#concha speaks

[amaconcha]

One of my favorite things about the ASL Brothers is the fact that Ace was the one brought out the sake and proposed becoming brothers.

Not Luffy or Sabo but Ace.

Ace, who believes he is unlovable, Ace who believes that his blood is dirty, Ace who believes that he didn’t deserve to be born, Ace who thinks that his life is worthless, Ace who believes that his mere existence is a crime.

And yet Ace saw these two boys and approached them without apprehension or fear of rejection even though he was proposing something as irrevocable, something as bonding as brotherhood

[elbiotipo]

Petty I know, but I think if you're a native English speaker you should be forbidden from making fun of any other language at all.

[zeninsama-moved-again]

also cannot start posting on here for the day without saying GOOD MORNING MY FRIENDS!!!!!!!!! mentally we are sharing coffee and a little baked good

[mars-ipan]

friend has delivered fresh homemade conchas to me….. and we got to talk for like an hour. world is good actually

[lonely-dog-song]

[azover]

3ra vez que mando el mismo mail al hospital contestenme hijos de puta

[kerfwuffle-the-chaos-causer]

"MY CONCHA."

[darklight-owl]

Its so frustrating to not be able to speak spanish. Fuck am I supposed to say when my friend is sick? "Get well soon"? Why can't I just say "fuerza leona" like a normal person.

[betafite]

i think monolingual English speakers need to realize that just because someone speaks one language within a language family that they can automatically communicate with someone who speaks a DIFFERENT one. lest you become my boss who asked me to speak Italian to two latine customers

like I'm sure I could understand bits and pieces of like Spanish from various regions of Spain, but latines have a completely different kind of Spanish that isn't even completely distinguishable from each other. i told my friend from South America that I had two conchas and wanted to share them with her.

her response "you have TWO of them??????"

[amaconcha]

i actually need to fight the judges for crunchyroll anime awards bc WHY THE FUCK IS IT THE SAME SIX ANIME???

[joaosnovia]

hmmm so i lowk want sleepy franco, bc i had a dream abt him last night no joke. let's see. okay. we're on a plane, his like travel director guy? idk what he's called, but he books the wrong ticket so franco has to sit in economy class (horror) and he's all grumpy and tired and his curls are peeking thru his hoodie (HEHE) idk if you wanna make us a fan of him or not, i truly don't care ill read it anyway, and then drumroll please, TURBULENCE, and we hold hands and end up talking and then fall in love mwah

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

writers notes:: IM SORRY IF YOU SPEAK SPANISH AND UNDERSTAND THE TITLE 🥀. if you get the reference then you get it but if u don’t then it’s bc he said it on team radio 😔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs ; lmk if u wanna be added

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’re already exhausted when you get to the gate. the kind of tired that settles behind your eyes and makes everything feel just a little bit blurry. it’s a late flight, barely-full, and you’re silently thanking the universe for that as you scan your boarding pass.

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

it’s subtle at first. just a little wave of tension that passes through the gate area like a ripple, the way it always does when someone vaguely famous walks into a space not meant for them. people don’t scream or swarm, but you hear the hushed whispers, the occasional, poorly-hidden phone snap. and then you see him.

franco.

hood up. head down. dragging a carry-on with one hand and a coffee in the other like it might be the only thing keeping him awake.

he looks like he was just pulled out of sleep and shoved into an airport. grey hoodie. black joggers. a duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. and his curls, god, his curls, are peeking out from under the fabric like they’re trying to escape. messy and soft and unfairly pretty.

you try not to stare.

he looks grumpy. not mean, not rude, just tired in the way only someone who was promised comfort but got chaos instead can be. he stops by the flight attendant, glances down at his phone, then mutters something in spanish you don’t catch but feel in your soul. it’s giving: ‘how did i end up here?’

you turn back to your book, pretending you’re not watching him weave down the aisle, scanning seat numbers, getting closer and closer until

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

he double checks his pass. stares at the seat. stares at you. then groans, barely audible, and sinks down into the seat next to yours like it personally offended him.

‘la concha de mi madre… wasn’t supposed to be here,’ he mumbles, more to himself than you.

you don’t say anything at first. you just glance sideways, taking in the way his knees hit the seat in front of him. he’s clearly too tall for this. he exhales sharply through his nose and tilts his head back, letting it thud softly against the wall.

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

‘travel guy booked the wrong class. s’posed to be business.’ he sounds like he’s explaining a grave injustice. and honestly, to him, maybe it is.

you bite back a laugh. ‘and now you’re slumming it with the rest of us.’

he looks at you properly now. eyes sharp despite how sleepy he is. ‘you make it sound like i’m gonna die in here.’

‘you might,’ you tease. ‘depends how dramatic you get.’

he cracks a smile, small, sleepy, but real, and pulls his hoodie tighter around him. then it’s quiet again. the kind of quiet that fills a plane before takeoff: muted announcements, seatbelt clicks, the soft shuffle of passengers settling in.

you go back to your book. or try to. it’s hard to focus when an f1 driver is breathing softly beside you, head tilted toward the window, lashes brushing his cheekbones, hands folded loosely over his stomach.

he looks peaceful like that. tired, yes, but soft in a way you didn’t expect. like he’s finally stopped fighting the chaos and just let himself be still.

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

the plane jerks. a sudden lurch. not violent, but sharp enough to pull you from the edge of sleep and snap your heart into alert.

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

and then another bump, this one stronger. someone across the aisle lets out a small yelp.

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

it’s so casual, so easy, like he’s done this before. his hand is big, firm, grounding. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even open his eyes, but the pressure of his palm against yours is enough to slow your breath just a little.

‘just turbulence,’ he murmurs, voice low, raspy with sleep. ‘happens all the time.’

you don’t know why you believe him. maybe because he sounds so calm. maybe because your hand fits stupidly well in his. or maybe because, deep down, part of you likes that this stranger, this famous, hoodie-wearing, grumpy stranger, is the one keeping you steady.

when the turbulence fades, you think he’ll pull away.

he doesn’t.

you glance over. his eyes are open now, just barely, looking at your joined hands with an unreadable expression.

‘you don’t have to keep holding it,’ you say quietly.

he shrugs, thumb brushing against your skin. ‘you looked scared.’

you don’t answer. just look away, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest.

after a beat, he shifts in his seat, turning slightly toward you.

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

you blink. not because you didn’t know. but because it feels strange, intimate, for him to offer it like that.

‘y/n,’ you say back, voice softer than before.

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

you smile, small and a little shy. and for the first time, you notice how close you are. how your knees almost touch. how your fingers are still tangled like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

somewhere over the clouds, in a cramped economy seat beside a boy who was never supposed to be here, something starts.

it’s quiet. unexpected. but it’s there.

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

the light filters through the little oval window in soft streaks of gold and peach, brushing over franco’s curls as he stretches beside you with a sleepy groan. his hoodie’s slipped a little down his shoulder, revealing a white t-shirt and a glimpse of collarbone, and you don’t mean to stare, but also, maybe you do.

‘how’d you sleep?’ he asks, voice gravelly and barely awake.

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

you both sit there for a second, still tangled in the strange bubble that formed somewhere midair. he shifts, glancing down at your hands, still close, not quite touching anymore, but close enough to feel the leftover warmth. his fingers twitch like maybe he wants to reach back.

you beat him to it, brushing your pinky against his.

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

‘you hungry?’ he asks, suddenly casual. like you didn’t just hold hands for three hours in silence. like you didn’t fall asleep with your shoulder brushing his in the middle of the sky.

you blink. ‘what?’

he rubs the back of his neck, curls wild now, sticking out in soft little tufts. ‘there’s this café i always go to when i fly through here. their croissants are insane. i can… show you?’

your heart does something stupid.

‘yeah,’ you say, voice softer than you mean it to be. ‘sure. croissants sound good.’

you gather your things. he waits for you. and as you walk off the plane, into the cool, early morning quiet of the airport, something about it feels like a movie. the way your suitcases roll in sync. the way his hoodie sleeve brushes your arm every few steps. the way people glance over, eyes widening slightly, not because of you, but because of him.

he doesn’t seem to notice. or care. he’s too busy walking beside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

‘so,’ you say, just to fill the silence, ‘did your travel guy get fired yet?’

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

you laugh, and he grins, bright and sleepy and a little crooked.

the café is tucked in a quiet corner of the terminal. tiny tables. warm lights. the smell of espresso thick in the air.

he orders two croissants and two coffees like he’s done it a hundred times before.

‘you bring all your turbulence buddies here?’ you tease as you settle into a table by the window.

he smirks. ‘nah. just the brave ones who hold my hand mid-air.’

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

the coffee is good. the croissant is better. and the company, well, that’s the best part.

you talk. about little things. stupid things. favorite movies. airport horror stories. he tells you about the time his luggage got sent to a completely different continent. you tell him about the time you missed a flight because you fell asleep at the gate. he laughs, really laughs, and you catch yourself watching the way his face lights up, the way his eyes crinkle, the soft edges of his tired smile.

you’re both halfway through your second coffee when his phone buzzes. he glances at it, then groans.

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

he stands slowly, stretching again, hoodie riding up just a little, and then looks at you like he’s not quite sure what to do.

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

you expect him to walk away. just wave, say bye, disappear into the crowd.

instead, he hesitates. looks at you like he’s debating something.

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

he runs a hand through his curls. ‘i mean… if you want. i know it was just a weird flight and some turbulence and coffee, but…’ he shrugs, like he can’t quite explain it. ‘i liked this. i liked you.’

your heart stumbles.

‘yeah,’ you say, quiet but sure. ‘i’d like that too.’

he grins. pulls out his phone. you exchange numbers, fingers brushing as he hands it back.

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

you smirk. ‘only if your travel guy doesn’t mess it up again.’

he laughs again, starts to walk backward toward the exit, still facing you.

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

franco: next time i’m booking us both business class. just saying.

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

a few here and there. late at night. early morning. sleepy updates and little inside jokes. a photo of his breakfast one day. a screenshot of your playlist the next. nothing dramatic. nothing loud.

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

and then one day, he sends you a message that says:

‘are you free this friday? i owe you dinner. and business class. but we’ll start with dinner.’

you say yes.

and that’s how you end up outside a small restaurant tucked between quiet streets, heart thudding in your chest as you spot him leaning against the wall, hoodie up, curls peeking out just like that first night.

but this time, he looks up and smiles as soon as he sees you.

‘you came,’ he says, stepping forward, pulling the hood down.

‘you asked,’ you reply.

he holds the door open for you, and it’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting to see you again since the second you left, that makes your stomach do something ridiculous.

the restaurant is small. warm. dim lighting and quiet music. you sit across from him, nervous at first, picking at the edge of your napkin.

but he’s soft. all soft.

asking how your week was. telling you how training’s been. joking about how he’s still haunted by the flight. and you both laugh, really laugh, like it’s been forever since something felt this easy.

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

you’re talking about the places you want to visit. the little corners of the world that live on your bucket list. he’s leaning in, chin resting in his hand, eyes never leaving you.

‘so what you’re saying,’ he murmurs, ‘is that you’d need a travel buddy.’

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

he smiles slow. ‘i already know how you handle turbulence.’

you toss a sugar packet at him. he catches it.

and when the night ends, and you’re outside again in the cool air, he walks you to your car without saying much.

just before you open the door, he stops.

‘can i—’ he rubs the back of his neck, like he’s nervous now. ‘i wanna see you again.’

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

and this time, this time when he leans in, it’s not your hands that touch first. it’s his forehead resting lightly against yours. soft, sweet. the kind of almost-kiss that says everything without rushing it.

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

you’re both in bed, screens glowing in the dark, him in a hoodie again, hood up, hair a little messy from running his hand through it too much. you’re curled beneath a blanket, barely lit by your lamp, yawning as he tells you something dumb one of his teammates said in the locker room.

you’re not sure when you drift off, only that when you open your eyes again, the call is still going.

his camera is angled up now, like he fell asleep too. his face half-buried in a pillow, breathing slow. the little rectangle on your screen shows the soft rise and fall of his chest, a peek of his collarbone, the edge of his hoodie slipping down one shoulder.

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

you end the call before your screen dies, and sleep comes easier after that.

the next morning, he texts you:

‘slept better than i have in weeks. you?’

you type:

‘same. weird.’

he sends a photo. his pillow, a bit messy. the corner of his hoodie in the frame.

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

and you want to tell him you won’t. that you’ll stay on the line until the sun rises if that’s what he wants. but you just reply:

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

not during a date. not at dinner. not even with music or city lights or anything remotely romantic.

it’s raining.

you weren’t supposed to see him. just dropped by his place to return something, a hoodie you stole without realizing. but he opens the door and grins like he hasn’t seen you in weeks instead of days.

‘you’re wet,’ he says, brushing a hand over your shoulder.

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

you’re about to hand him the hoodie when he steps back and says, ‘come in. or you’ll catch something.’

and you do.

you sit on the edge of his couch, water dripping from your sleeves. he disappears for a second, returns with a towel and a mug of something warm. tea. maybe. you’re not sure. you’re too busy watching the way his lashes stick together from the rain. the way his hoodie is half-zipped, revealing the curve of his throat.

he crouches in front of you, drying your hands first.

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

‘you’re kind of important,’ he says, soft. like it’s not a big deal.

you look at him. really look.

his curls are damp. his eyes are tired but bright. his thumb is brushing along the back of your hand like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

his breath catches, and he moves with you. quiet. slow. no rush.

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

just the softest pressure. the rain still pattering outside. his hand resting against your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek like you might disappear if he doesn’t hold you right.

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

hood up. headphones around his neck. hoodie sleeves bunched up on his forearms. curls peeking out messily. the most him he’s ever looked.

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

‘you’re in the window seat?’ you tease.

he peeks up at you with that sleepy half-smile, eyes already warm.

‘wanted to watch the clouds. but i’ll trade if you want it.’

you shake your head and slide into the seat beside him. ‘nah. wanna lean on you.’

he makes a soft sound, half a chuckle, half a breath, and reaches for your hand almost immediately. it’s instinct, at this point. the way his fingers find yours without looking. the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he needs to remind himself you’re here. his.

you tuck your bag away, get comfortable, rest your head on his shoulder as the plane starts taxiing.

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

he turns his head a little, presses his lips to your hair.

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

there’s no rush. no uncertainty. no almosts anymore. just his hand in yours, the hum of the engine, and the quiet thud of your hearts keeping time.

somewhere in the sky, between time zones and cloudlines, he whispers:

‘i’d sit in economy again if it meant meeting you.’

you don’t open your eyes. you just squeeze his hand and whisper back:

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

and he smiles, forehead resting against yours, while the plane lifts into the sky.

[obxsprincess]

Ok but Luke and a Latina gf (thinking Aphrodite cabin or something) and he’s just soo turned on when she speaks Spanish and loves her cooking ofc (girl I can barely cook but still lol)

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ luke and his aphrodite!latina girlfriend

us latina girls need sum love !! <3 (same btw jgvnjgcvgcx)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

one thing every camper knew the smell of was your cooking !! just making u feel calm n collected you always volunteered… wearing ur pink apron n collecting all the ingredients for vanilla sugar conchas !! but ugh ofc luke was distracting u… like always ! little did ur pretty self know he intentionally locked ur cabins kitchen doors… sure hes a bit pussydrunk on his baby… a bit as in he can’t go a day without your slick pussy or he’ll go insane… or your angel laced accent…

hands wrapped around your waist n adoring your tan complexion in purple hickies :(( hands kneading ur plush bottom n the fat of your hips…

“mierda- luke if you can’t see m’trying to roll these into the right shape!” n he knows much much better than to play off his girls glare… but your spanish accents so fuckin’ sweet… and his cock swells in his pants… greedy for his baby. all sly bringing your hips against him n nonchalantly grinding his bugle against ur ass !! hard n swollen…

n your body betrays u ! pretty cunt becoming messier by the second cus !! ugh! :(

“luke i- no puedo concentrarme!” (I can’t concentrate) all swatting n rolling ur eyes all bratty but his arms just trap your body !!!

all resistant n giggling, pretty hands covered in dye ! (ur making pink covered conchas ofc) and was luke even hearing u?? nuzzled in ur neck… u gasp n he bends u ever so slightly over the counter…

“mhm fuckin’ love when you speak spanish baby- fu-ck its hot ma don’t mind me princess just keep working,”

as if ur panties arnt all soaking n damp ! sticking to ur glistening cunt… n his deep voice isn’t helping ! :((

“or are ya’ mhm looking for something ma?”

“lukeee- tal vez-” (maybe-) u speak !! luke kicks your legs apart… teasing the cute wet spot growing on your panties !

“well gotta help my girl out then, mhm? yea- fuckkk I need you on my face- needa’ fuckin taste you-”

n one thing about luke !! is hes always giving you a countertop to grip onto so he can eat your drooling little cunt from the back… wanting to be covered in ur essence !

n he delves into his pretty girls puffy folds !! sucking n probing n eating… n by the end only sum of the dough is left ! the rest smeared all over your inner shaky thighs… his sugared tongue diving into your sweet sweet hole <3

… u squeal n whimper mierda (shit) n joder (fuck) until your glossy n sobbing eyes shut !! n swollen cunt flutter around his tongue !!

its only fair that he has you kitty lick the creamy cum leaking from his boxers, right princess? or just finger it right inside your pulsating entrance <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

[lance-thunder-reporting-live]

Good morning Amity Park, I'm your ghostly weatherman, Lance Thunder. Today's Tuesday, May 20, and there's a 100% chance of rain. Highs are in the mid fifties, and the lows are in the low fifties.

A ghost with the appearance of an elderly woman was observed yesterday in Parr Hill Park making conchas for all the children playing at the park. We are unsure what this ghost’s reason for doing this was, as she seemed to be only able to speak Spanish and no Spanish speakers were in the area at the time.

The Fentons did eventually chase her off and attempt to take the conchas from all the children who had received them out of fear of ectocontamination. They were largely unsuccessful in this.

The owners of the escaped horses assisted animal control yesterday in recovering the horses. For now, Amity Park will no longer have to worry about any horse related damage or injuries.

The Fentons will likely be driving today.

[fattummyt]

Bruce Banner & Tony Stark/Female Patient Reader - "Do You Concur?" 🌶️

Summary: The reader pays a visit to her primary OBGYN, Dr. Banner, to discuss some pain she's experiencing during orgasm and the results of her exam are surprisingly pleasing.

Tags: Doctor AU!, Obstetrician Gynecologist, Medical Kink, Professionals, Gifted Hands, POV First Person, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self-Insert, Humor, Vaginal Fingering

Warnings: explicit, dubious consent, brief fat joke, mention of weight loss

Author's Notes: This fanfiction describes events where clear consent is not established, so to be safe, I have tagged it at dubious consent. L/N = Last name. Revisiting this reminded me I wrote a second chapter that I never posted! I'll have to circle back on that.

Read it on AO3 here!

You flinched, unable to control your labored breath now as you whimpered. "D-doctor I'm starting to—" “—I apologize, it'll be just a bit longer. I believe I may have felt something."

This thin paper gown left you feeling a bit cold and overexposed for your liking.

You heard what sounded like people talking outside your room followed by a short knock, and somebody stepped in.

"Are you well?" His voice brought a tightness to your chest.

"Yes, Dr. Banner."

He pulled open the privacy curtain and the strong scent of either his cologne, aftershave, hair gel, or a fragrant blend of all three wafted across your face.

He smiled gently, his pearly whites threatening the vibrance of that of his lab coat.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." You replied, a bit too briskly.

"Oh, just fine? Well, maybe I can do something about that."

I hope you can do a couple things with those gifted hands.

He took a seat in a rolling stool beside a computer desk and promptly began typing into a file that appeared to be about you.

"So I understand you've been experiencing some pain in your pelvis?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner."

"Can you describe this pain?"

"Well, it's sorta like a sharp poking feeling at the opening of my vagina. It's less pain and more of a discomfort."

"Hmm, okay, so this discomfort you're experiencing, is this something you experience consistently, is it only when you sit?"

"Um..." You paused, dropping your shoulders as you examined the floor.

"I only feel it after I uh—reaching orgasm."

His fervent typing paused, which alarmed you, however his eyes never left the screen.

"Are you currently sexually active?"

You squirmed, "Um, what do you mean by sexually active?"

He crossed his knees and scooted closer to you, his undivided attention so powerful, it made your stomach ache.

"By sexually active, I mean, have you, in the past 4 weeks, participated in any sexual activities that may include clitoral stimulation or vaginal insertion?"

"Oh, yes."

"Thank you." He nodded quietly, and scooted back to begin typing at his computer again.

"Please, excuse me, I'm just taking down some notes. I'll only be a moment, then we can continue moving forward with your exam."

Your heart's upper chamber must've heard that because it skipped an entire beat.

An exam? I didn't think I'd need an exam. I thought I'd just stick a swab up my concha and go.

His clipboard rested comfortably in his lap as he turned and approached you again, this time, his posturing a bit more intimate.

"Would you mind if I did a brief examination? This would involve a visual exam of your vulva, clitoris, and labia, and an internal exam where I'd insert my fingers into your vagina and check for any abnormalities."

You hadn't even been fully listening. You'd gotten lost tracing the grey streaks that decorated his hairline and panicked a bit.

Also, Dr. Banner does this thing where he uses his hands a lot when he speaks, and unknowingly has been 👉👌-ing this entire time.

"Abnor...malities?"

"Yes, so any unexpected lumps, foreign objects, things of that nature."

You fiddled with your gown for a moment, a bit unsure.

"I can assure you, I've done exams like this a countless number of times and you're in good health, you haven't had any children, and you seem fairly responsible, so I can't foresee running into any issues."

He smiled, and for the betterment of your vagina, you decided to say yes.

"Great. A nurse will be back in to escort you to your exam room where you'll be instructed to sit back with your legs in stirrups. Are you comfortable with that?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner."

The next room you were escorted to was much smaller and a lot more intimate. The lights were dim and your stirrups were cold, but the room felt air tight and warm.

You couldn't hear anyone from inside so when Dr. Banner knocked, you were a bit startled before answering.

"Come in."

He still had that gentle smile on his face as he entered.

"Thanks for being patient. Give me a second to get prepped and we can begin."

You nodded, trying to slow your heartbeat as you heard the sink run shortly before the snap of his latex gloves.

He took a seat in front of you, a clear unlabeled bottle in hand.

"Alright, first I'll begin with the external exam. Please let me know if you experience any discomfort."

You nodded, your cheeks, ears, and face growing 20% warmer.

The sight of Dr. Banner between your open legs was simply too much for you to handle. You took to laying back against the reclined chair and looking away.

"Feeling okay? I'm just going to adjust these stirrups a bit. Let me know if you experience any discomfort." He asked, hidden behind your gown.

"Yes, Dr. Banner."

Your legs were promptly stretched wide, just enough that you could feel a cool breeze on your spread labia.

He took a seat in front of you and began to fill the silence with small talk.

"So, how were the holidays?"

"Um, pretty good, I got a pillow from my great aunt."

"Hey, that's pretty practical. You know what I got? All my coworkers chipped in and got me a home gym set."

"Wow. That's super generous."

"I know huh? I love it so much, but you know, I wonder if maybe they just secretly wanted me to lose a few pounds."

Not fond of fat jokes, you gave your most sarcastic, robotic laugh and he chuckled.

His warm breath tickled your thighs and you couldn't help it, the image of Dr. Banner's mouth so close to your pussy made you feel—

Your clit throbbed.

You felt it.

It definitely throbbed.

Fuck me. Maybe he wasn't watching?

All of these ideas ran through your head before he cleared his throat, shocking you back into reality.

He stood up and somehow seeing him once again rekindled the inferno of blood rushing in your face.

"Alright. Everything looks great. Now all that's left is the internal exam. Is there anything you need from me?"

Please choke me until I fall unconscious.

"No. Thank you Dr. Banner."

"Great, then let's jump right into it. I'm going to be applying some water based lube to your vagina, it may be a bit cold, but it'll warm up shortly after contact."

He looked down and you heard what sounded like a bottle cap opening, followed by the squirt of a healthy dose of lubricant.

"I'm going to apply it to your vagina now."

As his fingers made contact you were alarmed by the sudden sliminess of the lube as well as the warmth of his fingers bleeding through his gloves.

You bit your lips, staring up at the ceiling, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

"Ok. I'm going to insert my finger now. Let me know if you experience any discomfort."

You nodded, gripping the edges of your seat, concentrating on regulating your breath as his wet, thick finger slowly slipped in.

You abandoned your prior plans and held your breath as you felt his knuckle brush against you and his finger begin to explore inside your hole.

He glanced down at you for a moment and his mere gaze made your skin tingle.

"Are you experiencing any discomfort?"

You shook your head, fervently.

"Good. Do any of the movements I'm making with my fingers replicate the discomfort you mentioned before?"

His finger dipped in as deep as possible, hooking up and pressing right against your G-spot.

You finally exhaled as your skin began to buzz with a familiar warmness of your impending orgasm.

"N-no." You moaned, breathily.

"Hmm." He muttered, he shifted his hand and now his knuckle brushed against your clit as he stirred inside you.

You flinched, unable to control your labored breath now as you whimpered.

"D-doctor I'm starting to—"

“—I apologize, it'll be just a bit longer. I believe I may have felt something."

Every time his glove grazed your clit you throbbed uncontrollably, your walls beginning to constrict around him.

He slowly pulled his finger out, having mercy on you, before you heard the cap of the bottle pop open and shut.

"I need to apply more lube. It should only take a second. Please mind the coldness."

This time his two fingers slid into you with a wet, sticky squelch, his thumb smearing your clit with lube.

You whined unbridled, your nails piercing the cushion seat as your hips snapped.

"Please, try to remain composed for the duration of the exam, Miss L/N. It'll be over very shortly."

"Mmm-s-sorry Doctor."

His two fingers ground against your G-spot, his thumb rubbing tiny, incidental circles on your clit.

"Miss L/N, you're grinding into my hand."

You panted, your feet trembling in your stirrups.

"I'm— D-doctor B-anner." You pleaded, holding his gentle, searing gaze before you threw your head back, the dim lights of the ceiling blinding you as you came.

Dr. Banner waited patiently as your walls thrashed around his fingers before slowly relaxing.

You gazed dazedly at the dim fluorescent lights, before your eyes came to focus on Dr. Banner who had removed his gloves and now stood beside you.

"Did you feel any pain at all during this exam?"

"No, Dr. Banner." Your voice a bashful whisper.

"Did you experience any discomfort as you achieved orgasm?"

"No, Dr. Banner."

"How do you feel as of now?"

You blinked, a sarcastic tone in your voice. "Empty."

He showed a restrained smile, chuckling a bit as he adjusted his glasses.

There was a quick, jaunty knock at the door and in stepped a man in scrubs, a procedure mask, and a surgeon's cap on.

"Hello, hello, hello." He sang, giving you a short wave, before scribbling on his clipboard.

As if Dr. Banner knew this man, for the first time, he broke into informalities.

"What's with the get up?"

The man paused, cocking his head at Dr. Banner, before ultimately choosing not to respond to his comment.

"Bruce. Have you given your lovely patient a proper diagnosis?"

Dr. Banner came around to stand at the end of your chair, the other man joined him before speaking.

"Unfortunately I wasn't able to determine the source of your discomfort, Miss L/N, so I decided to ask a colleague for a second opinion. I believe you may have heard of him? His name is Dr. Stark. He runs this practice."

"Greetings, Miss L/N. I presume your exam went well?" He glanced knowingly at Dr. Banner before his crows feet scrunched up into his smile.

You nodded before Dr. Stark turned toward Dr. Banner.

"Dr. Banner, I suggest that we do some further examinations to ensure that your patient is no longer experiencing any pain or discomfort during orgasm. I recommend 30 minutes of heavy oral stimulus. Do you concur, Doctor?"

Dr. Banner faced toward you and for the first time, his demeanor shifted from one of utmost professionalism to one of lascivious mischief.

"Yes, I concur."

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon | Website

[concha-del-mar]

vanir if you’re so great just defeat the King yourself, or at least be good enough to be chosen 🙄

[layla4567]

Language of Love

Gn!Spanish speaker!reader x Thunderbolts*

Warnings: Spanish curse words

BOB REYNOLDS

💋 He loves you every time you speak Spanish, he just stares at you like he's seeing an angel, pure devotion and admiration

💋 Secretly he also wants to learn so he can start conversations with you, even though you also know English. Bob simply feels that it is a way to get to know you better and be closer to you.

💋 So he start reading articles in Spanish online, buy books in that language, and even take classes or courses online.

💋 He's a little shy when trying to talk to you in your language and when you ask him how much he's learned so far he sweetly just says "un poquito"

💋 You are more than happy to help him improve his language skills (although despite some language stumbles, he does quite well).

💋 You start sticking Post-it notes on objects throughout the tower, like the kitchen refrigerator or the bathroom sink, so he can learn more easily. Although more than one teammate has complained about getting a Post-it note stuck to his shoe.

JOHN WALKER

💋 Whenever he listens to you, he boasts that it's no big deal and that he could speak your language without any problems and even do it better.

💋 But the reality is that he is jealous that you know something that he doesn't.

💋 You decide to test him and give him a tongue twister to recite. He clearly does poorly at it, and while everyone laughs, he realizes your prank and walks away feeling humiliated.

💋 Arguments with him are always hilarious. You always say "Concha tu madre", or "Vete a la mierda" And he just stares at you, confused. And only when you're really angry do you practically start ranting in Spanish, forgetting that he can't understand you. When you stalk off, huffing and puffing, John asks the others, perplexed, "What did they just say?"

💋 You promised yourself that until he stopped having an ego as big as a house, you wouldn't deign to explain to him what the words you use from time to time mean. Finally, John gives in and agrees to let you teach him a word or two.

💋 In fact, it's helpful because he inadvertently starts copying your mannerisms, and every time he gets frustrated, he lets out a bad word in Spanish. Sometimes he pronounces them wrong, but at least he knows what it means.

AVA STARR

💋 At first she thinks you're doing it to show off, so she looks at you suspiciously or rolls her eyes.

💋 but she becomes interested in you when she realizes it's actually your native language (obviously she hides her curiosity or downplays it when inside she's dying to know more)

💋 Secretly she tries to repeat to herself the words she once heard you say, only the most beautiful ones that seemed to her, like "arcoiris" or "paisaje"

💋 Ava doesn't dare ask you to teach her how to pronounce them correctly, so she just convinces herself that she is pronouncing them correctly.

💋 Somehow you find out and since you know she will never ask you, you simply leave her a note in her room with several words and her way of pronouncing them.

💋 From that moment on, you two exchange notes or small letters in Spanish, either under the table or in each other's room without anyone knowing.

YELENA BELOVA

💋 She's not surprised that there's another bilingual person in the group or when you throw out random Spanish words; she and her father do it all the time with Russian.

💋 In fact, she finds it funny and even cute. She doesn't understand much of what you say, but thanks to the fact that she speaks two languages, her brain already intuits the phonemes and relates them to words she already knows, so she just guesses and often gets it right.

💋 You two agree to annoy Walker, out of nowhere you start having a small conversation in your native languages ​​and although neither of you know what you are saying, you are amused that John also has no clue.

💋 Eventually you both will teach each other phrases in the other's language and you even add Ava to the conversation teaching her what you know too, just to make fun of the US. Agent (and Ava is more than happy to) You love to see him get angry.

💋 But this is also useful when both have to work as spies since they need to speak in code and what better way to do it than in languages ​​that not many people speak?

💋 You two have the best insults, that's the tweet 🤝

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV

💋 He's excited the moment he hears you speak. He'll be all ears.

💋 He'll ask you a thousand questions, like where are you from? Where did you learn to say that? etc. He's like a kid with his favorite superhero.

💋 He wants, no, he NEEDS to learn your language. He constantly asks you to teach him at least one word.

💋 At first, he seems to learn quickly, but when you try to teach him long sentences, everything goes to hell. "I told you a thousand times, it's puedes pasarme la sal?. It's not that hard, geez."

💋 very protective of you, if someone makes fun of your accent he will defend you no matter what.

💋 Many times he's wanted to include a Spanish word when arguing with someone. "Yeah, and you are...! *turns to look at you* Wait, what did you say? Oh, yes, a mamahuevo!"

BUCKY BARNES

💋 Bucky surprisingly already knows Spanish so you can't tease him by saying some funny word because he'll just reply "Nice try, and watch your language"

💋 You caught him listening to Latin music several times.

💋 He never tries to speak Spanish unless it's in his job as a congressman, but when he's simply in the tower, he's content to listen to you speak.

💋 He is the type of person who will have a conversation with you, but you will speak Spanish and he will speak English, and yet he will understand you and answer you correctly in English.

💋 He's also secretly amused when you argue with Walker and insult him, it's as if you're doing what he'd like every time John goes too far, and when that happen, he smiles slightly.

💋 Although he speaks Spanish, isn't perfect either, when he says a word wrong or forgets one, you helped him and he thanks you. And like Alexei, Bucky is very protective of you; he's not afraid to hit someone if they made you feel bad.