#spark: absolutely! send us asks any time!

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Could i request some general headcannons about various mechs (tfp) with a way taller reader? 🙏

Just like how they feel about it or if they allow you to pick them up etc (maybe even about having a sparkling thats also taller than them 💀)

Choice of who is all yours as long as soundwave is included

♡ [TFP] CONS WITH A TALLER S/O & sparkling!!!

i love this ask and thought it was so cute and funny... anon, i love you for this mwah. my first time answering an ask yay

warnings: mildly suggestive

including: Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Shockwave and Knockout

Megatron:

— He's not sure what to feel about it. At all. On one hand, he absolutely despises having to crane his helm up to see you. The warlord wasn't used to it in the slightest at the start and it took a long time to get accustomed to it. After all, he's usually the biggest mech in the room.

— But at the same time, he believes he deserves the best. A bot who can match up with him when it comes to strength and dominance, he finds it more thrilling that way. So he isn't exactly upset about it.

— Just because you're his s/o doesn't mean he'll be soft on you in public! It's hysterical to watch him bark out orders as he's tilting his helm up to meet your gaze. And don't you dare hunch your backstruts down to make it easier for him! He will visibly scowl. It's like you're insulting him for being short when you're just too damn big!

— Pick him up? Don't be ridiculous! He will never let anyone pick him up. Even if you were Primus himself. The only time Megatron willingly lets himself get carried away by you is if he's that injured. Even then, the best you can do is support him as he limps.

— But him, carrying you? Oh ho ho ho. He has the exact opposite feeling about it. Megatron loves it. It's like he gets to show off just how strong he is and he is insanely strong. He loves having you full on bridal style in his servos with a look of disapproval as he's got a cocky smile flashing right at you.

— If you try to surprise him, his battle instinct will flare and he will absolutely one hundred percent accidentally hit you smack across your helm and send you flying half way through The Nemesis. Megatron would be baffled you even attempted such a thing and might even feel a little bad about it.

— A bit NSFW but Megatron will love the idea of dominating a bot bigger than him, the ego rush he gets is gratifying. Also will fold like a lawn chair if you try seducing him.

— Now if there is a sparkling involved and said sparkling is bigger than him? Again, very, very mixed feelings. It was like yesterday his little starlight was just up to his hipstruts, begging to be carried up with wide optics and now he has to look up at them? Megatron is going to look at them and just zone out sometimes, how much have they grown… How quickly has time passed? But they're still not fully matured yet, so they're still his ‘little’ starlight… but they're not little anymore and it physically hurts his spark when he thinks of it.

— However, he is really happy to know that his child is intimidating and scares others. It makes him feel proud. It's like living up to Megatron's name. But because of that, he might have some skewed expectations of his sparkling. He's like a strict father in every sense of the word and he's got targets he would want them to meet.

— Imagine his amusement when his overgrown Cybertronian equivalent of a twelve year old frightens the wits out of Starscream. Proud fatherly tears, if he could shed any.

Soundwave:

— Soundwave has absolutely no issues with it in the slightest. If anything, he actually likes it. More area for his data cables to wrap around you.

— He also doesn't really mind being picked up by you. Like he won’t say he hates it or likes it, he's indifferent about it mostly. But he absolutely hates it when you pick him up unwarranted. He does see it coming but he doesn't have any way to avoid the inevitable. If you do it in front of others, expect a ‘no-interaction-with-you-for-sometime’ treatment.

— Soundwave quietly enjoys being carried back-pack style. He's got a lot more visual feed now and it doesn't get tiresome for him to hold on since his datacables play their part in helping him out with his grip. Again, he won't admit it outright and you will struggle trying to get any admissions from him.

— This mech actually likes it when you hunch down for him so that he can communicate with you better. He knows you're just being considerate so he doesn't hate it. You have no ill intentions. And he can tell when you're trying to mock him so it's really not a huge deal for the guy.

— I think Soundwave would try to lift you up with his datacables at least once to try and return your treatment and it ends up with the two of you as a tangled mess of limbs and data cables. Never again.

— This also means Lazerbeak has a nice spot to perch on, your paldron. He's going to be sitting there like those pirates and their parrots, like a crow on a lamp post.

— A bit NSFW but like I said earlier, he gets a lot more area to wrap his datacables with. More… opportunities.

— Again, he has absolutely no quarrels with his sparkling being bigger than him. I think Soundwave would be a girl dad. Like it doesn't matter how much bigger or stronger or smarter they are; they will ALWAYS be his baby. His brightest star. Of course, Soundwave wouldn't outwardly baby or pamper his sparkling but the thought is always in his helm no matter what size they are. So even if there's a minor injury involved, he's going to sit you down and patch them up like he used to when they were tiny. Soundwave is more of an action type of mech.

— Totally expects his sparkling to hunch down so that he can give them helm-pats. Soundwave strikes me as someone who would definitely give headpats as a sign of approval, affection and as a sign that he's proud of his literal child. Soundwave will just stand there and expect his sparkling to do so.

— Lazerbeak will sit on the sparkling's helm as they walk around. Sort of like a monitor.

— He's actually a really good dad. Even if he usually always busy he still makes time for his kid.

Starscream:

— The bombastic Starscream, where do I even start? He used to be very intimidated by you. Extremely. You're hovering over him like you're some sort of all seeing eye. It used to creep him out.

— Even after all your time being together, it will still unnerve him sometimes when you just stand behind him and look down at him but it's also kind of… hot.

— He will hiss like a cat if you try to pick him up. And if you try to pick him up by surprise, he's going to let out his embarrassingly high pitched squeal and then proceed to grumble while you make fun of him.

— But the thing is, Starscream actually likes being picked up unlike Megatron who genuinely despises it with all his spark. It's just Starscream's pride not allowing him to admit it, telling him to resist the allure of your warm servos and comforting EM field. If you are going to pick him up, make sure it's a bridal style. He's less grumpy about it that way.

— He doesn't even attempt to lift you up.

— One thing he does like is the privilege one gets when they have an intimidatingly tall s/o. Oh, you're trying to beat him up? He's running immediately to you. You give him scary dog privilege in a way and Starscream isn't ashamed about using it. He'll nervously laugh as he stands behind you as if you're a shield.

— A bit NSFW, just like Megatron, Starscream too finds it appealing to dominate a bot bigger than himself. But it also makes his submission feel oddly thrilling.

— If there's a sparkling involved, Starscream is going to be utterly disappointed when they turn out to grow bigger than him before they fully mature. His wings droop and everything. He remembers back then when he'd have this baby plane flying right next to him back when he used to take them for regular flight practice… and how they'd marvel at his flight stunts. If his sparkling gets cocky with him, Starscream will not hesitate to hit them with the: “just because you're bigger doesn't mean you can talk back to me like that!” while they blow a raspberry at him. Starscream knows it'll get to their helm and he hasn't the faintest idea on how to discipline them.

— But a part of him is relieved. An intimidation factor means that bots are less inclined to pick a fight with them and height plays a crucial role in that so at least his kid is safe from getting into too many fights… However, since they're his, it's likely that they're the one to start the fight.

— Unfortunately has to rely on his sparkling to get things from the top shelf. He's got a grimace while the sparkling is all smug about it.

Shockwave:

— Much like Soundwave, he is mostly indifferent to it. He doesn't even feel emotions to begin with, or so he claims. Shockwave thinks of this in a ‘pros & cons’ way. Logically.

— If you can pick him up, it's a miracle because he is a literal tank. He will be surprised and Shockwave will definitely be intrigued, he would want you on his examination table because that is not normal. While the slight fuzziness blooming in his spark is foreign, a part of him doesn't actually mind you carrying him at all. If anything, he finds it highly convenient because that means you can easily escort him out of an area quickly in a situation where he's severely injured himself.

— When it comes to what he really feels about it… he doesn't exactly like it. But it's mostly because he's not used it. However, once he does get used to it. He's going to be reading some or the other scientific journal as he's being piggy-back carried by you, it's a part of your exercise routine now.

— Shockwave, surprisingly, could have picked you up if he had both servos but unfortunately, he doesn't. If he did have both servos, he would be able to hoist you up for a while actually.

— One thing he does enjoy the most is the fact that this means he can make even more custom upgrades and mods for you since you might have a hard time finding any given you're not in any of the regular size classes. Shockwave enjoys making things for you.

— Also, this makes you the ideal lab assistant because you can just reach over and stretch to get things that Shockwave would need to walk and get. He likes that a lot.

— Now, the chances of Shockwave even having a sparkling is slim to none and if he did, 10/10 chance it was a lab accident. So things between the sparkling and him are already kind of awkward.

— He is very, very indifferent about his sparkling being taller than him at some point in their life, even if it's before they fully mature. If anything, he finds it to be an opportunity to study gigantism in Cybertronian sparklings. But a part of him, a very small part of him will miss the little hellspawn that would tinker around in his lab and mess with things. Mostly because he found it amusing. However, at least he doesn't need to clean up any messes in his lab anymore.

— I feel like Shockwave would stack up a ton of datapads on sparkling psychology and growth so he would be surprisingly prepared to deal with this.

Knockout:

— Knockout is foaming at the mouth, on all fours, optics popping out of his helm, howling at the moon, steaming from his vents and fanning himself. In short, he likes them strong and dangerous so out of everyone here, he is the happiest with an extremely tall s/o. He's got a thing for big and strong. Real heavy duty.

— Knockout would feel very, very cocky because his s/o is amazing and kinda scary in his optics and just like Starscream, it gives him scary dog privilege. Someone to run to if he messes up. I also feel like Knockout would be a flirtatious and smug iteration of a wife-guy. Someone could be talking about their partner and Knockout would go “Yeah but my s/o can-” *proceeds to say why you're better*

— Endless flirts directed at you as he's craning his helm up with a smirk to meet your gaze, Knockout doesn't mind. Besides, he's got something to soothe his neck at the med bay. So flirtatious, it'll get you absolutely flustered because you're basically the embodiment of his type.

— He's the happiest out of them all to be picked up. Public or not, Knockout really doesn't care. Hold him anyway you want to. He enjoys your servos on him, being in your embrace and the comfort of your EM field.

— Again, much like Starscream, he isn't going to even try and pick you up himself. He's happy in your servos. Knockout will let out a squeal just like Starscream if you sneak up on him though and he will give you a peace of his mind for that but he won't resist your embrace.

— Knockout having a sparkling is purely because he messed around a little too much and ended up having to be a parent.

— Knockout has absolutely no clue how to cope with his sparkling being bigger than him. He kinda can't even believe they're his internally for a moment because he does not have this sort of coding in any of his programming modules. Regardless, he would be trying his best and is actually pretty decent at taking care of a sparkling.

— He typically avoids sparklings but as a not really licensed medic, he's come across many so it's no big deal. But he does struggle at disciplining his sparkling. Knockout does miss it when they were just a tiny terror violently giggling, running around his medbay with all his tools in their little servos as the red race car had to chase them down while yelling at them. But now he’s breaking his neck here.

— If they're a land alt. then Knockout is def taking them racing and probably giving them tips on how they could move faster because since their frame is bigger, there's a huge chance they won't be able to move as fast as him.

[yandere-sins]

Okay! But like... big male yan!omega? Big strong man who doesn't fit into any societal omega ideal! Who gets confused for an alpha because he is so imposing and mean-looking and towers over everyone in any room. Who wants nothing more than to cuddle and purr for his cute small fem!alpha. He just wants to impregnate you, give you little babies for you to protect, but him to take care of. Who is so strong that he can push you down and hump you during his heat/your rut. He uses his omega instincts/hormones to keep you close by. Bby, don't you want to provide for him? He keeps sending you distressed hormones, you need to be a good alpha and keep him happy. Be a good alpha and kiss him better, make him a daddy and let him comfort you when your own alpha instincts flair up. He will be your perfect omega, carrying you around and smooching the top of your head. He will have a ginormous nest to keep the both of you safe and satisfied

Aww, gosh that is so wholesome!! (In yandere terms) I love it!! Thanks for sparking that idea ♥

There's just so much to go off on, and we all know that omegas really wear the pants in the relationship because alphas are just so easy to manipulate. You'd instantly get concerned when you smell the drop in a stranger's mood, just because it's your nature. Yet, you find yourself comforting an unusually big and bulky omega, who immediately hugs and latches onto you as if you two have always known each other. As an alpha, you cannot leave a sulky or unhappy omega to their own devices—even if it feels bizarre to be so caught up with someone you met randomly on a night's out... You have to stay with them and protect them from other alphas that might sniff out the omega, even if the sight of you two inevitably leads to some confusion about who is who. It's quite surprising when other alphas want to get to you instead of the actual omega, but it is he who bares his fangs at them, and you are already drenched in his scent. Even so, your omega still accounts it as your win, letting you have the laurels when the other alphas scurry off in a huff. You find it almost funny, but you are thankful for avoiding a confrontation, even though you have mixed feelings about this situation.

That is until even your friends start to avoid you. They just don't want to hang around a fellow alpha that has an omega tower over them from behind all the time, menacingly. He's scaring them off, although you still believe it's unwillingly. He's an omega, no way he has bad intentions, right? You already don't smell like you used to anymore, and when they tell you to take care of your omega, waving you off with a pitiful smirk, and tell you to enjoy the mated life, you are so confused as to why everyone thinks you two are mated. However, when you confront the omega, you're immediately hit with the smell of rejection and fear. You hate your instincts for instantly reaching out to comfort him instead of continuing your questioning, telling him it's all right. You'll take care of him—just like a good alpha would. Even if you curse yourself, there's not much you can do other than to keep this omega happy. It's not his fault he looks a bit intimidating to others; he's actually quite nice when you talk to him, just like an omega should be. He might even be a bit cute, you have to admit.

You agreed to take him home when he asks you since it's late, and "you know how alphas are"—well, duh! It probably shouldn't have surprised you that when you go over to his place for the first time, there's already a huge nest awaiting you. He's not in heat—you checked that multiple times after you met him—so technically, you shouldn't have anything to fear. You aren't even sure if you want to mate with him if that had been an option, so it was better to be safe than sorry. But damn, that is one hell of a fantastic nest. The blankets and pillows are so soft, the nest smells absolutely delightful with pheromones that kept pestering your nose all night, and a purr escapes you before you can even so much but clarify you're not staying over. The sight of the omega crawling back into his nest, lolling between the comfortable sheets and inviting you in so casually as if you already belong there, makes you gulp, your instincts rampaging, making you want to join him. Society and everyone around you conditioned you to not refuse your omega. Still, even though your body resists, your hormones spiking as you feel a rut incoming, you are so proud of yourself for turning on your heel and running.

It feels like you are a complete disappointment as an alpha, though.

You can't do it! Reasonably, you know that, but your body thinks otherwise. Ruts are too painful and tiresome without a mate to take care of you, and there had been a perfectly capable omega ready to embrace you. And you left. You barely get away a few blocks before you break down, your rut so spitefully overwhelming you, shutting down all your senses, dignity, and pride, that all you can think of is crawling back to the omega and begging him to help you. But even if you want to go back, need to go back, you can't bring yourself to it. All kinds of excuses come to mind: you're not in a place to provide the family life all omegas want, he's probably just using you for his own needs, you're too young to settle with the first omega that crosses your path, and you barely know the omega at all, you two only just me! You can't just get swept off your feet by the first omega that shows you his nest! And besides comforting him a few times, it's not like you two have a deeper relationship—you two are probably not even in love it's all just hormones!

You smell him before he even comes around the corner. Undoubtedly, he smells you, too. His eyes are instantly fixated on the picture of misery you must look like as you sit there on the sidewalk. He probably hates you for refusing him, and you get scared, hoping he won't abuse his power over you. But when he opens his mouth, it's all just sounds of comfort, his arms so strong and warm as he hugs you to his chest, lifting you up. He's not mad at all, and the alpha in you is overjoyed to smell his relief and be treated gently, even if you failed him before. He keeps asking you if you want his help, so concerned with your consent and how could you hold back? You know this omega will help you take care of the rut, make you forget about your inadequacies, and make a family while you two are at it. It's what you want—everyone wants it, right? Who needs free will when you can let your instincts take over and have an omega take care of you and the family you are about to make.

His neck is so perfectly, incidentally exposed to you; how can you not sink your fangs into it, marking this omega as yours while he takes you back to his nest, back home? Everything smells so amazingly, the omega is overjoyed, and you are happy. He's grinning from ear to ear as he puts you back down into his nest, sinking his fangs into your shoulder, your thigh, the nape of your neck. You've not made yourself a good alpha to bond so heavily to, but he does it with pleasure as he starts to take care of the mind-fogging rut that overwrites all your common sense.

"You're mine now. And I'm not letting you go," he says before biting you again and again, every fiber of your being stimulated as you press into him, moaning as if you are the omega in heat. You almost forget you're the alpha, but before that happens, you flip you both around, and the omega lets you, emitting sounds and smells of delight over you taking control, praising you just like a good omega should. So you make sure your omega is comfortable before exploring his body, making sure that by the time you spread your legs, your omega is just as happy as he makes you.

And from now on, you'll do everything to keep it that way.

Just like a good alpha should.

[thef1diary]

Edged | C. Leclerc

Summary: Despite Charles' warning, you couldn't help but continue to test his patience. True to his words, he edges you until you lose your mind.

Part 1: piano punishment

warnings: 18+, smut, dom!charles, bratty!reader, orgasm denial, edging, slight pain play, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), blowjob, use of vibrator, degrading words, dirty talk, praise kink, nipple tease, mention of squirting, slight dacryphilia

wc: 4k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

You were solely to blame for the situation you were about to put yourself in, especially since Charles had warned you about it beforehand. But the thought of testing his patience was too tempting to resist.

It started subtly. You began wearing shorter clothes around the house, barely-there shorts and tops that left little to the imagination. Every moment was calculated, every bend and stretch designed to catch his eye.

One evening, you found Charles lounging in the living room. His eyes followed you as you moved around, pretending to be oblivious to his attention. This time, you were wearing nothing but one of his old shirts, barely buttoned.

You sauntered over to the bookshelf next to the couch he was on, your movements slow and deliberate. Reaching for a book on the lower shelf, you arched your back, the shirt rising to reveal the curve of your ass. You could feel his gaze burning into you and a small grin made its way to your face knowing your plan was working.

Straightening up, you let one shoulder of the shirt slip down, exposing the soft mound of your breast. The edge of the fabric rested just above your hardened nipple, clearly visible through the thin material.

Charles' eyes darkened with desire as he called you over. "Que faites-vous?" [what are you doing?] he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and lust.

You smiled innocently, holding up the book. "I'm about to read," you replied, making no effort to adjust the shirt.

His gaze lingered on the exposed skin, a spark of something more mischievous forming in his mind. He nodded while he reached out and gently grabbed your free hand, pulling you closer until you were straddling him, your knees sinking into the leather couch.

His hand flicked the edge of the fabric covering your nipple, exposing it fully to his heated gaze. Using his other hand, he revealing your other nipple as well before circling around the sensitive buds with his thumbs, sending shivers down your spine.

"Just reading?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So if I unbutton what's left of this shirt and drag my fingers down, I won't find your pussy wet and desperate for my attention?"

His words sent a jolt of arousal through you, your breath hitching as he unbuttoned the remaining buttons of the shirt with deliberate slowness. He looked into your eyes waiting for your response as his fingers lingered on the fabric.

Resting your arms on his shoulders, hooking your fingers together behind him, you shrugged, a coy smile making its way to your face. "Why don't you find out?"

A knowing smirk played on his lips as his hand travelled down your body, finally reaching the wetness between your legs since you'd forgone panties yet again.

His fingers brushed against your slick folds, eliciting a gasp from you. "Just as I thought," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "Absolutely soaked." He teased your clit lightly, rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves, making you writhe against him.

"Charles," you moaned, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more of his touch.

His free hand moved to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him as his other hand worked its magic between your legs. Your shirt had fallen completely open now, leaving you fully exposed to him. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses along your skin as his fingers dipped inside of you, curling to hit that sweet spot.

Your moans grew louder, your body trembling with the need to cum. "Charles— 'm close," you stuttered out, rocking your hips against his palm for added stimulation.

"No," he firmly stated, moving his fingers away right as you were about to reach the edge.

Confused and frustrated, you looked at him, your eyes pleading for an explanation. His fingers grazed over your clit before pinching it harshly. The sudden sharp sensation made you arch in painful pleasure, a cry escaping your lips.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" he asked, his tone firm.

You shook your head, your mind too clouded with need to recall his words. "I don't remember," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He faked pity, pulling his fingers away from your clit before his hand rounded to your ass, smacking it lightly. "Think, mon amour," he said, his tone both mocking and commanding. "What did I say I would do if you acted out again?"

Your eyes widened as the memory flooded back, realization dawning on you. "Behave, and it won't happen. Act out, and I swear, this was the last orgasm you'll experience for a long, long time."

Already shaking your head in silent protest, you tried to plead with him, but the words were stuck in your throat. He chuckled, noticing the expression of dawning comprehension on your face. "Ah, you remember now," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his voice.

Desperate to convince him otherwise, you ground down on him, your hips moving in a frantic rhythm. "Charles, baby, please," you begged, your voice breathless. "I'll be good, I promise."

His hands moved to grip your thighs, holding you still. "No," he said firmly, lifting you slightly off him so you couldn't grind on him anymore.

Before you could say anything else, his hand came down sharply on your pussy, the sting making you gasp and fall silent. "You've had your chance to behave, but you couldn't help but still try to tease me hmm?" he asked rhetorically, his fingers now slipping between your folds, pressing against your clit with just enough pressure to keep you on edge but not enough to let you cum.

You whimpered, tears of frustration welling in your eyes. "Please Charles," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I need it."

He smirked, his fingers never stopping their teasing. "Oh I know you do," he said, his tone almost sympathetic. "But you're gonna have to wait until I think you're a good girl. This is your punishment remember?"

You could only nod, biting your lip to stifle your cries as his fingers continued their relentless torment. His other hand came up to your tits, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you arch your back.

"You're gonna learn your lesson, mon amour," he murmured, his voice commanding. "And by the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging to behave."

He pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his touch both reassuring and dominent. Pulling back, he looked into your eyes. "Go get your favourite toy from the bedroom," he instructed.

You hesitated for a moment, the heat of his gaze making you feel both excited yet nervous knowing that no matter which toy you choose, you won't be allowed to cum. His shirt still hung loosely off your frame, barely covering anything as you walked to the bedroom, your legs shaky from his earlier teasing.

You made your way to the bedroom, opening the bottom drawer of the dresser where you and Charles kept your growing collection. Neither of you were shy about adding toys to your bedroom activities since it only heightened both of your pleasures.

You scanned the neatly arranged toys: a variety of vibrators, dildos, and plugs in different sizes and shapes. Among them, you spotted the remote-controlled vibrator that Charles could connect to his phone.

With a deep breath, you picked up the vibrator, its smooth, curved design fitting perfectly in your hand. You knew this choice would please him, giving him the ability to edge you to his heart's content.

Returning to the living room, you handed the toy to Charles, who smirked approvingly. "Good girl," he praised. "See, it's really not that hard to behave. But you," he continued, connecting the vibrator to his phone through the app, "are such a slut for me that you can't even think straight when you're needy."

You were still standing in front of him, clenching your thighs together as you thought of how the rest of the night would go.

Charles nudged your feet apart, spreading your legs wide to prepare you for the vibrator. His fingers returned to your pussy, sliding his fingers back and forth, separating your folds as his palm pressed against your clit. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he was at eye level with your sweet pussy, and he couldn't resist the urge to taste you.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, and placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh. Slowly, his tongue traced a path along your sensitive flesh, making you shiver in anticipation. His fingers continued their gentle teasing, but it was his mouth that drove you wild.

Charles' tongue flicked over your clit, sending electric jolts of pleasure through your body. He alternated between gentle licks and firm pleasure, his mouth working in tandem with his fingers. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as your knees threatened to buckle from the intense sensations.

He groaned against your pussy, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure. His tongue dipped into your entrance, tasting your arousal before moving back to your clit. You could feel yourself getting wetter, coating his fingers, mouth, and even dripping down your thighs.

With one hand, Charles reached for the vibrator, its smooth surface cool against your heated skin. He spread your lips with his fingers, using the vibrator to gather your wetness before slowly sliding it inside you. The sensation of the toy filling you, combined with his tongue on your clit, made you cry out in pleasure.

Your hand made its way to his hair, tugging on the strands as you neared the edge. Charles responded with a playful slap to your ass, making you gasp. He then turned the vibrator on to the highest setting, causing your knees to buckle, a moan leaving your lips as intense pleasure surged through you. He chuckled casually, as if he made a mistake, before turning it down to the lowest setting before you could cum, ripping away your orgasm at the last moment.

"No! Please," you begged, gripping onto his shoulder as you bucked up your hips in a poor attempt to keep the pleasure flowing through your body.

"Oops," he said, a sly grin on his face. "Looks like you'll have to be patient, mon amour."

You whimpered in frustration, your body trembling with need. "Please, Charles," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," he replied, his fingers teasing your clit once more. "You'll have to earn it."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but then you realized he was mocking what you had told him when you made him play the piano for you. A playful smile tugged at your lips despite your frustration. "Oh so that's how it's gonna be?" you murmured, your voice breathy.

Charles' smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That's right. You told me to earn it, and I did, let's see if you can."

The vibrator hummed steadily inside you, just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over. You squirmed, trying to find some relief, but Charles held you steady, his grip firm on your hips.

"Do you remember how you made me play for you, teasing me by playing with your pussy right in front of me?" He asked, and you whimpered in response. "I would've let that go, but you've truly tested my patience, walking around almost naked."

He leaned closer, his lips grazing your inner thigh. "You love being a little tease, don't you? Showing off your body, knowing I can't resist you," he said, his voice dripping with lust and a hint of anger. "You're such a dirty little slut, aren't you? Always needing attention, always needing my cock."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the degradation only adding to your arousal, and based on your expressions, he knew it too. "Baby, please..." you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore.

"Please what?" He mocked, his fingers nudging the vibrator set on your clit, gently pressing it into you. "You think you deserve to cum? After all the teasing, all the games?"

You shook your head, tears of frustration staining your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Charles, I'll be good, I promise."

"On your knees," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for an argument.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, the vibrator still pulsing inside of you, keeping you on the edge of madness. Charles leaned back, unzipping his pants and freeing his hardened cock. "You know what to do," he said, gesturing to his lap.

With eager hands, you reached for him, taking him into your mouth, inch by inch. As you drooled on his cock, spreading your spit all over, he played with the controls of the vibrator on his phone. The settings changing erratically from low to high, driving you to the brink and back repeatedly.

His hand found its way to your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed up and down. The sensation of him in your mouth, combined with the relentless teasing of the vibrator, was nearly too much to bear. Every time you thought you were close to release, Charles would change the setting, pulling you back from the edge and making you whimper around his cock.

"Just like that, mon amour," he groaned, his hips thrusting gently as you took him deeper. "You look so beautiful like this, desperate and eager to please."

You moaned around him, the vibrations of your sounds sending shivers down his spine. His grip in your hair tightened, urging you to take him faster. The vibrator still buzzed between your legs, its low, steady hum a constant reminder of your denied release. The sensation was maddening, like an itch you couldn't scratch, leaving you feeling like your orgasm was close, yet miles away.

Each thrust of his hips pushed him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around him as you struggled to take him all. Your hands gripped his thighs for support, nails digging into his skin. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him harder, your tongue swirling around his tip.

Charles groaned, his pleasure evident in the way his body tensed. He controlled your movements, guiding you with firm but gentle pressure. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth, a telltale sign that he was close.

Your body screamed, every nerve ending trembling for release that never came. The frustration only heightened your arousal, making you whimper around him as he played with the vibrator controls again.

"Fuck, you're such a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Taking me so well."

His praises spurred you on, making you bob your head faster, taking him deeper until he touched the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn't stop, desperate to please him.

With a strangled moan, Charles pulled out, quickly telling you to open your mouth. His cock twitched as he came, hot spurts landing on your tits and tongue, catching his cum and savouring the taste. Your fingers trailed down your body, gathering his cum before bringing them to your mouth and licking them clean. The act so erotic, plus the high vibrations pulsing in your pussy, it instinctively made you begin humping the air, desperate for release.

But just as you were about to have an earth-shattering orgasm, Charles turned the vibrator off completely. "No!" you cried out, the denial only making you sob louder. "Please, please, please, need it," you pleaded, words coming out a mumbled mess.

He picked you up off the floor, placing you back in his lap but this time he made you lean your back against his chest, hooking your legs over his so you couldn't close them.

"You still have a long way to go before I let you cum," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "But that doesn't mean I'll stop playing with your pretty pussy."

He took out the vibrator and replaced it with his fingers,  sliding them into you with ease. "After all, it belongs to me no?"

You whimpered in response, the sensation of his fingers filling you both soothing and maddening. As soon as he lightly touched your overstimulated clit, you arched your back, caught between wanting to pull away from his touch and needing more. Your body made the decision faster than your mind, pressing closer to him despite the overwhelming pleasure.

"You played with it right in front of me, telling me I can't touch you," he continued, his tone a mix of reproach and possessiveness. "Now it's my turn."

You hooked your arm around his neck, reaching up to press kisses to it while crying softly. His fingers began moving inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to brush against your sweet spot.

"Now you're going to remember who this belongs to," he murmured, cupping your pussy with his palm. "You're going to learn your lesson, mon amour."

He set a punishing rhythm, his fingers thrusting in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit. You could feel your orgasm building again, but you knew he wouldn't let you have it. Your eyes dried out due to the amount of frustrated tears that spilled down your cheeks, but he still pushed you closer and closer, only to pull back before you could tip over the edge.

"Does that feel good hmm?" he asked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Do you like it when I play with your pussy like this?"

"Yes, yes," you moaned, your body trembling. "It feels so good, baby."

With his other hand, Charles began to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. You moaned, distracted by the dual stimulation, your mind hazy with pleasure. Just as he allowed your orgasm to build again, he suddenly removed his fingers from your pussy.

Before you could process the loss, the sharp pain of his hand landing directly on your puffy clit made you cry out. The stinging slap ruined the building orgasm, tearing you away from the edge brutally. You trembled in his hold while he gripped onto your thighs, holding them open while you desperately wanted to clench them together.

"Don't hide it from me, what did I say? It belongs to me." Charles words were punctuated with another slap to your sensitive clit.

You gasped, the sharp pain mingling with a strange pleasure. He didn't give you time to recover before his hand came down again, and again, each one aimed at different points. Your hips bucked, trying to escape the onslaught, but his grip on your thigh was unyielding.

To your surprise, the slaps began to bring a different kind of pleasure to your body, one you didn't know you would like. But Charles knew your body better than you did. Each sharp sting sent electric jolts through you, mingling pain with a deep, intense pleasure that had you trembling in his hold.

This time, the growing release felt different, an intense pressure building in your core as if you were going to squirt. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body quivering with anticipation and need. But once again, Charles knew your telltale signs.

Just as you were on the brink, he brought his hand down one last time, the slap harder than before. He then cupped your pussy, the constant pleasure turning into stable pressure on your pussy making you squirm.

"Charles," you whimpered, your tone raw and desperate.

"Shh, mon cœur," he soothed, his hand holding firm against your swollen, sensitive flesh. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of mockery. "You almost got off just from me slapping your pretty pussy. You're such a little slut aren't you?"

You moaned, the mix of his degrading words and the pressure on your clit sending conflicting sensations through your body. "Yes, Charles," you breathed, the admission making your cheeks flush with shame and arousal.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing your folds. "I knew you were desperate, but this? Getting off on a few slaps? I knew you'd enjoy it, such a dirty little thing, always craving more."

His words made you shiver, your body reacting despite your attempts to hold back. "You're my slut, aren't you?" he asked, pressing lingering kisses down your neck.

"Yes," you replied, the heat in your core intensifying with each degrading word. "I'm your slut, Charles."

He smirked, his palm still applying firm pressure to your clit. "You'll do anything to cum, won't you?" he taunted. "But you don't deserve it, not yet."

You squirmed against him, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. "Please," you begged, "please, baby."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "No, mon cœur. You haven't earned it, you'll have to wait." He lifted his palm, fingers grazing your clit lightly, and the brief contact sent a jolt through you.

"Look at you, so wet and needy," he said, his tone almost pitying. "You can't even think straight when you're this desperate, but that's what you like, isn't it? Being at my mercy, waiting for me to decide if you get to cum or not."

His words were a torment and a thrill, and you nodded, a fresh set of tears welling in your eyes. "Please," you whispered again, barely able to form the word.

"This is your punishment, mon amour," he stated firmly.

By the end, you were a trembling, moaning mess, completely at Charles' mercy. He pulled a his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and desperate. Slowly, he began buttoning up your shirt, scattering soft kisses on your cheeks and neck.

You felt a wave of confusion wash over you, your mind still hazy from the overwhelming sensations. Slowly you began to realize that he wasn't going to let you cum tonight, no matter how well you behaved. Desperation welled up inside of you, and you tried to form the words to convince him otherwise, but they came out a mumbling mess.

"Charles—please," you managed to speak, your voice shaky and broken. "I need to..."

"Shh, mon cœur," he interrupted, his tone soothing as he continued to button up your shirt. His fingers worked deftly, securing each button with care. "You've done so well tonight."

You whimpered, your body still humming with arousal but Charles' calm demeanour and gentle praise started to seep into your mind, soothing the frantic need. He gently turned you around in his grasp, making you face him. His lips brushed against your forehead, then your cheeks, placing light kisses to calm you down.

"You're such a good girl," he whispered between kisses, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Taking everything I give you, enduring it all for me."

Your protests turned into soft whimpers, your body slowly relaxing as he continued his tender ministrations. His hands moved with practiced ease, tracing patterns on your back while his voice wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

"Just relax," he said softly, his lips grazing your ear. "You did so good today. If you keep behaving, maybe one day, I'll let you cum as many times as you want."

You sighed, the frustration replaced by a sense of acceptance settling over you. His lips pressed against yours in a tender kiss, sealing his promise. As the gaze of desire began to fade, you knew that despite the torment, you craved his touch, his control, and the sweet release only he could give.

Pulling away, you rested your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a calming rhythm that helped ease your racing thoughts. Charles continued to hold you close, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered soothing words, promising that you'll be rewarded soon.

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taglist: @nikfigueiredo @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @wonnou @heylookwhoitis @67-angelofthelordme-67 @saachiep @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl

[hedwig221b]

Witch or magical Stiles recs..?

Hi! I did magical!Stiles fic recs here! This time, let's focus on witch!Stiles (my beloved)

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation

Too many people are scared of witches so when Stiles accidentally sets a building on fire with magic, he is taken prisoner and dragged before Lord Hale. Rather than leave an untrained magic user free, Peter Hale thinks he might be able to make use of Stiles' skills and hands Stiles over to his sorceror Deaton to be trained. Stiles is still unsure about his future, but he's even more confused when he finds out that one of his new duties involves feeding the black wolf imprisoned at the top of one of the towers. There's something very strange about this wolf and Stiles can't help wondering if magic might be involved.

Dead Things by standinginanicedress

Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.” “Back.” “From the dead.” “Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.” Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

For My Flesh Had Turned to Fur, and My Thoughts Had Turned to You by literaryoblivion

They’ve known about the other pack for quite some time now. They know the pack is young and small, formed together more by accident and necessity than anything else. But, they haven’t done anything about them because they’ve been fairly quiet, kept to themselves, and haven’t caused any trouble. That is until the Hales start hearing rumors about the McCall pack acquiring a very young and inexperienced but powerful witch. So Alpha Hale sends her eldest son, Derek, for all intents and purposes, to spy on the McCall pack and their so-called witch, to see what the truth of the situation is.

The Ink Under My Skin by rainsoakedshoes

Derek is looking for an Emissary. What he finds is Stiles Stilinski; resident witch. Stiles would do whatever it takes to protect the Hale pack and his Alpha. “I want to protect my pack as well as I can,” Derek continued. “Emissaries traditionally keep balance, having someone who wants to tip the odds in our favour may come in handy.”

Destiny is the Rising Sun by asswords

Stiles and Derek are best at keeping secrets – the biggest one being the fact that they knew each other long before Scott had to go and become a werewolf. (The second biggest secret belongs to Stiles, something about how he’s not allowed to tell Derek he’s the trusted advisor and kind of a witch.)

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

These Scars Tell A Story (But It’s Not Mine) by HappyJuicyfruit

Derek’s eyes widened in confusion as Stiles babbled at him. “I know it’s not up to you, but you’re like, my guard, right? You’ve been keeping an eye on me? Tell your mom I wouldn’t lie about this, my dad deserves to stay here. He’s happy here, please let him stay!” Guard? Keeping an eye on him? “Stiles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stiles face crumpled, his hands clung to Derek’s shirt tighter as tears and snot dripped off his chin. Derek frantically tries to think of the right thing to say. “You think- you think I’m your guard? That I’ve been watching you to, what, make sure you don’t do any magic? Stiles, that’s ridiculous. Beacon Hills is a sanctuary for supernaturals. We allow people to use their magic. I was just trying to be your friend.” Stiles breath hitched. “My friend?”

[masterlist link]

[noorpersona]

Helloooo another request because I absolutely love your Favourite position series! Can you write one about Atsumu because you write him so well. Not just him honestly all the characters you write are so accurate and well written. Take your time and thank your for blessing us with your writing!!🩷🩷

Heheh I've had this one cooking for a long time. Thank you for saying I write him well that makes my day since he's like my husband 😩🩷

Enjoy <333

--

Favourite Positions: Atsumu

Atsumu Miya was a performer.

On the court, in front of a camera, with strangers or friends—he knew how to put on a show. He thrived on reaction, on praise, on the high that came from being watched and admired. And in bed, it was no different.

He liked it when you were loud.

When you praised him with gasps and whimpers, when your nails dragged down his back and your voice cracked saying his name. When your legs trembled, when your thighs clenched, when you said—again and again—that no one made you feel like he did.

But one night, in the quiet hush of your shared bedroom, you laughed—soft, teasing—and said something he couldn’t let go.

“You’re good, Tsumu,” you purred, voice sugary sweet, brushing your lips against his ear. “But I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream.”

He went still. Blinked once. And then he smiled.

Not just any smile. That one. The cocky, infuriating, competitive smile he only wore when he took something personally.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

You shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying…”

And that was how you found yourself like this.

Laid on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, the other pinned beneath his weight. His hand was anchored under your knee, firm and steady, keeping you stretched open for him, keeping you exposed and exactly where he wanted you.

He was already deep inside you, hips grinding in slow, devastating strokes that had your breath stuttering and your mind unraveling. The angle? Perfect. He hit that spot—your spot—over and over, like he had it memorized, like he could find it with his eyes closed.

But what got you most—more than the rhythm, more than the stretch—was the way he watched you.

Eyes locked on your face. Focused. Determined.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playful. He was proving something.

“Y’re not gonna be able to talk when I’m done,” he muttered, voice thick with effort, lips brushing against your jaw. “Gonna make you scream so loud, the whole fuckin’ neighborhood’s gonna know.”

You gasped, your hand flailing to grip the sheets as his cock hit that spot again, again, again. Every thrust angled perfectly, timed like he was syncing it to the beat of your pulse, to the rhythm of your gasps.

Your voice cracked. “T-Tsumu—”

“Oh, now y’can’t talk?” he chuckled, dark and pleased, hand dragging down to press your belly. “Thought y’had somethin’ smart to say.”

Your leg trembled on his shoulder. Your body jolted, overwhelmed by the way he kept striking that same devastating spot inside you. It was blinding—white-hot heat coiling tighter and tighter, an ache that started deep in your belly and spread like fire under your skin. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, your muscles drawn so tight you thought you might snap. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The only thing you could feel was him—Atsumu, filling you completely, dragging you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. Your walls fluttered around him, desperate and pulsing, your vision starting to blur at the edges. Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes, pleasure cresting into something dizzying, something raw.

And still, he didn’t let up.

His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with more force, each movement sending a shockwave through your body. The pressure was unbearable, unbearable—and yet, you craved more. You needed more. Your hands clawed uselessly at the bedspread, searching for something, anything, to hold onto.

“Say it,” he growled, voice right by your ear now, his breath hot, cock still driving into you at that perfect, devastating angle. “Say who’s makin’ you scream.”

You barely managed it.

“Atsumu—oh my god, Atsumu—”

You shattered.

Your cry echoed off the walls, louder than you’d ever been before. It ripped from your chest, raw and helpless, your entire body locking up. Back arched, fingers clawing at the sheets, thighs quivering violently as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Raw. Messy. Loud. It didn’t stop—wave after wave crashing through your limbs, pulsing around him with a force that left you sobbing.

Atsumu groaned, curse muffled into your neck as he fucked you through it, hips stuttering before he came hard, hot and deep inside you, his own orgasm pulled from him with a strangled moan. He rode out every last pulse of it, buried deep, clinging to your thigh like his anchor.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, your leg still draped over his shoulder, chest heaving against the back of your thigh, his hand still gripping you like he didn’t want to let go. His face nuzzled into the curve of your chest, lips ghosting over the swell of your breast as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses there—gentle and slow, a quiet contrast to the way he’d just wrecked you.

When he finally leaned back to look at you, his smile was smug, but his eyes were warm—staring down at the wrecked mess he made.

“Still think I can’t make you scream?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too far gone—eyelids fluttering, mouth parted, body twitching with the aftershocks.

And as he looked down at the wrecked mess of you—eyes glassy, hair clinging to your forehead, body limp and trembling—Atsumu realized something.

This position?

Yeah. It was his favorite now.

[revelboo]

THE HOLIDAYS SPECIAL SHITPOST IS CANON??? Omg, and it’s not a one time thing, anybody can just watch it??? if its in idw does that mean the traveling mtmte can accidentally intercept it? Can anybody, not anybody but a bot, just yoink it? Neutrals just spreading it. Thinking about swindle, or somebody just sending off to different groups aside from the ones in earth. Overlord, Tarn, Kaon, the reason the decepticons lose the war is because theyre humanfraggers. But if it lands on anti-cybertronians hands it can be used for major propaganda :(

Yeah, I suppose it is now canon to the fics on the Masterlist under IDW/G1 🤣 I treat the ones under Lost Light as wholly separate. That little PSA is definitely not going to have the intended effect, though. There are a lot of lonely or just outright bored Cybertronians on both sides.

Everything Is Alright Pt 96

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Leaning his chin on a fist as you sit with your back to him on the other arm of his throne, he listens to you tell him about the wreck. About blundering into the middle of a fire fight between Starscream and the Autobots. About talking to him after he’d taken you and decided to keep you, asking him about his day and Megatron hears your voice soften with genuine affection. You talk about meeting Soundwave and the cassettes. Starscream’s failed attempt to free you giving him pause, because when has the Seeker ever cared for someone besides himself? But listening to you, it sounds like he’s learning to care. You leave out some things, he knows. Not mentioning how Star had claimed you. Or Soundwave. But finally you fall silent, little shoulders tense. And your story just leaves him more exhausted. Because he’s not sure what to do. Punishing Starscream will also punish Soundwave. And you.

• Behind you, Megatron is silent. For all you know, your story bored him so bad he fell into recharge. So it’s a surprise when he reaches and runs his servo against your side and you look up at him, those red optics staring at you. “You’re an incredible amount of trouble for being so small,” he mutters, chin still on his fist as the servo slides to tip your chin up. “But useful. That fool can’t act out for fear of you being harmed. He might be trained yet.” And he smiles down at you, that look making your skin prickle. Trained? “Don’t worry, I think you’ll enjoy helping.”

• “I’m not helping you make him miserable,” you say, pushing at his servo with warm little hands as your eyes narrow. That unexpected attitude sparking through him. He’s seen little glimpses of it amid the submissiveness, but usually you’re quick to hide it. To play at being docile. It makes him want to push to see how far you’ll bend before you lash out. And he’s curious despite himself. Remembering that little glimpse of you under the Seeker. The sounds.

• “I only want to reward good behavior,” he says, that smile becoming something wicked that makes you freeze. Because he’s not so scary or intimidating when he smiles, that severe face seeming younger, more open. Pushing away from his servos, you scowl at him, trying your hardest not to acknowledge that for a heartbeat you thought he was handsome. Absolutely not. “And you don’t really have any say in it, pet.”

• Stuck patrolling with Soundwave even though the communications officer isn’t at all suitable for this, Starscream knows it’s just so Soundwave can watch him. Make sure he’s not plotting and he hates it. Still needs to do more research and right now? He can’t even think about his plan or Soundwave will know. He has no doubt the other mech is eavesdropping in his mind. Spying. For Megatron. Frustrated, they walk their circuit looking for any sign of Autobots and coming up empty. The enemy quiet lately. And he almost wishes an Autobot would show up, someone to take his frustration out on. And even if he could plot, he’s too distracted with worry. Hates leaving you at Megatron’s mercy. He’s felt that mercy, bears the scars of it and you’re so small. So fragile.

• Feeling the Seeker’s thoughts seething almost out of control, Soundwave vents tiredly. Understands the worry, but he trusts Megatron. He’d tried pinging Rumble and Frenzy both and had only gotten a distracted ‘busy’ from Frenzy and a flicker of emotion he really doesn’t want to think too closely on. Almost sure both cassettes are busy with the same human Rumble had disappeared with. Hoping they don’t do anything too impulsive but also sure that they likely did. Neither had ever been great at thinking things through, preferring to act on impulse. Like you. Reaching for things you want no matter the consequences.

• Returning to base, Starscream heads for the bridge and his optics narrow to find no guards waiting today. Wings flaring, he strides inside and freezes. Hissing softly as Soundwave brushes past him and also stops. Because there’s Megatron sprawled on his throne, but he’s pulled a little table in front of him and you’re in the center of it in a nest of blankets, one draped around you so only your face is visible. It’s the embarrassed anger on your face that snares his attention. “If you hurt-”

• “Your little mate is fine. Just a bit put out. Did you patrol as I asked?” Megatron growls, cutting Starscream off. Sees the Seeker’s wings flick up, trembling with rage, but he sullenly nods. “Good. Claim your reward.” Flicking his servos at you as you stand, he growls softly. “The blanket?” Now you’re shooting him a sullen look, eyes narrowed as you let the blanket fall with your back to him. He can see enough, though. The delicate chains dangling from your wrists and throat, and the draped, sheer cloth that doesn’t even start to hide you. That covering had been a happy find amid the pile of soft things Starscream had for you and the look on your face when his Insecticons had fetched it to him along with the chain? That had been even better. Almost as amusing as leashing you and watching you change into your new covering while trying to keep yourself hidden from him. Those angry eyes doing things to him. “Mass displace and claim your reward.”

• Embarassed you look at Soundwave and Starscream. Soundwave frozen and Starscream’s optics are sliding over you hungrily despite how mad he looks. Part of him likes this, you think. Seeing you bound. It’s not like Megatron had touched you aside from attaching the chains about your wrists and throat. And there’s enough extra chain you’re not actually restricted, the chains looping up to the thin collar around your neck. Know it’s meant to mock you and infuriate Starscream and Soundwave. A punishment for them lying about you being a pet. Megatron trussing you up like a pet. A plaything. Soundwave moves first, hands on the table and lunging up as he mass displaces to drag you into his arms. Big hands running over you checking that you’re okay and reassuring himself. That concern taking the edge off your mortified anger. It’s not like Megatron hasn’t seen Starscream fucking you. Is the warlord playing chicken? Trying to shame Soundwave and Starscream for wanting you? Or does he just want to watch? “Star?”

• Soundwave’s hands are on your hips as you look back at him. Those chains making a silvery sound where they slide against Soundwave’s plating, your skin on full display through the sheer fabric you’re wearing. But he’s frozen trying to figure out the game. To humiliate him? To mock him? There’s an angle, but as you stare up at him he finds himself coming to you anyway. Mass displacing and reaching to touch you through the fabric. Pulling you back to him, Soundwave following with a soft growl. Aware of Megatron staring at him in challenge. Daring him. Ignoring the warlord, he brushes his mouth against your throat. “Are you okay?” Relaxing a tiny bit when you nod, soft hands touching his sides, running up his chassis. Tangling his servos in your hair, he pulls you into his arms. Growling when his arm bumps Soundwave, the communications officer’s hands on your hips so you’re pinned between them.

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[amethystarachnid]

Hey rose! I hope you're doing alright! I absolutely adore your Tony stark fics!! I hope you'd write one for Steve Rogers or loki. Can you write something with any one of them where their partner (reader) is very emotional, like cries at tv shows and books, can never NOT tear up when any of them say anything romantic or meaningful. And as much as they don't want their partner to cry, they feel really appreciated. Just loads of fluff! Thank you!<3🩵

P.s. ofc feel free to change or add anything you fell like. Appreciate it!

HAPPY TEARS

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You have always been the sensitive type, crying over movies and every sweet thing Steve did for you, and that's one of the reasons he loves you so much but, at the same it, it gets him worried for your possible reaction to the question that has been in his mind for sometime now.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8K

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing just pure fluff and just like a few words about a passionate night

ᯓ★ As always, since reader's gender isn't specified in the ask I'll write it as fem!reader because I'm a girl and it's what I'm more used to write, but if you want it to be with another gender are sure to specify it in your ask and I'll write it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, warm and inviting. It greets you before you even open your eyes, a little luxury of the life you’ve built together. Your sleepy mind pieces together the familiar sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen—the soft clink of the coffee pot returning to its base, the gentle scrape of a plate across the counter.

He’s making breakfast.

The thought alone tugs at your heart. After seven years together, Steve Rogers still finds a way to make every morning feel special, no matter how ordinary. You pull the blanket tighter around you and close your eyes for a moment, letting the sound of his hums blend with the noise of the city beyond the window. It’s moments like these, the quiet ones, that remind you just how deeply you’re loved.

By the time you shuffle into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, he’s plating up pancakes. He’s not wearing a shirt, just his gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips, and his blond hair is damp and tousled like he’s already gone for a run. It’s infuriating how good he looks, even at this hour.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, flashing you that boyish smile, the one that makes your stomach flip even now.

You give him a sleepy grin in return, padding toward him on bare feet. His hand automatically finds the small of your back as you lean into him, your cheek pressing against his chest. For a moment, there’s no one else in the world but the two of you.

“You didn’t have to get up so early,” you mumble against his skin, your voice still thick with sleep.

“You were out like a light,” he says, his hand running gently up and down your spine. “Figured I’d let you sleep in a little.” His voice is low, affectionate, and entirely too effective at making your heart melt.

When you pull back, he tips your chin up with one finger, his blue eyes scanning your face like it’s the first time he’s seen you. “Coffee?” he asks, already stepping away to grab your favorite mug from the counter.

You watch him pour the coffee, a soft smile playing on your lips. He’s careful, deliberate, like he’s handling something precious. And you suppose, in his eyes, he is.

As he hands you the mug, his fingers brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through you. The gesture is small but thoughtful, the way so many of his gestures are. Seven years, and he still makes you feel like you’re worth all the time and effort in the world.

The first sip of coffee is heavenly, and you sigh contentedly as you sink into one of the kitchen chairs. Steve sits across from you, his long legs stretching out under the table, and slides a plate of pancakes in your direction. “Banana chocolate chip,” he says. “Thought you might want something sweet today.”

Your eyes go wide. “You made these just for me?”

His laugh is soft and teasing. “Who else would I make them for?”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and before you can stop it, tears start to blur your vision.

Steve freezes mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “Hey,” he says gently, already moving his chair closer to yours. “What’s wrong?” His hand lands lightly on your knee, his thumb stroking small circles there.

You shake your head, letting out a watery laugh. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You glance down at the pancakes, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. “You made me pancakes.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, clearly not understanding why that’s enough to turn you into a mess. “And?”

“And you made them the way I like them,” you sniff, wiping at your eyes. “With the chocolate chips on top, not mixed in, because you know I like the crunch.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you look up at him, feeling ridiculous for crying over pancakes. “You’re too good to me.”

His expression softens instantly, a mix of affection and bemusement. He moves his chair even closer, until his knees bump yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs catching the stray tears. “It’s just pancakes.”

“No, it’s not,” you insist, your voice a little shaky. “It’s… it’s that you always think of these little things. You always go out of your way to make me happy.” You gesture toward the plate, then to him. “Even after all this time, you still do stuff like this.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiles, leaning in to press his lips softly against your forehead. “I hope you know I don’t do any of this because I feel like I have to,” he murmurs. “I do it because I want to. Because seeing you happy is worth it. Every single time.”

His words are a balm, soothing the tight ache in your chest, and you let out a shaky laugh. “Well, congratulations,” you say, trying for levity. “You made me cry before breakfast again.”

“Again?” he echoes, chuckling softly. “I’m starting to think it’s my superpower.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, even as you swipe at your damp cheeks. “You’d give Tony a run for his money.”

“I’ll let him know,” Steve says with a wink, sliding the plate closer to you. “Now eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing warmth in his tone makes you reach for your fork. The first bite is everything you expected—soft, sweet, and rich with the perfect balance of flavors. You moan appreciatively, and Steve grins at the sound, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Good?” he asks, resting his chin on one hand as he watches you.

“Good,” you say around a mouthful of pancake, the tension in your chest easing with every bite.

For a while, the two of you eat in companionable silence, the kind that only comes from years of knowing and loving each other. Steve tells you about his run—how Sam gave him grief for being late to their meeting spot, how the park was unusually crowded this morning—and you listen with a soft smile, chiming in occasionally with little jokes or questions.

But even as the conversation flows, you can see the way Steve keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he’s still trying to puzzle you out. He’s always been like this, endlessly patient, endlessly curious about the way your mind works.

Finally, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair, studying you. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how sensitive you are.”

You pause mid-bite, your fork hovering just shy of your lips. “Is that a bad thing?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Not at all,” he says quickly, his expression earnest. “I mean it in the best way. You feel everything so deeply, and… I don’t know. It amazes me, I guess. How you can look at something as simple as pancakes and see all the love behind it.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you glance down at your plate. “I don’t mean to make a big deal out of things,” you mumble. “I just… I can’t help it. When you do something sweet, it gets to me.”

He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. “I don’t want you to help it,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I love that about you. I love that you cry over movies and surprise gifts and little things like pancakes. It reminds me to slow down and appreciate those things too.”

You blink at him, your throat tightening all over again. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, if you feel like crying over pancakes or anything else, go ahead. I’ll be here to catch the tears.”

It’s too much—his words, his presence, the unshakable love in his eyes. Before you can stop yourself, you’re crying again, this time out of sheer gratitude. Steve just laughs softly and moves to your side, pulling you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you,” you whisper against his chest, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of your head. “More than anything.”

Friday nights at the Tower are sacred—a time to unwind, laugh, and for Tony Stark to force his eclectic taste in movies on the rest of the Avengers. Tonight, the team has assembled in the massive home theater, complete with a state-of-the-art sound system, plush recliners, and enough snacks to sustain a small army.

You’re curled up next to Steve on one of the oversized couches, your legs tucked beneath you and your head leaning on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around you, and he’s absently playing with the ends of your hair as Tony prowls the front of the room, remote in hand, his enthusiasm palpable.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tony announces, dramatically pointing the remote like it’s a scepter, “tonight’s feature presentation is the cinematic masterpiece, Titanic.”

Groans ripple through the group.

“Tony, again?” Natasha asks, leaning back in her seat with a smirk. “You have a billion-dollar movie collection, and you keep picking this one.”

“It’s called having taste, Romanoff,” Tony retorts, tossing her a packet of Red Vines. “Some of us recognize greatness when we see it. This movie has it all: romance, drama, social commentary, and the single greatest piece of floating debris in cinematic history.”

“It’s a door,” Clint says flatly.

“It’s art,” Tony snaps back, dramatically clutching his chest like he’s been wounded.

Steve chuckles under his breath, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You okay with this one?” he asks, his voice low and warm. “We can always sneak out and watch something else.”

You shake your head, giving him a small, teary smile. “No, it’s fine. I just… I’m probably going to cry.”

“I know,” he says softly, brushing a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay.”

The others are still bickering as the lights dim and the iconic opening notes of James Horner’s score fill the room. You take a deep breath, already bracing yourself. You’ve seen Titanic before—enough times to know that you’re in for an emotional ride—but somehow, the anticipation makes it worse.

It doesn’t take long. By the time Rose boards the ship and gazes out at the ocean, your eyes are already brimming with tears. The sheer scale of the doomed ship, the haunting foreshadowing—it all hits you at once.

“Uh, are you okay?” Bruce whispers from the seat next to you, looking genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” you manage, your voice thick. “I just… I know what’s going to happen.”

Steve, unfazed, reaches into the bowl of popcorn and pops a kernel into his mouth. “This is normal,” he explains casually to Bruce, his tone as calm as if he were describing the weather. “She gets emotional during movies. It’s just how she is.”

Bruce nods slowly, his brow furrowing like he’s trying to understand. “But… it’s barely started.”

“She’s a big feeler,” Steve says with a shrug, pulling you a little closer as your sniffles grow louder.

“Is someone crying already?” Tony hisses from the front row, twisting around to squint into the dim light. When his eyes land on you, he raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t even hit the iceberg. You know that, right?”

“She knows,” Steve replies evenly, not even looking up from the screen. He grabs a tissue from the box he always keeps nearby during movie nights—specifically for you—and hands it to you without missing a beat.

Tony’s jaw drops. “You brought tissues specifically for this?”

“Of course,” Steve says, as though it’s obvious. “It happens every time.”

The group exchanges looks, equal parts bewildered and amused, but Steve just leans down to kiss the top of your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “Just let it out.”

“Wow,” Clint says, his tone dripping with mock admiration. “You’re a braver man than I am, Rogers.”

The movie marches on, each scene tugging at your heartstrings with surgical precision. Jack and Rose meet. They fall in love. They dance in third class and spit off the back of the ship. By the time they’re standing on the prow, their arms spread wide as the wind rushes around them, you’re openly sobbing into Steve’s chest.

“Am I supposed to do something?” Bruce whispers, looking helplessly at Steve.

“Nope,” Steve replies, rubbing slow circles on your back. “Just let her cry. She’ll feel better afterward.”

“I’m not sure that’s how crying works,” Bruce mutters, but he stays quiet, occasionally passing you another tissue.

Tony, meanwhile, is watching you with thinly veiled amusement. “I’ve gotta ask,” he says during a quieter moment, “do you cry at every movie, or is this one just special?”

“Not every movie,” Steve says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “But most of them. Especially the ones with tragic endings.”

“That’s an understatement,” Natasha says dryly. “Remember Finding Nemo?”

Clint snorts. “Oh, that was legendary. We weren’t even five minutes in, and she was already bawling over the mom dying.”

Tony looks scandalized. “Finding Nemo? That’s a kids’ movie!”

“And yet…” Clint gestures toward you, now hiccupping softly as Jack and Rose sneak into the cargo hold for their iconic steamy scene.

“She just feels things deeply,” Steve says, his voice laced with affection. “It’s one of the things I love about her.”

Tony groans dramatically, throwing a handful of popcorn in Steve’s direction. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Rogers. Stop being so disgustingly wholesome.”

“Not my fault you guys don’t bring tissues for your girlfriends,” Steve shoots back, his smirk widening.

By the time the ship hits the iceberg, the mood in the room has shifted. Even Tony has gone quiet, though he’s clearly trying to maintain his composure. You, on the other hand, are a wreck. The sight of the passengers scrambling for lifeboats, the haunting wails of the violinists playing “Nearer My God to Thee”—it’s too much.

Your sobs reach a crescendo as Jack and Rose cling to each other in the freezing water, their breaths ragged and visible in the frigid air. Steve adjusts his hold on you, tucking your head under his chin and murmuring soft reassurances.

“I’ll never let go, Jack!” Rose cries, her voice breaking.

You lose it completely, clutching at Steve’s shirt as though your own heart is breaking. Steve strokes your hair, his voice calm and steady. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Tony, meanwhile, is blinking rapidly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “What?” he says defensively when Clint raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s allergies. Big-screen projectors always make my eyes water.”

Natasha snickers. “Sure they do.”

As the credits roll, you’re still hiccupping softly, your face buried in Steve’s chest. He doesn’t seem to mind, his hand moving in a soothing rhythm along your back.

“Okay, that was… intense,” Bruce says, looking around the room like he’s not sure what just happened.

“I’m pretty sure I lost three pounds in tears,” Clint adds, tossing an empty box of tissues onto the table. “Do we have a hydration station somewhere?”

Tony sniffs loudly and stands, stretching his arms overhead. “Well, folks, that’s how you do cinema. Epic. Heartbreaking. Unforgettable.”

“Admit it, you cried,” Natasha says, smirking at him.

“I did no such thing,” Tony replies, looking deeply offended. “Unlike some people…” He gestures dramatically toward you, still snuggled against Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says with a shrug, his tone as casual as ever. “She’s passionate. It’s one of the reasons I love her.”

“You’re an actual saint,” Clint mutters, shaking his head.

You finally lift your head, your cheeks streaked with tears but your eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks for letting me cry all over you,” you say softly to Steve, your voice still wobbly.

“Anytime,” he replies, his smile warm and unwavering. “You know I’ve got you.”

Tony groans loudly, throwing his hands in the air. “And this,” he says, gesturing wildly at the two of you, “is why I’m never inviting you to movie night again. You two are too cute, and it’s ruining the vibe.”

“Tony, you’re just mad because you cried,” Natasha quips.

“I did not cry!” Tony protests, his voice rising an octave.

Bruce chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Whatever you say, Tony.”

As the group dissolves into laughter, Steve leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay now?” he asks, his voice just for you.

You nod, your heart swelling with love for the man who always makes space for your emotions, no matter how messy they are. “I am,” you whisper. “Thanks to you.”

“Good,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Because we’re definitely sneaking out before Tony picks another three-hour tearjerker.”

You laugh through the last of your sniffles, feeling safe and loved in his arms. As far as you’re concerned, there’s no better way to end a movie night.

After the emotional rollercoaster of Titanic, the Avengers agree on one thing: no more movies that could make you cry. Steve, ever the supportive boyfriend, gently suggests a comedy for the next round, earning nods from everyone in the room. Even Tony, slightly miffed from being accused (rightfully) of shedding a tear during Rose’s tearful farewell to Jack, throws in his agreement.

“Alright, team,” Tony announces, striding to the movie library with a flourish. “Since apparently, I’ve been overly ambitious in my cinematic choices, I’ll keep it light. Comedy. Laughs. Penguins falling over or something. Nobody cries at penguins, right?”

“Right,” you say with an encouraging smile, though your earlier sob session has left your voice hoarse.

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulder, his lips brushing your temple. “You sure you’re up for another movie?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m good. Something funny sounds perfect.”

The new movie is a slapstick comedy involving ridiculous pratfalls, a few over-the-top explosions (Tony’s insistence), and a hilarious subplot about a cat that keeps stealing its owner’s Wi-Fi password. It’s everything you need to decompress from the earlier emotional onslaught, and soon the room is filled with the sound of laughter.

Even Steve, who isn’t always in sync with modern humor, is chuckling at the absurd antics on screen. You’re curled up next to him, giggling into his shoulder as a character accidentally sets his kitchen on fire trying to make toast. Across the room, Tony and Clint are reenacting a particularly ridiculous dance scene, complete with exaggerated hip thrusts.

“See?” Tony says triumphantly, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “This is how you do a movie night. Fun! Light! No tears.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. “Give it time, Stark. We’re not done yet.”

Hours later, after the comedy has ended and a few rounds of drinks have been poured, Tony somehow stumbles upon a nature documentary titled The Journey of Life. The cover features an adorable penguin waddling across a snowy landscape, and Tony declares it “perfect background noise.”

“This,” he slurs slightly, pointing at the screen, “is what we need. Penguins. Cute, waddling, ice-sliding penguins. No emotions. Just vibes.”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Bruce asks cautiously, but Tony is already pressing play, plopping down on the couch with a fresh drink in hand.

Steve looks at you, his eyebrow raised in question. “You okay with this?”

“It’s just penguins,” you reply with a shrug, snuggling into his side. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

At first, it’s exactly what Tony promised. The documentary opens with breathtaking shots of snowy mountains and vast, icy plains. The narrator’s soothing British accent describes the challenges of survival in the harsh Antarctic environment as a colony of emperor penguins waddles across the frozen landscape.

“Oh my god, look at them!” you exclaim, your eyes lighting up. “They’re so cute!”

“They’re ridiculous,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Like tiny, overdressed toddlers. I love them.”

Everyone relaxes, lulled by the majestic scenery and the gentle cadence of the narrator’s voice. Even Steve seems to be enjoying himself, his hand absentmindedly stroking your back as you watch the penguins slide on their bellies and huddle together for warmth.

It starts with a single penguin chick—fluffy, wide-eyed, and impossibly adorable. It stumbles away from the group, its tiny feet slipping on the ice as it struggles to keep up with its parents. The narrator explains, in heartbreakingly calm tones, that not every chick survives the journey to the feeding grounds.

“No,” you whisper, your hand flying to your mouth as the camera zooms in on the chick’s desperate waddling. “No, no, no. Someone help him!”

“It’s nature,” Clint says uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. “It happens.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to watch it!” Tony snaps, his earlier bravado evaporating. His face is red, and he’s gripping his whiskey glass a little too tightly.

Steve sighs, pulling you closer as your sniffles begin. “It’s just a documentary, sweetheart. It’s the circle of life.”

“Circle of life my ass,” Tony grumbles, his voice thick. “That chick deserves better.”

As the chick stumbles farther away, your tears begin in earnest. “He’s lost! He’s so little! Steve, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

Steve pats your back, his voice soft but resigned. “Probably not, sweetheart.”

“Why are we watching this?” Tony demands, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce. “You should’ve stopped me! You’re the smart one!”

“I didn’t know it was going to get sad!” Bruce protests, throwing up his hands. “It’s a documentary about penguins!”

By the time the chick’s fate is sealed (you can’t even bring yourself to look as the narrator solemnly declares that it’s “a tragic but essential part of the ecosystem”), you and Tony are both a mess. You’re clutching Steve’s shirt, sobbing into his chest, while Tony sniffles loudly into his empty glass.

“It’s not fair,” you cry, your voice muffled. “He was just a baby!”

“I know,” Tony says, his voice cracking. “He didn’t even get a chance! He deserved a chance!” He gestures wildly at the screen. “Why didn’t they save him? Someone could’ve—”

“It’s a documentary,” Natasha interrupts dryly, though even she looks mildly uncomfortable. “No one’s interfering.”

“That’s barbaric,” Tony declares, wiping at his eyes. “I’m calling PETA.”

Steve kisses the top of your head, his hand running soothingly along your back. “You want to stop watching?” he offers quietly.

“No,” you hiccup, though you’re clearly still devastated. “I need to see if the others are okay.”

The documentary continues, alternating between moments of lighthearted penguin antics and devastating tragedies. Each time something sad happens, you and Tony are reduced to tears, much to the bemusement of the rest of the team.

By the end of the film, when the surviving penguins finally reach their feeding grounds and triumphantly slide into the water, you and Tony are clinging to each other like war survivors.

“That was horrific,” Tony declares, dabbing at his eyes with a napkin. “Whoever made that documentary is a monster. I need a drink.”

“You’ve had several drinks,” Natasha points out, rolling her eyes.

“Not enough to erase that from my memory,” Tony replies dramatically. He glances at you, his expression softening slightly. “You okay, cry queen?”

You manage a shaky smile. “I think so. That was just… a lot.”

Steve, ever your rock, kisses your temple and pulls you close. “I don’t think we’ll be watching documentaries again anytime soon,” he murmurs.

“Seconded,” Tony says, raising his glass. “To no more emotional devastation disguised as education. Who’s with me?”

“Agreed,” Clint says, shaking his head. “No more penguins. Ever.”

As the team dissolves into laughter and lighthearted teasing, you snuggle deeper into Steve’s arms, feeling safe despite the emotional rollercoaster. No matter how many tears you shed — or how often Tony joins you — you know you’ll always have the world’s most patient boyfriend by your side.

The tower is unusually quiet after the emotional whirlwind of the movie night. The penguins have long since waddled off the screen, the room cleaned up from the chaos of snack wrappers and spilled drinks. You’re asleep now, curled up on the couch with your head resting in Steve’s lap, the faint remnants of tears drying on your cheeks.

The others linger, nursing drinks or settling into the comfortable post-movie quiet. Steve’s hand moves gently over your hair, his touch instinctive and protective as he listens to the idle conversation around him.

“Poor thing,” Natasha says softly, nodding toward you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cry so much over a documentary.”

“Speak for yourself,” Clint retorts, jerking a thumb at Tony. “He went through an entire roll of tissues.”

Tony, leaning back in his chair with his drink in hand, glares. “It’s called empathy, Barton. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Empathy,” Natasha repeats dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe whiskey?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” Tony mutters, waving her off. His gaze flicks toward you, then back to Steve. “You’ve got the patience of a saint, Rogers. How do you do it?”

Steve chuckles softly, looking down at you with a fondness so deep it’s almost tangible. “I love her,” he says simply, his voice quiet but steady. “She feels everything so deeply, and yeah, that means a lot of tears, but it’s also what makes her so special. She’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Aww,” Clint says, his tone mocking but not unkind. “Cap’s going all gooey on us.”

Steve shakes his head with a smile, but there’s something thoughtful in his expression, something weighing on him. He glances at the team, then back at you, as if debating whether to say more. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he clears his throat.

“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you all about,” he begins, his voice low. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

The room goes still. Natasha blinks, her eyebrows lifting slightly. Bruce, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, looks up with a small, surprised smile. Tony leans forward, suddenly all ears.

“Well, that’s not shocking,” Clint says, breaking the silence. “You’ve been together, what, seven years? We were wondering when you were going to pop the question.”

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve known for a long time that she’s the one. But…” He hesitates, his eyes dropping to your sleeping form. His hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight. “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Bruce asks gently.

Steve lets out a soft sigh, his brow furrowing. “Her reaction. She’s so sensitive, and she gets overwhelmed easily. What if I ask and she has a panic attack? Or starts crying so much she can’t even answer me? I just… I don’t want to put her through that.”

Tony snorts. “You’re worried she’s going to cry? Newsflash, Rogers: she cries when you bring her coffee in bed. This is a proposal, man. Of course she’s going to cry.”

“Tony,” Natasha says, shooting him a warning look. “He’s being serious.”

“I am serious,” Tony retorts. “Look, she’s emotional, yeah, but she’s not fragile. She loves you, Rogers. That’s the whole point. She’s not going to freak out because you ask her to marry her—well, not in a bad way, at least.”

Steve looks unconvinced. “I know she loves me,” he says quietly. “But I also know how overwhelming things can be for her. I don’t want to put her in a position where she feels pressured or out of control.”

Natasha tilts her head, studying him with that sharp, analytical gaze of hers. “So don’t make it overwhelming,” she says simply. “You don’t have to plan some elaborate proposal. Just talk to her. Make it quiet, intimate. Something that feels safe.”

“Yeah,” Bruce adds, his tone thoughtful. “She’s not the kind of person who needs a big show, is she? She’d probably appreciate something small, just the two of you.”

Steve nods slowly, his mind working through their words. “You’re right. She doesn’t like big gestures. She always says the little things matter more to her.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “So make it one of those little things. Something simple but meaningful.”

Tony, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet for the past minute, suddenly speaks up. “And if she does cry,” he says, his voice unusually soft, “it’s not because she’s scared or upset. It’s because she loves you so much she doesn’t know how else to show it.”

The room falls silent at that, the weight of Tony’s words settling over them. Steve looks around at his teammates—his family—and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Thanks,” he says softly. “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” Natasha replies, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

The apartment is quiet, the kind of warm, serene quiet that feels like a cocoon against the bustling world outside. It’s just the two of you tonight, the city’s hum dimmed by the thick curtains and the steady rhythm of the life you’ve built together. Dinner was simple but perfect—Steve made your favorite meal, and you couldn’t stop laughing when he got flour on his nose halfway through baking the dessert. Now, the dishes are done, the candles still flicker softly on the dining table, and the scent of warm vanilla lingers in the air.

Steve’s been acting a little off all evening. Not in a bad way, but in that telltale way that you’ve come to recognize over the years. He’s quieter than usual, thoughtful, his blue eyes darting to you and away as though he’s trying to solve a puzzle in his head. You’ve asked him twice if everything’s okay, and both times he’s smiled at you and said, “Of course,” before steering the conversation somewhere else.

You’re curled up on the couch now, a blanket draped over your lap as you sip the last of your wine. Steve sits beside you, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. His gaze lingers on you, soft and reverent, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“Steve,” you say, turning to him with a playful smile. “You’re staring.”

“Am I?” he replies, though he doesn’t look away. His lips curve into that small, lopsided grin you adore, and your heart does its familiar flip-flop in your chest.

“Yes, you are,” you tease, nudging his leg with your foot. “What’s on your mind?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and deliberate, as though he’s memorizing the shape of you. Then he leans back slightly, his hand slipping into his pocket.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” he says, his voice calm but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flutter.

Your brows knit together as you sit up straighter. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” he says softly, and there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes now, a vulnerability that catches you off guard. He shifts, moving from the couch to kneel in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees.

Your heart skips. “Steve—”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. The sight of it steals the breath from your lungs, and you clasp a hand over your mouth as tears instantly pool in your eyes.

“I know how you’re feeling right now,” Steve says gently, his voice steady despite the faint blush creeping up his neck. “And I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You try—really, you do—but the tears are already spilling over, and a choked laugh escapes you as you press your fingers to your lips. Steve smiles, his thumb brushing over your knee.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of affection. He opens the box, revealing a stunningly simple yet beautiful ring—a delicate gold band with a single, glittering diamond. It’s understated and timeless, just like him, and it’s so perfect you can barely breathe.

“Y/N,” he begins, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for seven years. From the first moment we met, I knew there was something about you, something I couldn’t let go of. You’ve taught me what it means to live in the present, to love with my whole heart, and to find joy in the little things.”

Your tears are flowing freely now, and you’re shaking your head as though you can’t believe what’s happening. Steve chuckles softly, his own eyes glistening.

“You’ve stood by me through everything,” he continues. “Through battles, through doubts, through all the times I’ve struggled to figure out where I fit in this world. You’ve always been my home, my safe place. And I can’t imagine spending another day without you by my side.”

He pauses, his voice catching slightly, and for a moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. “I know how deeply you feel things, and I know this might be overwhelming for you. But I promise, sweetheart, you don’t have to say anything right away. I just need you to know how much I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “So, Y/N,” he says, his voice trembling just the tiniest bit. “Will you marry me?”

The question lands like a thunderclap in your chest. You’re crying so hard now that you can barely see him through the blur of your tears. You try to speak, to form words, but they come out in a jumble of half-sobs and gasps.

“Steve—oh my god—I—” You press your hands to your cheeks, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions coursing through you. “I—I don’t—”

Steve waits patiently, his hands still steady on your knees, his expression soft and understanding. “Take your time, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

“I love you,” you finally manage to choke out, your voice trembling. “So much. You don’t even know—I just—”

Steve smiles, the kind of smile that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I think I have an idea,” he says softly.

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as you try to pull yourself together. “Yes,” you finally gasp, your voice breaking on the word. “Yes, Steve. Of course, yes.”

His breath leaves him in a rush, and his smile widens into something radiant as he slips the ring from the box and gently slides it onto your finger. It fits perfectly, and you stare at it through your tears, your heart bursting with so much love you think you might actually explode.

“I love you,” Steve says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, your face buried in his shoulder as you sob into his shirt. He holds you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped securely around your waist.

“I love you too,” you whisper against his neck, your voice muffled and shaky. “So much. I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Always.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your tears still streaming but your smile brighter than the stars. “You’re too good to me,” you say, your voice trembling. “I don’t deserve you.”

Steve shakes his head, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world, Y/N,” he says simply. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathless sound, and Steve leans in to kiss you, his lips gentle but full of promise. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world fall away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the kind of love that feels eternal.

When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, your hands cupping his face as you whisper, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Steve’s smile is soft, his eyes shining with unspoken emotion. “Me neither,” he says quietly. “Me neither.”

The morning sun streams through the windows, bathing the room in a golden light that feels impossibly warm and perfect. You stir under the rumpled sheets, the fabric soft against your bare skin, and the memories of the night before come rushing back. It had started tender, Steve’s hands moving over you with a reverence that left you breathless. But the sweetness had given way to something deeper, more passionate—an expression of love so consuming that it had left you both utterly undone.

Beside you, Steve shifts, his arm tightening around your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Good morning, my beautiful bride-to-be,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and full of affection.

Your heart clenches immediately, and before you can stop yourself, tears well up in your eyes. You press your hands to your face, a choked laugh escaping as you try—and fail—to keep it together.

“Oh no,” Steve says with a chuckle, propping himself up on one elbow. “I didn’t even say anything that emotional this time.”

“You called me your bride-to-be,” you manage to say through your tears, your voice trembling with joy. “How am I supposed to handle that, Steve?”

He laughs softly, his hand brushing over your hair as he pulls you closer. “Sweetheart, if this is how you’re going to react every time I call you that, I’m in trouble. Because I plan on saying it a lot.”

You let out a watery laugh, burying your face in his chest. His skin is warm and familiar, and his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek feels like home. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I don’t mean to cry so much. I’m just… so happy.”

“I know,” he says gently, his fingers trailing soothingly down your back. “And I love you for it.”

After a while, your tears subside, and you lift your head to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are soft and full of love, and the way he’s looking at you makes your breath catch. “Good morning,” you say softly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “My handsome fiancé.”

His grin widens at your words, and he leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet. “I like the sound of that,” he says against your lips. “Fiancé. And soon, husband.”

You feel your cheeks heat, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I can’t believe this is real,” you say quietly, tracing a finger along his jaw. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll all be a dream.”

“It’s real,” Steve assures you, his tone steady and full of certainty. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

The moment stretches between you, filled with a quiet, glowing warmth that feels too perfect to be real. But it is real, and as you lie there in his arms, you can’t imagine anything more perfect.

Eventually, Steve glances at the clock and sighs. “We should probably get up,” he says reluctantly. “The others are going to want to know.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Do we have to tell them today? Can’t we just stay here a little longer?”

Steve laughs, pulling the blanket off of you just enough to expose your shoulder. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, they’re going to find out eventually. Might as well tell them now before Tony starts making bets.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t help smiling as you roll over to look at him. “Fine,” you say, your tone mock-annoyed. “But if I start crying again, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” he promises, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

An hour later, you’re dressed and ready, though your face is still a little puffy from all the happy tears. Steve holds your hand as you step into the elevator, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin. You feel nervous for some reason, though you know the team will be thrilled. It’s just that sharing something so personal, so precious, feels a little daunting.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s going to be fine. They love you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as the elevator doors slide open to reveal the common room. The Avengers are scattered around the space, Tony sprawled on the couch with a cup of coffee, Natasha and Clint engaged in what looks like a very serious game of chess, and Bruce flipping through a book at the kitchen counter. Thor is munching on a Pop-Tart, his expression as cheerful as ever, while Sam lounges in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone.

Tony is the first to notice you. “Well, well,” he says, setting his coffee down and smirking. “If it isn’t our golden couple. What’s with the glowing faces? Did Rogers finally tell you about his collection of antique baseball cards?”

“Tony,” Natasha says without looking up from the chessboard, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Let them talk.”

Steve clears his throat, his hand still firmly holding yours. “Actually,” he begins, glancing at you with a small, encouraging smile. “We have some news.”

At that, everyone looks up, their interest piqued. Clint leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “This should be good.”

You feel your cheeks heat under their collective gaze, but Steve’s presence beside you keeps you grounded. “We’re engaged,” you blurt out, unable to keep the words in any longer. “Steve proposed last night.”

The room erupts. Natasha and Bruce smile warmly, their congratulations genuine and heartfelt. Thor lets out a booming laugh and claps Steve on the back so hard he nearly stumbles. Sam grins, shaking his head as he mutters, “About time.” Clint whistles, looking impressed, while Tony raises his coffee mug in a mock toast.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tony says, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Congrats, lovebirds. I guess this means I need to start planning the bachelor party.”

Steve groans, and you laugh despite yourself, leaning into his side as the team continues to shower you with affection and teasing remarks. It’s chaotic and overwhelming, but it’s also full of love, and as you look around the room, you realize just how lucky you are to have this family.

Later, when things have settled down, Steve pulls you aside, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “See?” he says softly, his blue eyes twinkling. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You smile up at him, your heart full to bursting. “No,” you admit. “It wasn’t bad at all.”

He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your knees weak. “I love you, future Mrs. Rogers,” he murmurs, and once again, you find yourself wiping away happy tears.

The day has arrived. Months of planning, fittings, tastings, and a thousand little decisions have all led to this moment, and yet, standing in the bridal suite of the church, you feel like you might burst into tears before you even set foot down the aisle.

You’re wearing the dress you spent weeks obsessing over. It fits like a dream, a shimmering vision of white and lace that flows around you like a fairytale. Natasha, your bridesmaid—and perhaps the most patient person you’ve ever met—stands beside you, hands on your shoulders, trying to keep you from falling apart.

“Y/N,” she says firmly, her green eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “You’ve got to hold it together. You’re going to ruin your makeup if you start crying now.”

“I know, I know,” you say, fanning your face with trembling hands as you try to will away the tears. “It’s just… everything’s so perfect, and I’m so happy, and—oh my god, Nat, what if I trip?”

“You’re not going to trip,” she says, her voice calm but decisive. “You’ve practiced this. You’re wearing sensible heels. You’ve got Tony holding onto you like a lifeline. You’ll be fine.”

At the mention of Tony, you glance toward the door, where he’s pacing just outside. Your “man of honor” had insisted on walking you down the aisle, and though he’d tried to play it cool, you could see the emotion brimming behind his bravado. He’d barely been able to get through the rehearsal without tearing up, and now you’re both in danger of becoming sobbing messes before the ceremony even begins.

“I saw him wiping his eyes earlier,” you say with a sniffle, a hint of a laugh breaking through. “If he cries, I’m done for. I’ll start sobbing right there in the aisle.”

“Then don’t look at him,” Natasha advises, picking up a tissue and dabbing at the corners of your eyes. “Keep your eyes on Steve. That’s the goal, remember? Just make it to him without crying.”

At the mention of Steve, your chest tightens with a rush of love so overwhelming it’s almost too much to bear. You picture him standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you, his blue eyes soft and full of adoration. The thought is enough to make you inhale sharply, and Natasha quickly steps in, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

“Focus,” she says sternly. “Breathe. You’ve got this.”

You nod, taking a deep, shaky breath as you try to calm yourself. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

Natasha gives you a small, approving smile. “That’s my girl.”

The door opens slightly, and Tony pokes his head in, his face immediately softening when he sees you. “Wow,” he says, his voice unusually quiet. “You look… wow.”

“Thanks, Tony,” you say, your voice wavering. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Don’t you dare,” Natasha warns, pointing a finger at him. “I just got her under control.”

Tony steps into the room, straightening his tie as he tries to compose himself. “Okay, okay, no crying. But seriously, Y/N, you look… breathtaking. Steve’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

The lump in your throat grows, and you press a hand to your mouth, willing yourself not to cry. Tony steps closer, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re going to be amazing. And if you cry, who cares? It’s your wedding day. You get a free pass.”

You laugh through the tears threatening to spill, nodding as you squeeze his hand back. “Thanks, Tony.”

He grins, his usual bravado creeping back in. “Besides, if anyone’s going to cry, it’s me. I’m already a wreck. You’ll have to carry me down the aisle at this rate.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “You two are a mess,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on, it’s time.”

Tony offers his arm, and you take it, your fingers trembling slightly as you hold on. The doors to the bridal suite swing open, and you catch a glimpse of the decorated aisle, lined with flowers and softly glowing candles. The music starts, and your heart pounds in your chest as you take your first step forward.

The church is full of familiar faces, but you barely register them. Your eyes are fixed on the man standing at the end of the aisle, his gaze locked onto yours. Steve looks devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, his expression a mixture of awe and love that makes your knees weak.

As you and Tony make your way down the aisle, you hear him sniffle beside you. “Damn it,” he mutters, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I said I wasn’t going to cry.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, your own tears threatening to spill again. But Natasha’s words echo in your mind, and you keep your focus on Steve, drawing strength from the love shining in his eyes.

Finally, you reach the altar, and Tony steps back, giving your hand to Steve with a small, emotional smile. Steve’s hands are warm as they take yours, and his voice is steady as he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

And that’s it. The tears spill over, and you laugh through them, shaking your head as Steve gently brushes them away with his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

“I don’t mind,” he says softly, his voice full of affection. “I love that you feel so much. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

The ceremony begins, and though the tears continue to flow, they’re tears of joy, shared by more than just you and Tony. By the time you say “I do,” the entire room feels wrapped in the warmth of the love you and Steve share, a love that shines brighter than any tears.

we need more soft fics in this sea of smut! (I like smut fics too but like...sometimes I just want something fluffy)

[buckymorelikefuckme]

drink up, me hearties

pirate king wanda x fem reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** consensual somno, oral, fingering, scissoring, lesbians in ~love.

a/n: "ease back into it," i said. "take your time, there's no rush," i said... anyway, here's some seggs! any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated! xo

part 1 ❀ part 2 ❀ part 3

Slumber begins to elude you, awareness trickling in slowly. Glaring sunlight shines directly across your face and you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, turning away from it. Your brows furrow slightly, though, as a certain sensation starts to dawn on you, coming from between your thighs. It's almost ticklish, never failing to make you squirm, and you can never tell if it's to get away from it or to push closer.

The sound of it alerts you next, the wet glide of a tongue and slick sucking from full lips reaches your ears, and even before you open your eyes there’s a rush of heat surging to your cheeks. You know what you'll find once you glance down, and it does not disappoint.

Wanda is already staring back, a slow grin stretching across her mouth as she pulls away long enough to murmur, “Good morning, my angel,” and then she's right back to what she was doing.

You let out a raspy whimper as Wanda drags her tongue from your opening up to your clit, circling it lazily, just to make you writhe the way she loves. Her cheeks are flushed, likely from the combination of also having woken up recently and from the way she's taken to waking you up. Atop her head, her hair is a wild mess, tangled in places and sticking up in others. She's still the most handsome person you've ever seen.

Of their own volition, your thighs spread that much further, allowing your lover more space to do as she pleases. It is in your favor that what she decides to please is you.

She has your sleeping gown rucked up around your waist, and you know without even asking that she probably grumbled to herself about it being in the way, since she prefers to sleep in the nude and has begged you to do the same, but you can't help worrying about one of the crew finding you in such a vulnerable state.

And it’s not like it really matters anyway, what with the extremely thin material it's made of leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination of what lies beneath it. You can see your nipples tightening through it and it makes you feel like a harlot, though you've learned to appreciate that feeling, have embraced it after Wanda’s hearty encouragement.

Your thoughts are stripped away in an instant when Wanda begins sloppily kissing her way down to your entrance, dipping her tongue inside the same way she does your mouth. You moan, high and drawn out, sliding a hand down to bury in her hair, not to guide, but for something to hold on to. She makes a noise of contentment and continues to slowly thrust her tongue in and out of you.

The pacing is driving you to madness, practically glacial, like there's no rush, like she isn't making every inch of your skin tingle with anticipation. Your pleasure builds and builds, inching closer to your high, but so slowly you feel as if you could cry.

Suddenly, you feel her fingers join her tongue, and your legs attempt to clamp around her head, but with a soft huff, Wanda is pushing them open again, using her arms to keep them that way. Your pussy immediately clenches down on her fingers, a strangled whine catching in your throat, hips twitching up into her touch. She groans, the vibration of the sound only adding to everything else her mouth and hands are doing.

With your free hand, you tug your sleeping gown even higher, exposing the rest of your torso to the warm morning air, just so you can pinch at your nipples. You gasp as you do, the spark of pain sending a zing of pleasure straight to your core. Wanda moans at the sight, blessedly picking up the pace of her fingers. She pauses every few thrusts to curl them against your sweet spot, rubbing at it incessantly until you're crying out so loud you're sure someone’s heard you.

You let go of her hair, using that arm to prop yourself up on your elbow so you can better watch what she's doing. Although, as you stare at the way her fingers glisten with your wetness, see it shine on and around her mouth, and as you meet her heated gaze, you're not sure if it was the most intelligent choice. Your head drops back, baring your throat as you pant for breath, thighs trembling on either side of Wanda. Your fingers haven't stopped plucking at your nipples, and as you approach your climax, you pinch harder, twist tighter.

Wanda focuses her mouth back on your clit, sucking on it harshly, forcing out sob after sob from you. Your hips jerk upward, wordlessly begging for more. Happy to oblige, Wanda squeezes your thigh in silent command to leave it there, then uses her other hand to replace her mouth on your clit, rubbing at it in quick circles.

“Wanda,” you cry out, curling forward briefly before falling onto your back once again, knees hitching higher.

“You sound so fucking beautiful,” she praises, her voice still a little gravelly from sleep. “Look so perfect taking my fingers.”

“Please, Wanda,” you beg, so close to the earth-shattering orgasm you're sure is on the horizon.

She kisses at the crease of your thigh, sucks a mark there for good measure. “I simply cannot wait for your present from the glass blower.”

Your toes curl at the reminder. She'd put in a special order for a piece that would be… phallic shaped. Just thinking of something filling you more than her fingers—which are already incredibly talented in their own right—has your back bowing off the bed, breath seizing in your lungs, as every ounce of white-hot pleasure pools in your cunt, and like a dam breaking, you come with a gasping wail. Your entire body jerks through your climax and you sob as Wanda draws it out even longer, trying and failing to catch your breath.

Which is only made harder when Wanda abruptly pulls away, and you foolishly think you can finally begin to relax, but then she's quickly climbing up the bed and straddling one of your legs, aligning her warm, wet pussy with yours and grinding them together messily. You whine as she groans, pushing the leg she's not sitting on higher, clutching it so hard you're sure her fingernails will leave marks. Your pussy is still so sensitive after coming, and you try to wriggle and writhe, but she's using her strength to hold you down, and it only succeeds in furthering your desire.

“Close, so close,” she gasps, head tipping back towards the ceiling.

Your vision blurs with tears as you're pushed into oversensitivity, but the burn of too much feels much too good to really try and stop it. With hiccuping cries, your own fingers dig into any part of Wanda that you can reach, bucking up into her filthy grinding to help her chase her climax.

“So good to me, so perfect,” she babbles, “I love you, my sweet angel, you feel so—you feel like sin, my god, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

You open your mouth to return the sentiment, but all that comes out are strained whines.

Wanda’s movements start to become less coordinated, and it's not a moment too soon, as you feel a second orgasm cresting within you.

“With me this time,” she instructs, clenching her jaw and grunting, sending a shiver down your spine.

She grinds down harder, your hips tilt higher. Your moans are harmonious as you both come, Wanda now lazily moving until she slows to a stop.

The air is filled with the sounds of your heaving breaths. It feels like lightning is crackling across your flesh, a bone-deep satisfaction settling in you. Wanda gently lifts off of you and carefully lays your leg down on the bed before gracefully falling beside you with a gusty sigh. You press your thighs together, twitching at the pressure and feeling more heat bloom in your cheeks at the messy slide between them.

“I love you too,” you finally manage to murmur, voice cracking.

Wanda hums, shakily propping herself up on her elbow to peer down at you with a happy, smug grin.

“I’ll bet the entire crew heard you,” she teases, laughing when you halfheartedly swat at her in reprimand. “One of these days I’ll convince you to let me have you on the deck, so that not only the crew, but all of the heavens can hear how beautiful you sound when I take you apart.”

You hide your face in her neck, allowing her to wrap you in her embrace as she laughs again at your bashfulness. Silently, you're already planning to let her do just that, but only after your special present is ready.

[rootedinrevisions]

All Over the Road

CHARACTER: Tyler Owens

KINK: Car Sex (Truck Sex)

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (biting, p in v sex, semi in public/where you could get caught)

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The low rumble of the truck as you cruise along the highway is oddly comforting, blending with the soft tunes of 90s country coming through the radio. Tyler drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, one arm stretched casually along the top, his hand dangerously close to where you’re sitting. His confidence is effortless—grounded, but with a spark of mischief in his eyes whenever he glances your way. After getting caught in that rainstorm, he’d shot you a grin and shrugged it off, wet t-shirt and all. But it had left you flustered, noticing every inch of him in ways you usually tried to keep to yourself.

“So,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence. “Worth the detour for that burger, huh?”

You let out a laugh, grateful for the chance to ease some of the tension building between you two. “Absolutely. I think I would’ve wasted away if we’d just gone straight back.”

He chuckles, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. The wet fabric of his t-shirt clings to him as if daring you not to look, showing off the muscle in his shoulders, the veins on his forearms.

“You okay over there?” he asks, his voice teasing but warm. The mischievous look in Tyler's eyes is unmistakable, even if he’s trying to keep his focus on the road. 

But then you decide two can play this game. Your lips curve into a smirk before you adjust in your seat, letting yourself have a little more room to lean over the console.

When your hand first rests on his knee, he seems amused, even relaxed, but when your fingers start to move upward, you notice his jaw tense slightly, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

The subtle power in his reaction emboldens you, and you can’t help but push things just a little further.

Your fingers trail over his thigh, brushing the front of his jeans. You feel him tense under your touch, his breath catching slightly, and then you catch the slight shake of his head, paired with a low chuckle.

He clears his throat. "Now, just what do you think you're up to?" His voice is low, rougher than before, laced with both amusement and a touch of restraint. You glance up, meeting his gaze, feigning innocence with a small shrug.

"Up to?" you say, keeping your voice as light as possible. "I'm just sitting here. What do you think I’m doing?"

Tyler’s hand, still resting over yours, gives another squeeze, this time firmer, his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

“I think,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “you know exactly what you're doing.” He releases his hand from yours just long enough to turn up the music, using it as an excuse to adjust his posture—maybe to regain a bit of control.

You flash him a playful smile. "Oh, come on, Tyler. I thought you liked it when I kept you on your toes."

His laugh is warm, a little breathy. “Trust me, I do.” He pauses, his eyes cutting over to you with a look that’s both soft and intense. “Just not when I’m driving, sweetheart.”

The growl that escapes Tyler’s lips is low and guttural as you press kisses into his neck, your teeth grazing the sensitive spots you know drive him wild. His breaths come shorter, more strained, and he shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the road as you continue your teasing, unrelenting.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with warning, “if you don’t stop, I swear…” But even as he says it, his hips move up instinctively to meet the pressure of your hand. He’s torn between maintaining control and giving in, and the internal struggle shows in every flex of his jaw, every grip of his hands as he tries to hold on.

You lean up, letting your breath brush against his ear. “Relax, Tyler. I trust you,” you whisper, your voice teasing, knowing full well that your words make it even harder for him to resist.

With a low curse, he tries once more, his tone nearly pleading, “Honey, you’re gonna make us crash.” But even as he says it, his body betrays him, pressing into your hand with increasing urgency. His breath hitches as you run your fingers along the front of his jeans again, this time applying more pressure. His body leans into yours, the tension nearly vibrating between you.

He finally pulls his hand from the wheel just long enough to grab your wrist, halting your movements. 

"Alright," he says, a slight tremor in his voice, eyes still locked forward, his grip firm but full of unspoken promise. “You’re going to pay for that when we get back.”

You then hear Tyler and sigh and curse under his breath as he glances at the rearview mirror. You watch him start to slow the truck and pull over to the shoulder of the highway. You glance through the back window and see the unmistakable red and blue lights of a police officer.

The moment Tyler pulls the truck over, the tension shifts from playful to cautious. You can see the way his expression tightens as he watches the officer approach the window. The flashing red and blue lights reflect off the dashboard, casting a pulsing glow that heightens the mood in the cab.

“Just stay calm,” you murmur, trying to reassure him as you lean back in your seat, your heart still racing from your earlier teasing. Tyler nods, his jaw set as he rolls down the window, the humid air rushing in, mingled with the scent of rain.

The officer bends slightly to peer into the cab, his demeanor professional but relaxed. “Evening, sir. I need to see your license and registration.”

Tyler fumbles with the glove compartment, glancing nervously at you as he retrieves the documents. You pass them to him, your fingers brushing against his in a moment that feels all too intimate given the circumstances. He hands the documents out the window, maintaining eye contact with the officer.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asks, his voice steady as he inspects the papers.

“Um, I’m guessing it’s because I was speeding?” Tyler replies, a hint of a nervous chuckle in his tone. You can see the flush creeping up his neck as the officer raises an eyebrow.

“You were weaving a bit too, which is why I stopped you. Have you been drinking tonight?”

Tyler shakes his head vigorously. “No, sir. Not at all. Just trying to get back to the motel before that storm hits.” He gestures vaguely toward the darkening sky, which is heavy with rain clouds.

The officer narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been speeding and weaving for several miles. I’d like to know what really happened back there. You weren't on your phone were you?”

You shift in your seat, biting your lip to suppress a grin at Tyler’s awkwardness. He looks over at you for a split second, searching for inspiration, then takes a deep breath, his confidence wavering slightly.

“Honestly, I was just trying to outrun the storm,” he continues, though it sounds more like a half-hearted excuse than a real explanation. “I thought I could make it to the motel before it hit.”

The officer studies him, and you can sense the moment he sees through the facade. “You realize that speeding is dangerous, especially in this weather?”

Tyler nods, his expression earnest. “I know, I know. I didn’t mean to—I just got caught up in the moment. This one here’s a little afraid of storms. I was just trying to get her back to the hotel, and I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

There’s a slight pause as the officer glances between Tyler and you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind as he assesses the situation, perhaps weighing whether to let Tyler off with a warning or to issue a ticket.

“Alright, hang tight for a minute,” the officer finally says, stepping back to his patrol car.

Tyler sinks back into his seat, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Well, that went better than expected,” he mutters, though the humor in his voice is overshadowed by the unease lingering in the air.

You watch him closely, noticing how the blush on his cheeks deepens as he tries to make light of the situation. “You could’ve just told him we were getting carried away in the truck,” you tease.

Tyler shoots you a look, half-grinning. “And risk getting us both in trouble? No thanks.”

A few tense minutes pass before the officer returns, a speeding ticket in hand. “Here you go, sir. Just drive a little more carefully next time,” he advises, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, officer,” Tyler replies, his voice steady as he takes the ticket.

As Tyler pulls back onto the highway, the silence in the truck feels heavier than before. You notice the way his jaw is clenched tight, a contrast to the usual relaxed demeanor he carries. His grip on the steering wheel is firm, knuckles white against the red paint. You can sense the tension radiating from him, and it sends a flutter of nervous energy through you.

The muted sounds of the truck and the rhythmic thumping of rain against the windshield fill the air, amplifying the weight of the quiet. After several minutes of driving in silence, you decide it’s time to break the ice.

“Tyler, I—” you start, but he quickly shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, though not unkindly, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

You bite your lip, feeling a mix of guilt and confusion. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you pulled over. I’ll pay the speeding ticket, I promise.”

At this, Tyler finally glances at you, a flicker of something playful sparking in his eyes. “Oh, you think that’s all it’s going to take? Just paying the ticket and calling it a day?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends your heart racing.

“What do you mean?” you ask, eyebrows raised, your curiosity piqued.

His lips curl into a smirk, the corner of his mouth quirking up just enough to hint at his mischievous side. “Let’s just say I have a different kind of punishment in mind for you once we get back to the hotel.”

You feel a heat rising to your cheeks at his words. The implication hangs in the air, thick and electric. You squeeze your legs together, suddenly aware of how your body reacts to his playful threat.

“Oh, really?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rush of excitement coursing through you.

“Yeah, really.” He finally turns his head to look at you, and his gaze is intense, filled with a mix of confidence and something deeper. “I think you need a reminder about what happens when you play around like that while I’m driving.”

Your breath hitches slightly at the way he says it, each word laced with an underlying promise. The thought of being alone with him in the privacy of your motel room makes your heart race even faster. You can already imagine the way he might hold you, the playful banter turning into something much more heated.

“And what kind of reminder do you have in mind?” you challenge, a playful smile tugging at your lips, emboldened by the way he looks at you.

He chuckles softly, the tension in his jaw easing just a bit. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. Just know it won’t be easy for you,” he replies, the playful edge in his voice making your pulse quicken even more.

Tyler’s sudden turn off the highway a few minutes later takes you by surprise. You watch as he pulls into a quiet rest stop, the lot deserted and shadowed under a dim streetlight. The familiar rumble of his truck’s engine fades as he shifts into park. His eyes remain fixed ahead for a moment, his jaw tense, but when he glances at you, there’s a spark there—a confident glint that’s all Tyler.

The sound of his belt coming undone pulls your attention fully to him. As he unzips his jeans and reaches down, revealing just how affected he is, your breath catches. This is a side of Tyler you've never seen quite like this. His usual easygoing confidence has morphed into something bolder, more assertive, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

“Shorts off,” he says, his voice a low command, his gaze intense as he meets your eyes. “Then get your pretty little ass over here. I've decided I don't want to wait.”

You feel your face start to turn red, taken aback by his tone but undeniably drawn in by it. He’s never been this forward, and it leaves you momentarily stunned. But then he raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to his lap, leaving no room for misinterpretation. You glance around, the empty lot eerily still and quiet, but the thrill of the situation overrides any hesitation.

Heart racing, you pop the button on your denim shorts, sliding them down your legs. Climbing over the console, you’re careful around the equipment scattered between you and Tyler, a reminder of the storm-chasing gear piled up in his truck. Finally, you settle onto his lap, your legs straddling him as his hands come to rest on your hips, grounding you there with a firm, possessive grip.

There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and in that moment, Tyler’s gaze alone makes you feel as if you’re his entire world. The energy between you is electric, leaving no doubt that he’s completely in control—and you’re exactly where you want to be.

The atmosphere in the truck has completely shifted as Tyler leans his seat back to make a little more room, his grip firm on your hips, guiding you over him with steady, unyielding confidence.

Your pulse is racing as you straddle him, trying to ignore the thrill of being in such an exposed place. The dark, quiet lot around you seems to fade, leaving just you and Tyler in the cocoon of his truck.

As you sink down onto Tyler, his hands grip your hips with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through you. The initial stretch is intense, leaving you breathless, but Tyler doesn’t give you long to adjust. He bucks his hips up, pressing you fully against him, your bodies flush as he draws you into a rhythm that’s all-consuming. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close, making it feel like you’re the only two people in the world despite the thrill of the open parking lot.

Every movement becomes a test of restraint as his hands guide your hips, the friction pushing you closer to the edge. The weight of his body beneath you, the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne—it all heightens the intensity, and soon, your breaths are mingling, matching in urgency.

Tyler’s mouth finds the shell of your ear, and you hear his low, husky whisper, laced with a mix of adoration and authority. “You’re not allowed to finish until we’re back at the motel, you understand?” He murmurs, his voice firm. The promise of “punishment” hangs in the air, thickening the tension between you.

A thrill of rebellion flares up, daring you to ignore his words, but you catch his gaze, steady and knowing. Tyler’s eyes are locked on you, as if he’s memorizing every reaction, every gasp. 

He knows every inch of your body, every telltale sign of your nearing climax, and with every arch of your hips, he can sense your resolve slipping.

You feel yourself teetering right on the edge, one or two more movements of your hips and you know you could get yourself there, but is it worth the punishment that would come with it?

His mouth is close to your ear, his breath hot and unsteady. “Don’t even think about it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, as he senses your resolve wavering. “Not until we’re back at the motel. Remember?”

A shiver runs through you, and it’s taking everything in you to keep from crossing the line, but the look on his face—equal parts teasing and commanding—keeps you hanging on. Tyler keeps up the rhythm, each movement an expert test of your self-control. The whole situation has you electrified, both daring and savoring the challenge he's given you.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, his gaze unwavering. “Good girl,” he whispers approvingly, and the praise sends another shiver down your spine. 

Your eyes catch the faint glint of headlights in the distance, and your heart skips as you realize they're moving closer, aimed right at the rest stop.

You lean in, whispering urgently to Tyler, “Someone’s coming.”

Instead of slowing down or pulling back, Tyler’s grip tightens around your waist, his hands pressing you firmly against him as his eyes meet yours with a mischievous glint. “Then you’d better get me there fast,” he murmurs, voice dark and steady, daring you to rise to the challenge.

His hips thrust up, driving into you with an intensity that makes your head fall back, a loud, breathy moan slipping from your lips before you can stop it. You can feel him everywhere, his hands firm on your skin, his chest rising and falling under yours as the rhythm between you builds to a dizzying pace.

The headlights draw nearer, their beams glinting off the side mirrors, and with a low, guttural groan, Tyler buries himself deep, his entire body tensing beneath you. A shudder runs through him as he lets go, filling you completely, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You feel him press his lips to your forehead as his hand starts to rub your back.

You carefully shift back over to the passenger seat, your cheeks flushed and your legs shaky, feeling the warmth of Tyler's release start to slip out, dampening your underwear. You quickly tug your shorts back on, fingers fumbling as you catch your breath. Glancing over, you see Tyler, his own breathing just settling, as he casually tucks himself back in, zipping his jeans and securing his belt as though nothing happened.

Once he’s ready, he flashes you a satisfied grin, throwing the truck back into gear and pulling out onto the highway, the hum of the engine filling the silence between you. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips as you lean back in the seat, finally feeling your pulse slow.

“Am I forgiven yet?” you ask, your voice still a little breathless.

Tyler’s eyes flick over to you, his smirk deepening. “Forgiven?” He chuckles softly. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t punishment,” he says, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. “That was just the warm-up. You’ll get your real punishment when we get back to the motel.”

The anticipation makes you shiver, and you can’t help but squeeze your legs together, bracing for what’s to come.

[belit0]

The Uchiha, including Indra, have a couple with incredibly powerful psychic powers.

So many possibilities...

Indra

Indra is a man of logic, discipline, and absolute control. At first, he regards (Y/N)'s abilities with cold scrutiny, analyzing their nature and limitations like a scholar studying a rare phenomenon.

But when he witnesses the sheer magnitude of her power—when her mind bends reality, when her thoughts fracture the air itself—something curious stirs within him.

Respect. Intrigue. Perhaps even a flicker of awe.

He has never met someone who can challenge him in ways beyond the physical. She is not a warrior in the traditional sense, but in her own way, she is as fearsome as any warrior he commands.

His expressions are always controlled, unreadable, but (Y/N) knows when she has shaken him. Knows it in the silence that lingers after she reaches into his mind without touching him.

He does not allow many to step into his personal space, but when she does—when she dares to trace her fingers along his face, her presence slipping into his consciousness like a whisper—he exhales, slow and measured.

-You are unlike anything I have encountered,- he murmurs one night, studying her as one would a celestial event, something rare, something dangerous.

And for once, he does not mean it as an insult.

Madara

Madara has seen power—wielded it, crushed men beneath it—but (Y/N)’s strength is something else.

It is invisible, intangible. Thoughts that ripple through reality, bending it to her will.

He finds it both exhilarating and infuriating.

At first, he wants to test it, push her to places she may not fully grasp. He wants to understand—to see the edges of her strength.

But the moment someone dares to look at her with fear or disrespect? Death is immediate.

-Do you understand what you are?- he asks her once, voice low, eyes burning with something unreadable. -What you could be?-

He does not fear her power. He reveres it. But he will never allow others to use her as a pawn. She is his.

And he makes sure the world knows it.

Izuna

Izuna is utterly enchanted. Not just by her power—but by her.

The way she smirks right before she sends a man flying across the battlefield without touching him. The way she tilts her head, feigning innocence, while reading his thoughts before he can even speak.

-That’s not fair,- he groans dramatically when she dodges his attacks effortlessly, her psychic foresight keeping her a step ahead.

But he loves it. Loves the challenge. Loves the way her presence sparks something reckless and wild in his chest.

He tests her limits—not in a cruel way, but in a playful, relentless way.

-Can you really sense what I’m thinking, or are you just guessing?- He leans in close, voice dropping. -Because if you can, sweetheart, you’d know exactly what I’m picturing right now.-

She shoves him back with her mind, and he laughs. Loudly.

But there are moments—rare, fleeting—where she catches something softer beneath the bravado. A flicker of amazement.

Obito

Obito is fascinated but also deeply insecure.

(Y/N) is not just powerful—she is mind-crushingly powerful. And despite his own strength, there is always that nagging doubt in the back of his mind.

-You can probably read everything I’m thinking...- he mutters one day, voice tinged with something uncertain, gaze flickering away. -I'm probably boring for you.-

She doesn’t let him spiral. She never coddles him, but she also never makes him feel less for not being like her.

And over time, he learns to trust it.

When she casually lifts boulders with her mind? He gapes. -Okay, yeah, that’s just showing off.-

But secretly? He thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

Shisui

Shisui is completely unbothered by her power.

In fact, he loves it.

-Oh, you can throw people around with your mind? Fucking hot.-

He’s already powerful himself, so he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. Instead, he just enjoys her abilities.

-I can imagine a few things we could do with that power of yours- No? Ah... had to try-

However, there are times when he watches her with something deeper in his gaze. When she overuses her power, when she wavers from exhaustion—he is there, steady, unfaltering.

He’s always been good at making people feel safe. And for all her strength, he knows she needs that, too.

Itachi

Itachi is intensely curious about her abilities.

He asks the most precise questions—how it works, how she experiences it, what the limits are.

He watches everything. The way her breathing shifts when she concentrates. The way her eyes darken when she pushes too hard.

-Power like yours is…- He trails off, gaze flickering to hers, searching for something unspoken. -It does not belong in careless hands.-

He respects her power. Reveres it. But most of all—

He worries.

Because he knows power always comes with a price.

And he does not want her to bear it alone.

[milessunflowers]

any t4t!oscar thoughts? 👀

omg so many!

trans!oscar piastri x trans! reader

synopsis: as requested, my thoughts abt t4t with oscar!

author's note: vinnie omg this has sparked so many ideas for this! i fell asleep before i could answer it last night but im back at and now my thoughts are consumed. as always, request are open so feel free to send as many as you want, as long as they follow guidelines!

first thing that came to mind was when you both came out to each other. like neither one of you expected it and were shocked (in a good way) to find out. went out for a little dinner date after with goofy grins

i think when one of you is dysphoric, the other usually gets slightly dysphoric as well, just not as bad. but then it turns into a lazy day full of watching movies and cuddles and junk food

you borrow each other's clothes more than you wear your own cuz it makes you feel better to wear them (you both refuse to start buying those types of clothes and continue to steal each others)

your parents love him and his parents love you. it makes both sides equally happy and excited that you both found someone that knows the process and makes you guys happy

dates usually aren't super extravagant but small, thoughtful ones. like if one of you wants to stay home, you order in from their favorite place. if one of you guys wants to go to a museum or something, you go to the museum

you cook mainly because i feel like oscar would burn everything down (didn't he use the oven to dry his clothes?)

but i also feel like oscar can bake like good ass cookies and that's about it. he tried brownies and cakes and other baked goods but they all ended up burnt

anything the other needs help with, whether with hormones or getting them anything they need, you guys with always do it

kinda like how oscar is already, but he doesn't post too much about your relationship as he wants to keep things private but not a secret just because he doesn't like the press asking personal questions

sometimes you both just sit in a comfortable silence going about your task, occasionally saying a thing or two

just based off the video with lando and him, oscar's love language i feel is acts of service or words of affirmation while i would feel like he would have a boyfriend who's love language is physical touch or gift giving (idk i think those mash well)

you and hattie are 1000% besties. when you and oscar go visit them, you and her are basically gossiping the whole time and it annoys oscar to no end bc he just wants to spend time with his boyfriend but his sister keeps stealing him :(

you both lovingly tease him about it and you make it up to him by covering his face in kisses, making him smile sweetly

nicole absolutely adores you and welcomed you into the family with open arms so fast you could barely blink

if you ever do get i pet, i definitely believe it would be an orange cat (lando calls the cat papaya even though that's not it's name)

when you go to races, you're bombarded with press asking abt the relationship but you politely decline to speak and hurry to catch up with oscar

if he gets nervous before a race, i feel like he would start to get dysphoric and put himself down, which you then distract him before he gets into the car so he forgets about it (works every single time)

always holding hands when you are out and about

TAGS!

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m

[yayasvalveplay]

"Because they both believe, as shitty as Rodimus can be, he means well and it sucks keeping him away from the bitty. Maybe when the quest is over, with the emotions cooled down, they can talk it out. "

.

And I won't let it be stuck here I wanna turn it into a drachrod!

.

Ultimately, Rodimus, left with no choice, tries to stay away from ratchet. He tries to be a good captain, but from inside, he feels like he is burning alive. A few more people start to see this. But they don't have any idea why. So things keep going as they are. Rodimus gots crushed under his feelings overlord, luna 2, nyon, leaving kup in the dead universe, his quantum twin, brainstorm time travel, banishing drift, losing matrix, and now getting to fight against his sire protocols. He just feels like he is getting crushed in a hydronic press. So he actually tries to act like all those aren't there, he finishes his paperwork ( to ultra's horror), he doesn't leave tire tracks in the corridors ( ultra for a moment things that he is an imposter), he makes sound decisions and focus on the quest, he goes back to his quarters to have a mental breakdown, cries himself to recharge, he tries to stay away from drift and ratchet, he skips all last 3 medical check ups ( which is weird he never skips them, first aid tries to go after him for them), he feels lot of pain in his spark, and he keeps going thought the cycle until. He breaks. Technically, his body and spark couldn't take the pressure and stress they were under, and he got a spark attack on the bridge. He wakes up with first aid by his side. When aid tried to tell him he needed to lie back down and he just had a spark attack ( and apparently, all those times, he felt more pain than usual where minor attacks). He just says then he will rest in his quarters and leaves even though it might be better for him to stay. Luckily for him, Ratchet wasn't in the medbay when he woke up. He goes and lies down in his bed and thinks about how he was actually in love with drift and ratchet. He loved drift for a while and tried his chances at the start of the quest only to fail. Ratchet, he guess he kind of fell in love with him later. The fact is he never wanted to send drift away and doubted himself ever since. He wanted him back but couldn't bring him. He was the captain. Captains don't leave their ships, right? The worst part was when he saw them together, he said to himself he would support them and make sure they were happy, but he failed at that too. Absolute failure he was. He couldn't take his emotions, so he opened up an energex bottle it was probably a bad idea after a spark attack, but he didn't care that pain was too much. So he drank until he was lying in this sofa with a half bottle in his hand and three empty ones on the floor.

.

.

Ratchet was blaming himself for Rodimus's condition, being caught up so late. For primus's sake, he was a young bot. How did he get a spark attack?! He was going to talk to command staff with this they can't put so much pressure on the bot. He knew Rodimus wasn't the most easy bot or trustworthy, but he still didn't deserve to be this stressed. So he got into the room. Everyone stared at him and asked how Rodimus was. When he said his condition was stable and his stress cause the issue. Most of the people confessed that they knew something was wrong, but they said they didn't know what. They also added that Rodimus's workload was the same as usual. Some said they haven't seen Rodimus around except in the work. That he has been more well behaved than they ever saw.

.

It was suspicious, so he also cornered drift, and he also confirmed. But he also added reasantly he saw roddy's field deteriorate. He confessed he was worried about him but couldn't bring himself to talk to him. That kind of surprised ratchet. He thought they would get being friend again with how close they used to be. Drift confessed that with the things that happened to Ratchet in luna 2 how he still couldn't forgive Rodimus for betraying his word to protect Ratchet. Which was also surprising to ratchet for him he actually did his best. As his usual ratchet way, he said what was in his mind. Drift was surprised and realized ratchet was right, Roddy wasn't only tasked with protecting ratchet but the entire ship and its residents. There was no way he could've guessed things that happened. So ratchet confessed why he was angry with Roddy and his part. They talked about this for a while until Ratchet got a message from first aid that Roddy woke up and just left medbay like nothing happened, saying he would rest in his room. He sighed and explained it to drift and said he needed to go get Rodimus's stupid aft back into medbay. Drift asked him to be gentle with Roddy and added that "he is usually more than meets the eye." When ratchet get in the captain's quarters, he found very drunk and crying Rodimus. He quickly checked his condition. He was fairly Ok. He talked and tried to calm Roddy. Rodimus asked questions like, "Why do you guys hate me?","Why nobody ever loves me?", " Why can't I stop failing you guys?". So they talk with his mouth loosen with drunken haze. Rodimus spiled his spark to ratchet. That was the moment ratchet realized that maybe he treated the kid too roughly. Maybe he should've given him a chance after all his spark was in the right place, and he wasn't an absolute deadbeat. He brought sleepy drunk Roddy back to medbay and called drift to tell him how he wanted to give Roddy a chance in being the other sire of the sparkling.

.

.

.

I don't like sad endings, but ambiguous or happy ones are fine. SO here you go! :>

Dragon I want to kiss you come here.

[deadhands69]

You Started It

Tomura Shigaraki x reader

Here's 76: “you started it!” Thanks for requesting this one @scary-grace and @shigarakislaughter I had other ideas but this kind of wrote itself so if you had anything else in mind, I can write another one [prompt from this list of three word prompts, feel free to send requests and I'll be working on them in the evenings over the next few weeks!] tattoo shop AU fluff Contains: mentions of needles, heavy making out and an implied suggestive comment (this is like pg-13), and it was clearly written by someone slightly shorter than Tomura so I guess mentally change the descriptions however you want.

The neon green ‘tattoo’ light in the window flickers. It’s been doing that on and off for weeks now, driving you all crazy. Probably fixable, you think every time you see it happening but none of you remember to do anything about it when you do have a free moment. You make a mental note.

Right now is not the time though.

Right now, you’re gloved-up and coating everything in a disinfectant so intense you’re not really sure how it’s legally available to the public. The clock rolls over to seven pm, it’s a late start to your day but in the slow season you’ll take what you can get. Tomura in the adjacent station is halfway through another huge video game tattoo on his roommate. Dabi’s client is looking at their new tattoo in the mirror. The others didn’t bother to show up, having no one on the schedule.

“Are you using my bottles?” you ask Tomura, staring the answer down in front of him. 

“Grabbed the wrong ones earlier, just use mine.”

“Ughh,” you groan at him, grabbing his and spraying them with more cleaner than you’d typically use. “You better scrub those really well. Last time you used mine I found ink on them after.”

“I know how to clean,” Tomura rolls his eyes at you. 

“No dude, you're fucking gross sometimes,” yells Dabi from across the room while he bandages the tattoo he just finished. 

“Hey,” Tomura complains over his shoulder, “don't say that in front of my client.”

“Your client is Spinner. Doesn't count,” you laugh. 

“Hey, I count!” yells Spinner, while Tomura grumbles at him to stop moving. 

“You know what I mean, you know him,” you quip back while wiping down your station. “I've seen how he is in here, and this is work. There's no way he isn’t an absolute slob at home.”

“Hah!” exclaims Spinner, once more prompting Tomura to groan at him before the latter puts all of his weight over the former's thigh to force him to stay still. “No, you’re right. He’s definitely a mess at home.”

“I clean fine,” Tomura mumbles. 

You watch as Spinner winces slightly at Tomura dry wiping his leg in retaliation before continuing, “you are capable of cleaning fine, absolutely. But your bedroom is full of trash and takeout boxes at any given time. So no, I wouldn't say that you're clean.”

“I'm busy,” Tomura grumbles, eyes flicking in your direction to see your reaction. His face flushes behind locks of long white hair. It's pretty, but you've always wondered how he can work like that. This sparks a bickering conversation between the two of them regarding what constitutes ‘busy,’ but you tune them out in favor of the work you need to do. 

A few minutes later, everything is wiped, wrapped, and organized. With your station ready, you wait. Hovering just close enough to see the lines on Spinner’s leg come together. It looks amazing.

Watching Tomura work is fascinating. As much as you love making fun of him, he's good at what he does. He also has nice hands, you note, paying careful attention to the way they flex through the gloves he's wearing. Plus, he's cute when he's concentrating. His eyes squint and he bites his bottom lip every time he has to pull a long line. It’s a face you’ve memorized. You find yourself staring at him a lot. He probably notices, but you don’t really care. 

Shortly after you first started working here, he asked you out. And like an idiot, you said no. Not wanting to mix your work and personal life (even if he is one of the most attractive humans you've ever met in an ethereal way that makes you wonder how he even exists.) At the time, you thought it probably wasn’t a big deal for him. Making the assumption that he asks people out on a regular basis because every other guy here does (which is valid, because they’re all attractive and that usually goes well for them.) However, putting together everything you’ve seen and what Spinner has said about Tomura’s personal life, you don’t think he goes on any dates even if he easily could. 

You think about it a lot. Running through every outcome of how things would have been different if you’d said yes. How the date would have gone. If you'd still joke like you do. You love spending time with him. Sometimes you even wonder if he has any interest now that he's actually gotten to know you. 

Probably not you decide, trying to shut the thought out of your mind. 

Toga from the front desk brings your client back. Perfect timing for a distraction. 

It's a little past eleven when Toga turns off the neon ‘open’ sign, dims the lights, and locks the door for the evening. 

“Have a good night!” she yells before exiting through the back door and disappearing down the street. Dabi left a few hours ago which just leaves you and Tomura still putting things away after cleaning up for the night. 

“Why'd you let Dabi tattoo you yesterday,” he asks while replacing your shared paper towel roll. 

“Because I liked the drawing he did and I wanted it as a tattoo.”

“You like my drawings too, you said so.” You nod. “So, why haven't you let me tattoo you yet?”

You didn't want to ask and be imposing or take too much of his time since he never offered to tattoo you, like Dabi who offered to trade, but more importantly: “Are you…jealous?”

“No, of course not,” Tomura says the words but his voice gives him away. 

“Oh. Well, I'd love to get tattooed from you sometime. Whenever you have time.” At the last minute you add sarcastically, “as long as you aren't too busy to clean everything before.”

He scoffs at you, walking around  the table to where your bottles are sitting (thankfully spotless, you note) on his tray. You grab two but he gets the third. 

“And for that,” he says holding it over his head, just out of your reach, “you're not getting this back.”

Okay. You'll bite. 

“Really?” you ask, trying to reach for it to no avail. Instead, you switch to using both hands to try to bring his arm down but he's surprisingly strong. You could tickle him but you aren't sure if he's ticklish. He seems like he would be though and he'd probably end up squeezing the bottle and spraying soap everywhere for you both to deal with. 

“Come on, give it back. You're so mean to me,” you pout but there's no real bite to your words. 

“You started it!” he retorts.

“Oh yeah? How did I start it?” you ask, still hanging off his extended arm. 

“By being mean to me first.”

“Fine then. Tomura, can you please give me the soap bottle back?”

“Hmmm. What are you going to do for it?” he smirks at you, flirting? Suddenly, you realize how close the two of you are standing. Your feet are firmly planted on either side of his worn red skate shoes, chests pressed together. 

“What do you want me to do for it?”

“I don't know,” he furrows his brow, “didn't think that far ahead.”

You try to shove him playfully but having just mopped, the floor is slippery. The two of you lose balance slightly before his free hand wraps around your waist to steady you. Your hands are gripping his shirt and you're close. Very close. 

His body feels warm against yours and firmer than you expected. You’re not sure why you thought he’d be bonier, but ‘toned guy who spends all of his free time playing video games alone’ isn’t a phrase that typically makes sense. Here you are though. In your surprise, you find your hands exploring more of him than you consciously chose to - running your fingers down his chest, around his ribs, and down the curve of his spine. In response, he wraps his other arm around you, bottle laying forgotten on the tray behind him. 

First you kiss his cheek, making tentative contact with his dry, but surprisingly soft, skin. His hold on you tightens as he exhales shakily. Slowly, you kiss your way across his face until your lips find his. They’re chapped, like usual, so you’re careful to not shove into him too hard. 

He isn’t.

His mouth moves desperately on yours. Kissing you passionately with force, like he’s trying to suck your soul from your body. You feel his fingertips digging into your shoulders, pulling you in as close as he can. Without breaking the connection, you push him a few steps back onto the table he just finished cleaning, climbing over his lap and straddle him as he lays back. He grabs your new tattoo on accident before immediately letting go at your slight recoil. Eventually, his hands find a safe place on your hips and yours tangle their way into his hair, which is also surprisingly soft for how messy he usually wears it. The two of you stay like this for a while, losing track of time. Not caring who can see you making out through the floor to ceiling windows as they pass. 

You pull back for air, opening your eyes to look down at him. He’s beautiful, even in the limited lighting.

He smiles up at you. His teeth are cute and crooked in a way that perfectly suits his face. You lean in again, kissing him with less urgency this time.

“Does this mean you changed your mind?” his lips move over yours as he speaks.

“Hmm?” you hum, too lost in the moment to figure out what he's referring to. 

“Am I good enough now?” you pull away fully to see his face. 

“What are you talking about? Good enough for what?” you ask, still staring at him in a daze. 

“To date you. You said no when I asked but you still seem into me. I figured you had a reason so I’ve been trying to be better.” When you don’t respond immediately, he jumps to more conclusions. “Is it the cleaning thing? Because that only happened once and I said I was sorry.”

“No, it's not that. It wasn't that. It wasn't anything you did. Uhm, that doesn't really matter right now.” You move a strand of hair out of his face, watching as he melts to your touch. “You’re definitely good enough,” you whisper, “what are you doing tonight?”

His mouth cracks open to give the most obviously flirty answer before biting his bottom lip for a moment and thinking it through. “No plans, but I’ve been working since two without a break so I’m not up for much.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur back, “want to get takeout and watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah,” he smiles at you again and the world spins. The two of you stand, grabbing your jackets to leave, and make your way out the door.

Tonight will be cute, fun. You’re not worried about the stray bottles you left between your stations. Or the few paper towels that didn’t make it into the trash can. You're not even thinking about the security camera footage that will inevitably be circulating between everyone in the shop before you both show up to work tomorrow.

masterlist

[asunsetgrace16]

✧ 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 ⎥ 𝗙𝗠45

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: fluffyyyyy, one kiss (I think), one swear

Summary: Y/N stays over at Fraser's for the first time after their usual Hockey Night in Canada Saturday date

Notes: To clear up any confusion, this is a repost of an old post but I have been doing some blog maintenance and have changes how I answer fic requests.

Thank you so much for the request! I love writing for Minty and there is a lack of Minty content on here. I also made up the entire game except for the misconducts that were given in an actual Florida-Ottawa game last fall. Request.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 978

As per weekly Saturday tradition, Y/N and Fraser watch whatever hockey game is on TV. Both avid hockey fans and players, they both grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada, rooting for their teams with unabashed pride; Fraser for Vancouver and Y/N for Winnipeg. Occasionally, their hockey-watching dates are over FaceTime when Fraser is out of town for games and he often falls asleep, his phone dying overnight. 

Tonight, however, isn’t one of those nights. The Blades played a rare Saturday matinee game, ending just before four. This gave the couple time to make dinner before the start of the game. His billet family is away visiting relatives for the weekend, so it’s just the two of them. They settle in for the game with plates of spaghetti and salad. Ottawa is playing Florida tonight.

“This should be interesting.” Y/N comments, “nothing good ever happens when the Tkachuk brothers are on the ice together.”

“Very true. How many fights do you think will happen?” Fraser asks, half-Joking, half-serious.

“Oh, easily three or four.”

The game starts off fairly uneventful. No goals from either team and only a penalty or two. But you can tell the teams are chippy with each other. It's the start of the second when things finally amp up. It starts with a slash to the shins of Jakob Chychrun from Nick Cousins, sparking Brady Tkachuk to get involved. The refs are able to break it up before anything exciting happens. There is a pair of goals in the last 10 minutes of the first, so the teams are tied heading into intermission. The second follow is much of the same pattern; a goal for each team, a few minor penalties, and one scuffle. They had barely taken their gloves off before the refs broke it up, boring.

“ Boo.” Fraser says to the TV, “Let them fight, it’s more exciting that way.” 

Y/N laughs and rolls her eyes. But he's not wrong, “You just like to see Matthew stir shit up.” 

“You've got me there.” 

It's in the dying minutes of the third one Fraser gets his wish. A cheap shot from Carter Verhaeghe sends Parker Kelly into the boards awkwardly. He doesn't get up as both teams end up in the corner. Claude Giroux tries to pull Parker away from the fight. The rest of the guys grab each other and start fighting, well most of them anyway. Brady and Matthew are both in the mix. Helmets are off, gloves and sticks are scattered on the ice and the refs are circling. Parker got some help getting to the bench and is getting checked by a trainer. The fight goes on, eventually guys are in headlocks, jerseys are half off, and others are piled on the ice, still swinging punches. The refs break up the fight, sending the guys towards penalty boxes before dishing out the penalties. 

“Every player on the ice gets a 10-minute misconduct, except for the goalies and Ottawa number 27.”

Both Fraser and Y/N are staring, absolutely dumbfounded. Almost never do 10 players get game misconducts. 

“Well, there's the entertainment for the night.” Y/N quips.

The last few minutes pass quietly, the benches are looking very bare, five guys gone from one side and four from the other. Fraser has nodded off by the time the game ends, and Y/N isn't far behind. She turns off the TV and folds the blanket that she used. She sighs tiredly, looking around the dim room. Fraser’s half-asleep on the couch, all sleep-warm and face cast with shadows from the kitchen lights. Y/N moves about the room, gathering her bag and phone. She smiles softly, love in her eyes as she looks as Fraser. She wakes him gently, prompting him to go to bed.

“Just stay.” Fraser mumbles sleepily, yawning. 

“I…I don’t know.” Y/N hesitates, wanting to say yes.

“Please.” He interrupts, giving Y/N a soft, pleading look.

Y/N stays quiet for a minute, reaching out to brush a piece of hair off of his forehead, “Ok. I’ll stay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Y/N flushes, turning shy all of a sudden. She looks away, avoiding his gaze. They haven’t slept over at each other’s places yet, and it makes Y/N’s cheeks warm.

“Why’d you get shy?” He asks as they walk to his room.

“What? No I didn’t”

“Yes, you did. Look, you’re blushing.” He grins at her, poking her cheek.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s cute.”

Y/N gives him an exasperated look, she will never admit it but Fraser is right. It’s their first night sleeping over together so it takes an extra few minutes to get everything sorted. She is a little jittery, nervous to share Fraser’s bed with him. Her brain goes into overdrive as she tries to avoid making things weird. Fraser gives her a shirt to sleep in and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. They stand on opposite sides of the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Sure, they have cuddled before, but usually that was on the couch or her cramped twin bed at school. Fraser climbs in, throwing back the covers and he holds his hand out for Y/N to grab. She takes it climbing into the other side. He pulled the covers over them, rearranging his pillow for optimal comfort. Y/N does the same, relaxing more as the minutes go by. Fraser reaches over and shuts off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. By the light of the moon, they face each other. Fraser pulls Y/N closer, giving her a sweet kiss on her forehead before tucking her into his chest. Before long, the couple has drifted off, wrapped up in each other’s arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.

[anothermansjeans]

I NEEDDDD more of YouTuber y/n X Spencer 😭 pllzzzzz maybe the first time he actually is on a video? Not just by accident but doing something like a challenge or something 😭?

HEHEHEHE I AM FERAL FOR THEM YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!! i also love this concept... everyone pls feel free to send me more 🫶

cw: major fluff, competitive reader, competitive spencer, reader (sometimes) wears makeup

wc: 1.4k

++

You were extremely giddy. Ever since Spencer’s face was accidentally shown in one of your unedited videos, he’s been slowly coming around to the idea of being more involved with your channel. Of course, he had to be careful at times because of his job, so it started out small. You saw a trend on TikTok and practically begged Spencer to participate.

It was simple really. You would take a video of your makeup routine and then have Spencer do the voiceover without telling him the exact name of the method or technique you were doing. He was adorable with it, truly, and because of this, the internet went absolutely berserk. Comments ranged from awe to thirsting over his voice, and you didn't blame them. It was this uproar of engagement that sparked the idea of actually having him in a real video for your channel.

Spencer was apprehensive at first– he was still a bit camera shy, but after your reassurance that the people will love him, he agreed, wanting to help and support you in any way possible. When he asked about the video you had in mind and the words “trivia game” were thrown around, his eyes lit up and even offered for Penelope to go over to your apartment to be the one reading the questions so that it could be a fun game between the two of you.

When the camera was set up, ring lights on, and Penelope curled up on the big comfy chair behind the scenes, it was show time.

“Hello, lovelies!” Your intro went as usual, and as you spoke, you could see Spencer in your peripheral, staring at you with a gentle smile on his face. After about a minute of talking, you took a breath and turned your head to his. “You're probably wondering who this hunk of brains is next to me… this is Spencer, my boyfriend!”

Spencer finally took a glance at the camera and gave a thin smile with a shy wave. “Hi.”

A giggle erupted from you and Penelope, which resulted in your eyebrows jumping up. “And behind the camera is the magical woman I am stealing to be my best friend–” your words were slightly interrupted by a soft “hey” coming from Spencer, “Penelope!” You gave another smile to the camera before going on to explain what you were doing in the video. “Today we are putting our brains to battle in some fun trivia! Penelope will be reading us pop culture trivia and whoever answers first correctly gets a point. The prize is… bragging rights?” Your eyebrows pulled together. You forgot to think of that part, but a smile erupted once Penelope spoke from behind the camera.

“Oh! What if Spencer has to be in three in your TikTok videos if you win, and if he wins, he gets to tweet from your twitter!”

“Penny, you're a genius!”

Penelope was bashful as Spencer held a confused expression. “Tweet?”

“Oh boy wonder,” Penelope started, “I’ll show you the ins and outs if you get that far.”

Once again, Spencer let out a soft “hey” in response.

Noticing his semi-hurt expression, a pout formed on your lips and you gently placed your hand on his thigh, immediately feeling him relax under your touch and shift his body more towards yours. “It’s okay, baby. I believe in you.”

It was like he couldn't help himself. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, causing stars to appear in your eyes and a small “eek!” to come from Penelope's mouth. The sound startled Spencer, making a blush appear on the apples of his cheeks. He cleared his throat and muttered, “shall we start?”

Shaking yourself from the starry place he sends you, you turned back to the camera. “Right! Well, Pen, we’re ready whenever you are.”

“Okay, first question. ‘Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?’ is a classic movie line from what 1985 John Hughes film?”

A millisecond barely went by before words were spewing out of Spencer’s mouth, “The Breakfast Club!”

You knew he was right, so you weren't too disappointed when Penelope called out as correct. “Okay, next one,” she said, marking a tally under Spencer’s name on a small whiteboard on her lap. “What five members make up the band *NSYNC?”

You were practically shouting out the answer before she finished the question, “Justin Timberlake, Lance Bass, JC Chasez, Joey Fatone, and Chris Kirkpatrick!”

“Correct!”

“Yes!” You jumped up from the couch, only aware of your overexcitement after looking down at Spencer and seeing the complete awe plastered on his face. “Sorry…” You sat back down with a shy smile on your face, but Spencer just shook his head, folding his lips in.

“Don't be,” he started, “you're cute when you're excited.”

“Yeah, excited to destroy you,” you said sassily.

A scoff soon followed from Spencer, “oh, it’s on.”

“Shall I continue?” Penelope spoke up, trying not to interrupt their moment. She only asked the next question when both parties on the couch gave a nod. “Which member of One Direction was the first to go solo?”

And the game continued. Honestly, you thought you had this win in the bag, but as it progressed, you became increasingly worried. Who knew your genius boyfriend was pretty well-versed in pop culture trivia? It was the end of the game when the two of you inevitably tied, and Penelope was basically on the edge of her seat as she prepared to give you the last question.

“Okay, tie breaker. This is for the win.”

As much as you love each other, you were both in it to win it. You two were also too focused to realize the mirroring positions you had. Both hunched over with your hands clasped as your arms resting on your knees, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and eyebrows scrunched together (once the video is uploaded the comments have a field day with this… you guess that's what happens when you live with someone for a while).

“The E.L. James novel Fifty Shades of Grey is based on fanfiction from what young-adult book series?”

You knew the answer… deep, very deep in your mind, you knew, but before you could even reach those depths, Spencer was standing up with wide eyes. “Oh! I know this one. It’s Twilight!” When Penelope told him he was right, he let out a loud “ha” as he looked at you and pulled your sitting body into a hug. It was an awkward hug, but a hug nonetheless.

As he was squeezing your shoulders, you moved your head up so that your chin was resting on his stomach. Your eyebrows knit together wondering how the hell he knew that, and once he came down from his high he loosened his grip and sat back down, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “We uh, had a case that involved the topic of vampires to come up… I was intrigued and learned a lot about the series.”

You just smiled and pecked his nose with your lips. “Your brain is insane and I love it.”

He ducked his blushed face down and Penelope cleared her throat, prompting the two of you to remember your surroundings and the camera placed in front of you. “So the winner is Spencer!”

Letting out a sigh, you gave a nod and opened up Twitter before starting a new post and handing your phone to Spencer. “It’s all yours, lover boy. Write what you want– there is a word limit, though.”

He held your phone for a moment, staring at the screen as he pursed his lips. It was only a few seconds later until he started typing away. After about a minute, he pressed the button to send the tweet, and you immediately heard an “awe” come from Penelope as she looked at her phone. Looking down at the app, you took a peek at what he wrote, and your heart was ready to burst.

@ y/ny/l/n: According to a 2013 survey, nine in ten Americans cited that love is the most important reason to get married, compared to 28% of people who said they wed for financial stability… I think I’m with those 9 people. I thought that was a fun fact :)

You knew the replies were already going crazy, but you refused to look at them. You were in for a ride with Spencer Reid.

[saphronethaleph]

Heavy Thing Goes In...

“Hoopa has a good idea!” Hoopa said. “Ashkan, Hoopa will bring some friends to help us out!”

“Friends would be great,” Ash replied, glancing back at the absolute havoc that was happening as Hoopa’s dark side – or Unbound self – or whatever you wanted to call it, brought in more and more Legendary Pokémon.

“Good!” Hoopa declared, twirling rings on their fingers. “Allez – Hooparing!”

Three golden rings went spinning out in front of them, and the big one activated first. A black-scaled, shiny Rayquaza came through, coiling in mid-air, and frowned at Ash.

“Hi!” Ash called. “I haven’t met you before but I met another Rayquaza – do you know him? We didn’t talk much, though.”

Shiny Rayquaza looked baffled for a moment, then shrugged.

“Pika-kachuu! Pikapi kachu pii!” Pikachu volunteered.

Then the two smaller rings triggered, and a Latias and Latios came zipping through.

Latias immediately did a double-take and zipped closer to Ash, head tilting, then cleared her throat.

“Ash?” she asked, voice squeaky but understandable. “I – know that’s a silly question but I did see someone who looked exactly like you once and that was embarrassing-”

“Oh, that was probably Ritchie,” Ash said. “Or it could have been someone else. But yeah, I’m Ash Ketchum!”

“Tii-os?” the Latios asked, pointing at Pikachu. “La-tios?”

“Chuu!” Pikachu nodded, cheeks sparking. “Pikachu pika, pi?”

“Wow!” Hoopa said. “Hoopa only asked for Pokémon that would be willing to help Ashkan and Pikakan! Hoopa is surprised that you both know Ashkan and Pikakan!”

“Both?” Ash asked, frowning for a second as he looked over at Latios, then brightened. “Oh, you must be Tobias’s, right?”

“Os-ti!” Latios confirmed, nodding more confidently now. “Ti-laaa-tios?”

“Well, I had something I wanted to say to Ash before and never got the chance because I couldn’t say it properly-” Latias tried, then there was a sound like tearing cloth as a Roar of Time went overhead.

“Uh oh!” Ash said. “We need to get out of here-”

Pikachu sprang up onto Latios’s back, cheeks sparking, and Latias swept Ash up onto her own back. Ash grabbed Hoopa, as well, then all three Dragon-types zipped away just ahead of Palkia arriving and slamming a Spatial Rend into the ground.

“We need to do something to slow them down!” Ash said, looking around. “Rayquaza, can you help?”

Rayquaza’s scales began to shine, then there was a burst of light as the Sky High Pokémon Mega-Evolved – without any Mega Stone involved.

Latias and Latios Mega-Evolved as well, then all of Unbound Hoopa’s Pokémon launched attacks at them at once, and Mega Latias, Mega Latios, Pikachu and Rayquaza shot back their strongest attacks to match them.

There was an enormous explosion that lit up the whole central bay of Dahara City, illuminating it like it was daytime and making some of the street lamps momentarily switch off, and Ash pointed behind a building.

“Over there!” he said, and both Eon Pokémon shot over behind the building.

“Hoopa!” he added. “Can you help?”

“Hoopa has already summoned three Pokémon, Ashkan!” Hoopa protested. “Four if you count Lugia which Unbound Hoopa sent home! Hoopa does not have unlimited rings!”

“Right,” Ash said, reaching for a Pokéball on his belt, then shook his head. “...but what about… Hoopa, do your rings work better if you’re only going a short distance?”

“Hoopa can do that, but Hoopa cannot pass through them,” Hoopa replied. “And Hoopa’s rings must start near Hoopa! Hoopa cannot send them far away.”

“Ash, you’re… thinking of something, right?” Mega Latias asked, then glanced at Mega Latios – and Mega Rayquaza, who had also squeezed behind the building and was taking up most of the space behind it. “I remember you were good at that, but you battled him once, right, Latios?”

“Tii-os, lati-oss,” Mega Latios said.

“Chuu!” Pikachu declared, pointing at his chest. “Pika pika-chuu, pikapi chu!”

“Ti-lati-os,” Mega Latios frowned, apparently not quite sure of how Pikachu had put it.

Mega Latias giggled.

“Sounds like it,” she said. “And I know Ash keeps helping out Legendary Pokémon!”

Ash frowned, then snapped his fingers.

“Got it!” he said. “Hoopa – what about if you brought one of the other Legendaries through a ring and immediately sent them through a second ring?”

Hoopa frowned, then brightened.

“That would work, Ashkan!” they said. “What are you thinking of?”

“Well… Unbound Hoopa has summoned some really big Pokémon,” Ash replied. “We’re going to need to knock some of them out to solve this… Latias, can you get us somewhere Hoopa can see to aim?”

Twenty crowded seconds later, Mega Latias was in the middle of doing a snap-roll away from a Roar of Time when Hoopa made a gesture.

“Allez – Hoopa Rings!” they said, and Ash saw a blur of gold beside them. For a moment, something huge and pealescent thundered through the narrow gap between the two rings, then the Roar of Time cut off very abruptly with an almighty thump that echoed through the city.

As Palkia landed at very high speed on top of Dialga.

Even the shadow Unbound Hoopa seemed to be taken aback, and Mega Latias skidded to a halt in mid-air so they could get a better look at Hoopa’s ringwork.

“How did you get this idea, anyway?” Mega Latias asked. “I never would have thought of that.”

“I was thinking about how it is that I keep meeting Legendary Pokémon, and how Dialga and Palkia and Groudon and Kyogre were in the middle of a fight where I had to get help to stop it!” Ash replied. “You know. Time is a flat circle!”

“Yeah, it looks like he is,” Mega Latias winced, as Palkia stepped off her counterpart and gave the impression of looking surprisingly sheepish for a possessed Legendary Pokémon. “Ouch...”