.

“Mmm,” Wanda swallowed her sip and smiled, rolling her eyes, “Off doing this and that, being a pain in my ass.” Her playful tone told you she wasn’t actually annoyed at him. You giggled, knowing Vision had his ways of being painfully… Well, Vision.

“What’s he up to this time?”

“What’s who up to, this time?” Thor asked as he plopped himself down on the largest sofa, comically small cup of coffee in hand.

Wanda shook her hand dismissively, “Vis has been trying to be a more traditional boyfriend. Being sneaky and playful, trying to surprise me, things like that.”

“Ah! Excellent,” Thor grinned with a single nod of content. “He means to make you feel happy.”

“He does,” Wanda agreed, “Though I’d appreciate him not trying to jump out and tickle me every time I walk into our bedroom. Oh, ‘scuse me.” She noticed her phone ringing from the table and summoned it to her hand with her magic, as if it were a normal thing that someone would do.

Thor laughed and pointed at Wanda as she rushed out of the room, “Yes, a classic! Jane used to love it when I would get her laughing.” Wanda rolled her eyes but flashed him a smile as she left.

“She did?” You asked, carefully and incredulously. You and Thor were now alone in the living room.

“Oh yes,” Thor smiled and sipped his coffee again. “Women love to pretend they hate it, but it makes them happy to be tickled.”

You felt a bit of blush creep into your cheeks so you raised your mug to your lips, “I think that depends on the woman, Thor. Besides, not every woman is ticklish.” You cleared your throat and sipped your coffee nervously.

“I’m afraid I agree with the young agent here, brother.”

Your stomach tightened a bit as Loki sauntered into the room. Great. The last thing you needed was the tall, dark and handsome God of Mischief entering this conversation. He sat himself in the armchair across from you and made himself comfortable as he eyed the coffee in your hands, perhaps considering finding a cup for himself.

“Morning,” you smiled briefly and politely, then turned to Thor to try and change the subject, “How is Jane, anyway?”

“Oh she is very well, she-”

“Now, hang on a moment,” Loki interjected and looked at you with curiosity, though you could see a flash of mischief behind his eyes. “I don’t believe this conversation was over.”

“You’re right, Loki. It’s not over. We segued into something else,” you explained slowly and snarkily, like he was a child, “That’s how conversations work on earth.” You tried your best to look casual and collected, but you couldn’t ignore the pricks of heat in your cheeks. Neither could Loki and, now that you just talked down to him like an infant, he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Oh, but I had questions,” Loki mused, “because if it depends on the woman… how about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you ticklish?”

You scoffed to hide the alarm bells that went off inside your head. Loki leaned forward in his chair, eyes trained on you to read every movement and reaction. You knew you had to tread very, very carefully. Loki learning you were helplessly ticklish was not high on your list of things you’d like to happen today. Being around him, you already had to compose yourself enough to not get flustered by his intense stare, his harmless flirting and playful nature. He already had enough power over you. But you couldn’t say no, because everyone says no and that’s just asking for it, so you tried to play it off.

Shrugging, you looked him calmly in the eyes and smiled, “Sure, a little bit. Isn’t everyone?”

Loki looked at you suspiciously, still trying to weed out any weakness, “And you’re just admitting that, are you?”

You laughed and shrugged again, “Why would I lie? People who try to tickle me get bored after a couple seconds because my reaction isn’t juicy enough. It’s not that bad.” You sipped your coffee and shot a glance at Thor, who seemed to have bought it.

“So where are you most ticklish, young maiden?” Thor asked innocently. You laughed again and shook your head, placing your coffee on the table and turning to rest your legs over the arm of the chair. You needed to appear relaxed, unafraid.

“That’s not information people willingly divulge, Thor.”

“Come now!” He laughed, “Why not? I’m most ticklish right here,” he declared, pointing to his hip. Loki watched your breath become shallower, still deciphering, plotting.

“Of course you’re not afraid to admit it, you’re incredibly strong,” you pointed out. “The rest of us have to contend with mere human strength, and the looming threats of demigods who would find any excuse to torture us.” You shot a glare at Loki, but felt the colour drain from your face when his features noticeably lit up with victory.

“Torture?” He mused, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “Strong word for someone who’s… now, how did you put it? Just “a little bit” ticklish.” He put air quotes around the words he used against you.

“You know what I meant,” you scoffed again but a nervous laugh slipped through.

“Brother, I think I’m making her nervous,” Loki commented with a glance at Thor.

“No you’re not,” you lied, but you felt your composure slipping.

“Do you enjoy it?” He suddenly learned forward again, grinning when you flinched.

Your heart started beating just a little bit faster. “E-even though it’s not that bad, I still don’t enjoy it.” You tried not to stammer through your fib.

“Why not?” Thor laughed heartily, “It’s fun!”

“Not for everyone,” you snapped back a little too anxiously. Frustrated at yourself for losing your composure, you tried to reign it back in.

“Aw, come now,” Thor winked at you and teased, as if it were obvious to him, “You know you love being trapped and made to laugh.” You visibly shifted in self-consciousness and Loki’s plot began taking shape.

“Well she’s only ever been tickled for a couple of seconds, brother,” Loki interjected again with a false innocence, as if he were clarifying a fact. He then shot forward to the edge of his seat, elbows resting on his knees, a viscous smirk plastered across his face, speaking slowly and agonisingly, “How do you know you don’t enjoy it as Thor does? If you’ve never been trapped and made to laugh.”

“Hmm. You make a good point, Loki. You should consider that,” he nodded to you and sipped his mug, now fully aware of the devilish duel of wits and composure between you and his younger brother.

Your head spun as you tried to gather yourself. This couldn’t be happening. How did all the stars align for this conversation to occur when less than five minutes ago you were drinking coffee and chatting with your best friend?

“The same way I know,” you started, controlling your breathing, “That I wouldn’t like my leg to be cut off.”

Loki laughed sharply and leaned back again in his seat, like a lazy king on his throne. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he dismantled you with his eyes. You immediately knew you’d spoken too drastically again.

“Your leg. Cut off.” He played with his fingers and spoke to Thor, not breaking his gaze on you. “The girl is unbelievably ticklish, brother. Look at how flustered she is.” He titled his head down and gave you a downright predatory stare, “She’s terrified of what I’m about to do.”

“No I’m not!” You urged through clenched teeth, but it was just the panic of being caught. The panic of Loki declaring his intentions. Loki stood slowly, and you quickly got to your feet and leapt behind your chair for protection. Thor looked on in amusement, knowing full well that you were screwed. It was going to happen, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Drop the act,” Loki sighed and tugged his sleeves slightly away from his wrists, “and let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Loki, no.” You readied yourself to bolt.

“You never answered my question,” Thor laughed from the couch and wiggled his eyebrows at you, making this all so much worse. “What’s your most ticklish spot, little spy?”

You opened your mouth to protest but closed it again. Loki put his hands in his pockets and cocked his head, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “A useless question, brother. She’d only lie,” he sighed, cocked his head the other way and hummed sadly, speaking as though the situation pained him, “I’ll have to find it myself.”

“Don’t.” You held out a hand and flinched again, but he hadn’t yet moved. For some reason, his look of calm indifference was much more terrifying than the mischievous smirks and grins he wore before. He looked at you, stone cold, then tilted his head towards the door.

“Would you like the mercy of a head start?”

“I- You-... you can’t-” Your knuckles turned white from your grip on the back of the armchair as you stammered nervously. With a growl of frustration you took off down the hallway.

You’d always been quick and light on your feet, a trait that served you well as a spy. Something that didn’t serve you well is how short of a time it had been since you moved into the compound; you didn’t know many secret passages or good places to hide. Granted, it hadn’t been long since Loki had been brought here to stay, so he probably didn’t know either.

Not wanting to disadvantage yourself by trying to determine how far he was behind you, you opted to run as far away as you could before seeking a place to hide. Maybe he’d search each room on the way. Maybe he’d give up if you hid for hours.

A glimmer of hope appeared at the end of the hallway you just turned down. “Peter!” You whispered loudly. He whipped his head around in confusion as he saw you quickly approaching. In a split-second decision, you decided it would be better if Peter didn’t know why you were running. You loved the kid like a little brother but, hell, he had no poker face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reading panic on your face. You quickly grinned.

“Hide and seek,” you lied, pulling him by the arm to run with you. “I need an air vent entrance.”

The teenager’s eyes lit up with joy and he grinned at the prospect of helping you win the game, and that you trusted him to A: know where the secret spots were, and B: keep your secrets safe.

“This way,” he whispered back and kept running in the direction you were already going. A door slammed in the far distance behind you, so you knew Loki was now on the move. The chase was on.

He led you into a large foyer area and you felt very exposed, turning to keep an eye on all the entrances. “Up there!” Peter pointed to the ceiling and you winced in panic. It was at least forty feet from the ground. You looked at him with pleading eyes and he grinned, holding his hand high in the air. He shot a web at the ceiling and was pulled towards it quickly. His fingers fiddled with the latch as he grunted, “it’s stuck!”

“Hurry!” You whispered loudly. Another door slammed closer by and you gasped in panic, your stomach growling with a lack of food and your nerves being on edge.

After several more agonising moments he declared, “Got it!” and pulled himself inside.

Not three seconds later, you sensed a presence in one of the foyer entrances about thirty feet behind you. You froze.

“Disappointing,” Loki’s dark rasp filled the room, “I would have thought you’d come up with a better escape route.”

You turned to look at him, but concealed the smirk on your face. He didn’t think you had an escape. He didn’t know about Peter. You held your hands high in the air, appearing to Loki as if you were surrendering, but Peter knew what to do. You heard the small sound of release and, less than a second later, felt a strong stringy substance wrap around your knuckles and interlace through your fingers. You clenched your fists and smirked at Loki before tugging to signal to Peter.

Loki noticed what was happening and charged at you with a growl, but it was too late. Peter’s super-strength and the stretchiness of the web careened you towards the ceiling where he caught your hands and pulled you into the large vent, releasing the webs from your fingers after you were safely inside. You stuck your head out of the vent and grabbed the side of the panel.

“Better luck next time,” you called to Loki and slammed it shut, suddenly losing your false confidence and breathing deep breaths of relief. “Thank you, Peter. You saved my life.”

“But… he found you,” Peter’s eyebrows knitted together, “Doesn’t he win?”

“He has to catch me,” you explained.

“W-why are you so nervous?” Peter chuckled, clearly confused.

You sighed and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s better I don’t tell you,” you smiled sadly, “You’ll need plausible deniability if Loki catches you too.”

“What, why?!”

“Thanks, Peter!” You whispered loudly and turned, and rushed in a crouched scurry towards where you thought your room may be.

So there you were, crawling through the vents on your stomach so you could move as quietly as possible. You peaked occasionally through one of the panelled doors, only once catching sight of Loki, who looked eerily bored. You occasionally paused to listen and feel for another presence in the vent, but none came.

With your general knowledge of the building you were in and the peaks you got at the hallway, you thought you’d be able to find the vent to your room, which would be a safe-haven. Though, it was proving difficult. Your watch told you you’d been in the vent for forty minutes and you felt pretty lost.

“Friday,” you whispered at your watch. “Please show me my room.”

“Of course,” Friday whispered back, following protocol to be subtle if spoken to in secrecy. A hologram appeared showing your room in its current state.

“Any life detected there?”

“None at all.”

“Great, please lock the door.”

“Door has been shut and locked.”

You heard a door shut and lock click not too far away and you swelled with hope. The compound was programmed so each patron had full exclusive access to their room, which could only be overridden in case of emergency. You couldn’t see into anyone else’s room, no one could see into yours. It was a feature you were very grateful for at this moment in time. Suddenly, the hologram of your room was replaced by Tony’s confused face. You audibly gasped and slammed a hand over your mouth to keep quiet.

“Hey, Jason Bourne,” he quipped, clearly in the middle of something in his lab, “What are you doing in my vents?”

“Hiding,” you shrugged.

“From?”

“Loki.”

“Uh-huh. And why, might I ask?”

“... Personal reasons.”

“I see,” his head tilted down as he did something that sounded like tightening a bolt. “You know, I’d probably meddle in whatever little game you’re playing if he hadn’t thrown me out a window when we first met.”

“Considering I’ve never thrown you out a window, how about you give me access to the compound data so I can track his movements?”

“Hmm, nah,” he winced as he tightened the bolt to its full security, “I’m firmly Switzerland. But bet’s on you, superspy!”

And with that, his face was gone. You breathed a sigh of relief and crawled towards where you heard your door shut.

When you finally reached your room, you carefully undid the latch and thanked the heavens your ceiling wasn’t also forty feet tall. You dropped and rolled, protecting your body as you finally felt safe in your room. Looking up at the panel, you wondered…

“Hey, Friday?”

“Yes?”

“Any chance you could close the air vent in my room?” It snapped shut. You smiled. “Thank you.”

Breathing another sigh of relief, you collapsed onto your bed and tried to calm your racing mind. You searched your brain for solutions, for ways out of this, but the inevitability of the situation slowly came crashing down. You would eventually have to leave your room, Loki would see you, he would chase you, he would eventually catch you and pin you down. He’d test every inch of your body, without mercy, until he discovered where you were most sensitive. And the worst part; he’d maybe discover that you liked it.

You’d told the truth earlier, about not having ever been tickled for a long period of time, but something about the conversation excited you. Life as a spy - everything was calculated. Aside from brief moments of affection with your best friend Wanda, or a fellow agent’s arm around your waist as you had posed undercover, you didn’t get to experience affectionate touch all that often. Loki’s fingers would be evil and determined and you weren’t sure you could classify them as affectionate… but it was a game, right? It’s supposed to be fun. At least, Thor was right, you found it fun, and you longed for those moments of release and carefree vulnerability.

You listened to music and did stretches in your room on a yoga mat for almost an hour before remembering you needed to eat. Some protein bars in your bedside table did the trick and staved off hunger for a little while longer. Lounging on your bed, you surfed Netflix until you found a docuseries that looked interesting. Three episodes later, you had almost drifted off when there was a knock on your door.

“Dinner time!” Steve’s friendly voice called, he tried to open the door but noticed it was locked. “We missed you at training. You feelin’ alright?”

“Fine! Just getting changed,” you fibbed and suddenly felt your cheeks flush hot at the prospect of seeing Loki at dinner.

“I’ll wait for you,” he offered. Not knowing what to say, you swore under your breath and pulled on socks and sneakers. Your sports shorts would have to do for now, and you pulled a hoodie over your t-shirt. You still felt exposed, but knew Steve would get suspicious if you waited any longer. You opened the door and he smiled at you as you shut it behind yourself.

“What’s for dinner?” You asked casually as you glanced up and down the hall for any sign of a certain demigod on a mission.

“Uh, I think Wanda’s made some Sokovian dish. It’s their independence day so she wanted to do something a little special.”

A smile pulled at your lips, “That’s nice.”

He chatted happily to you as you walked towards the kitchen together, discussing how training went today. You tried to engage in conversation but your mind was elsewhere, your hands wrung nervously in the pocket of your hoodie. Right before you were about to enter the living room, Steve’s eye caught a door and he did a double-take.

“Oh hey, the tape is gone. It must be all done. Have you seen this?” He nodded excitedly at a room you were about to pass and stopped in his tracks. “It’s a movie theatre, check it out.” He opened the door and you peered inside.

The room was dimly lit and housed a large number of comfortable lounging chairs and couches, all dark crimson. A pristine popcorn machine sat against the wall out of the way of the immensely large screen, and a small interactive screen on the wall, you guessed, was for selecting any movie you wanted. You grinned and shook your head, “Tony’s too good to us.”

“Yeah,” Steve made a noise of agreement. “It’s cosy and large and,” you furrowed your eyebrows when you felt his hand at the small of your back, then his voice turned low and menacing “it’s also completely soundproof.” You didn’t have a chance to question him before he shoved you inside and swung the heavy door shut behind him. The force of his shove caused you to stumble but not fall, you whipped your head around just in time to see the worst possible thing happen.

“Ohhh shit.” You watched in horror as the illusion of Steve lifted from Loki’s body, and he stood there with that same cold and indifferent look on his face. “Oh, SHIT!” You yelped again and backed up instinctively.

“Hello, darling,” Loki said in a low growl.

“No. No, no, NO!” You whined and took steps backwards as he took them towards you. “Loki, please,” you winced as your eyes darted around looking for the best way to jump in and around the sofas to make it back to the door, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to evade him. “Mercy, please.” You held out a hand as if to command him to stop taking steps towards you.

He shook his head, “You’ve had your mercy.”

“A head start is not mercy!” You whined, sensing the wall close behind you. “It made this all so much worse.”

“Not my fault you took the chance to run,” he smirked.

“It was your suggestion!”

“You took it.”

“Why shouldn’t I?!”

He smirked when your back hit the wall and you slowly sank down to the floor, cowering with your arms clamped down to protect as much of your torso as you could. He crouched in front of you and met your eyes with a startling intensity. "I'm the God of Mischief."

His hand shot out and grabbed your ankle. You gasped, pre-emptive nervous giggles bubbled over your lips as he stood and started dragging you towards the middle of the room.

“No, please,” you pleaded through giggles as you clawed at the carpet. He wasted no time pulling the sneaker off your foot and you gasped and cried out, “NO!” before using your other foot to try and kick him away. A fatal mistake. He caught your other foot, locking them both in the crook of his elbow as he pulled your other sneaker off. You were in an impossible situation, only your back on the carpet as he secured your feet high off the ground, you shook your head frantically and pleaded again through messy laughter but it was no use. He had already given you his mercy.

Loki had no intention of starting slowly, you learned when his fingers firmly and speedily began scratching at your socked feet. You squealed and jolted but succumbed to desperate giggly laughter, smacking your fists on the ground and covering your blushing face as his fingers wormed their way under your toes, around your heels, down your soles then over the tops of your feet. You tried to twist your body to hit at his ankles, but it was no use.

“I tried to be a benevolent captor,” Loki called to you over all your noise, clearly enjoying himself at how easily he was taking you apart, “choosing a room with all these options to make it more comfortable for you.” He sighed and slowed his fingers, not stopping completely. Looking down at you with a smirk he tilted his head towards a large four-seater couch. “Now, would you like to stay writhing on the floor like a rabid animal, or submit and let this happen somewhere more enjoyable.”

“I-I submit, I submihihit!” You cried, squealing again when his fingers flitted over the ball of your foot. He swiftly leaned down to scoop you up bridal style. A yelp left your mouth when he tossed you over onto the couch several feet away. Perhaps he thought he’d weakened you enough already, or that you would genuinely submit, but you were a desperate cornered prey and you were not about to give in that easily.

The second your body hit the couch you launched yourself over the back of it and bolted through the couches over to the door. Before your hand could grab the door handle you felt Loki’s arms secure around your waist and his clawed fingers, hitting as many spots as they could, wormed their way into your horribly sensitive sides and stomach. You hit out but accidentally catch the touch screen next to the door, causing the lights to dim to almost nothing. A movie started to roll on the main screen, and it was now the main source of light in the room.

Loki couldn’t help but grin at your shrieking laughter and how you crumpled against his evil touch. He didn’t relent as he carried you back to the largest couch. Your hands pushed helplessly against his as your begging was lost in your laughter; you couldn’t even form the words.

He put you face-down and sat straddling your hips, still working his fingers into your sides. “Why would you try to run? You must have known it would only make it worse for you.” He laughed and clicked his tongue when his fingers hit your ribs and you jolted harder than before. “Now, what’s this?”

“Dohohohon’t,” you laughed into the couch and clenched your arms that were clamped at your ribs as he tried to work his fingers into the bones. You felt him lift his body ever so slightly and roughly flip you around, grabbing hold of your wrists as he sat back down on your hips. His grin told you just how much he was enjoying this and you couldn’t help but be thankful he’d dropped the scary act. Mischievous and playful Loki was much more bearable.

He started working to pry your arms from protecting your body, doing so with a terrifying ease. Your eyes went wide as he pulled them higher and he eyed the t-shirt poking out from under your hoodie. “Ah, good, this can come off then,” he nodded before shooting you a smirk. You shook your head, having enjoyed the limited protection the thick fabric had provided you. He expertly slid his grip over your hands, bunching the fabric in his fists and giving it a firm and long tug. The hoodie slipped off your body, but your arms were free again. They shot back down to your sides to protect your ribs, but left your stomach vulnerable, even more now that the force of the hoodie being stripped off had left your shirt disheveled and exposing some skin.

You gulped for air while you could, letting out a brief cough. “You should really buy a woman dinner before you rip her clothes off.”

Loki chuckled and shook his head, “Attempting to seduce me will do nothing to help your case, but I do so appreciate the flattery.”

Your mouth went wide, “I wasn’t atte- NOHOHO!”

The words were killed by the squeals in your mouth when Loki’s hand shot back down to spider his fingers against the skin on your stomach. Still trying desperately to protect your ribs, your hands had limited range of function to try to protect much else. You squeaked through your laughter each time one of his fingers would find its way into your belly button, thrashing helplessly beneath him.

It was too late to pretend like your ribs weren’t your worst spot, Loki had clocked it the second you first reacted to his fingers there, but he was deathly curious to see how much you would endure to keep it from him. He moved from scratching at the bare skin of your stomach to drilling his thumbs into your hips, causing you to let out a small scream followed by loud laughter and further desperate attempts to twist out of his grasp.

Keeping his left hand on your hip, he reached behind him to squeeze at the muscle above your knee with his right hand. Your laughter went up a pitch as tears formed in your tightly-shut eyes, your torso lifted from the couch to sit up underneath him but your arms remained firmly at your sides. “P-PLEHEHEASE! LOKIHI!” You tried to fight him with as much strength as you could from your elbows down, hitting at his chest. As he switched his hands to attack the opposite hip and knee, he couldn’t shrink the fond grin on his face when he realised you weren’t really fighting as hard as you could.

He’d seen you around the compound, giving longing looks you thought no one saw when you observed others in displays of affection, whether platonic or otherwise. How you stole hugs from Wanda, or how you’d breath a sigh of contentment and smile shyly when someone would fall asleep on you during a movie. Truth be told, he’d had a soft spot for you from the first second you threw a witty comeback his way. You weren’t afraid of him, sure you were a bit nervous around him, but not in the way that made him feel like a monster. He knew you were enjoying this just as much as he was, but that wasn’t something he’d ever voice; he didn’t want to embarrass you like that. He had plenty of ways to fluster you, and this seemed like a game too precious to ruin. He also didn’t want to ruin it by pushing it too far, so his hands finally relented and he grabbed your wrists that were currently gripping the thick blue fabric on his shoulders.

“Would you really endure this for so much longer to protect that one spot from me?” He smirked down at you as you caught your breath, noticing the smile that stayed on your cheeks.

“I don’t back down,” you coughed, residual giggles leaving your mouth as you tugged on your wrists in his grip. You blushed when you realised your position still underneath him. His face was mere inches from yours and you desperately wanted to hide your hot cheeks from his view. You looked at the movie that had started on the screen and smiled softly, “this is a good one.”

“Well how about a bargain, then?”

You turned back to him and narrowed your eyes, “Do tell.”

“Darling, I simply can’t leave this worst spot neglected,” he smirked then gave you a fake sympathetic smile. You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off, “-ah ah. No, it’s not up for debate. But should you allow me access, instead of forcing me to weaken you further, I give you my word it will be the last of this torture. For tonight at least,” he added with a wink.

You winced and let out a small whine, and his heart unexpectedly fluttered when you rested your forehead on his chest in resignation. You breathed out a deep sigh and nodded, lifting your head back up, “UGH. Fine,” you glared at him, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “But get off me, you’re heavy. I want to be comfortable for my last moments alive.” He laughed heartily and stood up, allowing you to stand but still holding your wrists. You shot him an unimpressed look, “I’m not gonna run,” you jeered.

“A wise decision,” he nodded as he released your wrists. You gestured to the couch.

“Sit,” you instructed.

“Ooh, yes madam,” he couldn’t hide his pride at his victory, and excitement at his coming prize. He sat down in the middle of the couch, legs apart as he usually sat. You sat down on the couch between his legs and focused your eyes on the screen, slowly lifting your arms with whimpers of nervousness. It was going to be bad. You knew you’d be done for. Your heart pounded in your chest as his arms wrapped under your arms and around your torso, pulling you into his chest. His fingers, not yet moving, rested wide apart on your ribs as your heart pounded in your ears.

“Just… go easy on me?” You spluttered as you felt his laugh rumble behind you. He leaned forward to whisper in a low seductive growl,

“Absolutely not.”

When his fingers started scratching firmly at your ribcage you thought for sure the entire compound would have heard your scream, soundproof room be damned. Loki was genuinely surprised at how violently you thrashed in his hold, actually feeling a bit of pain when your fists pounded on his forearms. He couldn’t help but laugh along with you, amused to the core by your reaction. You didn’t have the composure or wherewithal to form words to beg, and you knew they wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Knees curling in on yourself, your body fought hard against his devilish tickling fingers.

Weakened by your massive bouts of laughter, you didn’t have the energy to keep fighting against him. So when his fingers finally stopped scratching and instead dug in, vibrating harshly in every crevice, you only had one strong jolt in you before going limp and succumbing to your silent laughter, tears streaming down your cheeks, weakly writhing in his arms as you let the sensation overtake you.

Loki beamed at the happy mess he’d made you, finally slowing up when he noticed your silent laughter had gone on long enough to leave you needing air. He released his right arm from your body and used it to pull your knees over his right leg, turning you so your head could rest against his heartbeat. You coughed weakly and let yourself collapse into his chest, wiping the tears of joy from your still-closed eyes.

He breathed out a sigh of contentment and let his back rest against the couch, pulling you closer as your breath and heart slowed to normal. You finally looked up at him with an attempted menacing glare, he laughed again and raised his eyebrows at you,

“So, just a little bit?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest. He wondered if you noticed his heart skip when you did so. Muffled by his thick blue protective clothing, you admitted, “Unbelievably.”

He smiled fondly, even though you didn’t see it, and kept holding you as you closed your eyes and rested against his heartbeat again. It was strong, steady and sounded quite nice mixed with the historical fiction romance that you’d accidentally set in motion during your fight for freedom. Loki’s warm hands were on you, one resting on your leg and the other still at your ribcage, but with only pure intentions this time. As you were wondering how long he would let you stay like this, you felt the beginnings of sleep tug at your mind. You couldn’t bear to fight it.

“I’m telling you, man. It would be so cool!” Peter urged Thor as they walked towards dinner together. The young spiderling had been trying to convince Thor to throw Mjolnir with Peter attached by web, then call the hammer back, slingshotting Peter at near the speed of sound.

“Sounds dangerous,” Thor grunted, but stopped and grabbed Peter’s shoulder with a gleam in his eye, “Let’s try tomorrow.”

Peter grinned excitedly, even more so when he noticed the tape to the new movie theatre had been removed. “Oh cool! Mister Stark said it was almost done, I wonder- oh.” Peter looked over to Thor from where he had peeked into the theatre. “Hey, Thor. How exactly does Hide and Seek work on Asgard?”

Thor gave him a confused look but then also took a peek inside, beaming at the sight before him. A movie played on the screen, illuminating the sight of your sneakers discarded on the ground, your sweatshirt thrown over a random couch, and you and Loki sleeping soundly with you held protectively against his chest.

Thor took the door handle from Peter and quietly shut the door, replacing his hand on the boy’s shoulder to lead him towards dinner.

“I’ll explain when you’re older.”