#where i tried to write under that kind of pressure

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Allegation of Love.

Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer!reader

Summary: When you arrive at the police station to defend a client's innocence, you don't expect the man accusing her to be the same man you've been dating for months.

Words: 1,6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime and serial killers. established relationship. aaron already divorced. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I just love Hotch and wanted to write something with him here. To me, he is definitely the kind of man who is so tired from work that he tries not to mention it on a date (of course, after all the trauma he has been through).

It wasn't that you were annoying, particularly aggressive, or obsessed with being right, you just did your job to the best of your ability. Even if that meant being the villain of other people's stories and mentally going over every law to make sure it was obeyed.

The issue was that not everyone saw it the same way. In the workplace, where you managed, your exact memorization of the rules wasn't always appreciated if you were the one carrying the defense and doing everything to overthrow the other side's theories. For the same reason, you usually had to argue with cops, prosecutors, judges, and—on this occasion—even an FBI agent who wasn't happy with your presence.

You had in your hands an alleged confession of several murders delivered by your client under the coercion of the man who was interrogating her, without your presence there and with some pretty questionable methods to put her in an empty room without concrete evidence or an order from the judge. Unbelievably, it was a fairly common occurrence in your day-to-day work.

At least it was until the boss of the agent you were arguing with showed up and everything started to get complicated.

“What's going on here?”

The cross words and your intensity in emphasizing the injustice of the manipulation of the confession did not allow you to realize that there was someone else in the room. Much less that it was someone who looked exclusively at you until one of the police officers present cleared his throat.

“There has been a violation of the law.” You slowly turned to look behind you, and that's when you saw him.

Aaron stood stiffly, trying to look professional and serious, wearing a tie that matched your dress.

“There wasn't one, Hotch. We just got the confession.” Agent Morgan interjected into the silence provoked by the exchange of glances between you and his supervisor.

For the first time in the half hour you'd been there, you were completely silent. Even when two more agents showed up to try to defuse the situation, you didn't stop repeating the same arguments and insisting on your point. Now, however, you seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

There was a long pause before Aaron spoke carefully. “I'll take care of clarifying the situation.”

Trying to remain serious and stoic, he led you to one of the station's offices with the excuse that he wanted to talk about the case quietly so as not to attract the attention of his team. The strange thing was that he called you by name in front of everyone, without anyone having introduced you before. Maybe one of you two would have noticed if you had been a little less attentive to the other and more attentive to how the situation looked in the other's eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as soon as he closed the door behind you, loosening the tension in his jaw a little, at least now it was just the two of you.

“Where's my 'Good to see you, sweetie. Please don't sue us' or anything like that?”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, hoping you would take it seriously. Automatically and unconsciously, he had begun to move away from you and sat down on the other side of the desk, marking a distance between the two of you. Aaron had brought out his work side and you had hidden it at the mere sight of him.

“The woman your team pressured into confessing to a crime is my client.” You finally spoke in a serious tone, staring at him with some surprise. This wasn't the usual dynamic with him—you usually had a more relaxed side to him.

“Since when do you take cases like this?”

“Since it's been assigned to me.” You said, raising your shoulders. “One of the buffet partners is on vacation and left me to his clients, as I mentioned the other night.”

The other night when you were in his car, when he had his hand on your thigh as he drove home, when he smiled at you every chance he got to turn around and look at you. When the two of you weren't on completely different sidewalks and weren't supposed to act like strangers.

“This is pretty weird.” You said after watching him for a few seconds and noticing that he seemed lost in his memories. “I hope the agent I was arguing with isn't your friend. That would be awkward.”

Aaron looked at you, trying to figure out what could have happened before he showed up. He already knew you were a good lawyer, very capable and, above all, a good striker. It was too weird for him to think that you had been using your skills against his own team, against the friends he once wanted to introduce you to and that you had now met for the first time in the most unimaginable way.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.”

“You look at me like I'm a ghost.”

His brow furrowed again.

He didn't want to say out loud that everything related to his work had ended badly and was completely destroyed, just like his ex-marriage and any attempt to fix it. He had always felt comfortable with you because your work was just as demanding but less dangerous than his. You usually handled family cases, divorces, estates, and coordinating child care. You were away from the blood, the killers, and all the atrocities he lived with.

“I'm worried about you being in the middle of this. It can be dangerous.” He showed his concern for you and had to hold back from holding your hand.

“You should worry more about the lawsuit.” You pointed out in a tone somewhere between teasing and serious. You didn't like him worrying too much. “I'm very good.”

“This is serious.” He finally let his guard down and placed his hand on your knee from under the table, giving it a gentle touch.

That was the man you know and love.

“Me too, it's my job.”

“And you're making my job harder.” He pointed out with a small smile in response to yours.

What were the chances of your love life and work life crossing paths like this? You thought they were pretty slim, which is why you steered clear of talking about work when you were together.

You were just about to answer when you heard a tap on the door and one of the agents who had been watching you during your discussion came over to give Aaron some information about the profile. You couldn't understand him very well because he seemed to be speaking in code because of your presence.

“I'll be there in a moment, Rossi. Get the team together and we'll talk.” Hotchner finished earnestly. You could still feel the warmth of his touch on your knee. “I'm just finishing up here.”

As soon as he left the office, you looked at Aaron with surprise.

“Is he who you always mention?” You asked, and he nodded. “I thought it was 'Rosie,' not 'Rossi,' and that he was a woman.”

“Now I understand why you grimace when I mention his name.” He replied with some amusement. “You were jealous.”

Yes, especially when you found out that they'd shared a room once.

“Don't mock me, I'm about to sue you.” You advertiste in a fake threatening tone, pointing a finger at him. “And I don't care how handsome you look right now, I'll do my job.”

“Me too.” He replied, trying to ignore your compliment to keep a serious expression on his face. “And you look pretty too, I like that dress.”

The love between you seemed to be bubbling anyway, and it was impossible to hide it when you had breakfast together just a few hours ago. You went from making him coffee to offering him a lawsuit if he didn't agree with you.

“I know, I'll use this dress while I debunk your profile theory.” You got up from your seat suddenly after taking your phone out of your bag. It was then that you looked him in the eye. “Are you going to release my client now or should I call the judge?”

“You're not going to take a suspect in five murders. I'm not going to let her off the hook.” He copied your action.

“Give me the evidence then, love.”

Oh, to call him that at that point was a cheap shot, especially when you were the one who won because he had no concrete evidence, only theories and his complex profile.

“But stay away from her anyway, she can be dangerous. My agents will keep an eye on her.” He snorted after a few seconds, trying to find an argument, but failing.

At that moment, you gave him a little smile, proud of yourself and what you had accomplished. “See you at dinner?”

“Sure.” He replied without being able to help but give you a small smile in return. “But I'll pick the place.”

“Well, that's an argument I'll let you win.” You put your phone back in your bag and took a couple of steps towards the door, stopping when you saw him coming after you. “Can I kiss my opponent?”

“This is pretty unprofessional.” He said, putting a hand on your waist and leaning you against the door. Without hesitation, he kissed you firmly on the lips.

After a few minutes, the two of you walked out of the office as if nothing had happened, and the professional scene continued. Your heels clicked towards the exit with your client at your side, while Aaron met with his team, trying to find new ways to solve the case and refine the profile. The only problem was that he happened to be working with people who were very detail-oriented.

And, gosh, it was impossible not to notice the traces of your lipstick on his lips.

[helen-with-an-a]

Heyy, i hope you're doing well! I wanted to ask if you would be down to write a fic based on the song "drown" by bring me the horizon. I absolutely love this song and it has a place in my heart because this band and also this song carried me through some dark times ( I cried so hard when i heard that song live for the first time 2 months ago xD) . Maybe it could be a barca x reader fic that also deals with $elf h@rm if that is a topic you're comfortable writing about, because reading books and fan fics about this topic has been helping me immensely with my own recovery. So if this is an idea that interests you I would love to read that fic, but if it's a topic you're just not comfortable with feel free to just ignore this ask. (But seriously listen to drown it's such a beautiful song)

Hiiiiii - I hope I did this request and song justice. Please know if you are struggling, you are loved. You are so, so loved and people want to help you. I know asking for help is really hard, but I promise it is worth it. You are worth it.

Drowning

Barça femeni x reader

Description: R feels like she is drowning and the team comes to help her

Word Count: 5.4k

TW: Undescribed Self Harm; Brief mentions of cutting; Bad mental health

Kelly Clarkson once sang that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that it turns you into a fighter, and helps you stand a little taller. Those words are meant to inspire resilience, to remind you that adversity is supposed to build character and fortify your spirit. But as much as you wanted to believe that, as much as you tried to let those lyrics resonate in your heart, the truth is, you weren’t sure if they were true. You wished with every fibre of your being that they were, but deep down, you felt the weight of life’s challenges pressing down on you. Instead of feeling stronger, you often felt worn down, as if the struggles you faced had chipped away at your resolve rather than bolstered it.

You wanted to feel like a fighter, to stand taller in the face of hardship, but more often than not, you found yourself struggling just to stay on your feet. It was as if each obstacle left a scar that made it harder to move forward, rather than easier. The hope that you’d emerge stronger sometimes felt like a distant dream, and you wondered if that strength Kelly sang about was something you’d ever truly feel.

Half the time, it felt like you were floating – weightless, as if you were drifting through life without a solid anchor. There was a strange sensation of being unmoored, detached from the world around you, almost as if you were existing in a bubble that separated you from everything real and tangible. In those moments, you felt neither grounded nor fully present, as if the weight of your worries and responsibilities had somehow lifted, but so had your sense of purpose and direction. You were there, but not really there – drifting in a kind of limbo where everything seemed just out of reach.

The other half of the time, it felt like you were drowning – barely able to keep your head above the water as the weight of everything threatened to pull you under. The world seemed to close in around you, the pressures and responsibilities of life crashing over you like relentless waves. Each day felt like a struggle just to stay afloat, as if you were constantly treading water in an ocean of overwhelming emotions, fears, and uncertainties.

Your mind was a whirlpool, dragging you down into dark, turbulent depths where it was hard to breathe, hard to think, and hard to see any way out. Every little thing seemed like an anchor, dragging you further beneath the surface, making it harder and harder to find the strength to push back up. The sensation of drowning was terrifying – your heart raced, your breath quickened, and panic took hold as you fought desperately to survive the relentless tide.

In these moments, it felt like you were being suffocated by the weight of your own thoughts and emotions, as if they were water filling your lungs, making it impossible to take a full breath. You tried to fight against it, to keep yourself above the water, but the effort was exhausting, leaving you drained and gasping for air. The more you struggled, the deeper you seemed to sink, and the idea of finding solid ground again felt increasingly out of reach.

There was one thing that brought you a small measure of comfort, a fleeting moment of relief that made you feel a little better. It was like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of the chaos. Just for that brief instant, your feet were on solid ground again, and you felt a sense of stability that had been missing for so long. In that split second, you weren’t drowning in the suffocating depths of your anxieties, nor were you floating aimlessly through the fog of disconnection.

Instead, you felt anchored, grounded in a reality that was steady and secure. It was as if the storm inside you had paused, and the world had stopped spinning just long enough for you to catch your breath. In that moment, you were fully present, aware of yourself and your surroundings in a way that made everything else fade into the background. The weight that usually pressed so heavily on your chest lifted, and for that brief period, you were able to stand tall and feel the earth beneath you, firm and unwavering.

It didn’t last long – those moments of clarity and peace never did. They slipped away as quickly as they came, like sand through your fingers, leaving you once again adrift in the chaos of your thoughts. The sense of calm and stability that you craved was always fleeting, a temporary reprieve that left you yearning for more. But in the aftermath, when the world once again became overwhelming and your mind descended back into the chaos there was one thing that lingered: the small, neat red lines.

These lines were the only reminder of that brief lucidity, etched into your skin like a secret code that only you could understand. They were delicate but precise, almost methodical in their appearance, as if each one was a calculated attempt to bring some order to the chaos within.

The red lines were your way of marking time, of grounding yourself in a reality that often felt too slippery to hold onto. In those moments when clarity slipped away, when you were once again floating or drowning, they were there to remind you that, for just a moment, you had found your footing. The pain they brought was real, sharp, and immediate – something that could cut through the numbness and confusion, anchoring you back to the present.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when life was simpler, when the world seemed brighter and full of possibilities. Your dad used to tell you stories of when you were just a baby, how you were the very picture of happiness –  all gummy smiles and infectious giggles that could light up a room. He would describe how your laughter was so pure, so full of joy, that it could make even the grumpiest person smile. In his eyes, you were a little bundle of sunshine, radiating warmth and love wherever you went.

You often wondered what happened to that little girl, the one who seemed to find joy so easily in everything around her. Where did she go? What changed between those carefree days and now, when the world feels so heavy and your heart so burdened? You tried to remember the last time you felt that kind of unrestrained happiness, but the memories were hazy, like trying to recall a dream that had long since faded.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things started to shift, when the lightness began to slip away, replaced by something much darker. Maybe it was a gradual process, so slow and subtle that you didn’t notice it happening until one day you woke up and realised that the little girl who used to laugh so easily was gone. Or maybe it was something more abrupt, a single event that changed everything, though you couldn’t quite remember what it might have been.

There were times when you’d catch a glimpse of her, that little girl, in the mirror – perhaps in a fleeting smile or a brief moment of joy – but she was always just out of reach, like a shadow that vanished as soon as you tried to hold onto it. The happiness that once came so naturally now felt like a distant memory, something that belonged to a different time, a different version of yourself.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, a mourning for the person you used to be, for the life you used to live. What had happened to that carefree spirit, the one who saw the world as a place of wonder and possibility? Where did all those smiles and giggles go, replaced by the weight of anxiety and the burden of unspoken sadness?

You wished you could find your way back to her, to that little girl who knew how to be happy without even trying. But the path seemed unclear, the way forward uncertain, and all you were left with were the memories of who you used to be and the quiet hope that maybe, someday, you might rediscover that lost joy.

Ingrid had sensed that something was off the very first time she met you. It was as if she could see right through the façade you were trying so hard to maintain. You were just 17 at the time, still so young, yet there was something about the way you carried yourself that spoke of a weariness far beyond your years. Most teenagers were full of restless energy, eager to explore the world and discover who they were, but you – there was a heaviness in your eyes, a kind of fatigue that no child should ever have to bear.

When you stood before her, Ingrid could see that the weight of the world was already pressing down on your shoulders. It was in the way you held yourself, as if every movement took a conscious effort, every step a deliberate act to keep from being overwhelmed by the burden you carried. You tried to smile, to present yourself as just another teenager navigating the usual challenges of adolescence, but even your smile seemed strained, like it was something you had to force rather than something that came naturally.

Ingrid noticed how you seemed to shrink into yourself, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable, perhaps in the hope that the world might go easier on you if you took up less space. But it was impossible to ignore the sadness that lingered behind your eyes, a sadness that seemed to have settled there long before its time. It was as if you had lived through experiences that had aged you in ways that others your age couldn’t begin to understand.

There was an unspoken tension in the way you interacted with others, a hesitation that suggested you had learned to guard yourself carefully. Ingrid could tell that you were wary of letting anyone get too close, as if you were afraid that if someone saw too much, they might unravel the carefully constructed image you were trying so desperately to hold together. It was a kind of self-protection, a shield you had built to keep the world at arm’s length, but Ingrid could see through it.

She saw the exhaustion etched into your posture, the way your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if the weight you carried was too much to bear alone. And though you were still just a teenager, still supposed to be discovering the joys and freedoms of youth, there was an undeniable gravity about you, a maturity born out of hardship that no one your age should have had to endure.

She had gone straight to Mapí, her heart heavy with worry and a sense of urgency she couldn’t ignore. Mapí had always been her anchor, the one person she could turn to when everything else seemed to be spiralling out of control. There was a comfort in Mapí’s presence, a kind of steady reassurance that made the world feel a little less chaotic. And in that moment, when she felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts, there was no one else she could think of who could help her make sense of it all.

As she approached Mapí, she could see the girl was already watching her, those perceptive eyes filled with a quiet understanding. Mapí had always been like that – intuitive, almost as if she could sense when something was wrong without a single word being spoken. It was as if she could read the unspoken emotions, the things that others overlooked or dismissed, and she knew just how to respond without being told.

“I’m worried about her,” Ingrid said quietly to Mapí, her voice tinged with concern as she gestured with her head in your direction. There was a seriousness in her tone that caught Mapí’s attention immediately. Ingrid wasn’t one to express worry lightly; if she was concerned, it meant something was truly wrong.

“Who?” Mapí asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to follow Ingrid’s line of sight. She turned to see who Ingrid was referring to, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

“Den lille,” Ingrid replied softly. It was a name that fit you perfectly, even though you were no longer a small child. To Ingrid, you would always be den lille, the one who needed looking after, the one she couldn’t help but worry about.

Mapí’s gaze lingered on you, taking in the way you sat off to the side, your shoulders hunched slightly as if you were trying to make yourself invisible. She saw the way your fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of your shorts, a nervous habit she had noticed before but never truly understood until now. There was something about your posture, the way you seemed so withdrawn, that tugged at her heart. You looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it didn’t sit right with Mapí.

“She’s been different lately,” Ingrid continued, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. “I’m scared, María.”

Mapí’s heart ached at Ingrid’s words. The concern in Ingrid’s voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual composed and confident demeanour she typically displayed. The way Ingrid had hesitated before speaking, the trembling edge to her voice, suggested that this was more than just a fleeting worry – it was a deep, gnawing fear that had taken root in her heart.

Mapí turned her full attention to you, her eyes softening. There was an undeniable shift in your demeanour that had been building over time, and it was clear now that Ingrid’s fears were not unfounded. The way you sat, so isolated and withdrawn, seemed like a cry for help that was too quiet to be heard. Mapí could feel the gravity of the situation pressing down on her, the realisation that something needed to be done before it was too late.

“Ale will know what to do,” Mapí said with false bravado, trying to mask the tremor in her voice behind a veneer of confidence. Her words were meant to reassure Ingrid, to offer a glimmer of hope amidst the growing uncertainty, but inside, she felt a pang of doubt.

Mapí had always relied on Alexia’s wisdom and experience, believing her to be someone who could handle even the most complex of situations with ease. She had a way of approaching problems with calm assurance and a strategic mindset that often brought clarity and solutions where there seemed to be none. Mapí hoped that, with Alexia’s involvement, they could find a way to help you navigate the turmoil you were experiencing.

She knew, however, that this situation was different. The weight of it felt heavier, more personal. Her usually steadfast confidence was being tested, and despite her efforts to maintain a brave front, she couldn’t completely suppress the anxiety that gnawed at her.

Ingrid glanced at Mapí, a mixture of hope and scepticism in her eyes. “You really think so?” she asked, her voice laced with both trust and apprehension.

“Absolutely,” Mapí replied, her tone firm despite the fluttering unease in her chest.

Alexia had noticed the changes in you too, though her observations were more subtle, filtered through a lens of quiet concern rather than overt worry. She had seen you through different stages of life, from the carefree moments of adolescence to the more introspective phases, but lately, something had shifted, and she couldn’t ignore the signs any longer.

It was in the way you interacted with others, or rather, how you had started to withdraw from those interactions. Alexia, who had always admired your vibrant energy and effortless charm, now saw you retreating into yourself. The once bright and engaging conversations seemed to dwindle, replaced by a more subdued presence that she struggled to reconcile with the person she once knew.

She noticed how you would often linger on the periphery of group activities, participating only half-heartedly, if at all. Your laughter, which used to come so easily, had become rare and forced, a stark contrast to the genuine joy that used to light up your face. Even your physical appearance had changed; where there was once a confident posture, there was now a noticeable slouch, a sign of the weight you seemed to be carrying.

Alexia also observed the small, telling habits that had shifted. The way you fidgeted with your clothes or avoided eye contact during conversations spoke volumes about your internal struggle. It was as if you were trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, a stark departure from the once lively and assertive person she had known.

“Ale, we need to talk,” Mapí said firmly, cornering Alexia in the changing rooms after training one afternoon. Her voice was low and serious, carrying an undertone of urgency that instantly drew Alexia’s full attention. The usual post-training chatter and the clamor of lockers being shut were fading into the background as the gravity of Mapí’s tone cut through the noise.

“Is everything okay?” Alexia asked, her voice betraying a hint of concern as she met Mapí’s gaze. The look in Mapí’s eyes was one Alexia hadn’t seen very often – an earnestness and resolve that spoke of something deeper than just a casual chat. The air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken tension, the room suddenly feeling smaller, more confined as the weight of the conversation settled in.

“No, it’s not,” Ingrid replied, her tone steady but laden with emotion.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at you, the subject of their concern. You sat on a bench, somewhat apart from the group, absorbed in your own thoughts, unaware of the intensity of the discussion unfolding just a few feet away. The distance between you and the others was more than physical; it was as though a chasm had opened up, underscoring the emotional divide that had grown.

You looked so tired. It was a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion, a heaviness that seemed to seep into your very bones. The vibrant energy that once defined you had dimmed, leaving behind a shadow of your former self.

Your eyes, which used to sparkle with curiosity and joy, were now clouded with a fatigue that spoke volumes about the battles you were fighting internally. They were deep and dark, the kind of tiredness that comes from sleepless nights and unspoken worries. The once bright and animated expression you wore had given way to a distant gaze that struggled to focus on the world around you. When you did look up, it was with a slow, measured effort, as if the simple act of meeting someone’s eyes required more energy than you had to spare. Your gaze seemed to drift in and out of focus, mirroring the exhaustion that you felt but could not escape.

Your training top seemed far too big on you now, the fabric hanging off you like a draped shroud. It was as if the clothes themselves reflected the way you had withdrawn from the world; they looked oversized and loose, emphasising the contrast between your current state and the vibrant person you used to be.

Every small movement you made seemed laboured, as though even the simplest actions required a tremendous amount of effort. Your shoulders slouched slightly, as if weighed down by an invisible burden that made every step feel heavier. The casual confidence that once characterised your movements had been replaced by a tentative, almost cautious mannerism, as though you were trying to conserve every ounce of energy you had.

Your breathing was steady but shallow, and every now and then, you let out a sigh that seemed to escape from somewhere deep inside you – a sigh that spoke of exhaustion and resignation. The small, subtle gestures you made, like tucking your hands into your sleeves or curling your legs up on the bench, were instinctive attempts to find some semblance of comfort or protection in a moment where you felt particularly vulnerable.

“Oh, cariño,” Alexia whispered, her heart breaking at the sight of you. The term of endearment slipped from her lips like a soft breath of sorrow, laden with a depth of feeling that words alone could not fully convey. It was a tender utterance meant to bridge the emotional chasm that seemed to separate you from everyone around you.

As Alexia watched you, her eyes were filled with a deep sadness that mirrored the gravity of the moment. The sight of you, sitting apart from the group, lost in your own thoughts, was more than Alexia could bear. Her heart ached as she took in the full extent of your weariness. It was clear that this was not just a fleeting moment of fatigue but a profound, ongoing struggle that had seeped into your very being. The vibrant spirit she once knew seemed overshadowed by a deep, unspoken sorrow that had taken hold.

You weren’t sure why you phoned Ona, out of all people. It wasn’t like you were particularly close with her; in fact, your interactions with her had always been somewhat limited and casual. You knew her mostly through mutual friends and shared activities, exchanging pleasantries and brief conversations but never delving deeply into each other's lives. Yes, you considered her a friend, but your one-on-one time had been minimal, mostly restricted to group settings or casual encounters. She wasn’t someone you confided in regularly, nor did you have a history of sharing personal struggles or intimate details.

Yet, in the midst of your crisis, when everything felt out of control and the world seemed to have narrowed to the confines of your bathroom floor, Ona’s name was the first to come to mind. You sat there, the cold tiles pressing against your legs, a razor gripped tightly in one hand, its cold edge a stark reminder of the darkness you were grappling with. Your thoughts were a swirling mix of desperation and confusion, and in that chaotic mental fog, Ona’s name emerged almost instinctively.

It was an odd choice, and you struggled to understand it yourself. Perhaps it was the nature of your relationship with her – though not deeply personal, it was still a connection that felt solid enough to offer some semblance of support. Sometimes, the familiarity of a person, even if not deeply entrenched, can provide a sense of comfort in moments of profound vulnerability. Ona had always been approachable and kind, traits that, despite the limited interaction, might have seemed reassuring in your current state.

There was also something to be said for the randomness of human emotion and instinct. In moments of deep distress, the mind often grasps at whatever feels familiar, even if it’s not the most logical choice. Ona, being someone who had always been friendly and supportive, perhaps embodied a sense of stability and kindness that was desperately needed in that moment.

“Hola?” Her voice came through the phone, laden with sleep, thick with the grogginess of having been abruptly roused from slumber. There was a softness to her tone, a slow, drowsy lilt that spoke of the deep relaxation she had been in just moments before. The initial, half-hearted curiosity in her voice quickly sharpened into something more alert as she processed the unusual hour and the unexpected call.

“I …” You began, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the overwhelming emotions that had gripped you. Your voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, laden with a mixture of vulnerability and desperation. It was as if the sheer effort of making the call had drained you, leaving only a fragile thread of sound that barely carried your intent.

“Pequeña?” Ona’s voice was suddenly more awake, filled with concern. The fragility in your voice, so unlike the casual exchanges you had shared before, pierced through her initial drowsiness. The realisation that something was seriously wrong caused her to sit upright in bed, the sense of alarm and urgency pushing away the remnants of sleep.

“Help me,” you managed to utter, the words escaping in a pained whisper

You woke up in hospital. The room cold and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the biting chill that seemed to seep into your very bones, despite the layers of blankets draped over you. The air felt thin and clinical – you had never known such an impersonal space existed. The walls were a clinical shade of white, interrupted only by the occasional piece of medical equipment or the sparse, functional décor meant to provide minimal distraction. The lighting was bright and unyielding, casting a harsh glare that made the room feel even colder and more impersonal. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, their steady hum creating a rhythm that seemed oddly out of place.

Your bed, positioned at the centre of the room, was surrounded by a fortress of medical paraphernalia. An IV drip hung beside you, its clear fluids slowly trickling down a tube that was taped to your arm. The beeping of a heart monitor provided a steady, monotonous cadence, a reminder of the life support systems that were now a part of your immediate environment. The rhythmic sound was oddly comforting and unnerving all at once, a constant reminder of your current state and the care being provided.

The air was filled with a faint, antiseptic scent – a mix of cleaning agents and medicinal odours that seemed to hang in the atmosphere like an unwelcome guest. It was a smell that clung to everything, from the freshly laundered hospital sheets to the disposable gowns and sterile gloves that the medical staff wore.

There was a warm weight in your right hand. It took you a moment to realise what it was. A hand. A hand connected to an arm, that led to a shoulder, that was attached to a whole person. The fingers resting gently in your grasp were familiar and comforting, their gentle pressure offering a steady reassurance. You turned your head slightly, and through the haze of your groggy state, you saw the face of the person whose hand you were holding.

“Hi,” Ona smiled softly, her expression a blend of warmth and reassurance.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a weak echo of her greeting, laden with the exhaustion and vulnerability you felt. Your gaze drifted to the hand still resting in yours. She followed your stare, squeezing gently when she realised what you were looking at.

 “The others have got to get food,” Ona continued, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s just us, if you want to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” you countered, the words a defense mechanism. If you denied it, it would all go away.

“Do not play dumb, pequeña.” Ona’s voice carried a note of gentle reproach. Her tone was soft but resolute.

“I …” you began, but the words seemed to falter before they could take shape. The enormity of your emotions was difficult to articulate, and the effort to speak felt almost insurmountable. You struggled to find the right words, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

But how could she truly understand? What little you knew about her life seemed almost painfully perfect by comparison. From the outside, Ona’s existence appeared to be a seamless tapestry of success and happiness. Her football career was thriving, each game a testament to her skill and dedication. She was admired and celebrated by teammates and fans alike, her talent on the field a source of pride and achievement.

Her relationship was also the stuff of dreams. Ona had Lucy, someone who seemed to bring out the best in her, their interactions marked by genuine affection and mutual support. They were often seen together, sharing moments of joy and laughter that spoke of a deep and abiding connection. Their bond was one of those rare partnerships that seemed to transcend the everyday challenges, offering a glimpse into a love that was both passionate and enduring.

Her circle of friends appeared to be equally ideal. They were supportive and loyal, always there for one another through thick and thin. The camaraderie and warmth of their friendship were evident in the way they interacted, their shared moments of happiness and mutual encouragement. It was a friendship that seemed to offer a solid foundation, a network of support that was both comforting and reliable.

And then there was her family – an image of stability and happiness. They were often seen together, their interactions filled with laughter and love. The family dynamic seemed to be one of mutual respect and genuine affection, a supportive backdrop to Ona’s life that added to the picture of her seemingly perfect existence.

In contrast, your own life felt chaotic and fraught with difficulties. The weight of your struggles seemed all the more daunting when juxtaposed against Ona’s polished image. It was easy to feel that her understanding of your pain was limited, that the perfection you saw in her life might somehow preclude her from fully grasping the depth of your own challenges. You wondered if her empathy was genuine or if it was simply a reflection of her innate kindness, an attempt to reach across the chasm of your differences and offer comfort despite the apparent disparity between your lives.

“If you don’t want to talk yet, that’s fine. But let me show you something.” She pushed up her sleeve.

C O N T ; N U E

“You’re not alone in this, pequeña. No one is ever alone.” Ona’s voice was steady, a soft but firm anchor amidst the storm. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently tracing over a tattoo on her arm. “I got this just after I moved to England,” she began, her tone becoming more reflective. “I felt so alone. I didn’t speak the language very well, I had no friends, and we were in lockdown. Everything was different.” Her gaze softened as she looked at the tattoo, her fingers moving lightly over its surface, as if the act itself was a form of remembering and honouring a past struggle.

The room seemed to grow quieter, the beeping of the monitors and the distant murmur of the hospital blending into a background hum as Ona continued. “I almost did it, y’know. I was really, really close – had the bottle and everything.” Her voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in the veneer of her composed exterior. “I haven’t even told Lucy this.” She laughed humourlessly.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ona took a deep breath, her eyes meeting yours as she smiled gently. “Alessia knocked on my door. She noticed I looked a little down and came to check on me. I don’t know if she saw the pills or not, but she stayed with me all day.” The warmth in her eyes deepened as she spoke. “She asked me to teach her some Spanish, she taught me how to make pasta from scratch. She didn’t let me leave her side for three days. Even then, as soon as she left Tooney appeared.”

“Wh-why are you telling me this?” Your voice quivered, the words struggling to get out over the lump in your throat.

Ona’s eyes softened with a blend of compassion and determination. “So that you know you’re not alone,” she began, her voice steady and full of quiet resolve. “I don’t know the ins and outs of what you’re going through, but just know that I’m here, we all are. We aren’t going anywhere.” She promised.

She paused, allowing her words to settle, as if to let the depth of her meaning fully resonate. You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm you. Tears began to well up in your eyes. The tears were a mixture of relief and sadness.

“You are loved, pequeña. So, so loved. And we will be here for you, no matter what, no matter how long it takes.”

[intoxicated-chan]

Between Your Thighs

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x GN!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel loves you with his entire heart and you love taking care of Miguel.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “505” by Arctic Monkeys. Can’t stop, won’t stop writing for Miguel, I just can’t. REQUESTS ARE FINALLY OPEN!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 890

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Gender neutral reader, mentions/description of intercourse, sexual content, receiving (male), pet names (Mi amor), swearing, dacryphilia, deep throating…

If there was one thing about Miguel that everyone knew, it would be that he was never vulnerable around anyone. Especially to those who he just met, but there was something off with you. Your kind nature towards him made him want to tear his walls down almost immediately. Even if it was going to end up as a single night, nothing more.

But he loved the way your hands trailed down his chest, the way your nails dug into his back, the way you gave every ounce of your love towards him, to a man you barely knew. It wasn’t until he popped the question while in bed that he knew he chose the right one.

And when Miguel isn’t working all day and night, he’s the embodiment of a house husband. He knows how difficult he is at times and he’s happy that you’re so patient.

He especially loves those nights where you let him relax under your touch.

Miguel’s back hit the bed, his head hitting the soft material. His lower half of his body hangs off the edge of the bed.

You watch him carefully, your hand wraps around his hard length, applying pressure from the base to his tip where your thumb pressed against lightly. Teasing and massaging his tip.

Before you could take him into your mouth, you hear him let out a groan, and his hands immediately dig into the bed sheets.

Few pumps with your hand and he moans louder when he feels your warm mouth. You bob your head slowly, swirling your tongue around his length. There were even times where you pulled away to place kisses on his thighs.

You pay attention to Miguel’s moans, hollowing your cheeks which makes him thrusts his hips.

“Amor!” Miguel hisses.

You look up to find his head thrown back, his breathing ragged and quick, you could guess that his eyes are squeezed shut.

Suddenly, you felt a hand come and grasp the back on your head, forcing you to take him deeper. He seems to forget the fact of his claws, how careful he was whenever the two of you did something like this.

But you always reassured him that you placed your trust in him.

“Please!” He begged, lifting his head and his eyes meeting yours, “Please.” He repeated, eyes watering.

The sight of him made you smile around his length. You closed your eyes, letting him control your movements and allow him to fuck your face.

Miguel lets out heavy moans as he thrusts his hips faster. You didn’t know when he sat up and both hands were holding your head.

But you enjoyed the sight of his eyes squinting, his face flushed a bright red, and he looked so beautiful in the moment that you forgot that you were gagging around his cock.

But your eyes began to water as well. As much as you tried to control it, you couldn’t stop it from falling.

Luckily he didn’t catch on or else he’d stop.

He continued until he came into your mouth. He pushed you down all the way to his base.

As you swallowed, you rose to your feet and watched Miguel catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” You ask.

His head hands low, “I should be asking you the same question.” He pants, looking up and I see his watery eyes, “I’m so-”

“I’m alright, Miguel. You didn’t hurt me.”

Then it hits him, “I could’ve-”

“But you didn’t. That proves how much control you have over them.”

Miguel lays back, “…That was amazing though.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He opens his arms and you lay in them, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Placing a kiss on his forehead, falling asleep in his arms.

Your eyes flutter open, the smell of coffee hitting your nose immediately. And at the foot of the bed, Miguel is hunched over.

“Morning.”

He smiles, leaning over to hand you a mug, “Morning.”

“You’re up early.”

“Yeah, I’ve suddenly got another project. Which means-”

“Another all-nighter.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shake your head as you sip your coffee, “It’s not your fault.”

Miguel comes over to you, hugging you tightly, “I’ll make it up to you.”

You smile, “You don’t gotta, being with you is enough for me.”

You watch him get up from the bed and leave the bedroom. It wasn’t like he was leaving for work, he preferred to work at home so he had his own office. So, it was easier to check up on him.

Once you finished your coffee, you got ready for the day, showered, dressed in comfortable clothes and started fixing the bed first. Next came laundry, and the housework.

Hours later, you knocked on the door to his office, “Miguel, I brought you your food.” You heard him hum loudly, letting you enter his office.

With a plate in hand, you set it next to his hand, “Thank you, mi amor.”

“How’s the project going on so far?”

“Going great, might be done in a couple of hours.” He hums as he feels your fingers run through his hair, “Come m’ere.”

You set yourself on his lap, both of your hands in his hair, “May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” He mumbles, relaxing into your touch.

“How long have you been hard?”

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[konpeitonom]

first time with college grant curly.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader—

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; college curly back in my head again.. sorry if this is short. i did like half a few days ago and just needed to finish it up now. i accidentally deleted the ask to this i am so so sorry anon out there..

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

— he would wait for you to suggest it. he doesn’t want you to feel pressured to do so. maybe he’d bring the topic up as a way for you to sort of.. tell him how you feel on it? your comfort comes first.

— when the time comes though, he’s all romantic about it. he wants to give a good impression, wants you to want it as much as he does. maybe you guys are out on a little weekend trip, or jimmy decides to go for a few days. whatever it is, he wants you two to be alone.

— he’d tease you just a little on the undergarments you decide to wear.. like, “oh, picked this all out for me, yeah? that’s cute.” .. would laugh as you push his face away in embarrassment. he just can’t help but wanna poke fun at you, just a little! i’d ease any tension, for sure.

— would kiss you in just the right areas.. would ask over and over if you want this- if it’s too much, too little. it might seem overbearing but you’ll just have to push through it.

— he’d eat you out before fucking you. i think. it’s just really intimate for him. please grab at his hair, shove him further, push your thighs together, it encourages him.

— his foreplay is really good, exceptionally so. he likes the sight of you all soaked before he even puts his dick in, really, it gets him so hard.

— he’ll ask constantly if this is what you want, if he’s going too fast and such. he tries to be gentle but to be honest with himself, he’s a bit pent up.. he’s the kind of guy that once he starts even talking to a girl he likes, he’ll avoid stuff like hookups and one night stands..

— whispers sweet nothings, obviously. tells you how pretty you look, especially like that. that you’re doing so well, that he’s lucky to be able to do this with you.

— errrr read my nsfw alphabet, i think his dick is on the larger end. he’s aware of this and will let you decide if it’s something you can take well or not. he’ll be very gentle, promise!

— he’d stop being so lovey after the first round. i mean, he’s not going to be mean but he has been waiting for this. waiting to take you as his. and he hopes you’d be okay with that.

— “fuck, you can take it like this, right?” he’d ask.. as he’s literally splitting you open.

— he’d jerk off infront of you if you couldn’t take anymore.. his sex drive would probably be on the much higher end at this age. there’s something so erotic about it. he’d like to watch you play with yourself too!

— afterwards he’d make sure to reassure you that there’s no pressure to add sex as a regular thing in your relationship.. that he’s okay with it being a once in a while thing, despite how he acted.

— great aftercare! prepares a nice bath for you both. makes sure to have a conversation again with where you both stand. he doesn’t wanna mess things up.

[jasmines-library]

Could you maybe write a platonic Damian x sibling reader (younger but not hy like a lot). And they had a nightmare and go to Damian in the middle of the night. And they're scared that he's gonna get mad that they woke him up, but they didn't know who else to go to

No pressure, of course!! I hope you have a wonderful day/night/afternoon or whatev!!! 🫶🫶🫶

Hold Me Like A Grudge

Summary: Ever since you joined your father at his home, Damian Wayne had despised you. He tries to spend his time as far away from you as possible, until one night you seek comfort in him after a nightmare and everything changes. (gn reader :))

Note: Thanks for requesting lovely! this was so cute to write and a much needed break from the angst for you all (kinda...)

Warnings: Being ignored by Dami, nightmares, none really it's a fluffy fic!

Word count: 1.4k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Damian had never been one for comforting tendencies. He often chose to seclude himself away in a corner, brooding in his own self pity or grumbling about his early-teenage misery. Apparently it had gotten worse since you arrived; having another sibling to pester him didn’t sit well on his behalf, so each time the sound of your small feet pattered into the room, he would turn his gaze away or collect his belongings that he had strewn across the room and left. You weren’t entirely sure what you had done to receive the silent treatment from Damian. Dick, the eldest of the bunch, had tried to reassure you that it was nothing personal. That he had acted that way towards him when he first arrived sending his cold glares from across the room or barging past him in the hallways, but something about the way his face contorted and his lip twitched revealed something else. 

Damian Wayne was jealous. Despite the fact he would rather die than admit it, he couldn’t stand having someone else in his way. You were his biological half sister. The only other person related to the one and only Bruce Wayne. And he hated you for it. He hated Bruce for it. He hated himself for hating it, but that didn’t stop his grudge from lingering. It didn’t help that your charm meant you got along with the rest of the boys better than he did; you had shown them kindness where he had shown them coldness. 

When Bruce told him that he was responsible for you whilst the others were out on patrol he did very little to hide his disdain; rolling his eyes and stomping off to his room but not before snarling at you as he pushed past. 

The manor was eerily quiet that night. It was dark and without the obnoxiously loud antics of your older brothers the place felt empty. Damian was off sulking somewhere and Alfred was monitoring the computers so you were left alone to navigate the endless rooms and high ceilings. You hadn’t been at the manor long so you were still a bit unsteady when it came to navigating the maze of walls but without anyone to help you when you turned a wrong corner, it took you much longer than it should have to find your room. There were a few lights on in the halls, but all of the rooms were dark and vast and the condensation building up on the cold glass didn’t help your feeling of unease. A shiver crawled down your back and you tugged the hem of your hoodie over your hands. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief when you pushed open the door and collapsed onto your bed, burying yourself under the sheets and squeezing your eyes tightly.

Sleep didn’t come easy, much to your dismay. There were too many odd sounds drifting through the house; something clicking, the wind whipping around outside, tree branches tapping on the glass, a dripping tap in your bathroom that stopped for a few blissful minutes before starting up again with a monotonous tempo. Tucking your knees and head to your chest you tried to bury yourself deeper into the bed and drown out the sounds that to someone who had lived there a while wouldn’t even bat an eye at. 

When your tired body finally dragged sleep into it’s clutches it was restless. You tossed and turned with a furrowed brow. The images were dark and disturbing; twisted figures of your new family being captured, of strange figure looming over you in the dark reaching out a cold, bony hand that could have easily been mistaken for a claw until it was only inches away from, reaching and reaching until the icy digits brushed the surface of your skin.

You shot up, kicking off the sheets and clutching your skin where the hand had touched you; you could have sworn you could still feel it there so cold that it felt as though it were going to burn a hole into your delicate skin. Tears rolled fat and ugly down your cheek and your forced yourself out of bed with trembling legs. Your feet carried you down the hall and before you knew it had planted you outside of Damian’s room. Like the others it was dark and silent, but you knew it was his. You had walked past it too many times, itching to just catch a chance of talking to him. Despite your state, your hand hovered above the frame unable to bring yourself to knock. What if he yelled at you or turned you away like he usually does? You supposed you could go and find Alfred instead- no. He was busy. The idea was gone from your head almost as soon as it had appeared and with a shaky sob you rapped your knuckles against his door. 

“What do you want-”

He opened the door much quicker than you thought he would. His jostled hair and cantankerous stare loomed over you, but he changed very unexpectedly when he noticed your sobbing and dewy eyes. Without thinking twice you wrapped your arms around him bawling into his chest. His body relaxed slightly as he frowned sympathetically, wrapping an arm around you and bringing you closer to him. It was odd even to him that there was something special about the moment. Damian wrapped you and led you over to his messy bed, settling you on the edge. The dampness that has seeped into the middle of his shirt didn’t bother him as he crouched down on his toes in front of you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, uncharacteristically tenderly. 

“I…i-” You stuttered trying to force the story out but only failing which just ended up causing a fresh bout of tears to fall. 

The boy cupped your hands in his, getting your attention. Tilting your head up, you saw his softened gaze. 

“Calm down, kiddo. You’re okay.” He gave you a gentle nod of reassurance. 

It took a few moments but soon your blubbering slowed into something of a calm, only interrupted by the occasional hiccup that pushed it way past your lips. 

“That’s it kid.” He rubbed your back “You’re okay.”

“I’m so-rry.” You hiccupped. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

This made Damian pause as a feeling of being humbled washed over him. 

“Tt. Why would I be mad?”

“Because I woke you up.” You pushed yourself up to stand, wiping away tears and making your way to the door. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”

“Oh..y/n…”

Everything seemed to hit Damian all at once. He had been so caught up in his own jealousy that he had completely refused to think about how you felt and it occurred to him that you had so much more in common. You were a scared kid who had just been thrown amongst the most complicated family in Gotham. You were in need of love and guidance and he had failed to do that. The dark haired boy began to feel very guilty. It was his responsibility as your older brother to show you the ropes and he had point blank refused. 

He pushed himself up and settled down on the bed gesturing for you to follow. For a moment he thought that he had completely ruined everything; that you were going to leave and just suffer in silence albeit you walked over to the bed and perched on the end enjoying the way that the memory foam sank down slowly around you.

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there for you. It was selfish of me, I understand now that-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off with a smile.

He nodded contently and pulled you into a hug. 

After a while you meekly broke the silence. “Dami?”

“Mmh?”

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

Damian grinned down as his little sibling proudly for the first time since you had arrived. He then shuffled across the bed and opened up the duvet for you to clamber in next to him. He slung an arm over you protectively. 

“You can stay whenever you need, Little Bat.” 

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Small NSFW Viktor Blurb... because i'm thinking too much about him

Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

The way Viktor fucks is so... scientific.

The way he speaks to you, so softly yet so calculatingly is addictive. It's embarrassing how wet it makes you when he speaks this way. It's not at all that he's talking down to you as he dirty talks, he speaks in the manner that a scientist testing his hypothesis would. He has no condescending tone, no hint of sarcasm, and certainly not trying to degrade you. The opposite really.

"Interesting..." he would murmur as he notices you twitch particularly hard, sitting back against the pillows as he watched you feed his thick cock into your throbbing core, watching the way your slickness coated him with every miniscule movement.

He adjusts himself with his arms, eyes piercing your pussy as his shifting makes you gasp out, pushing more of his length into your tight heat. His voice is strangled as he speaks,"You really seem to like it when I move like this..."

If it were his way, he would have a notebook out to jot down everything he notices as you two fuck. You're pretty sure you caught him writing in a small black notebook one time after a particularly good romp too, but you've never been able to find that little notebook and have never been able to figure out what it contains.

Between his gasps and clutching of the bedsheets underneath him, he stays trained on the way your pussy takes his thickness, stretching around him and leaving a creamy ring around the base as you rode him.

"Hm," he would murmur, hands reaching to shift your hips forward a bit, shifting them back when he notices your brow furrowed more when you were positioned that way on his cock.

He would spread your legs carefully, with shaky hands, adjusting your position to one that he hypothesized and tested before as to being much more comfortable for you. He knew you wouldn't get as tired in this position and that he had easier access to that throbbing clit of yours, nimble and long fingers trailing from the soft mound of your right breast, thumbing your pebbled nipple, down the softness of your torso to where you ached for him the most.

He bit back smirks as he moved his fingers in the exact motion he knew made your eyes screw shut and mouth drop open, drool running down your plump bottom lip before hitting and running over your chest. Of course, he tried and tested it before.

"Like that, yes? I know, I know my sweet, I know you like it this way... prefer to have my fingers move like this, yes? Feels good when you move your hips like that?" He would coo, free hand moving to your hip, digging his fingertips in.

He knew this amount of pressure would leave small finger shaped bruises on your skin, the very kind he loved to see when you two would retire to bed in the lateness of night, fingers tracing over the skin under the glittering moonlight. 

His amber eyes would rake over your form, listening to you gasp out. He would be mentally taking in the tell tale signs that you were close to cumming, getting closer and closer with every gasp. He would take note the way your eyes would glaze over before shutting, how your head settled, brows furrowed. Between his own pleasure he would note the way your clenched, milking him so sweetly that he couldn’t help but jerk his hips up, using his arms to move. 

It made the mattress creak, the frame hit the wall, the pillows go tumbling down. It made his mental notes, ones he made sure to write down once he had a chance as any researcher does, go blurry in his mind. But his eyes never fell from your body, watching his most perfect work bring you to that peak of absolute pleasure, crying out his name as he did everything he knew was tried and true to make it feel so overwhelming. 

Viktor was a scientist at heart, always has been and always will be, but that doesn’t make him a boring academic when it comes to intimacy. If anything, that makes him a lot more mindful, as any good scientist in his field is. 

[curtsycream]

Heyyyy it's me again

Okay so

Poly141 (all dating each other) where they're all like. Lounging in the living room, watching a movie or something. Reader is upstairs in the bathroom (she made an excuse to get away), looking at herself too much in the mirror. She tries to hide she's insecure, but Johnny comes upstairs to find her, and he sees her staring and grabbing her stomach. He watches for a second but when he sees her tearing up, he walks in, picks her up, and takes her to the guys downstairs. He makes her explain to them what he saw, and it turns into fluffy smut? Like the guys are over here like "?????? stfu before i put my baby in you 🙄" and it's gets a little rough, but still fluffy?

Idk it's hella self-indulgent, but no pressure if you don't wanna write it :)

Beautiful Woman

Poly!TF141 x F!Reader

Heyyyyy, how ya doing? I would never turn down a request like this. I hope you like it lovely <33

warnings: not proofread to the highest tier, Soap’s accent is thick (I apologize couldn’t help it), body insecurities, a bit of dysmorphia if you read into it, penetration (p in v), oral (f receiving), idk

Movie nights were always her favorite as she leaned her head on Soap’s shoulder. Her fingers entwined with Ghost’s as they watched Grownups. The movie selection was Gaz’s as he seemed to find the movie pure comedy gold. He felt the same about Mall Cop, something Price could partially agree with.

Laughter from Soap and Gaz filled the room along with Ghost’s random commentary. She was enjoying herself but that gut wrenching feeling was there. Where it felt as if all eyes were on her. She knew it wasn’t that way but her mind made it hard to think clearly. At first she simply wrapped her free arm around her stomach. But it wasn’t enough she knew they weren’t but in her mind they were laughing at her. It was nauseating, standing up abruptly she let a half-baked excuse leave her lips. “Need to use the bathroom,” she told them when they looked to her.

They didn’t notice anything off until she went upstairs. There was a perfectly fine bathroom downstairs but she didn’t go to it. Sharing a look they took a moment to write it off. They didn’t want to cause any alarm when she probably forgot.

The bathroom door slammed close, her eyes focused on her reflection in the mirror. Many times have they assured her that they loved the way she looked. But insecurities like that never went away at the drop of a hat. Raising her shirt she turns to the side looking at her side profile. The way her stomach looked bothered her, her finger tracing over a stretch mark.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at herself head on. Sucking in her stomach she runs a hand over her stomach. Even as she did it she felt inferior in a way. Compared to women from their pasts she wasn’t like them. She wasn’t thin or shaped like a coke bottle, she didn’t feel like their type.

It was a silly concept to focus on the women they dated and determine the kind of women they like. She knew it was but for some reason as her eyes stare at stomach she assumed this was a joke. That she didn’t deserve them because she didn’t fit the standard of the women they didn’t stay with.

Squishing her stomach she sniffled just as the bathroom door opened. He went unnoticed until he stepped forward when seeing how her bottom lip trembled. His eyes on her hands as they squish her stomach. It was clear what was going on as he pulls her against him. His finger rests under her chin as he lifts her head to look at him.

“Whit urr ye daein'?”

His voice was a blanket of warmth over her as he spoke to her. “I—“ she began before stopping.

“Ye?”

It was evident that he wasn’t going to let this go, that was reasonable. Shaking her head she uses her hands to dry her eyes. “I don’t deserve you guys, I’m just..look at me.”

“Shut th' hell up, afore ah pat a baby in ye tae prove it..”

“I’m serious Johnny, no matter what I do I always feel so goddamn inferior to the women you’ve dated. Do you even love me or am I just a spur of the moment decision.”

Her words cut him deep leaving him with a hurt look on his face. He didn’t say anything he just looked at her, it was worrying. But before she could ask him about it he picked her up. Wide eyed she let him carry her as if she weighed nothing to him. Not a single grunt or groan left him to indicate that he was struggling.

When he put her down she landed on the couch in a seated position. All eyes were on her a feeling she hated especially now.

“Tell thaim,” he said pointing to the other three men. Their attention no longer on the movie that was now paused.

Fiddling with her fingers she shrugged looking down, “I don’t deserve you guys…you could have anybody and you pick me. I know I sound a bit childish but that’s how I feel, I don’t compare to the women you’ve dated. I don’t even feel comfortable in my skin, I feel too big.”

“Dated? past tense, there are reasons we aren’t dating those women anymore. Just like there’s a reason we’re with you,” Gaz said his tone just as serious as his expression. She wasn’t used to such a look on his face where a smile usually lived.

Opening her mouth to speak she was cut off by Price. The older man had a similar expression on his face, “you deserve more than you’ll admit. You’re perfect for us trust me if we didn’t love everything about you we wouldn’t be with you, darlin’”

“Stop selling yourself short, if I had the option of anyone I would still pick you. There’s no question about it, lovie.”

The tears that were brimming her eyes soon fell. She couldn’t hold it in anymore as she cried from their words. She was pulled into a chest realizing it was Ghost from the smell of kohl and steel. Even when they were away from work he always managed to smell that way. “How would you know, you can’t prove that?” She asked her voice muffled by his shirt.

“Ye'r perfect fur us, we kin aye prove that,” Soap let out.

A surge of desire coursed through Soap’s body as he watched Gaz’s skilled and intimate ministrations. The way Gaz’s tongue danced across her delicate folds, eliciting moans of pleasure from their girl, sent a jolt of arousal straight to Soap’s core.

He couldn't tear his eyes away as Gaz’s tongue worked its magic, exploring every inch of her pussy. The vulnerability displayed by her, the trust placed in their hands, it all fascinated him.

Swallowing hard, she gripped Price’s hand as his lips were attached to one of her breasts. His kisses were enough to melt her to the core. She kept her eyes open as she looked over at Ghost who was stroking his cock as he watched. He was anticipating his turn to show her just how important she was to them. Licking her lips she moans when Price’s fingers rub her clit. She wasn’t prepared for the assisted pleasure her mind reeling at the feeling of Price’s fingers and Gaz’s tongue.

“Ye keek sae bonny lik' this, lass,” Soap’s words cut through the thick layer of lust and need. Her eyes on him as he moves closer his lips slamming onto hers. The kiss was quick pace as if he was putting all of his love into it.

Her thighs squeezed around Gaz’s head as she panted into Soap’s mouth. Her body trembling as she felt close, a sign they all were familiar with. “Look at that wanna cum so bad, wanna make a mess on Kyle’s tongue huh, darlin’?”

All that left her was a moan into Soap’s mouth at Price’s words. His fingers were pulling at her nipples as she came. Her fingers gripping Gaz’s hair as she moaned loudly into Soap’s mouth. He didn’t relent as he seemed to swallow all of her moans.

When Gaz pulled away so did Soap allowing her to see the man lick his lips clean. A smile on his face as he sat up caressing her inner thigh, “still tasting good I see.”

His words left her a mess almost as much as Ghost was about to leave her. She knew the moment Gaz stepped away what was going to happen. Her eyes found Ghost as he made his way between her legs. His large hands gripping her thighs parting her legs a bit more. The sound of kissing faint as Soap tasted her off of Gaz’s lips.

“You’re so pretty, lovie,” Ghost’s words distracted her from him entering her. A moan leaving her lips as she felt him slowly sink into her. “Always so fuckin’ tight too,” he praised.

His words and actions left her feeling fuzzy inside. Just as she thought that would be enough she felt kisses trailing down her stomach. “Love everything about you, darlin’. Look at how pretty you are taking Simon’s cock. Making him feel so good,” his words rang loud in her ears. “Tell me how pretty you are, we wanna hear you darlin’.”

She was used to their reassurance and love but it always felt different when they were intimate. It seemed to cement just how much they truly meant what they said. How they showed her body love in the most intimate of ways. “I’m very pretty,” she choked out when Price left a hickey on her thigh.

As Ghost’s speed picked up he caged her between his arms. His face dropping to the crook of her neck, his breath fanning her skin. “Gonna put a baby in you, let you carry around proof that we love you.”

Shuddering she whimpered at his words while he thrusted ruthlessly into her. It wasn’t long until she was clamping around his cock. Her eyes fluttering shut when she came around him. In return he gasps sharply as her pussy milks him for all that he has.

It served as a reminder even after they cleaned up. She stood in front of the mirror again after the shared shower between them. Behind her stood Price whose hands were on her bare hips. “Look at you, the prettiest woman there is.” He would whisper in her ear as he left kisses along her shoulder. “Regardless of how you feel about yourself I promise you that we aren’t thinking those same bad things you are. You look sexy and it’s okay to not be what you think you should be. We love how you look, darlin’.”

Nodding her head she tears up watching him leave kisses on her skin in the mirror. It was reassuring in ways she had never experienced before. With them she knew she would be loved, they would always make that clear to her.

Soap peeked his head into the bathroom with squinted eyes, “Ye let Si pump a baby intae ye afore ah cuid? ah wis th' yin wha said it first” he tells her.

A laugh left her lips as she listens to him, “I’m sorry,” said said to him. Shaking his head he holds his hand out, “Na sorry, wur aboot tae dae that now.”

Translations again I want to thank my friend who was able to tell me how to write Soap’s words properly. He’s a real one <33 For words like baby, first, maybe a few more I changed them because my keyboard hates the word bairn for some reason.

Whit urr ye daein'? - What are you doing?

Ye? - You?

Shut th' hell up, afore ah pat a baby in ye tae prove it. - Shut the hell up, before I put a baby in you to prove it

Tell thaim - Tell them

Ye'r perfect fur us, we kin aye prove that - You’re perfect for us, we can always prove that

Ye keek sae bonny lik' this, lass - You look so beautiful like this, girl

Ye let Si pump a baby intae ye afore ah cuid? ah wis th' yin wha said it first - You let Si pump a baby into you before I could? I was the one who said it first.

Na sorry, wur aboot tae dae that now. - No sorry, we’re about to do that now

[cece693]

hello^^ i have a slightly odd request

would you be willing to do something with Hannibal where like the reader is just off-putting constantly? like always has a blank expression and is just really morbid to the point of weirding out other people- (also whether or not reader is another killer and their relationship is up to you :]) ((and if possible could reader have an obsession with rats? if not its fine!^^))

thank you and no pressure!!! :3

Birds of a Feather (Platonic! Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Thanks for the request. Since you gave me creative liberty with what relationship the reader has with Hannibal, I'm expanding my creativity and trying to write platonic fanfics. Due to this, and my heart belonging to Hannigram, Will makes an appearance (not Abigail though, never got into her character.) Hope you enjoy it!

Hannibal Lecter had long believed himself immune to the bonds of familial connection. His life was one of solitude by choice, his relationships shallow performances for an unknowing audience. Yet with them—the peculiar, morbid teenager now under his guardianship—something had shifted. He hadn’t planned for this. He had taken them in because he saw a reflection of himself, unpolished and raw, with the potential to be something extraordinary. What he hadn’t anticipated was how deeply he would come to care for them, not as a mentor or an observer, but as a father.

They had first come to Hannibal at their parents’ insistence, dragged into his office under a banner of concern that barely masked their parents’ disdain. They hadn’t even tried to soften the language of their complaint: “They’re morbid. Obsessed with disgusting things like rats and death. They don’t have friends, they don’t smile. They’re weird. Can you fix them?”

Hannibal had known immediately what kind of parents they were—shallow, image-obsessed individuals for whom their child’s uniqueness was an inconvenience to be smoothed over, rather than a gift to be celebrated. He despised them almost as much as they seemed to despise their child. The teenager, however, had been fascinating. When Hannibal asked why they were there, they answered with a flat, emotionless voice.

"Because my parents don’t like me. They think I’m broken."

"And are you?" Hannibal asked, his tone warm, though his eyes studied them sharply.

They had tilted their head slightly, their gaze piercing and calm. "I don’t know. I don’t care if I am."

That first session had been an exercise in subtlety. Hannibal, as always, sought to probe beneath the surface, to see the layers of a person’s mind unfold before him. But with them, there were no layers—no artifice, no carefully constructed mask. They were disarmingly blunt, their morbid interests laid bare without shame.

"I like rats," they said when Hannibal asked what brought them joy. "I have nine of them. Bubonic’s my favorite."

"And why rats?" Hannibal inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"They’re smart. Loyal. They don’t care if you’re weird. They’ll eat a corpse if you leave it there, but it’s not personal. It’s just what they do. Survival instincts."

Their answers were a study in pragmatism, unvarnished and unfiltered. Over time, Hannibal learned more about their life—how their parents had ridiculed their passions, belittled their intellect, and dismissed their feelings as irrelevant. How they had found solace in the company of creatures most would find repugnant, and how they had begun to retreat into themselves, building walls not out of fear but out of indifference.

"My parents said they’d throw them out if I didn’t stop," they admitted one day, their voice betraying the faintest tremor. "The rats. They don’t like them. They don’t like me."

"And how does that make you feel?" Hannibal asked.

They paused, their blank expression unchanging. "I’d kill them if they touched my rats."

Hannibal had smiled faintly at that, sensing not a hollow threat but a declaration of what they believed was justice. Hannibal saw his relationship with the teen as one purely beneficial to him—some form of entertainment during the stagnant moment his life had fallen into. But when the teen arrived one day in session visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, Hannibal felt immense anger.

"Tell me what happened." he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.

The teen sat down at the chair and looked at their hands, fingers trembling. "My dad killed Bubonic," they said quietly. "He was going on again about how weird it was for a person my age to be such a recluse, how disappointed he was in me for not being the child he envisioned. I didn't care, I screamed at him to leave me alone. That all I needed was my rats, he didn't listen," They sputtered, tears finally escaping their eyes.

Hannibal's hands rested lightly on the arm of his chair, though his grip tightened imperceptibly as the teen’s words sank in. Their voice, typically steady and detached, was cracking under the weight of their grief, and Hannibal found himself unprepared for the surge of emotion it evoked in him.

"What did he do?" Hannibal asked, his voice gentle, though his mind already painted the scene in vivid detail.

The teen sniffed, struggling to steady their voice. "He grabbed Bubonic. Said if I loved those 'vermin' so much, then I’d learn what happens when I waste my life on them. He threw him. Against the wall." Their hands trembled in their lap, and then clenched into fists. "I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but I couldn’t—"

Hannibal interrupted softly, his voice firm yet soothing. "It is not your fault. Bubonic’s death lies entirely with your father. You mustn’t take the blame for his cruelty."

They nodded, though their tears continued to fall. For a moment, the room was silent, save for their quiet sobs. Hannibal remained perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm, though inside, a storm brewed. He had long mastered the art of restraint, of hiding the depths of his emotions behind a practiced façade. But now, the threads of that mask were straining.

His anger was not the fiery, impulsive kind that consumed lesser men. It was cold, methodical, the kind that calculated every step of its revenge with precision. He had no doubt about what he needed to do. Bubonic’s death was an affront to the teen’s spirit, an insult to their resilience and individuality, and Hannibal would not allow such an act to go unpunished.

He rose from his chair, moving to kneel in front of them, a gesture of rare intimacy. Gently, he placed a hand on their shoulder, grounding them. His touch was firm yet comforting, like the anchor they so desperately needed.

"You loved him," Hannibal said quietly. "And that love was real. It is not diminished by what your father did. Bubonic mattered, and his memory will not be forgotten."

They looked at him, their tear-filled eyes meeting his calm, steady gaze. For the first time, Hannibal saw a flicker of something beyond their usual detachment—trust, fragile and hesitant, but there. He gave them a faint, reassuring smile, careful to keep the rage simmering inside him hidden from view.

That evening, as Hannibal sat alone in his study, the weight of his decision settled over him like a second skin. He had already made up his mind; there was no room for doubt. The teen’s father was an unworthy man, cruel and petty, whose actions had irreparably harmed his child. The wife was not better, for who would allow such affronts to happen to your child? Hannibal would ensure neither had the opportunity to inflict such pain again.

The deaths were orchestrated with Hannibal’s usual elegance. The scene was staged as a tragic home invasion, violent enough to mislead even the sharpest investigators. The teen’s parents were swept away as easily as pawns on a chessboard, leaving Hannibal free to step into the role of guardian.

It was an arrangement he presented to the authorities as a matter of practicality—after all, he was their trusted psychiatrist, a respected member of the community. And with no other family member willing to take in the 'troubled' youth, Hannibal was seen fit as a caregiver. But in truth, it was far more than that. It was an act of reclamation, a way to give the teen a life they needed and deserved.

Under Hannibal’s guidance, they began to flourish. What had once been a life of isolation and condemnation was replaced with warmth, curiosity, and purpose. Hannibal nurtured their sharp intellect, encouraging them to explore philosophy, art, and science. He fed their fascination with decay and life cycles, finding ways to weave their morbid interests into lessons that expanded their understanding of the world.

Their rats, once crammed into a small cage hidden away from disapproving eyes, now thrived in a custom-built enclosure—a miniature ecosystem of tunnels and habitats that Hannibal had crafted himself. The teenager spent hours tending to them, speaking softly to each one as though they were old friends. Slowly but surely, they grew more confident, their once-detached demeanor softened by the security of knowing they were finally, unquestionably accepted.

So, when Will Graham entered their lives, Hannibal saw an opportunity to complete the family he hadn't realized he was building. At first, Will’s presence unsettled the teen. He was different from Hannibal—more empathetic, less polished. But there was something grounding about Will’s quiet intensity, his ability to understand without needing words.

Their relationship began cautiously, with the teen watching Will from the corner of their eye during his visits, studying him as though he were one of the rats they loved so much. But Will, ever patient, allowed them to come to him on their terms. Over time, the cracks of their tentative bond filled with shared silences and soft-spoken observations.

"You remind me of my rats," the teen said one day, tilting their head at Will as they sat together in the study.

Will blinked, unsure if it was meant as an insult. "How so?"

"You’re always watching. Thinking one step ahead compared to everyone else."

Will glanced at the teenager, amused. "I don’t know if I should be flattered or mildly offended."

They shrugged, their gaze steady and calm. "It’s a compliment. Rats are survivors. They’re smart, and they don’t waste energy pretending to be something they’re not. You’re like that."

Will leaned back in his chair, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Smart and a survivor, huh? Could be worse."

"Definitely worse," they replied, their tone so matter-of-fact that it made Will laugh softly. "You’d be terrible at being fake, anyway."

SMALL TIME SKIP

Hannibal leaned back in his armchair, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest as he observed the scene before him. It was a tableau of quiet intimacy—his beloved Will Graham, seated cross-legged on the floor, and the teenager sprawled out beside him, their rats darting around like tiny, mischievous shadows.

Will had one hand resting lightly on the floor to keep himself steady while the other hovered hesitantly near one of the rats. "So, uh," he began, his tone unsure but willing, "what happens if I try to touch it? Am I going to lose a finger?"

The teen smirked faintly, their usual neutral demeanor softening just enough to give away their amusement. "Maybe. Cholera’s got a temper, but the others are fine. You just have to be calm."

Will huffed a quiet laugh, his tension easing slightly. "Calm, huh? Should be easy enough."

"You’re always tense," the teen said bluntly, tilting their head as they watched him. "The rats can tell. You should probably breathe or something."

Hannibal’s lips curved into an indulgent smile at their candor. He adored how effortlessly they spoke their mind—so different from the guarded subtleties most people employed. And Will, bless his complex mind, seemed entirely charmed by it.

"I am breathing," Will retorted, his tone carrying a note of mock indignation. "Maybe I’m just…different from rats."

"That’s debatable," the teen quipped, though their smirk grew into something warmer as one of the bolder rats sniffed at Will’s hand before scampering up his arm.

Will froze, his eyes wide, and Hannibal chuckled softly. "It seems you’ve been accepted," he remarked, his tone rich with amusement. "An honor not given lightly, I assure you."

The teen nodded solemnly, as though Hannibal’s words were gospel. "Yeah. If Cholera likes you, you’re okay."

Will glanced between them, his lips twitching into a bemused smile. "Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be rejected by…Cholera."

The rat in question perched on Will’s shoulder, chittering softly, and the teen gave a rare, genuine laugh—a sound that caught both Will and Hannibal off guard. Hannibal’s chest swelled with warmth at the sight of the two bonding, the sharp edges of their respective personalities softening as they found common ground.

For Hannibal, this was more than he could have hoped for. Watching Will, the man who had captured his heart with his brilliance and empathy, and his ward, the child who had become the unexpected center of his world, grow closer felt like the culmination of something profound. He had orchestrated many things in his life, but this—this was pure serendipity.

Will, still adapting to the chaos of rats scurrying across him, glanced up at Hannibal. "You’re awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice light but curious. "Enjoying the show?"

Hannibal’s smile deepened, his eyes warm as they met Will’s. "Immensely," he replied. "It is rare to witness such harmony. You’ve both surprised me."

The teen, still laughing softly, looked between them and said, "You’re both weird, but I think that’s why this works."

Will raised an eyebrow, glancing at Hannibal. "Weird, huh? I guess I’ll take that."

"As will I," Hannibal added smoothly, his tone affectionate. "Weirdness, after all, is simply a deviation from the ordinary. And I would have no other way for our family."

The word hung in the air—family—and for a moment, all three of them sat in a comfortable silence. The fire crackled, the rats chittered, and the connection between them felt solid, unshakable. Hannibal, watching the two people he cared for most in the world bond so effortlessly, allowed himself a rare moment of unguarded happiness. This was it. This was home.

[batterycows]

Ochako’s Confession: A Togachako Analysis

I don't usually write down or post analysis, but if I didn't put this down somewhere I was at risk of grabbing a stranger off the street and asking whether they knew about the doomed toxic yuri in hit manga series My Hero Academia.

Now, I think it was expected to some degree that Uraraka would have some big cathartic confession where she finally embraced her feelings for Izuku. And while she did admit her feeelings, the moment wasn't... that

And honestly, why would it be? In the end, Uraraka had no reason to confess her feelings. She didn't suffer from hiding them, on the contrary. Her crush was beginning to hinder her performance as a Hero, and all bottling them up did was help her improve. Sure, suppression is bad and all but ultimately, Uraraka seemed better off pushing her feelings aside. Especially when compared to Toga, who literally broke under the pressure of her hidden feelings. There was nothing pushing Uraraka to confess other than the vague sentiment that “suppressing your feelings is Bad.”

Yet, the importance of being open about your feelings is repeatedly emphasized during Toga's and Uraraka's arcs. It's what drove Toga to villainy, and something she tried to bond with Uraraka over. Something they shared. So the setup for a confession is there, but no satisfying resolution.

That's cause Izuku is a red herring.

Indeed, being honest about her feelings was vital for Uraraka, but it had nothing to with Izuku. Because the feelings Uraraka was suppressing all along, the ones that she needed to let out, were her feelings for Toga.

The envy she felt during their first meeting, how lovely she found Toga's smile. How much it troubled Uraraka when it was replaced with tears. Girl likes boy is as conventional as it gets. But a Hero sympathizing for a Villain in a society that dehumanizes them? Now that makes Uraraka kind of weird. And she knows it, that these thoughts go against everything she knows about society, about her role as a Hero. So she tried pushing all that away.

But she can't run from her feelings forever. And in the end, it's those feelings that allow Uraraka to save the day. Her arc deals with humanization. She wonders "who saves Heroes" until she's wondering "who saves Villains?" and finds that in this case, the answer is each other.

How did Uraraka and Toga save each other? By imitating each other, by being like someone they love.

Uraraka envied Toga's unapologetic openness, so she took a page from her book and told her everything she had been hiding and mulling over since they met. She stopped pushing Toga away and finally answered every one-sided conversation they've had. They're chatting about love, and Uraraka is finally responding.

A girl's feelings can change the world, and Uraraka being honest about her feelings is what allowed her to reach Toga's heart and save her. This is how Uraraka became a Hero.

Toga also saved Uraraka by imitating her. In a very literal sense by Transforming into Uraraka (being "cute" like Uraraka) but I think also in the way she used her Quirk. Until now, Toga believed the only way for her to live freely was through violence. When her Quirk awakened, Toga used Zero Gravity to kill. But now, she's imitating Uraraka on a deeper level. Uraraka who said her Quirk isn't made to hurt people, so Toga used her own Quirk to save Uraraka. For the first time, she realized she could love and be loved without violence.

Uraraka and Toga's confrontation was the long awaited end of a conversation. Nearly a year before Toga had tried to bond with Uraraka, asked her whether she liked someone, whether she wanted to be like them? Uraraka finally confessed: Yes, I want to be like you.

[accidentcache]

hiii :3 i have a touya drabble for u since u asked, no pressure to write it ofc <3 but here’s the idea, fresh out of a coma dabi barely surviving on the streets, and bro passes out from lack of food/ freezing rainy weather, whateves, paired with a cool teenage runaway reader who takes him to their apartment and nurses him back to health and stuff! reader was probably in bad shape after they first ran away from home, and felt compassion for someone who seems to be in a similar position :( okie sry for yapping! u get the gist! ٩( 'ω' )و

bashing my HEAD IN I LOVE THIS

when touya opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is a ceiling. textured, there's warm but very little light and the sounds of the city are muffled. it takes him about five seconds to jerk upward and fully take in his surroundings.

he doesn't know where he's at. there's very little on the walls, a sparcely furnished room and the couch he currently sits on is worn down to threads and the cushions are lumpy. whoever lives here clearly is just barely getting by.

though he's not expecting you to round the corner. you look so sweet, innocent-- someone who shouldn't be living or around this kind of environment.

"oh!" you're startled to find him awake. "didn't think you'd be up quite yet," the closer you approach, touya can see the dark bags under your eyes and the permanent crease between your brow even though the skin between them is flat. he can see tension in your shoulders even though you're hiding it fairly well. "how are you feeling?"

"who the hell are you?"

you pause in front of him. you had planned on explaining yourself, of course you did. you had a plan of how to lay the story of how you found him out while you made him some noodles over the simple gas stovetop you managed to score in this apartment. but you also should've known he'd react like a feral alleycat being cornered-- wide eyes and on the edge of fleeing if you got too close.

"relax," you state lowly, holding your hands out in a show of surrender, as if he's holding a weapon to your throat. "i found you passed out and on the verge of starvation the other night, just wanted to help nurse you back to health."

touya's lip curls in distaste. he vaugely remembers an empty and hollow feeling in his gut before his eyes shut the last time he'd been conscious. but he also remembers being hidden fairly well in the back of an alley where no random civillain would find him on a normal stroll in case he died mid-sleep.

his eyes roam your form. you look normal. aside from the glaring obvious-- your clothes look worn down and your shoes have seen better days, your apartment looks like a safehouse rather than a home for a teenager living on their own-- touya would assume you're a typical civillain who had a random flit of pity on him.

"why?" he asks, and he can't control how snippy and cold his tone sounds. from the looks of it, you expected it from him. touya doesn't know if that's the reason his chest squeezes or not.

"you needed help," your hand meets his knee for a fleeting squeeze and you ignore how he flinches at the touch. he looks shocked at the fact that you willingly touched him-- sympathy settles like a rock at the bottom of your stomach.

"i didn't ask for help," touya snaps in response, trying and failing to hide the flush that creeps along his cheeks. he tries to rise from the couch but he struggles when it comes to actually lifting himself-- he curses audibly before landing back into the cushion.

you watch the whole event happen with a slight amused expression, touya ignores it. he watches you move towards what you could call the kitchen and throw open the refrigerator. "you didn't ask, but i gave it to you regardless," you say over your shoulder.

touya knows you're making food for him. he doesn't want anything else from you, but he knows he's going to take what you give him.

"'m just giving you what i wished people gave me when i was in that situation."

touya feels his gut hit the floor. he doesn't say anything else.

years later, you find him out on the balcony, smoking with a handle between his fingers. it's been a lazy week at the league, so he can afford to let loose for the time being and relax. he looks lost in thought. staring off into the distance, if you were closer you could've seen the city lights reflected in his eyes, glassy due to intoxication.

touya looks different now. he's dyed his hair black (he never told you why, he just came back one day with the box and had asked for your help) and he's added piercings that you have fond memories of him coming home with.

the scars have gotten darker. the staples have changed color. you've helped change them so many times that you can tell when he needs fresh ones-- especially the ones along his cheekbones.

you lean against the railing beside him, slipping the bottle from his hand and lifting it to your lips for a taste, hissing as the bitterness washes over your tongue and down your throat. after you're done coughing, you look over at him. "what're you thinkin' about?"

"just us," he murmurs in response. his eyes don't leave the skyline.

the two of you have matured over the years. he goes by dabi now, you've donned your own villain name. but to the two of you, in private; you are touya and [y/n]. in private, the two of you are allowed to feel safe and content. you two are allowed to feel.

touya slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. the action is rough and clumsy-- but the affection is not lost on you. it makes you smile, the little one that brings out the dimple in your cheek. when you lean your head against his shoulder, he rests his head on top of yours.

you feel like you love touya.

touya knows he loves you.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[nightlyrequiem]

Hii, could I request a story where reader still has her V-card? Would really appreciate it

I love your storys btw

Hello :) Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying my stories! I'm not sure if you wanted smut so I didn't include any, but it does get pretty suggestive. If you do want smut I can go back and write it in, hope you like this!

Tags/Warnings: Suggestive themes, Fluff

Cherry Flavoured

The lights are dimmed to only a few scattered candles around the tidied living room. There's some kind of horror movie playing. A really bad one filled with boobs and over the top gore. You and Valeria are cuddled up under a soft green throw blanket. Throughout the night, Valeria's hand has migrated from your shoulder down to your thigh, her fingers lightly tracing back and forth over your bare skin. The contact makes your heart race far more than the movie does. Your breath ghosts over the smooth skin of her neck, she's radiating warmth and you can still smell a hint of the perfume she put on earlier.

You and Valeria haven't been together for that long, only two months, three weeks, and six days. But who's counting? Despite that, you still haven't slept together. The furthest you've gone was using your hand on her. When she tried to reciprocate you claimed seeing her writhe against your hand in pleasure was enough to do it for you. It almost was, her sweet cries and whimpers combined with the feeling of her wetness between your fingers almost made you come right then and there. But the truth is, you've never had another person between your thighs, and you're a little more than nervous to. Sex feels like a daunting milestone, and you aren't sure if you're ready for it just yet. You're wary of telling Valeria, irrationally worried that she'll leave you. What if she thinks it's too much work to train a virgin?

The hand not on your thigh snakes up to your jaw, pulling your head up so her soft lips can meet yours. The movie is temporarily forgotten as you two kiss, her lips taste faintly of cherry from her ChapStick. The kiss is slow and unhurried. An intimate dance between your mouths. She leans back and grabs your waist, pulling you against her firm body. The kiss gets a little more heated as you're pulled on top of her. Her hand drifts over your back and down, resting on your rear. You open your mouth slightly to give her entry. Your tongues embrace as screaming plays in the background. You finally pull away to catch your breath, both of you breathing heavily. Valeria's nose brushes along your jaw as she presses open mouthed kisses along the side of your throat.

Despite your anxieties over moving further there's a certain heat building between your thighs. You're abruptly pushed onto your back as Valeria straddles you. The throw blanket falls to the ground silently while Valeria leans down to capture your mouth in another hungry kiss. Her warm hands wondering over your body feverishly. She nips and licks at your bottom lip while her fingers slowly slip under the elastic of your shorts, beginning to tug them down. You don't say anything until she has them halfway down your legs.

"Wait, wait." You breathe, sharing breath with Valeria.

"What?" She murmurs into your neck and sucking plum coloured marks into your skin. You open and close your mouth. Unsure of what to say.

What excuse can you make this time? You feel choked by the noose of pressure. The longer you stay silent the more obvious it will become that you're avoiding it. Valeria nips your neck, and you yelp in surprise.

"Ow!" You exclaim. Valeria chuckles lowly and soothes the blooming soreness with her tongue. She continues to pull down your shorts and you lay there silently panicking. Valeria can feel your discomfort in the stiffness of your body, and she slows to a stop, lifting her face from your neck to look at you. She must see the trepidation in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" She asks. Frowning. You just stare up at her with wide eyes, face feeling warm.

"We... we're going to miss out on the movie." You reply lamely. You can tell that she doesn't buy it.

"We can always rewind it if you're that interested." Valeria says dryly. Wholly unimpressed with your excuse.

You lick your lips.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be the same." Valeria sighs and moves off of you. Tugging your shorts back up.

"If you don't want to have sex with me you can just say so." She speaks. Leaning her head on the soft back of the couch. "I don't understand why though. It seems like every time I try to initiate something you turn me down." Valeria doesn't sound mad. In fact, you hear a hint of hurt in her voice.

"It's not that I don't want to, I just..." You trail off. Feeling embarrassed.

"Just what? Don't find me attractive?" She retorts.

"No!" You say firmly. "You're beautiful, I do want to sleep with you but I'm..." You mull over your words. This was a talk that should've happened much sooner. You don't want to tell her but keeping it secret isn't worth it if it's making her feel bad. "I'm still a virgin."

Valeria stares at you. Her silence is starting to make you uncomfortable, and you feel the need to justify yourself.

"I'm just scared, I've never done it before, and I don't want to mess it up." You pause. "I'm sorry, Val." You murmur.

"That's why you won't let me touch you?" She asks. "Because you're a virgin?" She says that like she doesn't believe you.

"Yes. I'm still a virgin." You frown. Valeria reaches over to the coffee table and grabs the TV remote. She pauses the movie and turns back to you. She sets the remote down and grabs your face, holding it in her hands.

"Cariño," She starts. Her pupils are so dilated that only a thin ring of brown remain. "I don't care if you're a virgin." Her words lift something heavy from your shoulders.

"You don't?" You murmur. Her lips tick up.

"Well, I suppose I do a little." She whispers, leaning closer. "There's something very appealing about being the one to pop your cherry." Her hands move down and wrap around your neck in a gentle, loving hold. "I'll be gentle." 

Valeria closes the distance and kisses you again. You've been relieved of your burden with the knowledge that she'll grace you with patience and understanding. You meet her in equal hunger and want. Valeria will take care of you.

[measuredingold]

hi, angel <33 back with a request! also also no pressure at all ofc, if you’re not vibing with it just delete 🥰

just had a lil fluff idea, friends to lovers type beat. reader is on tour with the band, tagging along as a friend when she’s out late one night with the guys, gets a lil drunk/tipsy and ends up in the wrong bunk. (Noah’s.) he didn’t go out, he went to bed early. she doesn’t realize and she’s like “what are you doing in my bed?”

neither of them end up moving, and it doesn’t help that she’s a cuddly drunk. plus, he has a hard time saying no to you 🥺💗

anyway, do with that what you will 💖

just friends

authors note: thank you so much lovely anon for requesting this! i enjoyed writing this and kind of want to take it further, but i'm not sure? :) anyways, i hope this is what you were looking for and you enjoy it <3 reminder that my requests are open! also, happy birthday noah :)

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 2.6k

cw/tags: fluff (like tooth-rotting fluff imo), friends to lovers, confessions/admission of feelings, drinking/reader is drunk, 18+ minors do not interact

"Easy there, girl."

You giggled as Nicholas helped you onto the bus, his hands pressed against the small of your back to keep you in place. You didn't even mean to drink this, usually not one to do so, but after Folio had challenged you to see how many shots you could take in under a minute you had to prove to him that it definitely was more than two. Now here you were, giggling obnoxiously to yourself as Nicholas guided you onto the bus, feet tripping over one another.

"Nick," You hum, eyes squinting around the bus. "Is the room spinning?"

"It very much is not. You," A finger pressed to your forehead, and you barely registered that Nicholas was now in front of you, a smile tugging at his lips, "are very much drunk, though. Come on, let's get you to bed. Go change and I'll get you some water and Tylenol for that headache that should be kicking in... now."

You go to retort, but there was already a dull pain in the back of your head causing you to wince. Your headaches came a lot earlier when you drank, not waiting until the morning to hit. You give him a grateful smile when he hands you your bag you kept above one of the seats up front, knowing your drunk ass could not get that even if you tried your hardest, and you pulled out a change of clothes and made your way back to the very small, and very tight bathroom.

You change, clumsily, and shuffle your way back to the front of the bus where Nicholas was waiting for you. You take the Tylenol and bottle of water gratefully, swallowing down the medicine in one go. You take a few more sips of water, realizing just how thirsty you were before deciding you were good to go, twisting the cap back on a tossing it onto the couch.

“Good?” You nod, giving Nicholas a thumbs up in response. He smiles. “Alright. I’m gonna meet back up with guys, but Noah’s still here.”

Your brows furrow for a moment before you remember that Noah is still on the bus, opting out of going out with you and the crew after tonight’s show. You give Nicholas another nod as your response.

“If you need anything, just wake Noah up. He’ll get you whatever you need.” He leans forward now, tipping his head down to press his lips to your forehead, and you smile brightly up at him when he pulls away. “And if he doesn’t, hit ‘em upside the head and then call me.”

You laugh, “I’m sure I’ll be fine if I need anything. I’m drunk, not injured.”

He rolls his eyes at you before you gently shove him away, pushing him towards the door. You say your goodbyes and watch the door shut behind Nicholas, leaving you to stand alone in the front of the bus all by yourself. You stay put for a second, the dizziness coming back before a yawn rips from you, and you decide to finally shuffle your way towards the bunks.

All you needed was your favorite blanket and your bunk, and that duck squishmallow Noah had gotten you a few months ago. It’s quiet and you think Noah’s probably asleep already, and you yawn again as you finally reach your bunch, pulling the curtain back. You stare quizzically, though, at the man curled up in your bunk, and he stares right back, brows raised and just as confused.

"What the hell are you doing in my bunk?"

Noah blinks at you before pulling his airpods out, a brow raised. "What?"

"I said," You let go of the curtain to place a hand on your hip. "What the hell are you doing in my bunk, Davis?"

He stares at you for a beat before his lips slowly start curling into a smile.

"How drunk are you?" Noah squints at you.

"Why does that matter?" You argue, words slurring slightly. "I'm drunk and you're in my bunk. Two very obvious and true things. Now answer my question."

Noah snorts out a laugh. "You're right about one thing, you definitely are drunk. This is my bunk, though."

If you were sober, you would realize that yes, he was right. This was definitely not your bunk, yours was right below his, but for some reason in your drunk and hazy mind you were sure that this was your bunk. It looked just like it - just like the rest of the damn bunks on this bus - so it had to be true. You purse your lips, arms crossing over your chest.

“Very funny, Noah. Now get out, I’m tired and want to go to sleep.”

“I’m not moving.” He says more firmly, eyes narrowing at you. “This is my bunk, yours is over there.”

You turn as he points to the bunk across from his, the curtains drawn, and you squint. You look back at him, then back at the other bunk, and a voice in the back of your head is telling you that he was right. That was your bunk, not the one Noah was currently occupying. None of your stuff is there, your pillow isn’t even there, but for some reason the drunk – and very stubborn – part of you was firm on your stance.

Noah was in your bunk.

You turn back to him, arms still crossed over your chest, and you square your shoulders. “I’m just gonna climb up if you’re not moving, dude. So, either get out or we’re cuddle buddies for the rest of the night.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment and you see the exact where Noah’s shoulders drop, realizing there’s no point in arguing with you because you are right (no, you’re not) and he sighs deeply, though you barely catch the slight curl of his lips.

“Whatever. Get in.”

You climb into the bunk beside Noah, slowly because you knew in your inebriated state that was a disaster waiting to happen, and the boy sighs to himself again, rolling onto his side and pressing his back against the wall to make room for you. You roll onto your side, back facing Noah, and press against him. It wasn't hard to do with how tight the space was, and you hummed to yourself when you finally got comfortable enough to relax, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

"Comfy?" You hear Noah murmur behind you.

You nod, "Very."

"Good."

You feel him shift behind you and if you had been sober, maybe the thought of being so close to him would have your skin blazing, but as your thoughts swirl, the only thing you can really think is how nice he feels pressed against you and how comfortable you are. His arm slings over your waist underneath the blanket and you swear he pulls you closer to him, if that was possible. A pleased sigh escapes him, the air fanning over the back of your neck. Now that has your body firing up, tiny goosebumps scattering across your skin. You melt against him.

"Why didn't you go out?" You ask through a yawn, eyes fluttering.

"Didn't want to."

"Why not? Everyone else did."

"Just wasn't in the mood," He mumbles behind you, his breath fanning against the back of your neck again. "Cold? You got goosebumps.”

You shake your head but feel Noah pull you closer anyways, sweatpant covered legs slipping in between yours. His limbs snake around yours and practically confines you, locking you against him. You're finding out that you like it way more than you probably should for a friend, but the drunken haze of your mind doesn't care too much about the technicalities of it all. 

"Did you miss me?" You ask after another beat of silence, and you feel Noah's body tense behind you.

“…Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe."

You pause. "Is that why you're in my bunk right now? Because you missed me?"

Noah lets out a groan and you can't help but smirk, soft giggles escaping you. You feel his hand move down to your hip, pushing your shirt up slightly to pinch at your skin playfully and you squeal, squirming against him. You barely move because this six-three, giant man has you tight in his grasp, and you feel his chest move against your back with his laughter. 

"Oh my fucking god," He grumbles into your hair, but you hear the smile in his voice. "Go to sleep. Please."

"I'm trying." You whine out, eyes slipping shut at the feeling of his hand now spreading out against your tummy, rubbing soothing circles there. "My head hurts too much."

"Did you take anything?"

"Mhm." You hum. "Nicholas gave me some Tylenol and water before he met back up with the guys."

"You drink all the water?"

You shrug. “Maybe like half?”

"Good enough for me." You feel the brush of his lips against the back of your neck and your eyes spring open, freezing in his hold. "You just need to relax. It should start kicking in soon."

You don't say anything, hyper-focused on the way his lips felt against your skin and the way you liked it too much. Even in your inebriated state you knew what that meant, and maybe you always had, but was just too scared to even think of the possibility. You and Noah were just friends... who sometimes teetered the line between friends and something else. It went unspoken for as long as you could remember, and you're not sure why you never said anything. 

You don't know if it's the alcohol, or if you're finally sobering up, but your stomach turns at the thought. Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't he say anything? You feel dizzy again, and there's a voice in the back of your head trying to tell you to shut up and sleep but you've never been a good listener, even to yourself, and your lips move before you can think twice about it. 

"Noah." Your voice is hushed and the feel of his fingers rubbing circles against your bare hip as your head spinning more than it probably should be right now.

"Hm?" 

"You do realize friends don't do this, right?"

It takes him a moment to reply, "Do what?"

"This."

You feel more sober than you did five minutes prior. You're aware of everything - where you are, who you're with, who you're pressed against. Noah lets out a sigh and you feel him nose at your shoulder, a shiver running through your body at the feeling.

"You know we’ve never exactly been just friends."

You can't believe he had just said that as your eyes almost bulge right out of your head, and you try to turn in his arms so that you can face him.

"Noah-"

His grip only tightens on you, and you can't move, stuck where you are, and you hear him huff out a laugh before saying, "Nope. No way. We’re not having this talk right now when you’re drunk as shit, and we’re trapped in this glorified death box. Go to sleep.”

"But-"

"If you remember this in the morning, then ask me again." You feel his lips move against the back of your neck and you shiver again, squirming against him.

"I will." You finally whisper after two beats of silence, trying to settle back against his chest. "I'll ask you tomorrow."

He presses another kiss to the back of your neck and your entire body flushes, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Okay."

You both lay in silence and it's not long for sleep to find you, body finally relaxing after the long night.

…

You wake some hours later, groaning quietly as you lifted your head up from the pillow. You blink blearily around you before rubbing at your eyes, trying to rid them of sleep as last night’s shenanigans flooded your brain. With another groan you roll onto your back and stare up at the top of the bunk, picking a part your memories.

Going out with the guys, taking way too many shots with Folio, Nicholas having to walk you back to the bus, the Tylenol, Noah… Your mind pauses at the thought of the male, and you realize you’re in the bunk alone. You remember everything clearly, from arguing with him about how this was your bunk – it in fact very much was not – from climbing into said bunk and cuddling with him. You remember him saying that the two of you have never been just friends but refused to elaborate.

If you remember this in the morning, then ask me again.

The bus is quiet, the only sound you hear are Jolly’s snores coming from below you, and the soft sound of the bus’s engine running. You were most likely on your way to the next city. You’re sure Noah’s already up, probably in the front working away on his laptop, and you peel his blanket off your body and do your best to get down from his bunk.

You find him where you expected him, beanie on top his head and hoodie wrapped around his body, headphones on as he typed away at his laptop. You’d make a joke about him always working, but you’re only thinking of one thing right now.

You come stand in front of him and he notices you almost instantly, pushing his headphones off his head as he stares up at you.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You blush, eyes dropping for a moment as your arms come to cross over your chest.

“What did you mean last night?” You blurt out.

Noah pauses but his eyes never leave you, and you watch as he slips his computer off his lap and into the seat next to him. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees.

“Ask me again.”

“No, I’m not-“ You huff out a groan and brush your fingers through your hair, wincing a bit at the knots that caught between your hands. “I’m not playing that game, Noah. What did you mean we’ve never exactly been just friends?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” He leans back against the couch now, arms crossing over his chest. “And you know I’m right.”

Your heart hammers against your chest and all you can do is nod at his words, cheeks flushing with color. He was right. You two have never been just friends, too close, too touchy to be labeled as platonic. You’d be lying if you said last night was the first time you shared a bed together. But now what? You got the answer you were looking for, but for some reason you can’t even look at Noah, but his eyes are burning into you, watching your every move.

“Okay…” You start, sucking in a breath as you finally moved your gaze back to Noah, eyes locking with his. “If we’re not just friends, then what does that make us?”

He smiles. “People who like each other more than friends but are too scared to admit it?”

Damn. He got that spot on. You blush again, trying to find the right words, but come up short. Your brain is still playing catch up, sleep still very much in your veins, and Noah notices. He leans forward again and gestures you to come closer and you do, his hands reaching out to grab your own.

“We have the next two days off. Let me take you out. Dinner or something. A movie. Whatever you want.”

“And then what?”

He shrugs. “And then we see where this goes. I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

You can’t stop the smile that’s slipping onto your lips, your fingers curling around his as warmth spread throughout your chest.

“That sounds good to me.”

[romanarose]

Puck Bunny

Hockey player!Tommy Miller x Puck bunny!reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

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Summary: You're gonna make Tommy yours

Warnings: Fingering, leg humping, fucked with a foregein object <3, ass slapping.

Please consider reblogging to spread it!

A/N first time writing Tommy with no Joel!

Shout out to @sweetlummie and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for encouraging me!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

He didn’t know it, but the new rookie for Texas Stars skating around below you was going to be your boyfriend. 

Tommy Miller was an often underlook member of the team, but those who knew what they were talking about saw his potential, saw the way he moved with grace despite his large build, how he kept calm under pressure, his speed and his aim. He just needed… encouragement. While all the other girls went for the men with more play time, whose sports trading cards posted more goals, or who were already names among any hockey fan, you had your eyes set on him.

It wasn’t like he didn’t get attention from girl; of course he did, he was beautiful. Kind eyes and the most profoundly sparkling smile you’d ever seen, all framed in dark curls.

He practiced alone, sentenced to hours of grueling routines to make up for his little fumble today while his teammates were out partying with girls or at home fucking their wives. It wasn’t fair that he got punished. Harold was the one who tried to pass it to Tommy when Jake was wide fucking open! Tommy did his best with what he was given, which was a not-clear shot and when he took it, he missed. Trailing only one point behind, the buzzer went off and Tommy was blamed for losing the game.

Skidding to a stop, Tommy looked up at the near empty bleachers where you sat. He touched his finger to his helmet and tipped his head. Such a cowboy, you thought, and we went on practicing.

*

The locker door slamming signaled where he was at, and you give a little courtesy knock at the entrance.

“C’in.” Tommy calls, probably assuming you’re a teammate or coach, or even staff.

“Yuh decent?” 

Whatever he was expecting, when he turned around his face indicated it wasn’t you.

“Oh. Howdy, ma’am?” Tommy’s voice inflected up at the end, sounding more like a question than a greeting. Still, you lean against the doorway and admire the view.

Even cuter up close, you admire. Little freckles sprinkled his face, and his smile was so boyish and cute your heart fluttered.

“I uh… I seen you ‘round.” He repeated your name, and it made you happy to know he knew it. That meant he’d asked about you. You and Tommy talked a few times, mostly in groups, but you’d never been introduced. “What’cha do’n here so late? Pretty little thing like you gotta have a nice young man wait’n at home for yuh?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not yet, anyway. Wasn’t think’n ‘bout tryna change that.”

Pink flushed his skin, but his smile grew. “Is that so, sweet thing? Do I got myself a little puck bunny on my hands?”

You push yourself off the wall, a spring in your step as you bound towards him.Hands clasped behind your back, you gaze up at him with big eyes. Fuck, his shadow just swollowed you up. “Nothing you aren’t used to, I’m sure.”

“Been around a time or two, I won’t lie…” A large, LARGE hand reached out to cup your face and you can’t help but squeal. As your little plans were happening. “None quite as cute as the little bunny I got in front of me, though.”

Taking a little initiative, you pressed yourself up against his red jersey. He smells like sweat and the metallic air of an ice rink. His body was firm against you. “Want you to fuck me.” You blurt out, and the sultry look on his face breaks into a wide grin. 

“That’s why you break’n into my locker room?”

You nod. He leans closer.

“Well, how can I say no to such a pretty little bunny?”

His mouth crashes into you, shoving you right up against the locker doors with a rattling crash as his hands paw all over you. Tommy dwarfs you, his wide shoulders and barrel chest completely caging you in. The force of his kisses and powerful presence is so much so you’d feel trapped if you weren’t so fucking turned on. Hands down your pants, Tommy bites hard at your lip and sucks on it to ease the pain as he fiddles with your cunt.

“Wet already?” He teases, smirk pressed against your skin.

“I- I was thinking about you… while I watched…” You moan against him bucking your hand against Tommy’s fingers as they teased your entrance.

“So eager… Tell me, Bunny, how come I got so lucky to find you in my locker, not one of my teammates? Chance?”

You want his long fingers inside you so bad, sweating from the teasing enough you don’t even feel the chill of the air. “Tommyyyy, please!”

“Talk to me, bebita. I won’t be mad if I just happened to be who was here tonight, promise.”

“No! No, Tommy, you’re special… you’re gonna be a star, I just know it…”

When you glance up at him, you expect to see a smirk. Instead, his face is soft. “You really think that?”

Quickly, you nod. “I’d put money on it. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen…”

“Fuck-” Suddenly he’s finger fucking you, the wet squelch of your cunt echoing around you, about filth filling the locker room. “Gonna treat you so good, pretty baby. So fuck’n good.” It’s then you realize he’s humping against you, hard cock grinding against your thigh

Your hands grip his huge forearms, searching for purchase and stability as he drew you closer to orgasm. Tommy sucked deep into your neck, sure to leave a mark you’d proudly display. You were taken. Tommy was gonna be yours. Yeah, you were hooking up right now and it wasn’t a commitment, it wasn’t a proclamation of love but it was a start.

“Cum for me, bunny.” Tommy’s voice was tight, tense...

And you did. You’d do anything he wanted. Waves of pleasure crash around you, clenching down hard on his three fingers and crying out his name as he muttered curses against your ear. Little moans escaped his mouth as he too came, cuming only from humping your leg and finger fucking you cunt. Your knees went weak, melting into jelly but Tommy caught you.

He bent you down and over the bench, stomach pressed to the cool wood and your ass and pussy on clear display in the harsh LED lights.

Panting, Tommy kneels down next to you; not before you can see a wet spot in his uniform.

“Think…” He pants. “Think you can take more?”

Smiling, you turn to look at him. “Does the phrase fuck like rabbits mean nothing to you?”

He laughs at that, calling you a good girl and kisses your forehead.

Still, you nod to where his erection is gone, already wasting his seed in his pants. “You gonna get hard for me again already, pretty boy?”

A chuckles as he reaches around you, walking on his knees to get a good look from behind. “Not quite, bunny…” A tsk, tsk, tsk from his mouth as he stares at your vulnerable position. “Such a pretty little cunt… it’d be shame to leave it all put together, huh?”

You didn’t know what he had planned and you didn’t care. “Yeah, it would.”

Cool plastic hits your wet cunt and you gasp.

The hockey stick.

“Gonna take real good care of you…” Tommy mutters, planting a kiss to your ass. “And then I’m gonna take you on a real fuck’n date, that sound good?”

Oh, things are coming together nicely. “Yes Tommy. Sounds real nice.”

“Good girl.”

And then all you could feel was your cunt being spread open. It was slow, careful but still an agonizing split.

“Ooooh shit!” You moan, and despite the ache you push yourself back against him to take it further. It was delicious, it was wrong, and you were 100% willing to humiliate yourself for Tommy… but it didn’t feel humiliating. It felt good. It felt good because you felt full, it felt good because you could hear Tommy’s grin as he praised you. He began to fuck you with it, the handle going as far up as it could and you grip the bench you’re knelt against to try and hold onto reality and you come barrelling towards your orgasm again. 

*Smack!*

Tommy slapped your ass just to watch it jiggle.

“Fuck! Fuck you’re perfect… my bunny. My perfect bunny…”

Wrapping an arm around you, Tommy plays with your clit and that's the beginning of the end for you.

“Tommy!” You scream his name, hearing it bounce down the hallways but you don’t fucking care. You would let Tommy stick whatever he wanted wherever he wanted if it meant he called you his bunny again.

You cum on the hockey stick, drenching it in your fluids and feeling it splatter out around your thighs as he keeps fucking you.

Satiated, smiling, and full, you fully slump against the bench and Tommy finally pulls the stick out. All clear, you let yourself slide onto the cool tile floor, red lockers creating a wall around you. And you laugh.

If Tommy cares that you’re laughing after sex he does show it, instead crawling over to where your head rest after he pulls up your pants, giggling himself. He pulls your head onto his lap, gently caressing you.

“How you feel’n?”

You grin up at him, Tommy’s near-black locks falling around him. “A little empty right now, honestly.”

This makes him laugh again. “Well, I got all night, bebita. I can fill you right up again” When you’re read he helps you up. “You’re really someth’n, y’know that?”

“I do, actually. That’s why I think we’d be good together.”

“Can’t help but agree with yuh there.” You watch him dress down, to his padding, then tell him you’ll wait for him outside the locker room. As much as you wanna see him naked, you decide to make that event a little more special.

When he’s showered and back in his regular clothes, still as thick as ever, you loop you arm around his and he guides you out of the maze of the rinks halls, his back heavy on your shoulder, but you insist. 

As he walks you out, you cross paths with one of his team mates coming back in for some practice, Carter. Tall as hell, blonde, and with a young man on his arm, he takes one look at your mussed hair and hickies, then pats Tommy on the back as they pass.

You were Tommy’s puck bunny now.

hope you liked it!!!!

Other content of mine with tommy: The Wrong Way, Yes Uncle tommy? Blessed be the fruit

Also shout out to my beloved @aurorawritestoescape for her sexy sexy Bad Blood with tommy and joel!

Im working on a tommy exclusive series rn that I hope will be the right kind of mind fuck <3 will start releasing it with the new season! TOMMY MILLER FANS RISE!!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @miraclesabound @sunshineispunk @umnitsa @huskyfox5 @musings-of-a-rose

[agarthanguide]

How the heck do you get Ashton to actually look like a rock? Signed, a fanartist who has tried every brush under the sun but still cannot nail it the way you brilliantly have.

ahhh thank you so much for the kind words!

Answer (sort of)- Ash's palette was hugely up in the air for a really long time. I kept pitching random bits of color at Taliesin, but his write up did not have any specific coloring in it from the get-go. And because I knew they were made of rock, I trended towards something to the left or right of grey (his working/code name had the word grey in it, as well, which def influenced me).

This went on for a while, until one day Tal did his Tal thing and just sent me plans for the finished Ashton. He painted over one of my sketches with the colors he wanted, included refs of some textures. The textures for the skin included nephrite and serpentine (nephrite is one form of jade, serpentine is a whole other thing.)

The serpentine reference had these really bold lines running through it, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to replicate them, so i just... dropped the texture into the sketch. I think I was just checking to see if it was gonna make them unreadable, but it actually looked pretty great. I painted over it a bit to work out where the lines should fall and how to get them to bend around the figure. And then when I was doing the final render, I made a brush that made the fucky line effect. There's one key element to the brush that I will show you-

The shape of the brush is just a random splatter shape, but the angle, size, and roundness change in response to pen pressure, so that as you draw, you can increase the size with added pressure, and some lovely, 3-D helix shapes will start appearing as you go.

From there it's easy- Make an extreme dark and an extreme light in your little texture space, then paint over in variations of green to push things deeper into Ash's "skin" while maintaining a slight transparency.

Here's some other little tips- - Before you add intense, lined texture, start with a textured base. This can be anything. Once I used a picture of the amazon rainforest with heavy color correction. Sometimes I use sponge brushes. Have fun with it. - Try to make the larger textures support the underlying figure. My go-to is large, lazy spirals that shimmy up and down their limbs. - Don't fight the lighting too much. To increase readability, try to use elements of higher or rougher texture to frame the features, while keeping the immediate area of their eyes, for example, less busy.

Good luck, and thanks for the ask!

[fluffyfantasticducky]

Utterly Infuriating

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader ☆ Synopsis: Loki is very bad with people, so meeting anyone new just means a new enemy, and you didn't seem to be the exception. And the way you start getting along seems to indicate so. But... perhaps that's not entirely true. ☆ Word Count: 8,607 ☆ Notes: Playful tickles, (a probably very bad) enemies to lovers. @blehblahsworld requested an enemies to lovers and secret dating Loki x Reader, I hope it's more or less what you hoped for. ☆ Warnings: Heavily headcanonned (is that a word?) Loki. This is my first (and probably only) enemies to lovers, the beginning isn't very good because of that, other than that it's a lot of playfulness and tickles. Lots of flashbacks to what I imagine Loki's childhood would be, I just have a weird obsession of writing nostaglic!Loki stuff, I am so sorry.

Who would have thought that Loki would end up becoming part of the group he had tried to take down in the first place? It was laughable, really. People he thought just a thorn in his side were now his first genuine group of friends.

But here he was.

He learned to find humor in Stark and Barton’s sarcastic quips. He got along with Banner, who he found comfortably quiet to read books or drink tea with. He learned to fear and admire Romanoff’s skill and cold mind under pressure, but also adored challenging himself to try tricking her (he wasn’t successful for the most part). He came to admire Roger’s leadership and strong values, and of course reconnecting with his brother was something he’d never admit how much it meant to him. And he learned how much forgiveness and that sense of belonging fulfilled him.

He was a bit surprised that in 10 years the group had grown at least 4 or even 5 times its size. They had gone from 6 heroes to 30 something, with half of them being permanent residents on the Headquarters while the rest came and went.

That’s where he met you. Gods, he didn’t know how there could be someone so insufferable. You were worse than Thor.

You were bright and bubbly, always wore your heart on your sleeve, contrary to him who who always hid his feelings. Loki was a charmer, deliciously cynical and the life of the party if he chose to join, you on the other side where a bit shyer and not the greatest fan of crowded rooms unless it was full of friends; it quite reminded him of the anxiousness he felt as a prince in Asgard, always worried about being seen making a mistake, he was sure you felt exactly that kind of stress.

Seen that way, you and Loki were like day and night. It was no wonder you and Loki hated each other at first side.

“Brother! Come quick!” Thor called. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

Loki sighed and left his book on the little coffee table and got up, Thor’s voice came all the way from the kitchen (loud as always) so he took a bit to reach the kitchen, and as he got closer to the room he noticed laughter and sweet scent filled the air.

It was Thor’s familiar boisterous laughter that made the buildings shake, and a new unfamiliar laughter.

He arrived and saw a Rogers, Romanoff, Thor, Stark and… someone new. That new person was cooking pancakes for dinner and when he turned around… you were like opening the door on a cold winter night after being by the fire all day. Overwhelming for sure.

“Brother what is going on…?”

You had a bright grin on your face and announced Rogers to think fast. Steve chuckled and lifted his plate and soon a pancake flew through the air, nearly hitting Loki in the head had he not ducked in time, before smacking against the plate in Rogers’ hands. Everyone cheered and laughed.

“What the—?!” Loki gasped.

“We got a new friend!” Thor claimed brightly.

“We met at the gym” Natasha announced. “I knew I had met a mutant when I sparred with someone who didn’t hit the floor in the first 3 seconds.”

You smiled timidly and walked to the fridge, lowered and with a single hand and a loud creek, the fridge was lifted effortlessly from the floor.

“Oh.” Loki said uninterested. “Can I go back to my book?”

“I thought I could make dinner as a thank you for being so welcoming” you smiled politely.

“Welcoming?” Loki asked, tilting his head.

“I’m moving here” you grinned brightly.

You know how people sometime tense up when they try to hide their excitement? Well, Loki tense up for the exact opposite reason.

“Remember that empty room beside yours?” Tony smiled brightly. “It’s not gonna be empty anymore.”

Even better.

“What do you like in your pancakes? Chocolate? Nuts? Berries?” you smiled warmly.

“Uh… nuts and berries?” Loki said.

The dinner was delicious, he could give you that. But the second he finished he excused himself wanting to go to bed early. He went to pick up his book before going to his bedroom.

“Ah, brother. There you are.” Thor smiled, already in his pajamas, white and blue stripped pants, a white t-shirt with a stamp of Mjolnir with a cutesy face. “I wanted to talk to you. About our new friend? What do you think? Friendly, right?”

“Awfully” Loki rolled his eyes, “I didn’t think I’d met someone as loud as you. I already have a headache. I know for sure life here has just become infinitely more aggravating…”

“Brother… don’t be like that…” Thor said sadly. Loki simply sighed and went inside his room.

Next morning he saw you again for breakfast. Everyone had their own schedule so to eat there was only Wanda, Loki, Bucky, and you. You helped to make breakfast and you ate quietly, finished quickly and picked up the plates of everyone to put it on the dishwasher and it started running.

“You’re quite helpful…” Wanda smiled warmly.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I wouldn’t want to be aggravating” you smiled brightly, giving a quick glance at Lki that might as well have killed him before leaving the kitchen.

Since then Loki and you hated each other, you argued on daily basis. If Loki said red, you said blue, if he said up you said down.

It even got in the middle of missions. It was only a matter of time until your constant clashing blew up in everyone’s faces.

It wasn’t the greatest idea to send you and Loki on the same group either. But Steve thought it’d help you two get along better if you fought side by side for a mutual goal. It was a nice, but perhaps too innocent thought.

The mission was simple, as Tony called it “bad guys had hostages” situation. There was a bit of intel Nat and Bucky were interested in, hoping to find other settings where potentially more people could be in danger. So it had to be a smooth infiltration and until finding the civilians then it was “breaking stuff” time… Tony should not be allowed to name missions at this point. It made it difficult to take them seriously.

You had been left alone with Loki to find where the hostages were being held captive while Nat went to find the main computer to gather the information while the rest of the group started surrounding and sabotaging the headquarters to cause a diversion and given you a quick escape, plus neutralizing a threat.

Loki wanted to do things his way, as usual. But you had managed to sneak into a clothes hut and you got uniforms to pass undetected… Very much against Loki’s will given he kept arguing he could’ve just casted an illusion.

“This is absurd” Loki scoffed as he put on a shirt gray shirt. “We’re wasting valuable time. My illusions—”

“—Would’ve been casted off the second someone lays a hand on us” you reasoned, doing your best, although fruitless attempt not to sound annoyed at him. “These guys are weirdly touchy, a hand on your shoulder and your done for.”

Loki turned around to give you a snarky comeback, only to be cut off when he saw you changing. You both had been facing opposite directions to give each other privacy, but his attitude got the best of him.

He did not expect the sight he was greeted you as he saw you dressing up.

Your body was toned thanks to the training, and it showed the overly demanding lifestyle and dieting being an Avenger required. It was weird you were muscled like one would expect, given your mutation focused on your physical strength, although he didn’t really know how that worked so he just figured that was part of it. But one would easily tell you trained on a daily basis.

He was mesmerized, even smiling softly at you.

When you turned around you caught him staring and your face turned bright red and you let out a loud screech. Loki panicked and tackled you to cover your mouth.

But it was too late. A guard gave opened the door and the alarms started sounding. It was time to run if you wanted to rescue the hostages.

“What happened?!” Steve spoke through the comms. “The alarms are going off!”

“We were caught!” you called. “Loki—!”

“—tried to save me but I blew it!” Loki cut you off.

“It was your fault!” you snapped at him. “We gotta rush to get the hostages!”

“We need to get the intel we were set to do first…” Loki argued, “we can’t lose the input if the other hostage locations.”

“I’m not abandoning the hostages here, we’re getting them first!” you argued.

“We’re not gonna do either if you guys don’t focus!” Natasha argued through the communicator.

A thing of these groups that became quite cliché was there was always a bunch of guys the were big. Mutants as well. Big, tall and sturdy, almost like human walls, not very smart but insanely strong. He had an axe the size of a human.

You clashed your fist against the guard’s axe and it made you both recoil to process the soreness the impact caused on both of you. This guy clearly had a similar level of raw strength as you. So you wouldn’t be winning this on your own.

You turned to ask for Loki’s back up, but a green fog formed on the spot as Loki vanished on thin air. Not only leaving you on your own, but making the battle field a blurry mess.

“Loki?!”

“Sorry, mortal.” Loki said sarcastically. “We can’t let you ruin the mission.”

“LOKI!” you yelled as you barely dodged a swing from the axe.

“Trickster, go with Romanoff to get the intel!” Tony stated as he flew above the enemy base, knocking out a couple of troupes with his missiles. “Hercules, go with Cap to get the hostages! Go! Go! Go!”

The rest of the mission was a blur, the hostages barely escaped alive, and a few were harmed and had to be treated in the flight back home, and Natasha was injured when she got an ambush from the guards when she was downloading the data.

Even after missions were a nightmare for everyone around you two. The entire trip was loud and obnoxious.

“You had to back me up when the big guy shows up! Not just vanish from the fight!”

“Excuse you, that fight wouldn’t have taken place t begin with if you hadn’t blown our cover!” Loki yelled at you. “You’re lucky my mist cloak allowed us a clean exit!”

“Clean exit?!” you screamed back, poking his chest. “I got a slash on my leg because I couldn’t see where I was going!”

“Yeah, and if you could stay still and not scream so much, I’d patch you up easier” Natasha said half amusedly.

“Sorry Nat…” you apologized, your mood changing completely to warm and friendly.

Thor pulled his brother to the other end of the ship to try having some peace and quiet until they got home.

Of course, Fury was… well, furious.

“You pair of moronic and irresponsible idiots!” Fury said. “It’s a fucking miracle no one is died while the two of you fought like kindergarten brats! Suspended. Both of you. 3 weeks.”

“What?! Director!” you whined.

“Director nothing! Let’s see if this time alone helps you two get along better.” Fury scoffed. “Dismissed.”

Loki on the other hand, didn’t argue. Men with Nick Fury’s temper couldn’t be reasoned with when they were this pissed. He would know, he grew up with two at home. So he just nodded and left the room when he was told to.

It would be a long lock down.

You weren’t much more pleased with the decision, given that after this mission you had plans to go out to the city and now you were essentially grounded like a 5 year old. Downsides of living in the compound, every so often, if you messed up real bad you’d be “grounded”.

Loki too had plans ruined by this. Not the type the others had, who went to big events or dated civilians who they could stay over for a few days when they had time off. Loki didn’t even have friends outside of the Avengers… or at all. But he had learned to enjoy going into the city and indulge in some human theater, casting an illusion to conceal his identity of course, otherwise people would panic. But he liked it, but the dramatic costumes, the theatrical               and embellished of speaking of some plays, and the occasional musical that had always a song or two stuck o his brain for a few weeks.

But now that wouldn’t happen until next month. Instead he was stuck with someone he couldn’t stand and that couldn’t stand him back. Great.

The next day of when everyone left to live their lives out of the compound while he stayed locked in his room for as long as he could. He read, he had a little cloth ball that he threw up and caught, he used his illusions to entertain himself, and he even used his phone to try entertaining himself for as long as he could, but sooner than later he grew bored.

He wasn’t the type to be able to stay still, and he got out of his room to walk around the compound, his legs already itching to get a good walk.

As he stretched his body with a nice walk and he felt his mood already boosted a little. He was by the kitchen when he heard music, and not just music, but a song he recognized.

“It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity. Kiss me goodbye, I’m defying gravity. And you won’t bring me down” he heard the song he very much he liked.

As he walked by the kitchen following the song he was greeted with yet another pleasant surprise. A sweet aroma of one of his favorite treats as a kid, apple pie. He remembered being a young child in Asgard, pulling all the tricks and spells in his arsenal to steal the baked goodies from the talented Pastry chefs the palace had in its staff.

His Odin and Frigga impressions became as good as they were due to impersonating them to request for apple pies when his mother made the kitchen “Loki proof” with her magic. He used to eat it so much that right before he turned a teen, he got quite chubby from how much and how often he ate it. At some point he resigned to his baked love in favor of losing weight and becoming a more efficient warrior… although every so often there would be a party and he’d be sure to get a big slice of apple pie to indulge on his guilty pleasure.

Long story short, he absolutely loved apple pie and just the smell made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

He found his feet moving on his own to the kitchen and he didn’t have time to process you were the only one at home, ergo, it was you who he found in the kitchen, baking, and dancing, and singing along the music. He realized right away you hadn’t realized were no longer alone. You had that lack of shame in your dance that one could only have when they were completely alone, his mind wandered to the accidental peep he got at your body during the mission. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit, he hadn’t seen you so relaxed and carefree, even with your bubbly and energetic nature.

Unfortunately, that soft chuckle gave away his presence.

“Ack!” you screech dropping pie onto the floor, your face red like a tomato.

Loki barely reacted fast enough to cast a spell of to catch the pie inches above the ground, but sparing the baked treat and burning to the counter.

It smelled heavenly.

“My apologies, mortal” Loki chuckled, sounding more amused than sorry, although he didn’t mock you, doubting you would be wiling to share your cooking with someone who made fun of him. “I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You did!” you scolded him with a beet red blush along your face, Loki surprised himself finding it quite endearing. “God dammit, is it a pastime of yours creeping up on me?!”

“I wasn’t aware you liked Wicked too…” Loki mentioned, changing the subject, wanting to get on your good side. And it worked, because your expression changed, you seemed surprised.

“You like musicals?” you said with a slight smile. “I didn’t take you for someone to like human stuff.”

“Well, a misunderstood character that gets people thinking them a monster because of their skin color and decides to accept that they can only be a villain because that’s the only think you get to be? Might as well be my autobiography.”

“Don’t forget the green and black color aesthetic” you giggled, making him laugh as well. “And a bit snobby.”

“Yeah, I suppose that too.” He smiled.

“I never thought of it like that” you said. “Was it that bad? Being an Elphaba?”

The way you said felt quite soft, kind. It stirred something in his chest.

“To be perfectly fair, I found out I was a frost giant when I was 1,048 years old” Loki admitted. “But at the time I felt like I was going insane. Frost giants were monsters, and in a constant state of imminent war with Asgard…”

“I can imagine you felt like the enemy of everyone you loved” you said sympathetically. “It must have been awful…”

“Earth was a witness to how badly it affected me…”

“wait! New Mexico and New York were the collateral damage to an identity crisis and a mental breakdown from a twenty-year-old?!” you exclaimed, your chin against the counter and tugging on your hair.

Loki shrunk in his place.

“You’re telling me it could have been solved with some therapy, a cup of tea, and probably a hug?”

Loki was a bit surprised that your response wasn’t as aggressive towards him, if anything it irradiated a weird mix of anger and empathy.

“There was also a hint of mind control” Loki defended himself.

“Yeah right, a wizard did it.” You smiled amusedly, and weirdly enough, it made him laugh. “We all saw that you had to touch people’s chests with the pointy end to make it work.”

“I mean it” he smiled. “The mind control from the scepter Thanos gave me came from the time stone in it, and it fueled those around him with anger and left them vulnerable to obey orders if you held onto it for long enough. Banner has pointed out he and the others felt it too. I felt so much… I don’t know… rage? …I didn’t realize what was going most of the time… it wasn’t until I had lost that I truly realized what I had done… and it took even longer for me to realize the gravity of my actions…”

That seemed to convince you, and Loki felt a weird relief from you believing him. You stayed in silence for a while.

“That’s heavy…” you mumbled, not sure what else to tell him, and you offered him your hand.

He wasn’t sure what made him place his hand on your and you gave him a little squeeze, before gently caressing his knuckles with a touch so sweet that made thrills go down his spine. You smiled at him.

“Well… You are one of us freaks now” you smiled softly in a way that made him feel warm and fuzzy.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, feeling his face uncharacteristically hot as he looked down and to his side, just trying to avoid your gaze. You laughed and tried following where his gaze pointed towards, looking at the warm pie on the counter.

“Want some?” you offered, tilting your head to point to the pie and Loki’s stomach grumbled, almost in an involuntary affirmation. He really should’ve had breakfast. You laughed and cut him a big slice and Loki’s mouth water.

He hadn’t really been looking at the pie, but he sure didn’t argue back if you offered him some. The taste was divine. He couldn’t help a rather inappropriate sounding hum of pleasure.

“Oh Norns, what did you put in this?” he asked, his mouth half full of the sweet pie. “These tastes so different from… Mmm! Oh Norns!”

“Ah, just the usual, flour, eggs, milk, apple marmalade, sliced apples, sugar, cinnamon” you listed.

“Cinnamon? What is this cinnamon?” he spoke happily as he ate more. “What kind of apples? They feel so different… Mmmm! This is amazing!”

Loki felt like a child again. For a moment he forgot of everything, he ate messily, a bit of marmalade falling on his shirt which never used to happen. He ate loud and let out happy moans and hums as he enjoyed the pie.

He ate so fast he didn’t realize he had almost finished the huge slice until he saw you serving him another huge, warm, sweet, slice of pie. You didn’t shame him, you simply giggled and smiled brightly at him.

He ate more until he was stuffed… Which happened only once he had finish most of the pie. If anything, what he didn’t eat could be barely called a slice. He felt a bit ashamed from his lack of self control, he hadn’t behaved like this since he was a child. He even let out a small airy burp.

“Excuse me…” he apologized, his face burning from shame.

But rather than being disgusted, you burst out laughing. Loki grimaced from shame.

“Sorry, sorry” you laughed. “Adopted or not, you truly are Thor’s brother. You Asgardians sure have a huge appetite.”

Loki smiled. Despite it being a teasing statement, it didn’t feel aggressive, and so it drew a happy laugh from him. You had a charm to you he couldn’t help but smile and feel like a kid around you.

“You’re so…” he growled with a big grin.

“Aggravating?” you said with a weak smile.

Ah, that. He now regretted his words from the first day you two met. He was such a fool. He saw someone loud and bright and decided you were annoying. But while those first statements were true, you were a delight to have around. And a great baker.

“I should probably… a-ap… um… I haven’t been the best God to be around… Ah… I want to… a— apolo— uh…”

“Apologize?” you smiled and he gulped, before nodding. “Apology accepted. I haven’t been the easiest person for you to deal with… I’m sorry too. Want the last slice?”

Just like that? He didn’t understand how he got away with it so easy. But the offer of the last slice made him nod and you served him the last bit of the pie. Your apology was a bit short too, but as you were placing the last slice on his plate, he noticed your face turn bright red. You didn’t seem much better at apologizing. But the effort was there.

He was flooded by a happy memory of his family.

He had failed to convince on of the pastry chefs to make him a pie. He went to climb a special tree on his mother’s garden where he hid to self-contain his tantrums, knowing that his Seidr went out of control when he was upset.

He didn’t know how long he was up there when he heard someone calling him. Frigga.

“Loki? Child? Are you up there?” a voice called him.

“No! I’m not!” he whined.

He heard Frigga laugh and a sudden sweet aroma filled his nose that made his anger fade away. Apple pie.

“C’mon brother, you come down or I’ll go get you!” he heard Thor calling him playfully. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little bit.

“If he doesn’t, I will!” a third voice added.

Loki jolted and jumped down from where was hiding from the tree, falling right on his father’s arms and both tumbled down onto the grass. Odin didn’t often have enough free time to escape his duties and spend quality time around his family. But every once in a while, he sneaked out of his royal duties so all four could do something together.

The rest of the evening they sat together on Frigga’s garden to eat apple pie together, playing and laughing together, and this had been one of the rare occasions where he could outshine Thor, showing the new trick Frigga had taught him. Having the little flower he had picked jump from his hands and onto his brother’s head now as a frog who screeched and fell backwards, making everyone burst out laughing.

It had been one of those happy days full of laughter and joy. Thor and Loki fought with wood swords and both parents chased their kids pretending to be a pair of Bilgesnipes but trapping them in tickle hugs only for both brothers to team up and try returning the favor to their parents… key word: tried.

Loki felt his eyes water a bit and he let out an airy laugh as he wiped his tears. He felt a bit foolish for letting all his anger and insecurities let him forget all those happy days. And letting himself and everyone in his family be drowned in royal duties as he and Thor slowly approached the age of one of them ascending the throne.

“Hey, I didn’t my apple pie was that good” you joked, but still passed him a napkin to clean his eyes.

“S-Sorry, no… yes, it’s um… it’s very good.” He said, feeling a knot on his throat. “Thank you so much… for… f-feeding me. I hadn’t eaten one of these in a few decades. It was…”

“Nostalgic?” you finished the phrase for him, and he nodded. For a silver-tongued guy, he was very bad at expressing his feelings. “It’s okay… Just say the word and I’ll make more for you.”

He smiled and sighed as he wiped the last tears.

“Thank you.”

“Sure…” you nodded and your cheeks turned red. “Hey… uh… since you don’t hate me anymore… maybe we could watch a movie together in the lounge room. Maybe. If you want.”

That made Loki laugh.

“I hated you?! You made it a ritual to disagree with me and get on my nerves, or do I remind you that you are half to blame for the two of us being in a lockdown?!” he said, but he found no anger in his voice, if anything he sounded amused.

The way your face contorted into a funny ashamed grimace made him bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh.

“Maybe… but what was I supposed to do?! I thought you hated my guts!”

“Perhaps let your pride aside for a mission?!” Loki laughed.

“I could let my pride aside had you not mortified it” you grumbled.

Loki froze for a second. The phrasing was different, but he knew exactly what you were referring.

“You like Jane Austen?!” he gasped.

“You like Jane Austen?!”

“I met her!” Loki exclaimed and casted an extremely old book, but it was extremely well kept. “I got this book. “I didn’t come to earth often, but I loved to make little trips to get books. I got this book for my 848th birthday, it’s quite literally a first edition.”

“No way!” you said fascinated as you looked at the book and skimmed through the pages and noticed a scribble and you nearly dropped on the floor. “IT’S SIGNED?! I HATE YOU!”

You grabbed the book and ran.                           

“HEY! GIVE IT BACK, YOU THIEF!” Loki laughed and chased after you, feeling a flutter in his chest he had never felt.

He chased you around the compound and when he got in range he casted a concealment spell to protect his precious book but now you were in trouble.

Now, he knew you better than he’d ever admit, and he knew that you were one of those mutants that had quite literally god-like strength, just like the spiderling. Although your powers were limited to better stamina, superhuman strength and considerably better speed than an average mutant, but not quite outstanding in that group. And thank goodness because a weakness you had were two left feet and constantly having missteps.

Just like one that given the rush of adrenaline made you drop behind the couch and Loki jumped, sitting on your waist, straddling you with his legs and he struggled to pin your arms to each side of your head. Your faces inches away from each other’s, your breaths were getting mixed from the proximity as you both panted after the chase.

Norns, you smelled like flowers and that delicious apple pie. And your lips, half parted were just so inviting… And… no one would know if…

Before he acted, you had pressed your mouth against his, kissing him fervently and he did not object a single bit, kissing you with a passion he hadn’t realized he felt, always too busy with his misconception of you. But now that he had a taste of you he was going wild with the amount of desire in his gut. You were gorgeous, sexy, funny, caring… very… very sexy.

“I’m sorry…” he breathed heavily. “I was an utter, bumbling fool… I’m sorry… I was the aggravating one, and I judged you too fast.”

“I’m sorry too… I was stupid too, I got too defensive and aggressive…” you whispered against his lips, filling his body with warmth and electricity. “I’m so sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

“Let’s take this elsewhere” he huffed breaking the kiss for just an instance.

And so, the lockdown with you went from punishment to blessing. Now the two of you couldn’t get your hands off each other. One thing he had got right from the first meeting is that you gave him that aura of someone who was extremely affectionate. But he never imagined how good it felt to be on the receiving end of those affections. And you were a forced to be reckoned with, but you loved with the same ferocity you fought, and Loki couldn’t love it more.

He had had lovers in the past, but it always felt transactional, like it was to get something from him, or he let his own insecurities sabotage his relationships. But this was… fun… easy. He no longer had any nobility titles on earth, and you refused to acknowledge him as a god in the literal sense. You treated him like an equal, you wanted nothing from him. You were purely and simply  into him… and that made him madly into you.

But it all changed the second the rest started coming back from their lives on the outside world and return to the compound. Loki couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about being lovey dovey in public, much less with someone he had sworn to despise. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from the others. But he couldn’t help being captivated by your beauty, your kindness, your sense of humor, that body of yours… Damn, he was doomed. And you didn’t seem to think much different because you also held back from your affections as soon as there was someone else around.

Wanda and Vision were the first one to return, but those two were in a forever state of honeymoon and barely noticed the world around each other when they were together. But not long after, the compound was full of everyone.

Loki would go insane on days like that because he couldn’t shower with you with his devoted affections. It was like a nasty itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

But it was noticeable that something had changed between the two of you, given you went from nearly killing each other on every interaction to agreeing on nearly everything. And Loki had stopped avoiding the kitchen where everyone gathered around you while you baked. Loki gained a pound or two since the two of you started dating since you always made apple pie especially for him and now, he never missed a single baked treat you made.

It even made him interacted a lot more with everyone else, which at first he considered a sacrifice, but after growing accustomed to the noise, he came to enjoy the company. It reminded him of those few days where his parents, Thor and himself would spend time just relaxing together. And he was sure that was exactly what Thor thought too.

“So, you swear it on your life?” Tony asked.

“Yes Stark, I swear” Loki scoffed with a tiny smile. “Just because I was D. B. Cooper doesn’t mean I caused every little historical mystery. I don’t know who Jack the Ripper was. What he did was vile and disgusting, Thor and I only indulged on confusing humanity, not tormenting you all.”

“Swear it on the name of the love of your life” Clint said holding his beer.

“What?!” Loki said, tensing up, fearing the two of you had been caught.

“I don’t know, you don’t have a wife…” the archer shrugged. “Just swear.”

“I swear it, Barton” Loki said, feeling a bit relieved, but he eyed you and he noticed you had pursed your lips, unsuccessfully fighting a smile and he felt a fuzzy warmth running around in his chest. “But… we may or may not have something to do a certain lost tomb of an ancient queen…”

“NO!” Tony gasped with an incredulous but fascinated smile.

Thor rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetical smile. “Sorry about that…” he apologized and his crewmates started bombarding him with questions. He was so lost in the conversation he failed to hear you calling for him until you raised your voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Loki, cupcake?”

“Yes?” he responded in automatic.

He immediately realized his mistake when he saw the tray of cupcakes in your hand. You were not calling sweet petnames. You were offering him a treat. Everyone was looking at him weirdly.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” you saved the situation quickly.

“I do… want a cupcake” he clarified, clearing his throat to not sound nervous.

“Extra cake frosting for frost not so giant?” you smiled teasingly.

“Sure.”

And there had been a few more slips here and there. From how much time you two spent together lately, how you always sat together to sneak little caresses under the table to reaffirm your mutual love even if in secret. Or even developing an acute hearing to kiss as passionately as you could when no one was around which led to a few close calls. Or a few night he’d sneak into your room (and vice versa) to spend the night.

And it slowly became more noticeable to the one person who knew him best, or well, at least for the longest time.

Loki had been invited to see a racecar event on the TV with Thor, Romanoff, Stark, Barton, Banner, Rogers and the rest of the guys. You had declined the invitation, more interested in trying a new recipe and unfortunately for Loki you two had decided that it’d be better for keeping face if Loki joined the others and socialized with the group instead of going to watch you bake. And just like that, Loki was stuck watching a bunch of cars running in circles with a now nearly empty glass of Asgardian ale on his hand.

“So… you and our little pastry cook, hm?” Bucky asked, drinking his own glass, that had just a bit of Asgardian ale to make up for the super-soldier resistance to alcohol, making him slightly tipsy. “Happy for you.”

“What?” Loki asked, his body stiffening.

“It’s clear you feel a little something-something” Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you done anything about it yet?”

“You bet” Natasha chuckled. “Why do you think they argue way less lately? Missions hadn’t been this easy in so long!”

Loki felt his cheeks warm, but he simply hid behind his glass under the excuse to drink more.

“Congratulations, brother!” Thor grinned from ear to ear.

“You’re all straight up delusional!” Loki blushed profoundly.

Everyone laughed loudly at Loki’s reaction, very evidently not believing a single word. He was so embarrassed, and he couldn’t help the hot blush on his face that went all the way to his ears.

“C’mon… tell us the truth!” Tony elbowed his ribs, making Loki jolt, which was noticed by the inventor. “What was that?”

Thor spoke before Loki could come up with an excuse.

“Ah, my brother is awfully ticklish!” Thor smiled brightly. “He used to love getting tickled when we were little.”

“THOR!” Loki protested with his face red like a tomato. “N-No, I’m— I was a child back then!”

Everyone smiled at him in a way that made even the god of mischief want to run for his life. But Thor knew him well, and before he could escape, and he had put him in an arm master lock, and Loki started squirming to break free, but of course, in a one of one, Loki would never beat Thor in terms of physical strength. Everyone exchanged looks and Loki knew exactly what they were thinking.

“Ohoho! I like how you think, Sparky.” Tony chuckled letting his drink to the side, also grabbing Loki’s drink not to waste it.

“That brings back memories, eh Bucky?” Steve chuckled, exchanging an affectionate smile with his best friend.

“And if my memory works correctly, it was a good way to make you talk” Bucky agreed.

“Let’s see if it works for Loki TOO” Steve said and left his beer.

Everyone had forgotten the race on the TV and their drinks to focus on the currently helpless Loki.

“All of you! If you even dare to lay a single finger on me, I swear I will— ACK!” Loki was cut off my a light poke on the side by Natasha. His face burned. “DON’T!”

Everyone was giggling at the reaction from the young god. Loki could only squirm and tug against his older brother’s grip.

And with that, everyone jumped on their former enemy. Poking and prodding the God of Mischief’s torso. Loki tensed up and held his breath eventually letting out a few laughs, still doing his best to refrain his laughter. He wanted to hold back, but every nerve that was being tormented begged him to laugh.

“This could easily end if you admit you are dating—” Tony teased.

“I’M NOHOHOT!” Loki yelped, cursing himself for the laughs that escaped past his lips.

A part of him wanted to just get over it and admit how helplessly in love he was with you, he could easily start demonstrating the world how much he loved you. But he knew neither he or you was ready to deal with the teasing it’d unleash, and even if you were ready, he wanted to do it together, not because it was tortured out of him.

“Man, he’s more ticklish than my kids” Clint laughed as he squeezed Loki’s left ribs.

“Oh, I was just going to say that” Tony laughed, but I squeezing Loki’s lower stomach. “He’s a lot feistier though, Morgan would already be in a giggle fit if I tickled here, below her belly button.”

“Yeah, but your kids don’t have an ego to protect” Natasha laughed as she wiggled her fingers along Loki’s right armpit.

Banner was a lot nicer in the sense that he wasn’t teasing him, but the constant squeezes above his kneecap had Loki twitching.

“I think he’s gonna explode” Steve chuckled as he poked and scribbled along Loki’s side. “This could all be over if you just admit you are seeing a certain someone we all know you are dating.”

“WE AHAHAHAHA- WE AREN’T!” Loki laughed. “I SWEAR! LET ME GO YOU BUNCH OF- NOHOHOHOHO! NOT THERE! NOHOHOHOHO! STOP!”

Now Loki’s face was a dark shade of red and he was laughing his head off. It made everyone freeze a little. He was squirming as if he was being exorcised.

“Woah! He’s losing it!” Steve jumped. “Who did that?”

“That would be me” Thor smiled innocently.

Everyone moved his hands to reveal Thor contorting his arms in a rather uncomfortable manner although very effective position where he kept Loki’s arms raised and stuck in a Y as he was now drilling his fingers against the spot little crevice at the bottom of each armpit, and right where the armpit met the upper ribs. And Loki was going crazy.

And rather than showing him any sort of mercy everyone else resumed their tickle attacks.

“Dammit Thor, you mean defeating your little brother could have been this easy?” Clint laughed. “We could’ve spared us all of his New York invasion! We could’ve just tickled Loki until him pissed himself!”

Gods no, if at this point they were now friends —or at least, had a cordial relationship— and they were about to tickle him to death he might have actually died if they pulled a stunt like this when they were, in fact, trying to kill him. Tears of laughter were already streaming down his face like a river and his stomach ached from the overexertion.

But Loki still refused to betray your trust. There was only one other option left for him: swallow his pride.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEASE! OH GODS PLEASE, I CAN’T HAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! I CAN’T TAKE IT! I YIELD! PLEASE! PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Oh, the things he did for love. They wouldn’t let him forget it, but he felt his stomach was gonna explode if he wasn’t allowed to catch his breath.

“Oh, begging? Okay, I think he might be serious” Steve laughed.

“I AM! PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHA! THOR PLEASE!” Loki begged, and uttered the words he hated telling Thor the most. But the words that always made him stop: “YOU WIN, BROTHER! STOP!”

Now Thor knew Loki was serious, and he let go of his arms, thankfully everyone else followed, sparing the God of Mischief from the horrid of fate of die laughing. Loki immediately curled up in a ball, he coughing and panting, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Everyone was giggling around him, all completely unaware that you had been around the corner, and you had watched the whole thing.

Days later, you two had the house for yourselves and decided to put a movie Loki would like and sat on the couch to cuddle during the evening, enjoying each other’s warmth. He admitted that just staying home in baggy clothes and have your arms around each other for hours and hours. And the green sweatshirt you got him was extremely comfortable.

Although as usual, the movie was quickly ignored in favor of kissing each other. You were the sweetest kisser he had the blessing to encounter, you kissed him and caressed him with a love he had never met, you always either cupped his face, played with his hair or caressed his body, but you always sent him into a sensorial state of bliss.

You were such a lovely thing.

“Mmm, you choose such good movies” Loki joked and chuckled with his lips against yours. “So engaging…”

“Oh, haha— funny…” you giggled and rolled your eyes.

He looked at you with a self-satisfied grin as you looked annoyed.

“Oh, c’mon darling, I love you…” he smiled.

“You swear, baby?” you said in a tone that made Loki tilt his head, knowing you were trying to say something.

“What do you mean, love?” he asked.

You smiled and placed your hand on his sides, making him jolt.

“A-Ah… Darling… W-What are you doing?” he asked with a nervous smile.

“I may have learned something about my lovely prince the other day…” you said flirtatiously. “Something fun~”

“Oh, i-is that so?” he smiled nervously, already having a good idea of what was this discovery of yours. “I-I don’t like the sound of that…”

“Oh, c’mon, honey… please!” you wrapped your arms around him in a happy hug. “Please let me tickle you… Everyone got to tickle you. I want my turn!”

Oh, so he was right. He felt a sense of dread and mild panic. He still hadn’t mentally recover from the group attack from the other day…

“Your turn?!” Loki gasped out, and panicked at the sight of your determination to tickle him. “N-No… Darling… Please no, honey… Please, I’m awfully ticklish… I—”

You smile widened from ear to ear from excitement. Loki realized that he was burying his own grave, as the more he argued, the more you wanted to tickle him. He sighed.

“Is there something I could do to convince you to not tickle me?” he said with a pleading expression.

“Not at all” you smiled in that way that brought gods —specifically, this god— to his knees.

He accepted defeat like a gentleman.

“Alright…” he smiled and rested his hands behind his neck, letting himself vulnerable for you. “But when I say stop, you stop. Deal? I mean it when I say I’m very ticklish, and you could get hurt, I can’t control my magic when I get overwhelmed.”

“Ooh, a safe-word already? So naughty” you giggled, making his cheeks flush and groan.

“Just get it over with…” he sighed, finding a weird tingle on his belly. A bit of excitement, perhaps.

You nodded and sneaked your fingers with ease under his hoodie, and it was baggy enough to provide no hinderance to your fingers. Wearing a tank top wasn’t the greatest idea in retrospect. He let out a few giggles already.

“Oh norns…” he chuckled and sucked in a gust of air to keep his composure when you gently brushed along his sides.

Despite he being completely free to move, and you were only one person… he was struggling not to burst out laughing more than when he was teamed up against. Perhaps it was the clothing, or the fact that you made him way more nervous than anyone else in the world. But he was already letting out a few giggles.

“Ehehehehe… D-Darling… Please!”

You were utterly delighted. Loki was the cutest thing in your eyes, and being able to make him giggle like that was a treasure.

“Ohohoho gods! Love please, gohoho eheheheasy on mehehehe!” he laughed. “I cahahan’t stand it!”

You smiled in adoration and ran your fingers along his lower belly, gently gracing along his waistline and he placed a hand over his mouth and looked away to get away from you, too flustered to look you in the eye. He was the strong and mighty God of Mischief… How could you render him so helpless?

“Hahahaha! Pffft! Ack—!”

Oh, but you cruel thing, you quickly took advantage of his raised arm to tickle his armpit making both arms shot down to his sides in a louder giggle fit. He still was afraid to try fighting back, but his body started responding on it’s own and his hands shot to your wrists. But he quickly got nervous. He had severely underestimated how badly he weakened when he was tickled and your superhuman strength. Curse you, mutants.

“Nohohoho! Oh, nohohohoho! Stohohohop that! Lohohohohove!” he laughed as tears formed on the corners of his eyes.

All he could do was throw his head back and laugh against the couch as you laid on stop of him tickling him out of his mind.

Surprisingly he didn’t mind it too much. He found himself liking the attention.

“Hehehehe! Dahaharling! P-Plehehehehease! Please! No mohohohohore! Love, mehehercy!” he laughed weakly.

You giggled and stopped tickling him.

“Are you okay, pretty boy?” you giggled and leaned to kiss the tip of his nose, which made him smile.

“Hehehe… heh… Oh, love, you’re vicious… hahaha…” he chuckled. “That was the worst torture I’ve endured in all of my life… haha…”

“C’mon, you loved it” you smiled and kissed him.

It felt lovely the way Loki smiled into the kiss, even delighting you with a nice buzzing with the way he laughed into your lips. He simply irradiated happiness, and it was contagious.

“Whahat’s so funny?” you asked with a giggle.

“Nothing, nothing…” he smiled brightly and let out a loud contented sigh. “This is just perfection… I love you.”

“Aww…!” you cooed and hugged him tight. “I love you too, you ticklish cutie pie!”

Loki’s face turned red and groaned, and cringing at the overly sweet pet name. And you knew it and openly did it to get him flustered, even adding a tooth rotting coo to your tone that got him super embarrassed.

“I-I’m not a…!” he smiled, a bit flustered.

“Yes, you are!” you giggled and started tickling him again.

“AHH! Hahahahaha! Let me go! Hahaha!” he laughed as he tried to push your hands away without risking to hurt you if he grabbed your hands. He even kicked against the armrest where his feet had been resting. He was “I cahahahan’t- I surrender! Hahahaha!”

“Hehehehe!” you giggle. “You’re a sweetheart…”

“Yeah, I… yeah, I alright, you win…” he chuckled and nuzzled your nose in the sweetest Eskimo kiss. “You’re gorgeous.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him in a nice hug with your chest pressed against his as he held you and let out a big yawn.

“Sleepy?” you smiled softly and kissed his cheek and he looked at you with droopy eyes.

“It’s your fault… you tickle me too much,” he yawned again. “…it’s only natural I get sleepy after you tickle me halfway to insanity.”

“You love it..” you smiled and snuggled and fell asleep within seconds.

Loki smiled as his hand stopped glowing from the sleeping spell and saw your relaxed form as you rested against his chest. He yawned, and relaxed more now that you’d stay and nap with him.

“I do love it…” he smiled and kissed the top of your head he smiled and saw the little grin on your face as you slept with me. He sighed and soon drifted off to sleep in a nice and peaceful slumber as he left his hands on the small of your back.

He slept for so many hours, so peaceful and content. He was in such a deep sleep that he didn’t notice when a few set of footsteps walking to the couch where you two slept.

“See? I told you they were dating” Steve whispered.

“I never said I disagreed!” Thor yell-whispered. “I know my brother enough to know when he’s infatuated.”

“Can you two shut up?!” Clint shushed them both, and as he pulled out his phone to take pictures. “This is gonna be excellent blackmail!”

“You gotta send them to me!” Tony demanded.

“C’mon guys…” Natasha reasoned with an endeared smile. “It’s kinda cute, they look so happy together. Look at those smiles…”

All the guys looked at Natasha in disbelief, even Banner looked shocked.

“Do you want the photos or not?” Clint asked.

“Oh no, of course I do…” she smiled. “Send it to me.”

Now the backlash of hiding your relationship would be a truly aggravating situation.

| MASTERPOST |

[judes-baeeee]

Could you do a long one-shot with jude x y/n + size kink and first time? I thought of something like you and Jude seeing each other naked for the first time. You've been dating for a short time and haven't had sex or seen each other naked yet. Sure, things had gotten heated before, but Jude never pressured you for sex. But today you wanted to be his and that leads you to the current moment where you are undressing in front of each other and Jude can't stop looking at you hungrily. You feel shy under his warm gaze. When he takes off his boxers and is completely naked, you feel your entire body heat up and you can't help but be impressed by his size. You already imagined that he was big from the little you had seen and felt (when you sat on his lap while you made out), but you didn't expect *that*. You were nervous and afraid that you wouldn't be able to deal with it and Jude, realizing your desperation, made it clear that you didn't need to do anything you didn't want to do. You said you wanted to and he reassured you that you would go slowly and that he would be gentle. And he fulfills his words, being extremely kind and delicate with you. Making you extremely wet and ready for him and then penetrating you with extreme delicacy. You fight the pain at first because you're not used to that size, but then it feels so good. The way Jude moves in and out of you as his huge hands roam your body and he whispers how well you're taking his cock.

You and Jude have been dating for over 6 months now but you guys have never really done anything sexual, you were somewhat afraid of doing it in case Jude was just using you for your body and also because you were genuinely just afraid in general. Jude never pressured you into having sex because he knew it was something that the both of you cherished. However today was different, you guys were hanging out as usual at his house and things started getting heated; Jude kissed you slowly and sloppily while gripping his hands on your waist. You kissed him back and shoved your tongue in his mouth slightly and pulled his hair a little, Jude let out a little grunt and his grip tightened around you, Jude stopped suddenly “babe are you sure you wanna go further” to which you panted and say “yes I need you so bad Jude”. You stand up and start stripping slowly trying to tease him which was working, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you and you noticed something growing in his trousers; you stood there finally done stripping with a smirk on your face waiting for Jude to do the same. Jude started stripping but faster than you which caused you to become shy under his hungry gaze; you always knew that Jude was bigger than you but it still shocked you that he was huge down there, you were nervous that it was gonna hurt since you’ve never dealt with someone that big before, Jude could sense that you were nervous to which he stated “Y/n do you wanna carry on, we don’t have to if you don’t want to”, you reassured him that you wanted to. You guys continued with the heated kissing and Jude was rubbing you down there, your moans echoed in the bedroom which turned Jude on even more. He slowly started lining himself up which caused you to grow impatient “Jude hurry up please” he smirked and pushed it all inside you causing you to gasp. Jude kept going inside you slowly because he knew it would hurt at first, once you started getting used to it you begged him to go faster “be ready princess” was what he stated and he started going faster. It was pain mixed with pleasure causing you to moan even louder than before; you were so tight around Jude causing him to groan continuously and praising you constantly “baby’s your doing so well, your doing amazing”, this pushed you over the edge and caused you both to cum together.

I tried to write smth longer and I hope you enjoy x