#this is no ordinary time folks

[wilwheaton]

Yes, Trump is a former president. But, under the law, he is just an ordinary citizen at this point in time. Once the public fully realizes that the emperor has no clothes and that Trump is just a bombastic charlatan, then everything can turn against him very quickly. I don't know what the Republican Party is going to do if he implodes over the next few months, which is what I believe will likely happen. They don't have a plan B. The Republicans have put themselves in an untenable situation, politically and morally. They are in danger of becoming a permanent minority party for the next couple of decades, comprised of angry white folks seething in their own sense of victimhood.

"The alternate reality Trump lives in is crumbling" with first criminal trial: ex-federal prosecutor

[soberpluto]

Astrology Observations - Rising Signs & Planets

Cancer rising as a parent unintentionally will tend to impose their upbringing's rules and traditions unto their household, and if these are discarded or not followed, they can get pretty upset or offended (they won't tell you this, tough), because attempting to organize and structure the life of their loved ones is one of the strongest ways to show their tenderness and care. This is especially true in routines related to food and family time.

Saturn rising, particularly in Capricorn (and to a lesser degree in the other earth signs) gives amazing bone structure, pretty teeth and refined face shape (well-sculpted cheekbones). They are likely not ones who have experienced broken bones in their childhoods. Depending on the ASC sign, Saturn here may also cause short stature and a sturdy anatomy.

Gemini risings often possess appealing and vibrant gesticulations, beautiful and elongated hands, feet and limbs, a unique tone of voice and a ridiculously contagious smile or laughter. On the flipside (sorry to say this), many of them are very good liars and tricksters, as their high intellect quickly figures out what you want to hear and see in them.

A secret us Scorpio rising folks don't what you to know is that whenever we are interested in you, our eyes will give us away rather easily. We'll hardly confess our feelings until much later, if at all, but if you feel under a microscope in our presence (if you are subject of our involuntarily eerie and soul-piercing gaze), you should know we really like you. You might as well think we hate or despise you... but it's completely the opposite!

Leo risings have gorgeous thick and voluminous hair, usually on the wavy side. They love to buy nice things that draws attention to them, as they enjoy standing out of the crowd even if they are more on the reserved or introverted side of the spectrum. They really don't mind spending their money on costly clothes, makeup or jewelry if they think that makes them more beautiful, even if it actually damages their finances. They love to select and buy gifts too!

Jupiter rising can exaggerate your rising sign's ruling body parts. For example, in Cancer: large boobs or wide thorax / in Taurus: wide and sensuous lips / in Libra: beautiful face, amazing skin and voluminous butt, etc. Unfortunately, Jupiter rising folks can also get overweight super easily.

Mercury ruling risings (including Mercury 1st house and Venus in Gemini) usually make the native look younger than they really are. They also have something really noticeable about their walk... from clumsy to swift, all styles will differ, but they will move in ways that are out of the ordinary, for some reason.

Mars ruling risings NEED some sort of intense physical activity to be balanced, if not, they can literally go crazy due to all their bottled-up anger and restless energy. That's why many of them have a knack for the military, gym or sports, not only because they are good at them, but because this eases their stress in a way nothing else can. And yes, sex is included too.

Water risings, particularly Pisces (including Neptune and Moon in 1st house/conjunct ASC) have the most mesmerizing stare. It doesn’t matter their size or form, their gaze is otherworldly, ethereal, and somehow hypnotic. Water rising souls speak through their eyes, and I’m in love with that.

A Mars rising man can be mistaken for a f*ck boy much easier than other placements, especially if they have Air or Fire in 1st house. Women with this placement have huge sex appeal too, but they tend to attract a lot of envy and rivalry from other females, as their personality is perceived as confrontational and aggressive, even if they don’t act that way. This configuration gives good results when they work with men, but not so much with women.    

Thanks for reading! 😘

Written by @soberpluto

Book readings here! https://starintuitivehealing.etsy.com

#astrology #astrology community #astrology notes #astrology observations #birth chart #astro community #astrology signs #astro observations #mars rising #jupiter rising #water sign rising #water sign ascendant #mercury 1st house #mars 1st house #moon 1st house #cancer rising #scorpio rising #leo rising

[inbarfink]

Honestly, first time noticing the names in Simon's contact list I was just like 'haha cute references' and didn't pay it much mind. But looking at them again, and really thinking about them. The Implications here, like Most Things About Simon's Life Right Now, are pretty tragic....

Like, Abracadaniel and Lady Island and Gunter (and BMO if you take into consideration the comic's continuity) are not Simon Petrikov's friends, they were Ice King's friends.

You know, like, yeah, everyone except Marcy knew Ice King way way before they got to know Simon. But at least with folks like Finn, finding out about Simon is a huge reason why he started being kinder and friendlier to him. And Bubblegum probably is only fond of Simon know in spite of him being Ice King.

But Abracadaniel and Lady Island liked Ice King without having any frame-of-reference or concept of 'Simon Petrikov' in their heads. They were Ice King's friends.

And Simon's phone is pretty distinctly, like, a realistic early 2000's cellphone. A total contrast to all the magical/sci-fi/cobbled-together looking cellphones everyone else in Ooo uses

And Ice King himself, I'm pretty sure we've only ever seen him use either a normal-looking landline or the Bananaphone

Not this ordinary Nokia-looking flip-phone, definitely.

So I'm assuming this phone was maybe found buried somewhere in the Past Room, or maybe was unearthed while they were preparing for that '20th Century Man' exhibition and Simon also takes it along for personal use. But either way, Simon had to deliberately put those numbers of Friends of the Ice King in his contact list.

It might be something as simple as having transferred the data from some of Ice King's old communication devices and then just... despite it all Simon just doesn't have the heart to delete these names. The same way you or I might not have it in us to the delete the numbers of friends of ages past or increasingly-distant acquaintances or dead relatives.

Or maybe Simon did try and preserve their friendship at first. Or maybe the friends did. And obviously it didn't work out.

I mean, I can kinda see maybe Simon getting along fine with Lady Island because IK was relatively Grounded interacting with her so maybe the change to Simon won't be that much of a difference to her. ....But that can also create problems if she has a hard time seeing the difference between Simon Petrikov and Ice King, that would really make him uncomfortable.

But there really is zero chance Simon managed to keep things going normal with Abracadaniel. A Wizard who originally bonded with Ice King because he saw him as a cool Wizard. Not to mention Gunter is currently a living incarnation of the very Crown that cursed Simon in the first place and a manifestation of Gunter's love of Ice King

so... yeah, I think in Simon's current state any interaction he had with those two was unbearably awkward and just another thing that will make him miss being Ice King in a twisted way.

And yet... despite wanting so badly to define himself as distinctive and different from Ice King ("I didn't write those! Ice King wrote those!") and to not be reminded of him.... Simon still keeps all these people in his contact list.

#adventure time #atimers #adventure time spoilers #adventure time fionna and cake #fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake series #fionna and cake show #at spoilers #simon petrikov #adventure time simon #simon adventure time

[mysteriesmuse]

It all started with Katsuki being dead-asleep and sprawled out and snoring in a way that most people would deem horrendously uncomfortable, and obnoxiously pleasant. Like an overgrown cat.

He was dead to the world until his phone rang. Biceps twitching and flinging awake in the dark Katsuki’s dark red eyes cut across the grey light of his room to catch into the stark blue phone light that was buzzing like crazy. Hands accidentally fumbling as he grabbed it he squinted with a surprised, “fuck.” Why were you calling him? You were 2 years his senior and the resident babysitter/tutor of his neighborhood back in Musutafu. A smart student and pretty girl: one of the only babysitters his parents ever agreed to come watch him. Mostly because your death glare was one that could really rival his own mothers, but also bc Katsuki harbored a little bit of admiration and a crush on you for some time making him actually behave for you.

And as your name flashes across the screen pressed against his cheek he can only remember sitting at the kitchen counters and sharing orange slices as you quiz him for his practical exams. He hasn’t seen you in years. Your voice flits through same as ever, “Hey Katsuki!” He shuffles and sits up closer. His eyebrows peaked — you sound breathy and stressed. “Hey to you too,” he growls. Another whisky giggle, “I know it’s late. I’m really sorry about that! It’s just — well your mother always tells me to call you if I was ever alone at night and I couldn’t think of who else I trust to call. . .” His damn mother did have a habit of telling resident kids to call him in case they were in dangerous situations. A habit she always kept up since he was a kid; always making him walk with you and the other girls when school clubs let out. And now here he was a fledgling hero and Mitsuki was still telling extras to call him — I guess some things never change. Katsuki could hear the faint music of karaoke bars over the phone. Already getting out of bed and rummaging through his drawers for a pair of sweats and hoodie. “S’ okay. Where’re you at right now?” You huff a little sigh, “I’m out at the bar strip on the west side of the city . . . it’s a little chilly.” Katsuki already has his feet in his slides and is heading out his dorm room, “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” He huffs, “Now what’s the problem?” “I’m just a little nervous . . .” You admonish finally, “Could you just stay on the phone with me, please Katsuki? It’s really kinda sketchy out here.” He grunts, already stepping out the dormitory door and hitting the streets. “I can do that. How’ve ya been? It’s been awhile.” You huff a little laugh, “College is fine pretty mundane to what you’ve been doing. I’ve seen you on the tv and in the news a lot recently. I’m real proud of you Kit-Kat. Your folks are too.” Katsuki can feel his stupid heart leap at that nickname you gave him.

It’s because he used to give you kit-kats every year on white day — which wasn’t really out of the ordinary since you gave him chocolate on valentines, but you gave chocolates to all the neighborhood kids anyways. And despite his parents teasing and his agony you never seemed to think much of it, ruffled his hair and gave him a cute nickname.

He chest swells with pride nonetheless. A particular school event was coming up and he finds himself mentioning it as he spots your form sitting under the bus stop and shouts into the night instead of the phone. “I’ve got my year-three performance showcase coming up next week. If you wanna come watch I can definitely get you tickets next to my folks.” Your eyes go wide and flit over to his figure in the darkness. And the first thing Katsuki can’t help but think is that you look pretty.

Your arms are crossed over your chest and the black corset top you’re wearing. It makes your waist and broad shoulders pop. And as he gets closers he can see that it’s got the lace closures down the sides with cute little bows that you’ve tied. A pair of cream colored trousers and tall peep-toe heels underneath as you rise to greet him. Phone slack in your hand as you stare at him. The black straps of your top dangling over your smooth collarbone as you inhale, “Kats what are you doing here?” Your head of curled hair — he’s never seen you with curled hair before — tilts like a puppy dog. He shrugs hands in his pockets, “Coulda asked you the same.” He says pointedly, you curl in and flush with embarrassment, “How much have you had?” “Only a few. I’m still sober.” You reply with a shiver as you fall into step beside him, “Not as fun as I thought it was gonna be. My friends are still inside.” At this Katsuki feels himself relax he didn’t think this was really your seen anyway. Especially with those friends he knows you’re referring to: the older kids of the neighborhood. “Yeah the rest of them are real pieces of work, babe.” Babe. Did he just call you babe? Dunce face is rubbing off on him. You notice, glancing to look up at him, but he watches you shake your head a little and dismiss it as quickly. “So what’s this showcase that you mentioned Kit-Kat?” He huffs, taking the side closest to the street, “It’s a promotional showcase for 3rd years. Show the pros what we can do, explain our personal philosophy, our ambitions. It’s like a really big resume preview. It’s real important for getting yourself out there to the agencies although I already have good ties to some.” You nod, bumping elbows with him as you dodge a streetlight, “seems really important,” you muse. “I’d love to come if it’s no trouble?” Katsuki’s eyes are glued into your glossy lips while you say that, turning away with the tips of his ears pink as he grunts, “S’ no problem at all. I can get ya’ one tomorrow.” You hum thoughtfully, “it’ll be nice to see you in action up close. I’ve watched your sports festival showings before — it makes me want s’mores.” at this you giggle and lock eyes with him, “I let you do that one time.” Katsuki groans rolling his eyes. “Still the best ones I ever had!” He chuckles nudging you with his shoulder. You beam ear-to-ear and his heart pitters as you loop an arm through his to steady yourself, “I can’t believe we’re both so grown-up now.” And here you go turning sappy on him.

“You know Suki’ I know you’re gonna be a great hero because you’ve always done stuff like this for me. No matter how often others tell you different, you send them to me okay?” And you’re sniffling now, still shivering against his side as you prepare to fight off all the haters he has. He’s matured a lot since his debut, but they don’t say make a good-first impression for nothing. He glances at you intelligent, well-educated, passionate as you are you weren’t gonna put up much of a fight — he still appreciates the sentiment. He grumbles a “thank you” into your hair as he walks you home in the dead of night.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #bakugou headcanons #mha fanfiction #reader insert #mysteriesmusing #Totally random one today y’all I got off work sooo early this morning and wrote this #just a little blurb #I wouldn’t expect anymore of this idea

[probablyasocialecologist]

Traditionally, the image of a figleaf was used by artists to cover the body parts (think Adam and Eve) that they were not supposed to show in their paintings. As I use the term, a figleaf is a communicative device that provides just a bit of cover for something that one isn’t supposed to show in public – like racism. To see how this works, let’s first take a closer look at Trump’s call for a Muslim ban. Here is a statement, cast in the third person, that he read aloud in December 2015: Donald J Trump is calling for a total and complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States until our country’s representatives can figure out what the hell is going on. The anti-Muslim message is loud and clear, and not hidden at all. But the end of the statement is the bit that I want to focus on: ‘until our country’s representatives can figure out what the hell is going on’. For some people, this phrase provided reassurance that Trump isn’t racist – because a real racist would want to ban Muslims period, not just while we figure out what’s going on. This is a figleaf: it provides just enough cover for the racism that isn’t acceptable to show in public. One reason that figleaves like this work is that many white people accept what the sociolinguist Jane Hill called ‘the folk theory of racism’. This view sets a very high bar for what counts as racist: a racist has to consciously believe in the biological inferiority of people of colour, and intend to be racist. Somebody like this would want to ban Muslims forever, not just temporarily. Similarly, they wouldn’t suggest that ‘some’ Mexican immigrants are good people, as Trump did. Nor would they have a Black friend, or declare themself to be non-racist, this line of thinking goes. A view such as this one makes it very easy for utterances to serve as figleaves for racism. These figleaves allow a voter to continue supporting a candidate who has made a comment that might have worried them. They don’t need to become fully convinced that the candidate is non-racist; it’s enough in many cases to be uncertain about whether the utterance indicates racism. When I examined discussions among Trump supporters online, I found people who worried about Trump’s views on Mexicans being reassured by those who pointed out that he also said some of them are good. ‘I didn’t hear him say anything racist against any race,’ one person posted. ‘What I did hear him say is, “Illegal Mexicans bring drugs, crime, and are rapists, but I’m sure some are good people.” Seriously, whats racist about that?’ Another Tweeted: ‘Trump is not racist … Trump is not against all mexicans just the illegals.’ Another classic form of figleaf involves reporting the words of others, either specifically (‘John Smith says…’) or in a vague, handwavy way (‘Lots of people are saying…’) This is a great way to avoid responsibility for what one is inserting into the discourse. We see this technique in the British politician Enoch Powell’s infamous ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech in 1968, in which he described a constituent (a ‘quite ordinary working man’) as saying: ‘In this country in 15 or 20 years’ time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man.’ Reports like these help to normalise the sentiments expressed, while distancing the speaker from them. Figleaves are not for everyone. Some people don’t need them: fully committed racists are happy with blatantly racist comments, no figleaves required. Many people won’t be convinced by them: antiracist activists, for example, will see right through the attempted reassurance. For others, though, they provide just what is needed – a licence to go on supporting the person they feel drawn to.

#racism #politics

[openconceptpanicroom]

IMAGINE BEING AN: American student at JJK

2006!Geto x fem!reader

2006!Gojo x fem!reader

Summary: Your first few months as an American at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Shoko is the best.

Note: fluff, hints of pining, flirting, culture clash antics.

Coming in as the new girl is never easy. Especially not when you’re in a completely different country with different social norms and rules.

Sure, your Japanese was passable, but you weren’t conversational yet. And there were so many rules to follow when speaking to someone. It was enough to make you mute for the first two weeks of school. Sometimes guys would approach you and you would get excited, thinking they were flirting with you… only to find out they wanted you to tutor them in English. Other students were nice enough to only talk about you behind your back. American bullies are way more straightforward. It was sorta refreshing to just be politely shunned as opposed to being loudly excluded like you were used to.

The first person to be nice to you was Ieiri Shoko. She was laidback, knew a surprising amount of English, and could see you needed a friend. She taught you better phrases to use in conversation, “So you won’t sound like a freakin’ textbook,” she’d say. You started hanging out with her outside of class too. Shoko knew good places to eat and spots in Tokyo that weren’t terribly crowded. The only problem(s) were those two guys she had hanging around her all the time.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Those two were the superstars of the school. Two students who were guaranteed to be the strongest sorcerers alive once they graduated. Everyone adored them, except for a few sensible people. You would ask about them sometimes. Mainly things like: “Are they like, always like that?” or “How do you stay sane around them!?”

Geto was polite. You could say that much. Other than that, you found him very intimidating. This tall, lanky young sorcerer with piercing dark eyes and that mocking smirk. He had some, uh, interesting thoughts about America. Nothing you hadn’t heard before. Americans were lazy, arrogant, thought the world revolved around them. What irked you was when he said that American sorcerers “mix too much,” with ordinary folk. The day you caught him staring at you, you left class to “go to the bathroom,” and just didn’t come back. It took a long chat with Shoko to be convinced he wasn’t going to corner you in an alley and kill you. Geto would speak to you only in Japanese, and he would speak slowly. Like you were an idiot. The nicest thing he had said to you in those early days was a bit conceited. He’d complimented you by saying, “I’ve heard of your family. They’re a modest bloodline, I wouldn’t have assumed you came from them… they must be proud of you.”

Gojo was the most irritating. Surprisingly loud and cocky, totally unlike most of the boys you had met so far. And, unlike most boys, he would not stop pestering you about American pop-culture. He knew absolutely no English, except for dated quotes or catchphrases from movies. Sometimes he would shout your name just so he could say something corny like, “Stay golden, Ponyboy.” You were certain he was making fun of you. And, like Geto, you were very intimidated by the most powerful student in school.

He also had no concept of personal space and had made it his mission to get you to talk. Which meant a lot of him popping up out of nowhere and slinging an arm around you. There were a lot of jealous girls that assumed you were dating. All he wanted was to have bragging rights that he got you to talk. Needless to say, Gojo was devastated when he found out Shoko was talking to you outside of class. It had been a nice day, Shoko was going to meet up with you at a park to get sorbet and chat. Then Gojo found her.

“She talks to you? To you?!” Birds took off to the skies. An elderly woman shot him a dirty look, dropping her handful of birdseed before hobbling away.

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette, “Yup.”

Gojo flopped down onto the seat next her. She hoped he wouldn’t be too obnoxious, this was a public park “But I was supposed to be the one to break down her walls!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so pushy, she would talk to you,” she deadpanned.

They continued to bicker, with Gojo insisting he had been nothing but an excellent ambassador of good will and Shoko calling him an idiot. You had showed up to hang out with Shoko, only to freeze when you saw Gojo. Just as you tried to sneak off, you bumped into Geto. This casual hangout with Shoko had turned into a foursome and neither boy was letting you weasel out of it.

Thankfully, Shoko kept you calm enough to have a good time.

With how sheltered Gojo had been, there were aspects of his own culture that were novel to him. There were lots of movies and tv shows that were new to you both. Not to mention junk food. Gojo needed Shoko to help him translate certain things, but he was actually a fun guy. He kept you laughing most of the time. If only he would stop hugging you from behind like he was your boyfriend. Geto was quiet, trying to absorb the sound of your voice. Listening to how you pronounced words in English and Japanese. He would never say it out loud, but he found your interest in the temples and folklore to be cute. He did join Gojo in teasing you. Both boys tried to get you to call them by their first name. Insisting “No, no! It’s fine! No need to be formal. We’re all friends now, right?”

You took a swig of yuzu flavored cream soda and said in Japanese, “I know what first names mean here. We aren’t close enough for that, people at school would think we’re dating.” With a pout you added in English, “And no hot guy is worth getting torn to shreds by a jealous fan club.”

Geto only leaned down to you, smirking as he said, (in English) “Then you can call me Suguru… in private.”

You gagged on your drink. This was how you found out Geto Suguru knew five different languages fluently. Gojo begged Geto and Shoko to translate what was said. You just focused on calming down. What a lovely start to an awkward friendship.

#jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

Do you do ABO fics?

I Just Want What’s Mine*

warnings: smut, dirty talk, thigh riding, degradation, exhibitionism, abo dynamics, unprotected sex, oral(m receiving)

masterist | harry styles masterlist

a/n: i do, yes. and i thought i added this to my masterlist but it’s been sitting in my google docs since i remade my acc LOL

~

YN lets out a pained cough as she breathes in the hot, sticky atmosphere of the crowded living room that her and her boyfriend have just entered. The smell of weed and alcohol hits the back of her throat with the first inhale the second her foot crosses the threshold. She can feel her boyfriend’s warm hand on her waist as he keeps her close to him, guiding the two of them through the disarray of bodies that fill the decently sized room. Looking around, YN can see all heads turn to eye them for a split second before flitting away, whispering to the people around them. Soon enough, the house is quiet save for the sound of “Young Folks” by Peter Bjorn and John.

A slight grimace decorates her face, and a dimpled smile adorns his as they get deeper into the house. Harry’s used to this atmosphere, and YN is the exact opposite. She never went to parties unless it was for family, and the only time she drank is when she was alone or with just her and Harry. The pair makes their way over to the couch that is overflowing with bodies, some people on the cushions and others resting on the back. With one look at Harry, they get the message loud and clear just from the look in his eyes. Instantly, group dissipates to give the couple room to sit comfortably. YN is both equally impressed and scared, wondering what Harry did to gain the kind of reputation he has with his pack members. With just a single look, Harry managed to assert his dominance, no words spoken.

Harry gives all of them one last intense stare before he turns to YN and gives her a bright, dimpled smile, motioning to the now empty couch for her to take a seat. She smiles in thanks and sits down, placing her handbag on her lap as he sits as well, throwing his arm onto the back of the couch, resting behind her head. The two sit there for a while as various people come by and say hello, introducing themselves to YN and greeting their pack leader, making sure they don’t get to close to his lover. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of any of them, watching each individual like a hawk. A deep growl is bubbling in his chest when Jacob, one of the inferior alphas in the pack, gets a bit too close to her, a threatening glint in his eyes as he broadens his shoulders and prepares to attack. Luckily, the man steps away in fear, and YN takes the opportunity to rub at Harry’s hand, calming him down.

The defensive man finally relaxes into the couch at her touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips. They sit and relax there for a while, watching the party happen and having their own little conversations. About ten minutes in, one of Harry’s men ends up bringing them two red solo cups filled with clear alcohol, and Harry makes sure to check it for anything out of the ordinary despite his trust for the other man. When he smells nothing but alcohol in their cups, he passes one to YN for her to sip on as they continue to talk. Sometime when they were talking, Harry had placed his free, ringed hand on YN’s thigh without her noticing, and it was gradually going further and further under her skirt throughout the conversation. YN only notices his intent when he reaches her inner thigh, very close to her vagina. She relaxes into the couch as she realizes that Harry is falling right into her trap. When his hand finally grazes the place where her thighs meet, he realizes that there is no barrier between his hand and her skin.

“Where the fuck are your panties?” he grits out, leaning over to speak directly into her ear, eyes darting up to her face. He immediately takes in the smug smile on her face, realizing this was her plan all along. “Oh, I see,” he hums. “You wanted to get punished tonight, hm?” he whispers against the shell of her ear before biting down gently, continuing. “I don’t think you’d like my punishments tonight, though,” he muses, satisfied with the way her body tenses up at the plural term. The party is awfully quiet, each wolf straining their ears to hear what the couple is speaking about. Some faces are red, eyes on their shoes, while others are listening shamelessly, stopping their actions to hear.

“Do you know who you’re fucking with? Or should I remind you? Think m’gonna. Right here in front of everyone,” he spits, trailing his right hand up her thigh once more. A smirk forms on his face as he sees her right hand that is holding her beverage start to shake slightly, nerves entering her body at his words. “Spread y’legs a bit” he murmurs, and she does so immediately, giving him access to her wet center.

His fingers instantly take purchase on her throbbing clit, a small mewl leaving her parted lips as he rubs directly over the head. Warm Wetness is dripping from her vagina and into her skirt, her hips bucking up into his hand. The second he picks up speed, she moans under her breath, the feeling making her entire body tingle. He keeps his fingers on her clit, not stopping his ministrations as her orgasm builds rather quickly. Just as she gets close to the edge, her legs shaking slightly around his hand, he pulls his fingers away and laughs darkly as he hears her cry out in frustration before turning and burying her face into his shoulder.

The two of them know that every single person in the room can smell her arousal, can hear her sounds of pleasure, but are trying their hardest to ignore it. They all know that if they even look at YN the wrong way, Harry won’t hesitate to end their lives. The rest of the partygoers continue dancing to the music awkwardly, talking and drinking as they try their hardest to ignore the situation happening in the dead center of the party. Tears of frustration are welling in her eyes, her orgasm quickly fading away. Harry, not being able to let her be, decides to tease her a bit.

“Need me to fuck you, hm? Just say the word and I’ll end this party right now so I can fuck you real good. How does that sound, Puppy?” he asks, stroking up and down her thigh with his wet hand. Despite the fact that it isn’t his home, he obviously has the power to end it just for her, and that has her cunt clenching around nothing as she nods furiously into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he coos, a condescending undertone to his words. YN nods again, this time with a whimper, making him smile in victory. “That’s cute and all, but I need your words, baby,” he warns, a thick whine bubbling in her throat when he doesn’t immediately give in.

She pulls away for just a moment to speak into his ear, her voice desperate and breathy. “Please, Alpha. Need it so bad,” she whines, burying her face into his shoulder once more. He chuckles at her desperation, his cock leaking even more at the compelling smell of her thick arousal in the air. It makes the small room feel even more compact, and he’s instantly growling out his command for everyone to leave, every single alpha, beta, and omega leaving the house in a hurry, wanting their lives to be spared.

Once the room is empty save for the two of them, Harry lifts her skirt and pulls her over to straddle his thigh, pressing her bare cunt against the thick muscle. She gasps as she feels the rough material of his pants against her clit. He barely gives her time to adjust before he’s placing both hands on her hips, helping to move her sopping cunt along his thigh. She nearly falls over at the feeling in her sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving her lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he coos, YN nodding quickly as he works her along the thick muscle. “Look at that. Y’just soaking my pants, sweet girl. ” he teases, and she doesn’t even have the energy to make a rebuttal, letting him help her cum. Moans are leaving her lips as another orgasm builds, and she can only let it happen, hoping he’ll let her cum this time.

“Gonna cum,” she whispers, her breath catching in her throat as he cunt literally quivers against his thigh, and he’s immediately holding her onto him firmly, stopping her movements. She’s instantly tearing up again, falling into his chest and babbling wordlessly as her orgasm fades away once more. Harry removes a hand from her hip and places it onto her back, rubbing up and down gently as he knows he’s being really mean.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks her, hearing her whine. “Use y’words, Puppy. Can’t understand what you need when you’re all dumb for me. Haven’t even given you m’cock yet and you can’t even use your words. Do I really have that effect on you?” he teases, watching her get all shy and embarrassed. “No need to be ashamed, Lovie. Just tell me what y’need, pup,” he tuts, grabbing her chin gently to coax her into making eye contact with him.

“Need you deep inside me, please. Need to feel you, for you to make me cum. I’ll be such a good girl for you I swear,” she whines, nuzzling into his grip. He hums in satisfaction, looking into her glossy eyes, sensing how bad she needs it. He needs it too, so he decides to put the both of them out of their misery.

“Alright, baby. Ass up” he says, landing one last smack on her sore ass cheek to get her going. She’s instantaneously scrambling to prop up onto the back of the couch, Harry kneels in order to slide behind her. “Ready for me?” he asks, gripping the base of his thick cock, preparing her for him.

She nods and lets out a whimper as she feels his weepy tip swipe through her swollen folds, mewling for him to get into her. He decides to end her suffering, sliding in her tight opening inch by inch, her walls stretching to accommodate him. The both of them groan out into the thick air of the room, and a slight squelching can be heard as he slides into her, bottoming out. Her eyes flutter closed as she feels every vein on his cock against her velvety walls, the slight sting of him stretching her out making her whimper.

Harry stays that way for a while, his hips flush to hers as he relishes in the feeling of her warm, wet walls around his shaft. She feels so fucking good he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before he’s exploding into her. The second he feels like he won’t explode with one thrust, he pulls out until his tip is resting at her entrance before pushing all the way back into her, sliding against her g-spot. She’s moaning into the arm of the couch, tears building in her eyes as she takes in every ounce of pleasure he’s giving her.

“How’s it feeling, Puppy?” he asks over her whines, a smile on his face when she physically can’t answer. “Is that deep enough for you? Feel me deep in y’tummy?” he coos, his cock twitching when she nods and presses her ass against his hips. “So fucking good around me, baby” he moans, still fucking her slow and deep.

He pulls out once more before slamming into her harder, a surprised yelp leaving her lips at the change. “Fuck!” she exclaims against the fabric, her hands fisting the cushions. She’s nearly ripping the cushions with her nails, gripping onto them tightly as he drills into her perfectly. Harry is literally so deep inside her, filling her to the brim as he stuffs every inch of his cock inside with each thrust. She’s so full of him she can barely breathe, gasping for air with each and every plunge. He can feel her starting to clench already, her past orgasms coming back at full speed.

“Y’gonna cum, m’love? Hm? Gonna soak m’cock before I let you rest?” he pants, rubbing up and down her back as her entire body locks up, her orgasm moments away. She nods into the cushions once more, biting down on the fabric as she holds back until she has permission. “Okay, Puppy. Cum for me, cum for your alpha like a good little pup” he coos, and no more than five seconds later, she’s cumming all over his cock with a shout, a thick layer of cream covering the base of him.

He doesn’t stop fucking her, riding out her orgasm. With each thrust, he feels more and more of her cream coat him, leaving his lower belly sticky with her orgasm. He fucks her until her body goes limp against the couch before pulling out slowly and making his way around to where her head is, her body twitching with the aftershocks. He rubs a hand over her head, watching her relax into it.

“Can you go again or should I just clean y’up?” he rasps, despite his throbbing cock still needing stimulation. She says nothing, propping herself up and leaning forward to take his cock into her mouth, suckling on the red, weepy head of it. A groan is bubbling from deep in his chest and he’s trying to refrain from bucking into her mouth. He’s instantly sent over the edge when YN takes all of him into her mouth and down into her throat, his head thrown back and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. She sucks him dry, cleaning every last drop of cum from his cock as his legs shake in overstimulation.

Whining, he pulls away from her and makes eye contact. “You didn’t have to do that, baby” he pants. “Was just gonna clean you up” he says, rubbing over her head gently. She just shakes her head, a yawn leaving her lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I know. Just get over here and cuddle me. M’tired,” she whispers, reaching up to pull him toward her. He chuckles at his perfect girlfriend, lying down on the couch before flattening her onto him, wrapping his arms around her. The two fall asleep within a few minutes, right there in the center of the room.

#harryistheonlyoneforme #harry styles fic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles filth #harry related writings #dbf harry styles #dbf harry #smut #abo #a/b/o universe #a/b/o fic #a/b/o au #a/b/o #a/b/o verse #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o smut #werewolfrry #werewolfrry smut #werewolf harry smut #werewolf harry #werewolf harry styles #new post #new fic

[thefandomdirtymind]

Please a OPLA Sanji x fem shyreader magic user? The crew caught them making out ☺️☺️

A/N IMPORTANT:  Hello Anon ! Thank you for your request, I admit it gave me some kind of problem since I'm the exact opposite of shy, but I had fun trying to wonder how it look like and how Sanji would succeed to make himself understand without scaring the reader. I hope you will like it !

The Magic of a Kiss

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering - NSFW The Small Favor - SFW The Mermaid Dream

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

—

From as far as you could remember, you're always been able to make the object around you levited . A power who had created a lot of fun games and yes, a few childish misfits. But, it was your family heritage and you couldn’t be more proud to have inherited it. 

Based in a small village near the water, populated mostly by other magical folks, your family had a small shop you never truly learned to love. Your interest was more in the water and the many ships sailing on it. It's why one day, after a heated argument about your lack of implication in the family business, you decide to leave for the city.  

Shy by nature, you weren't the kind to show off, even if as a magic user, your power would have opened many doors ordinary people couldn’t even dream of reaching. But, after a few disastrous interactions, when even meeting the gaze of the Captain was above your force. You finally meet Luffy and his straw hat crew. 

Their warm approach toward you and your power made you quickly feel more comfortable. But, as they tried to get to know you more, you could stop yourself from feeling nervous to open up and bore them. You usually end up silently smiling,fidgeting your fingers, listening to their fantastique adventure and executing the heavy duty since gravity isn't a problem for you. As the time passes, they all accept your shyness, still including you in their conversation and other activities. 

Sanji was by far your favorite member of the crew, to not say you had a pretty hard crush on him. Things who’s even more complicated the task to answer him as he asks you the simplest question or tries to make you happy by cooking your favorite dishes. Of course, the blond chef would never make fun of your betterave red cheeks and often stutter, but he couldn’t help himself to flirt with you. He never had seen something more cute than your reaction as you enjoy his food and he had to admit that nothing makes him more proud than the way you look at him when you thought nobody saw you. 

It’s why one evening, as you were helping Usopp to repair the mainmast, effortlessly sending him the multiple parts of wood he needed. Sanji took place at your side, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly.

“ It amazes me each time watching you use your talent Madam“ He confessed, watching absently the plank of wood gaining altitude. “ Isn’t it exhausting to keep control of the object ?” 

“ No…I just think of it and…then they float…” You replied, already feeling the tips of your ears warming.You would for nothing share with anyone, the humiliated time it takes you to learn how to push them in the right direction and stop before reaching your face.  

“ Oh, so you have to think at every separated item to make them fly…But what happens if you aren’t in a situation to think, like say overwhelmed ? “ His tone, serious, but clearly flirting. Even if you could feel a trap, you couldn’t think of a single time when you could become so self absorbed that you couldn’t even think. “ Like let's say we kiss, will all the objects of the room start to levitate or just our heart ? “ 

The loud “ BAM “ of the plank slamming against the lower desk makes you jump, you face bright red. Up in the air, Usopp asked what happened, worried that something had occurred to you. It push as well Zoro and Nami out of the own preoccupation, concern if it was a normal noise of a sign of a near danger.With the warrant on Luffy head, your Captain who’s right now was snoring somewhere, they didn’t take any  chance.  

“ Sanji ! Don’t tease me like that…please ! “ You plead, your gaze fixed on the floor, embarrassment clearly making you want to disappear on the floor.  

“ I’m not teasing, I’m truly curious to know…We should try one day” He proposed, a smile playing on his lips as he finished his smoke before heading back to the kitchen “ I make your favorite breakfast tomorrow don’t miss it please”

That conversation spined in your head for at least a few weeks before you accept the meaning of it. Sanji had in his smooth way, confessed his affection for you and waited for you to be ready to do the same. Meantime, he didn’t push you further more, dosing his usual flirt and neither talked about it in front of the others, knowing clearly how you would be mortified. 

Until that day. 

The crew had stopped the ship alongside an island reminding you of pictures of jungle you often saw in exploration books. Each taking a different path to explore the village and his surrendering, you quickly become bored and decide to come back to the ship, certain that you were alone aboard. 

It was why the sound of metal brushing against what seemed to be the same component took you by surprise. Making your way to the kitchen, you discover Sanji, already busy cracking eggs in a bowl. Lifting his head, he smiled as he discarded the empty shell. 

“ Already back ? Are you hungry? I am planning to make an omelet for dinner, but i’m not sure if the other will be back so I will make small ones. “ 

Nodding slowly, watching nervously around you, you decided that if you had to respond to his previous invitation it was now or never. 

“ Sanji I…I...You remember that…you know that conversation...about...my talent and...Kiss…” You succeed to say, your hand sweating against your pants.

“ Yes, I remember” He replied, careful to not scare you away.

“ I would like to try…” You finally quickly confessed, your whole body burning like if you had a fever.

Washing his hand with the rag hanging on his shoulder, Sanji gently smiles contouring the kitchen island to place himself in front of you. Putting delicately your chin between his thumbs and his index, he lowered his head trying to meet your evasive gaze. 

“ I would like to see your pretty eyes Madam before kissing you “ He demanded, as you nervously turned your gaze to meet him. “ Much better” He smiled. 

His lips meet yours with tenderness, as his other hand makes himself a home on your hip. Slowly, you closed your eyes, making yourself melt in the multiples sensation of his soft mouth against yours, followed after a certain time by the teasing of his teeth nibbling your bottom lips. Your tongue quickly follows his invitation, brushing against each other, as you hand find their way to his broad shoulder. 

Inclining your head slightly higher to accommodate your difference of height, you instantly reach again for his lips, not wanting to let him go yet. 

Lost in the moment, you didn’t hear the rest of the crew come back, dinner being an abstract place in time way ahead of the feeling of Sanji against you. 

“ WOAH Y/N you can make people levitate now, that’s so cool ! “ You heard Luffy exclaim as Nami, knowing how embarrassed you should be, tried to drag him out. 

Feeling the floor meet your feet, as the cacophony of gravity regain his control of every none fixed item in the room, you promptly separated yourself of Sanji, who’s for once, was as much blushing as you do. 

“ I guess that means dinner isn't ready, “ Zoro said, unmoved by what he just saw, already taking his place at the table alongside Luffy. 

“ Guys we should maybe go eat somewhere else “ Nami tried, eyeing you hoping that it wouldn't push you to close up yourself more. 

“ No need Nami,  dinner almost ready just, give me just a minute “ Sanji protest regaining his composure before clearing his throat, whispering gently to you “ Now since we know that you make float everything around you and everyone you kiss…please Darling, let me be the only one to fly with you” 

Blushing even more, you couldn't resist laughing in front of the embarrassing but joyful event.

“ I swear “ You promised, already excited for the next time.

#opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece netflix #opla #opla sanji #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #Request #Sanji Request

[that-house]

We only live like 80 years. 100, if we’re lucky. Whatever. That’s not that much time. Certainly not enough time to justify wasting even a single second of your one and only certain life. So why do people bother with manners?

An ordinary idiot, a sort of cosmic mark if you will, buys into the scam of burying what they actually want in layers of pleasantries. These poor, misguided fools will enter a social situation with a clear goal in mind and then waste time saying “how are you today?”

By shaving off the greeting, you can buy yourself as much of a year of extra life if you’re a particularly gregarious and social person. I’m not, and I was an asshole who didn’t bother saying hi to people before I had this revelation so I’m not really saving any time with this trick.

Where the real benefits come out to play is in avoiding any of that “please” bullshit. You see, some people will expect you to negotiate with them, to not just outright say what you want, to couch your language in a million worthless platitudes.

You folks in the service industry have it almost figured out. I need to get on with my busy day and you need to stand here for eight hours wondering if the next customer will be the one to drive you into a killing frenzy.

There’s no point in us having any back-and-forth, no worth in repartee. Sometimes we can even conduct our business in mutual silence, save for when you have to offer me your mandatory spiel on the benefits of a membership card. Now that’s what I call efficiency!

But really, if you could stop crying and empty your register into the bag that would be great. You’re holding up the line.

[vivian-pascal]

When you call my name, I won't answer

stranger!joel x f!reader

summary: After a series of downfalls in your life, you meet a very mysterious man at a bar one night, you two seem to get along just fine.

warnings: piv (wrap it up) dirty talk joel, oral f!receiving, kissing, sexual tension, aftercare, fluff

authors note: hi folks! this is the 100 followers special, it's pretty short but i hope you enjoy it! i can't thank you all enough, this means a whole lot to me!

On a cool, winters eve, you were sat at a bar drinking your usual cocktail. This is how you spent most nights, drinking, sleeping, drinking, sleeping and repeat. You'd been off the hook for a couple of months now and couldn't register what else to do with your life.

Your family abandoned you, you got fired from the only job you had, your three months past rent and can't afford to pay it, so what else is there than to drink all your worries away?

You've gone to this bar for many weeks. Even getting acquainted with the workers. They've considered you as a usual person here and even made the drink you first ordered a special on the menu.

You ordered your usual drink and sat in the same spot you always do. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but you did sense someone's eyes on you. When you looked to your right, you saw some older folks sitting down in a booth, they surely weren't looking at you. When you look to your left however, there is an older man sat on a bar stool just a couple down from yours.

He had broad shoulders, salt and pepper hair, soft gruff growing around his face. His big, veiny hand held onto what you assumed was a glass of whiskey. He looked back at you and you quickly turned your head as to not seem you were staring.

The older man turns to you, his eyes clouded in thought. "You remind me of someone." You turn your head and look his way. "Oh yeah, and who might that be?" You quirk an eyebrow as you take another sip of your drink.

He slowly takes a deep breath in and picks up his glass. "Oh you know, just someone in a past life." He smirks at you and nods to the bartender to refill his drink.

You decide to inspect him more. He has a rugged and weathered appearance, his face is lined with only a certain amount of wrinkles, each telling a story of their own. His hair speckled gray, you could see he was quite strong with the way his shoulders were, broad and firm. There was a sense of mystery with this man, like there's something he isn't sharing yet.

His hands are rough and calloused from years of hard work. His voice a deep and resonant with a gravelly quality that adds to his charm and charisma. He wore a faded flannel with jeans, you could tell he was a simple man, adorned to his own sense of fashion.

When he turned back to look at you, he could tell you were checking him out. "What's your name?" You bring your eyes up to his and told him. He smiles at the sweet sound and repeats your name off his tongue. "That's a lovely name darlin'." You smile shyly and pull a hair behind your ear and ask him his. "M'names Joel."

You nod your head and begin to look around. You notice that he moved his stool closer to yours and you begin to squeeze your thighs together.

You both talk for a while, about work, past lovers, how you got fired. You like taking with Joel. He has this easiness that would allow you to say whatever you wanted and he would just listen. He would respond perfectly and laugh at your sarcastic jokes. He was an easy going man, and you were feral for him.

Time had past and you could feel the tension growing. Sometimes he would put his hand on your thighs or get very close to your face, like he wanted to kiss you.

"My daughter Sarah is comin home soon." He brings his glass to his lips and takes a drink. "Oh that's nice! Where is she now?" He puts his glass down and twirls his finger along the rim. "She's in college down south, been studyin abroad, wantin to become something in the medical field." You bring your purse up from your side and set it on the counter in front of you. "That's great, you must be very proud of her Joel." His face pulls into a sweet smile as he thinks of his little girl.

You open your purse and pull out your wallet. His hand quickly joins yours and you look him in the eyes. "That's fine, i'll pay." He smiles as he reaches for his leather wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. "Oh no, really, it's fine, i can pay." You call the bartender over and as your about to pay you get interrupted.

Joel manages to grab the bartender's attention first and hands him his card. He tells his to pay for your tab too and adds an extra tip. "You really didn't have to do that you know." He sits back on his stool as he downs the rest of his drink. "No, I didn't, but i did." He smirks as you roll your eyes.

The bartender returns with Joel's card and he puts it back in his wallet. You both stand up and begin to walk to the exit.

"You gotta ride?" He looks down at you and you shake your head no. "I walked here." He pauses and looks ahead. "You walked here all by yourself?" His southern drawl picks up more and you shiver at his voice. You nod your head as you near the parking lot. "Well I could give ya a ride, I ain't gonna let you walk back home alone now, who knows what happens to pretty girls like you around this hour." Your heart flutters at the thought that he called you pretty.

He gets to his truck and opens the passenger side door. "Hop in." You smile as you slowly climb into the truck. He shuts your door and walks back around to his side. He jumps in and starts the engine.

"Thank you Joel, this means a lot." He smiles softly and brings his hand to your face. His thumb strokes your cheek and rests his palm there.

"It's okay sweetheart, no need to worry. M'just helpin a doll out." He gives you a sly look as you close your thighs together and blush. A few minutes into the drive, you could feel the tension growing. His hand was resting on your thigh and would occasionally rise up to your waist.

"Oh, I didn't tell you my address sorry, it's-" He cuts you off with a pat on your leg. "That's alright darlin, we're goin to my place, if that's okay with you." You stare at him for a bit before nodding.

Once you two pull into his driveway, he parks the car and exits his vehicle. He goes around to your side and opens the door. You give him a quick smile as he takes your hand and helps you out.

You both walk up to the door and he pulls out his keys. When he opens it, your instantly pushed up against the back of the door as it closes. His lips crash onto yours and you moan at the kiss.

"I've been waitin to do this all night baby." He begins to pick you up and carry you upstairs. He throws you down onto the bed and you giggle at the fall.

He crawls up your body and up to your face. "How bout we loose the clothing yeah?" You nod your head as you frantically begin ripping off your shirt. His eyes immediately go to your breasts. Your bra isn't the best fit and they could easily fall out.

He reaches behind you and unclasps it. He groans at the sight of your bare breasts. He removes his shirt and throws it to the ground along with your clothes. He begins to slowly move down your body and in between your legs. He teasingly opens the buttons of your jeans and carefully pulls down the zipper.

You lift your hips in attempts to help him get them off. He grabs onto the top of your pants and forcefully pulls them off of you. He makes eye contact with your soaked panties and moans at the sight, He brings his middle finger up to your wet center and presses in firmly against the fabric. You grab onto the sheets at the sudden attention and arch your back.

He stops his movements for just a second as he removes your underwear. He has to stop himself from coming right then and there at the sight before him. "God baby, she's dripping for me."You moan at his remark and grab onto his hair.

He positions your legs over his shoulders as he begins to get to work. "Joel." You whine at the contact of his tongue seething into your weeping hole. He begins to lap at your arousal and you pull onto his hair roughly.

He begins to flick his tongue on your clit and you moan aloud as he speeds up. He shakes his head side to side and you arch your back further. He brings his hands to your thighs and pushes you down to keep you steady. His tongue goes back to your hole and submerges inside. His nose occasionally bumps your clit and that sends you wailing.

Your orgasm comes up quick and you pull his hair even tighter as he digs his nails into your thighs. The movements of his mouth begin to increase when he feels your body shake. You moan and whine his name as it washes over you. He drinks up all your juices as you rest your head back against your pillow.

He crawls over you and kisses your lips. You can taste the tangy flavor of your orgasms as he invades your mouth with his tongue.

"Ya ready f'me baby?" He begins to grind his erections against your soaked center and you moan at the friction. "Please Joel. I need you." He growls into your neck as he removes his pants and boxers. He lines his cock with your pussy and begins to rub his tip against your clit.

You just know he's big. You can feel the size of him just from his thrusts. He lines his cock with your hole and begins to seethe himself inside of you. Your mouth falls open as he inserts himself all the way in. He stays still for a moment and you wonder if something is wrong. "Joel please move." You grab onto his hair and pull him down for a kiss. "I know baby girl, just hold on for a minute." He rests his forehead against yours as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Joel please just-" He begins to thrust into your soaking pussy at an exhilarating pace. The tip of his cock just hits your cervix and it sends you screaming. He grunts as he hears your pretty little sounds you make for him.

"Oh god Joel." You arch your back and open your mouth in a silent plea of how much pleasure you are feeling in this moment. "I know baby I know, I hear ya, taking it so well f'me." He brings his lips to yours and instantly speeds up.

His hips are thrusting at a pace you can't seem to keep up with and he groans when he feels you squeeze around him. Your heart rate picks up when you feel another orgasm begin to brim. He brings his hand to the bottom of your stomach and pushes down. You loudly moan when you feel this new sensation.

"God, I can feel myself all up in your fucking stomach." He growls and bites your neck as your orgasm begins to break. "Joel, I'm coming." You barely manage to get the words out as your vision goes white. The amount of pleasure has you rolling your eyes back and arching off the bed. He speeds up as his orgasm nears.

"Oh fuck baby, so goddamn tight." He bites down onto your shoulder as he spills his cum inside you. You walls become surrounded with a warm, sticky mess. His hips come to a stutter as his orgasm subsides. He instantly falls on top of you and closes his eyes.

He rolls over and begins to get out of bed. He grabs his boxers and puts them on. He walks out of the room and goes into the bathroom, he returns to you with a warm wash cloth and some water.

He opens your thighs and you wince at the soreness. He puts the cloth up to your pussy and slowly begins to wipe it down. He sets the water onto the bed and throws the towel into his hamper. He crawls back into bed and you huddle up to him.

"How ya feeling?" He gently stokes the top of your head as you breath in his scent. ''Fucking fantastic. " He chuckles at your remark and kisses the top of your head. "Goodnight darlin." He holds you closer as you wrap your arms around his middle. "Night Joel."

tags!!

@iamsherlocked-1998 @pinkcrystal44 @heartpascalispunk  @heartramen  @tupelomiss  @simplewanderer @ursagittariusgirlfriend  @amyispxnk @livingonthehems

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedropascal #joel the last of us #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #stranger joel #100 followers #thank you!!!!

[cherrygukkie]

Late Night Encounters| jjk

Summary: A student-athlete like you, who flies under the radar, never expected to become enemies with someone like Jeon Jungkook, an annoying talkative senior who goes out of his way to make your life a living hell. But what happens when your rivalry takes some twists and turns, and your hate turns into something else? Will getting too close to Jungkook reveal a side of him that you’ve never seen before?

Word Count: 5,2k

AN: Hey folks! This is something I came up with in the middle of the night, so I hope that you all enjoy this as much as I am currently planning all of this out! :) But yeah, I don't have anything else to say, but to enjoy this first snippet of Jk and OC's relationship. Love yah mwahh!!

Props to @dollfaceksj for beta-reading thank you <3

READ: (Pls comment and give feedback it's all welcomed. It'll help me stay motivated.)

Lmk if there are any errors please and thank you.

••••••••

Thursday, 7:03 a.m.

It’s early in the morning, and you know what that means…. School time!!!

Yay… school.

You’re currently at school, exhausted. That wasn’t out of the ordinary though. No matter how much sleep your body gets you still end up tired. At this point, you've accepted the fact that you’re a sleepy girl.

Putting on your beats, you turn the music volume to the max. Hopefully, music can give you a little energy and help you get through the day because you need it.

Surprisingly Yoongi or Taehyung weren't at school around this time. Usually, the three of you arrived at the same time, if something came up you’d receive a message from either one of them. They didn’t tell you yesterday or text you, so you check their location.

When you do it shows that they are on the road, moving in the same area. 

They were driving somewhere…

The direction they are going is further away from the school. You being curious, you took it upon yourself to see what’s up with them.

Letting out a yawn, you call Yoongi, and not even a second later, he declines.

What the fuck?

You decide to shoot Taehyung a message since they’re together and he responds…

You: um why aren’t you or Yoongi at school?

You: I see that you guys are driving and I feel left out.

Taehyung : Sorry Y/N. I was supposed to tell you, but It slipped my mind.

Yeah, just like how my foot is gonna slip up both their asses.

Taehyung: We got caught up in some last-minute shit.

•okay, but my question is still unanswered.

You: where are you guys going though???

Read.

Taehyung left you on read along with him being secretive about his location… that’s unusual and weird.

Extremely weird…

“Such shitheads for ditching me,” you mutter, shoving your phone in your pocket. Great… Now today is going to be the definition of boring without dumber and dumbest.

You open your locker, replacing your books with your skateboard. The bell is going to ring shortly, so you start walking to class. You slam your locker shut, striding down the halls with the volume of your headphones sounding out everything and everyone, just how you liked it.

Your face was frowned up until ETA by NewJeans came on. A smile creeps onto the corner of your mouth as angelic voices enter your ears and a flicker of amusement manages to lighten your mood.

“what’s your ETA!” “what’s your ETA!”

Just when your grumpy spirit is starting to lift, someone swoops in from the right, snatching your headphones off your ears. The music is gone and the little smile you grew shattered into a million pieces.

You freeze, taken back by his audacity. “You did not… just take my headphones.” 

You turn around to see the one and only, Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who surprisingly wasn’t wearing his usual Calvin Klein attire. Instead, he had on a pair of distressed jeans with a soft blue zip-up jacket.

The way he has his jacket off his shoulder is so baby girl of him

Jungkook smirks, holding the headphones out of reach. “New Jeans? Really?” He could hear even while they were hanging above your head. That’s how loud the music was.

“Give it back!” you demand, through a big jump to retrieve your headphones. Each time you jumped, his hand went higher and higher. Jungkook enjoyed watching you struggle, especially if it’s because of him.

“You don’t seem like the type to listen to New Jeans,” he says, ignoring the fact that he’s holding your property. “They’re so uplifting and joyful… and you-” Jungkook pauses, eyeing you down. You could sense the insult coming.

You talk over him, not letting him finish. “Why are you doing this?”

It’s too early to play his stupid games. He couldn’t wait until Chemistry class? 

“Just doing my daily dose of annoying you.” He clicks his tongue, dangling the headphones with his index finger. 

“Well, congratulations, Jungkook. You’ve succeeded once again. Now give me back my headphones and leave me alone,” you demand again, reaching up only for him to hold them higher.

At this damn point, your arms are moving in the air desperately like a lunatic. This is taking place in the middle of the halls… in front of people. 

How fucking embarrassing is that?

ugh, I hope that people don’t think I’m a pushover now…

You raise your voice, walking up to Jungkook. “Give me my shit back!” 

The anger in your voice draws attention in the halls. Right after you speak, multiple eyes burn into your soul. You look around and people are staring at the both of you with concerned faces. Part of you wanted to tell them to mind their shit and keep it pushing, but you take a breath, taking a chill pill.

 “Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, bringing your hands together. “Can I have my beats back? They’re too expensive to be played around with.” You swallow all the bass in your tone.

“What’s the magic word?” Jungkook teases, exposing the dimple on his right cheek. Beasty, huh? you've never understood why he gave you such a nickname in the first place. Assuming it was an insult, you always ignored it.

Today wasn’t the day for his stupid games, he for sure wasn’t getting a please out of you.

You blink constantly, accepting your defeat. “You know what… I’m not doing this shit today. You can keep them, you jerk.” Walking away from Jungkook, you try to speed walk to class in need to get away from him. You’re already dealing with limbs that could barely function and heavy eyelids, you aren't in the mood to play.

Searching for peace didn't last how you wanted. Jungkook catches up with you, refusing to leave you alone. 

"Careful there or you'll drop your books."

You look over at Jungkook who was keeping up with your speed. “I hate you.”

A little laugh sneaks past his lips before speaking, “No, you don’t.”

He had the presence of a fly, no matter how much you shoo him away he always finds his way back.

Why do you despise him with a passion?

Why is Jeon Jungkook your nemesis?

The reason behind it is a story. It started when you ran into him on a chaotic evening at the worst moment possible, just when you thought the hole you were in couldn't get any deeper...it did.

*Flashback!*

4 months ago...

Friday evening, 7:37 p.m.

Stuck in the middle of traffic, you’re repeatedly hitting crazy turns, left, right, left, left, right, right, nonstop. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for missing the bus and being an irresponsible dumbass.

Yeah, it's true...you were late to a game. It's not all your fault, though. To be fair it was a last-minute one that the coach signed everyone up for. Earlier today, you had to stay after school to figure out some arrangements with your teachers for your grades. It was either that or nothing because bad grades equal no volleyball.

All work was uncompleted, besides Mrs. Parker's class. That was your favorite class and you had an A+, so you didn't have to visit her. You had to visit everyone else and it didn’t go as planned. Besides giving you an extension on the work, you were assigned a tutor for the next 2 months.

Your schedule was dedicated to volleyball, therefore you had no free days unless it was the weekend, and as much as you didn't want to sacrifice it, you had to.

Girl, your grades were crying.

You need to maintain them to keep volleyball in your life. Today was Saturday and you decided to start. It wasn't a problem because you had no plans at all… well that’s what you thought. 

You put your phone on do not disturb, just to concentrate, not to ignore anybody.

You just needed your mind to be fixated on school for once, not a ball, not a net, or a gym.

🏐🥊

During those long hours of catching up and studying you weren't aware of the messages in your group chat. You packed up all your things and you went directly to your messages to see 100+ texts from the group chat.

You open it thinking it's about the next practice or probably not expecting a message like this.

Coach [: "I'm sorry to spring this on you girls on such short notice, but I received an email from a coach from another district about playing against his team because apparently, the other team forfeited before the game.

Coach [: I agreed to it thinking maybe you girls could use the extra practice, you know? explore other teams and their ways of playing."

Coach [: "The school is far, so I recommend you gear up and be at the gym by school at 6:20 because the drive is longer than 30 minutes and we all need to ride the bus together, as a team."

Coach [: "There's no reason why any of you should be late because I'm texting you a couple of hours before, so please be on time okay you all know how I am about tardiness."

The more we are late the more we condition....

Coach [: "Okay, but that's all. I'll see you all in a bit, be ready!"

You take your phone off Do not disturb, then you exit the building, phone, and bag in hand checking your missed calls,

Reading that you had numerous missed calls from the coach, you call her and she answers immediately. The phone barely got through the first ring. You opened your mouth to speak, but her lecture overpowered you. "Y/N where the hell are you? the game is about to start!"

You're so stuck you couldn't give a proper answer so all you say is, "Huh?" the confusion in your response made her angrier.

"You are late Y/N! You were supposed to be on the bus an hour ago!"

Coach sent that message at 3:36 and when you checked the time it was 7:15 p.m. It was like glass shattering when your heart sank realizing you lost track of time. Your phone shook in your trembling hands, too stunned to speak.

It's been that long?!?

She tells you that the game has already started and that you need to be on your way now, especially with you being one of the main players you were needed no matter what, or the rotation would be switched.

It was still the beginning of the season, so people were only familiar with their positions. Having rotations changed and adjusted to something last minute during a game is a total mess. A rule in volleyball is if you were out of rotation they deduct points, and that was unacceptable.

"C-coach, I'm sorry-" you tried to sound sincere with a pounding heart and unsteady voice. "I'll get there as fast as possible." She ends the conversation by hanging up the phone.

Well goddamn.

Then and there you knew you were "Fucked." you muffled, in your hand. "I am so fucked...."

You start running as fast as you can and thankfully the dorms aren't too far from the school, so you arrive shortly. You swung the door open and rushed to your room not greeting your roommate, but that didn't matter.

She wasn't the nicest...

When you get in your room you start tossing things everywhere trying to find your jersey. That's what you get for misplacing important shit, that's what your mom would tell you after you'd lost something and it played in your mind on a loop.

At some point, you found everything and shoved it in your bag racing out the door to the parking lot. And there you are speeding recklessly in your car, slamming your fist on the horn honking at cars, cutting them off doing all you can to escape from this major traffic jam.

You weave through traffic pressing on the gas pedal, “Come the fuck on…” you yell, feeling your frustration build up. “Can these cars go any slower?!? I’m almost there!”

Why does everything go wrong on inconvenient days…?

Finally, you arrive at the stadium, and you pull into the parking lot and your eyes dart immediately to a good spot in between two cars surprisingly in front of the entrance. There were a shit ton of people here...

You turn the wheel parking your car thinking none of it, then suddenly there is this noise you heard. In the mise of hearing that sound, your whole car jolted back from the impact, even though it was the slightest tap.

Leaning forward a bit, you see the space you have in front of you and your jaw drops in disbelief. "Please no...." This could not be happening right now.... you're already in trouble for being an hour late and now you have to deal with this.

To fix your parking, you back out and properly pull in between the two cars. After, you take a moment to close your eyes and cross your fingers hoping that the damage wasn't too severe. Your pockets had flies coming out of them…. you couldn't afford to fix a damn car.

Let's pray that there was nothing there and you could move on with life, peacefully. You got out of the car to check yours first. It was in perfect condition and not a single mark was on it, maybe that was a sign of something good.

You rushed to the back of the black car to confirm that the crunching noise you heard was in fact the bumper that was dented up, terribly. The back of the vehicle even had scratches and the black paint was scraped off.

It was bad...

"Oh my god..." you mouthed nervously. The car did look fancy and highly expensive. It didn't take long for you to realize that the car you hit was a Mercedes-Benz, but not only that it was the newest version. "You've got to be fucking kidding me...." you screamed, burying your face in your palms.

How the hell were you going to pay for the damages on this car, a damn Mercedes?!? To be fair, you weren't poor, you just didn't have money like that, or you didn't have any on you. And bothering your parents with this rough situation was the last you wanted to do. They were already helping you pay for volleyball camp, so there was no need to shake them for more money.

Your hands found their way to your head gripping your hair, stressfully. "Ugh, I should've been on the damn bus!" you yell again, feeling stupid. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for the rookie mistake.

Too busy pacing back and forth and complaining you didn't notice that there wasn't a single soul in the car. By now someone would've come out to give you shit for hitting their vehicle.

You instantly got an idea.

And that idea was to walk away and pretend nothing happened.

Why not? nobody was outside, nobody saw you and nobody was inside the car meaning there's no proof of you hitting their car attempting to park.

That intense feeling wore off and your body relaxed a little. You look both ways before crossing the street.

Thank god, you didn't have to deal with a rich bitch or asshole who'd exaggerate the problem like the car was their child and make you pay more than you have to. You sigh, walking away, ready to enter the school and deal with the coach because that was next on the checklist.

You stuff your hands in your pockets, making your way towards the entrance, until you hear something. That something was the sound of a car door getting slammed violently.

"What the hell? are you fucking kidding me?!?" the mysterious man shouted. He sounded upset—a more fitting word, enraged. "Hey, you! black sweatshirt."

Yep, that was you. A girl in a black sweatshirt who was trying to ditch the situation.

"Hm?" you slowly turned around as if you were innocent.

Your guilty eyes met his deep brown cold ones. He looked very pissed right now. "Hm?" the mysterious boy mocked your act. "You fucked up my shit!" he pointed to the poor bumper.

You nibble on your lip, caught up and no he wasn't wrong that's exactly what you were going to do.

"What?” You fix your thick frames. "Dude, what are you talking about? I didn't fuck up anything. I was only walking out here getting fresh air, that's all..."

"Oh really?" He took a step closer moving under the moon. It was easier to make out the details. Soft dark curly long hair, muscular figure, piercings, tattoos.... a dangerous combination a guy could have.

Damn.

He wore a Calvin Klein denim jacket with a matching shirt and bold thick platformed boots. He looked like your typical bad boy or fuck boy, you choose. You’d never seen him before, ever.

You reacted, backing away from his unnecessary step. "Yes?"

"You are lying and you fucking suck at it.”

You tried flipping the script. “That’s what you think.”

“It’s what I know and now you’re starting to piss me off.”

"Okay, shit!" Your arms slap your sides, defeated. "I hit your car, okay? But it was a mistake. I was rushing to get to my game and I was going to leave because I needed to avoid this. After all, I'm already late and my coach is upset with me." Listening to you, his eyes were rolled to the back of his head, tired of hearing your sob story. "It was seriously an accident, I misjudged the distance between the cars," you continued. "I'm fucking sorry, okay?"

He was able to see that you were going through a tough time, but did he care? Hell no. He wasn't having any of that. For fucks sake, you hit his car and that's all he cared about, not some girl who's using being late as an excuse to recklessly drive.

“Do you know how much it’s going to cost me to get fixed?”

"No, I don't, but I do know that it's going to be pricey and trust me if I had the money I would pay for the expenses, but I don't have much money right now..."

"Oh, great. Miss careless driver not only hits my car, but she can't afford to fix it. Just what I fucking needed today."

You continued to apologize and reason with him, but he cut you off. "You expect me to accept your apology? That doesn't change the fact you hit my car. I could care less about a fucking apology right now.”

Now... it was bothering you a little. Despite the situation, this guy was being a dickhead.

Did you hit his car? Yes, you did and he has every right to be angry, but there should be some way that this can be resolved respectfully without being an asshole. And that's what he was doing, he's raising his voice, expecting you to stand there like a fool.

He had no idea who he was talking to. You frowned, no longer feeling ashamed or apologetic for hitting his car.

"No, it isn't but I'm sure that if you can afford a Mercedes then I'm sure you have the money to fix the damn bumper yourself," you argued.

"You're right," he chuckled, rubbing his forehead. "I can afford to get it fixed. I don't know why I thought that someone...." His voice trailed off as he faced your car. ".... someone who drives a 2010 Ford Taurus could even pay for a single scratch on my car."

broke bitch alert!!!

He turned around, lifting his brows, waiting for a response from you. The disrespect was too real and you blurted out an aggressive, “Fuck you.”

He was seriously calling you broke…

“And fuck you for hitting my car.” The guy got closer, narrowing his eyes at you as if you were familiar somehow. “You...” His voice trailed off from looking at your sweatshirt.

He got distracted from the words on it. It had your team and university labeled on it.

“You don’t even go to this school, do you?” he asks.

The mysterious boy’s question threw you off. Your eyes darted everywhere before talking. "No...?" you replied lost. "Why the hell does it even matter?"

“I knew you seemed familiar.” He nodded, getting struck by a moment of realization. "You're that one volleyball player who plays at ____ university?" He asked, reading your shirt. "And you're Y/N, right?"

“Yeah, why?”

"You know what-" he smacked his lips. "I'll let this slide this time one time.” You wanted to say thanks, too bad part of you was still heated from the argument, but how did he know your name?

You watched him walk to his car, and then he opened the door. “Just stay the hell out of my way, got it?"

He didn’t have to tell you twice.

"More than happy too,” you shout.

Once he got into his car, you turned around and ran inside the school. heading straight to the gym. You saw your team on the court, playing hard in an intense rally as you walked in. There was a shit ton of people cheering, yelling and screaming.

The noise was a mixture of good and bad…

You glanced at the score and thankfully, it was a tie. Coach gave you a deadpan as you walked towards her with guilt. Like you were expecting, she scolded you or whatever, and then she called a time-out.

All the girls left the court to get water and catch their breaths. Coach like usual, went over everyone's positions and dos and don'ts. While she did so, you slid out of your hoodie and sweatpants, revealing your jersey and shorts under.

You were prepared.

You scanned the crowds on your school's side and damn near everyone showed up to support the team. Some classmates waved at you and of course, you returned the kind gesture, glad to see them here to support the team.

Then randomly out of nowhere, you saw the same guy enter the gymnasium. He walks up a few flights of bleachers to sit with Jimin, Seokjin, and some other guy you don't know.

You assumed they were his friends.

When he's done greeting them... his attention landed on you, only you. It was weird after that interaction you had with him.

Looking away from him, you tried to regain your focus on the girls and coach.

"You all are doing great; except I need you all to make it harder for them. Let's stop fooling around and get in the lead and let it stay that way. Now that Y/N is here there's no more confusion now, the lineup is back to normal. Everyone with me?" Coach looked at everyone and they responded with nodding heads or a yes ma'am.

"Go out there and make them work, make them sweat."

The girls, including you, did your signature hand-stack a second after the buzzer went off. Girls that were benched sat down and girls that were on the court returned to the floor.

You simply do you and you get on the court to do what you're best at.

Play volleyball.

Things went back to normal, everyone played their hearts out, and in the end. You won the game.

But throughout the process, you couldn't help but notice his stares during the whole game. Anytime you'd look in his direction his focus was already on you.

The more you looked at him the more you remembered his identity. Now him knowing your name made sense because he attends your school along with him being in your 5th period.

Chemistry.

His name is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook. He was a new exchange student from Seoul, but you couldn’t remember his major, although you did remember that he’s in a relationship with a girl named Alex who was well known at your school. Which is also how Jungkook was known in the first place.

It’s surprising because you hardly recognized him due to your head being on such a swivel.

It’s crazy that you've never even crossed paths before.

Ever since your first impression of Jungkook, the universe did its thing where he appeared everywhere now and you couldn’t escape him…

For some odd reason, he stood out even more because every day he went out of his way to bother you and piss you off, constantly. You haven't liked him since then and now you don't like him even more and couldn’t avoid him.

He didn't keep his word when you ran into him and he told you this exactly: "Stay the hell out of my way."

You’ve been stuck with this idiot ever since then.

*Present*

“Should I have taken your glasses instead?” he jokes, knowing damn well you are practically blind. You could see, but not too well.

You bark, “Why are you bothering me?”

“You should’ve never hit my car,” he says, words rolling off his tongue with a shrug.

“Oh, fuck off,” you aggressively tell him, wishing he’d disappear like dust into the air. 

How long was he going to hold you accountable for that? It’s been months.

“I’ll fuck off when you tell me what’s up with you. You seem more feisty than usual….” You immediately stop walking to glare at Jungkook who places his finger on his chin.  “Did one of your little boyfriends piss you off?”

He’s referring to Taehyung and Yoongi…

 “Wow… your detective skills are impressive,” you sarcastically praise him, dramatically rolling your eyes. “Is that all you got?”

Jungkook strokes his chin. “Am I right?”

“Those aren’t my boyfriends and you are wrong, but why do you even care about what’s going on with me?”

“I don't, I'm just curious,” He replies, sounding interested in the reason for your attitude. “And you look like shit and it’s not because of me… so I want to know.”

“Yeah, and I feel like it too,” You admit, feeling the sleepiness weigh you down. “Like always…” an exhausted sigh leaves your lips.

“Why?” he asks, headphones still in his possession.

Jungkook's questions make you rub your temples. “I’m exhausted and later today I’m gonna be busy. I have to attend the sports event. You know where all athletes are required to go?”

“I’m familiar.” Jungkook places the headphones around his neck. “They announced the dumb thing yesterday.”

“It’s not dumb, Jungkook,” you declare, folding your arms, giving him a deadpan. “It's an important and great opportunity for all college athletes. It only happens once a year.”

The sports event in the evening that you are attending is an event for all athletes. It allows students to meet other teams including school teams, professional teams and club teams.

It’s a chance to ask professional coaches and players for advice for future reference. Sometimes, people who are that good get recruited to play on a team outside of school with the professionals.

That happens to maybe a couple of students out of the multitude of schools put together. Being chosen is such an amazing opportunity, you get to be on national television, by any chance make history, and get paid tons and other good things, but you weren’t banking on it this year.  The odds of you getting scouted out were more than average, however, there are still things you’re insecure about when it comes to playing.

If anything, you need to secure those first before putting yourself out there, on national television.

“Beasty…” he says as if he had a question.

“Yes...?” you lazily nod slowly, watching his tongue glide over his teeth while smirking. 

He better not ask to be my additional person

Was he going to ask you if he could be your extra guest this evening? You’re currently figuring out who’s that going to be, but it damn sure wasn’t going to him.

“Will-”

You squint your eyes, hoping this isn’t leading to a proposal. “Wait… you aren’t suggesting that I should take you-”

 “No, I’m already going,” he claims, shaking his head. “And I have my date for this evening. I was just wondering about yours.”

Date, hm?

“So, who is it?” he asks, intrigued. 

It's purely silent for a moment, but you think of something quickly to save yourself from the embarrassment-

You quickly speak up. "I have a date,” you throw in proudly, ignoring how big of a lie that is. 

All you care about is covering your ass at the moment, not the backlash.

you’re such a fucking liar.

"Right, so who is it?"

You dodge his question. “Who's your date, Jungkook?” you ponder, pretending that your curiosity isn’t bouncing off the walls. You could feel it in your bones.

Jungkook isn't an athlete for the school, so that means the person he will be attending the event with is someone who goes to this school or someone else.

His face twitches with amusement. Seeing you in his business is a sight for him. “A very good friend of mine…”

“Is she on my team?” 

“I can assure you she isn’t.” Jungkook cackles before confirming, “Volleyball players aren’t my type.”

Then what is?

•that’s a relief

“She goes to another school anyway. I can guarantee that you don’t know her.” Jungkook watches your eyes drop from his face to his neck, then grips the headphones firmly.

“Enough about mine,” he says as he changes the subject unexpectedly. “Who’s your…” A smile plastered on his face. “Date. And don't answer my question with another question."

Hm, who is your date??

"It's a secret," you whisper, motioning sealed lips. "I'll reveal mine once I see yours.”

He gives a subtle shrug. "Fair enough," Jungkook says, nodding his head, acknowledging your agreement.

*Bell rings!* 

“Oh, won’t you look at that?” Placing your hands on your hips, you point out, “It's time to go class…so-” you stare at the headphones again. “Are you going to hand them over or what?” 

Jungkook looks down at your hand and laughs when you extend it out. “Should I?” He calmly asks, pushing your buttons. You start to tap your foot impatiently, exaggerating your irritation.

He thinks to himself for a moment, before his eyes drop to the beats around his neck, then shortly locks eyes with your frustrated ones. “Actually… I want to hang onto these for a little while. These will come in handy during my workout.”

“Fine! Keep them,” you express with a dramatic slap to the side of your thighs. “But don’t think that I won’t get them back.”

As the warning bell rings, you shoot him a withering glare and without wasting a single second, you storm off to class with only one particular thing on your mind… and it wasn’t the headphones…

Who is Jungkook's date?

To be continued…

♡︎Taglist is here, lovelies

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #minors dni #jeon jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts imagine #jungkook au #jungkook x you #bts #jeon Jungkook #bts smut #Jungkook fic

[inbarfink]

I'm pretty sure my very first post about 'Fionna and Cake' was about pointing out this line in "Fionna Campbell"

Is a reference to "I Remember You", where Marceline said that very same line to Ice King

At the time I just took it as another little bit of Foreshadowing for the connection between Fionnaworld and Simon.

But now that we've established a bit more about Cake's plights, and I started thinking more about this... I wonder if this line is meant to highlight the ways in which Simon's struggles under the Curse of the Magic Crown and Cake's struggles after having her Magic taken away from her kinda mirror each other.

You know, turning into Ice King took away Simon's mind and ability to reason (by pumping his brain full of Madness and Sadness) and his ability to communicate (by tanking his already-kinda-awkward communication skills) and even kinda took away his body.

And becoming an ordinary cat did all of these things for Cake as well - took away her mind and ability to reason (by giving her an intelligence closer to a regular housecat) and her ability to communicate (by making her unable to speak or even comprehend human speech)

And taking away her voice and the Stretchy body that is clearly the one she feels most comfortable with.

And ... so what happened in that scene back in IRY is Ice King, in the middle of writing a love song about Princess Bubblegum, suddenly has a moment of Clarity about how lonely and miserable he is. Enough Clarity to know that he's unfathomably sad and that there's something Wrong with him that's sabotaging all of his relationship - but not enough clarity to know what it is. So he just... has a total breakdown

Lashing out and throwing ice magic anywhere. Then Marceline, uncomfortable and worried about Ice King's behavior, tackles him and says the Line.

Meanwhile, in the first episode of 'Fionna and Cake'...

Both Fionna and Cake feel like there's something off about their lives, But Fionna can at least articulate it better as like, general ennui or a quarter-life crisis, rather than Cake's little housecat mind not really comprehending or capable of fully expressing what she's feeling at all.

Leading to concerning behavior such as her apparently not eating for the last three days.

And suddenly, she has her moment of Clarity. She sees these Portal Sparkles and she seems to know on some level that they'll do something good for her. Especially as she tries to shove her head in the ice

And later is shown obsessed with ice in general - even without the sparkles directly being around.

On some level, Cake understands the mechanics of the Portal Sparkles better than Fionna does - but on all other levels she's still a housecat and probably has no idea what is going on with her own mind as well.

And from Fionna's perspective she's just acting weird and spreading ice all over the house and lashing out at her in her confusion over her own feelings.

I think, perhaps whatever part of Simon's subconscious has subtle control over Fionnaworld noticed the similarities between Cake's situation and his own memories of being the Ice King - and thus, Marceline's old words coming out of Fionna's mouth.

The similarities don't end there, either. Cake and Simon both have to go through a lot grief with people still treating them as their old selves. General folks in Ooo treating Simon like Ice King

And Fionna's tendency to be overprotective of Cake even though Cake is now an incredibly OP shapeshifter and Fionna's still just an athletic human

And to speak for her even though she can speak for herself now

And sometimes kinda condescending to her about her own judgement

All make Cake feel, and not unjustifiably so, that Fionna still sees her as her old self, as a Housecat. She literally says so in the same episode where Fionna and Cake's friendship is tested the most.

And Cake's anxious desire to bring Magic into her world even after it was confirmed that she can at least stay as herself in Fionnaworld, I think that's also a mirror of Simon's anxieties. Simon felt like he, an ordinary non-magical man, could never truly fit in within the wacky and magical world of Ooo

And Cake might've been afraid of the same being true in reverse about being a Magical Cat in the least Magical world in the whole multiverse. At the very least she must've been worried about being forced to pretend to be a non-magical cat again like Simon tried to make her do back in Farmworld.

(Remember how her failure to pull this off almost got her eaten?)

And in the end, the resolution to both of these mirror dilemma was... kind of the same? Well, sort of. Fionnaworld now has a bit more of the Magic and Weirdness in it but it's not like Simon made Mainworld Ooo less wacky. But even with that extra bit of Multiverse Wackiness going on in Fionnaworld now... if the Normal Guy can get along among the strange and magical creatures

The Magical Cat can get along with all the normal and mundane people.

#adventure time #atimers #fionna and cake #fionna & cake #at #at spoilers #fac #fac spoilers #f&c #f&c spoilers #adventure time fionna and cake #adventure time spoilers #adventure time simon #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake simon #fionna and cake series #fionna and cake show #cake the cat #adventure time cake #cake adventure time #cheers #simon petrikov #simon adventure time #fionna campbell #fionna the human #adventure time fionna

[undercoverpena]

this year's love.

simon ghost riley x f!reader

wc: 5.5k warnings: angst. fluff. smut. feelings. usual jo things. summary: And then you begin calling him Riley. It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips. an: from the drabble where ghost 'dates' a non-militant he meets in a pub. this is dedicated to @yeyinde for reminding me why British pubs are adorable, and also to @guyfieriii because she hates my angst, but loves my fluff, and makes me want to write better.

simon ghost riley masterlist

He suspects he should stay away. 

As soon as he began to crave the sight of you. Ignoring the fact he’s heard This Year's Love by David Gray three times already—and he has only been here an hour. The condensation beads from his glass pools on the picked-at-bar mat, drenching his fingers and wrist. 

Not that he cares. 

Ghost—

Simon knows it’s all part of the charm. 

It has been since the day he turned eighteen and his boss at the butchers took him for his first pint. 

The place hasn’t changed since. Everything from the same ten to twelve songs which crackle through the worn and tired speakers. The smokey air, and discoloured, yellowing wallpaper. 

Things don’t get replaced either, the chipped glass ashtrays are the same as the ones he remembers. The same chipped mahogany tables with the ill-matching chairs and stools that are wobbly.

The scent in the place is familiar, a mix between festering ale and Mr Sheen, working men and cheap perfume, fust and smoke—both from the crackling winter fire and cigarettes—even if one hasn’t been smoked inside of it for years. 

The place, to outsiders, would look like any stone-walled pub on the corner of two streets they’ll never remember. Then they’ll step in, their eyes glancing over the peeling wallpaper, moth-eaten curtains (that never close) and the once-white nets in the windows, before questioning what they’ve walked into. That’s before they’ve noticed the white ball on the pool table is in fact another black ball and that the dart board triple 20 has been chipped out after Bald-Andy lost his rag. 

The pub has been a real gem to those who know what real diamonds are for as long as Simon can remember. None of the regulars care that the bar stools have burns from cigarettes being stubbed out, they don’t care that the musty smell doesn’t vanish even with Febreze and sheer will. It’s expected, just like how the bar is always sticky and the energy always feels right. 

Here, he can relax. 

When he’s home, he feels purposeless. A man with a map but no direction. But, he can unfurl his shoulders from his ears, even let his hood slide to the back of his neck. 

Because in this place, strangers aren’t welcome. It’s a local pub, for local folk. Those who wander in, thinking the pub on the corner of quaint and quintessential will provide them with a typical British evening, normally leaving before Freddie Mercury has reached the bridge of whatever song is on rotation. 

But, Simon isn’t just here for the bourbon or the ale, he’s not here because the wooden fire licks every wall of the place. He’s not here because it feels more like home than his actual home. 

He’s here because there’s one thing that has changed, and it’s you. 

You with a rosy, sweet laugh that usually accompanies a smile which makes his heart gallop. It calms whatever storm rages inside of him when you look at him—when you bore your pretty, fucking eyes into him before you lean over, hand on the beer pump as you call him Simon. 

Simon. 

His name has never sounded more serene than when it falls from your lips. The way you say it makes it seem less than ordinary, almost unique. Humour sways in your eyes, a glint he knows there’s more too—and wants nothing more than to explore. 

You’re a vibrant surprise in the middle of my mundane, and it took him all of five minutes to discern you’re both difficult and charming all rolled into one. 

And then you begin calling him Riley. 

It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. 

Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips.

Women haven’t tended to last here—except Tracy. Tracy, who like the urinal cakes, has been here since Simon’s first pint. Her lines had deepened in her skin over time, but her hair has remained that putrid blonde she tries to claim is natural. 

You, on the other hand, are far younger—kind, soft, unless someone gets lairy and then there’s a ferociousness to you that’s packed into something so small. He suspects you know what the men at the bar look at when your eyes aren’t looking, and it’s not the way you command the small space stuffed with offerings and glasses. 

He’d paid no mind initially. Tried not to, anyway. He’d decided it would be for the best. Then you’d bite back at Dave that you may be too young to remember a song,  but you could still get down on her knees without them creaking. 

He had smirked at that. 

Deciding his new seat at the bar, on the rickety bar stool was his new favourite seat. 

To this day, you always smell floral, but the accompanying scent with it changes. Sometimes you’re sultry, sometimes you’re just sweet. Each time he is able to return ‘home’ he’s never sure which one he’ll get—but it burns a place in his nose all the same. 

Hard to shift, difficult to smother, not that he wishes to do either. 

Their first exchanges were simple. Contractual. Another? Yes. Your usual? Yes. Then you had placed a deck of cards in front of him, a teasing smile on your face in the quietness of a Wednesday evening. 

Keep me company. 

It was difficult for him to grasp how soft your eyes were, how it made his mind blank and his heart both hammer and stutter all at once. 

Now, it’s normal. 

He’s used to it, fucking welcomes the way they land on him. He thinks about them on the plane ride home, how Alan—the chef who’ll serve anything off-menu for a packet of fags—makes a mean all-day breakfast sandwich. But mostly, it’s you. 

“You back for long, Riley?” 

“No.”

“Never are.” 

“You sound disappointed, sweetheart.” 

You always smile the same when he calls you that. Always half-roll your eyes before shaking your head, as though flirting with you is oh so wrong. 

Especially when you start it first. 

“What would you do if I was?” 

That’s new. 

His fingers pick up a crisp, watching you lean on the pump in front of you. The star earrings hanging from your ears, catch the bar spotlights, making it seem as though you’re literally glowing. 

But then, you are—to him at least. 

Someone calls for you, pint raised in hand—saving him from answering. You wink, and mumble you’ll be right back, the words lingering in the space you once stood. 

You’re too good for him. 

Too normal. Too unscarred and untouched. He suspects a bad thing has never happened to you. You’ve not plunged a knife into someone’s throat, not shot a moving target with a precision that most try to replicate on their controllers and headsets. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, he knows he should stay on this side of the bar. Even when it takes all of his self-restraint to do so. 

It’s hard though. 

More so when you give him that look—that one which makes his cock twitch and his thoughts turn feral. 

Because the nice girl from the pub may have a sweet, soft voice, but fuck he knows you’re anything but. 

You’re all red lips and righteousness, a siren and enchantress who chooses floral perfume to try and disguise the way your eyes undress him. 

Not that he complains. 

He’s done the same. 

Fucked his own fist to the thought of the noises you’d make and how you’d feel enveloped around his cock. 

Tonight he’d likely do the same. 

Winter is in full effect when he next returns. 

Snow was thick on the streets, the roads a horrid mix of ice, slush and asphalt. 

You’re behind the bar, Bald-Andy and his wife in the corner near the fire, and the crackling, gruff voice of Oasis is playing. You look up, lips smirking, eyes glistening. 

“The usual?” 

He considers it. Sweet, caramel and vanilla notes hit his tongue in memory. But he shakes his head, pulling out a stool, and sitting opposite you as your perfume greets him. 

“Surprise me, sweetheart.” 

You stand fully, hair falling around your face, making his heart lurch and his stomach burn. 

“Living dangerously, I see,” you say, turning your back to him as you pull at spirit bottles.

If only you knew. 

He suspects something sweet when you place the glass in front of him. The sound of it meeting the worn wood so loud, not that the other two patrons look over. As though it’s just the two of you. No one else. His eyes lift, hooking themselves into yours—unwilling to let you tear them from him as he tries to bury the aches of war and fighting. 

It’s caramel coloured, darker at the bottom of the glass than the top. Ice. So much ice. 

“Go on, try it, Simon.” 

And he does. 

It’s sweet, and zingy. It’s mellow but spicy, and he tastes the hints of ginger and rum as the cold hits his teeth. 

“What y’made me?” 

“You like it?” 

Yes. 

The tip of your tongue swiping across your bottom lip, watching you lean smugly. “Dark and stormy… the epitome of you.”

A groan leaving his lips, your laugh tasting of sunshine and happier days. 

A long moment stretches between the two of you, one that makes the air thrum and him having to shift his jeans. A continuous voice in his head, telling him no, telling him to put a stop to this now. 

He drinks it. He even orders it again. 

Time ticks fast—too fast. He wants it to slow. Ever since their first flirtation, if you’ve finished when he’s there—he walks you to your car. 

You drive something small, your entire backseat is always covered in coats, shoes and books. Something normal, and so typically you. 

He does the same tonight, hands in his jacket pockets, periodically scanning the area as you lock the big wooden doors of the pub. You shake them, ensuring you have, pocketing the keys before turning to nudge him. 

Simple. Soft. Each gesture in the short walk is always seemingly effortless. You don’t worry he’ll take offence, that he’ll shatter or snap. 

Not that he would. 

His arm lifting, letting your small hand slide around it for stability as the snow falls thick and fast. It paints the streets in a blanket that crunches under their boots. And there’s something about the snow landing in your hair, on the tip of your nose, even on your lower lip. 

He wants to brush it from your mouth, and trace the bow of your upper lip with his thumb. 

Because it’s all a contradiction. Snow makes you look innocent, something close to a character from a movie or a Disney film. And, you’re not any of those things. 

You’re snarky, huffed whispers and quick retorts when drunkards try to hit on you; you’re witty, funny and boldly brilliant.

So much so, he’s never sure why you work there. He knows you’re studying, knows you’re trying to better yourself. You’ve told him as much over a Pepsi Max in your hand and something stronger in his. 

He knows it’s odd to keep staring at you. Your eyes staring up, making your eyes seem wider and bigger than they actually are—pretty sure the flurries of snow, stars and moon are shining in them. But it’s his treat—his reward. The thing he thinks about when he’s knee-deep in mud or covered in blood, sweat and bruises. 

Your feet stop at your car, unlocking it—the beep and flash of your headlights casting light across the car park. 

“You back for long?” 

“No.”

Smiling, you lean against the rear window. “Never are.” 

It’s a pattern, a habit. An exchange that has become the norm for the two of you as much as hello and goodbye. 

Then, you sigh.

Something you rarely do, not to him—not with him. His brows knitting, tightening, heart thundering in his throat as you drag your eyes up his chest, and neck and land on his face. 

“Do you know how perfect it would be, if you grew a pair and kissed me in the snow, Riley?” 

Your hand slides into the handle, opening it as your smirk turns into a grin. One which is brighter than your headlights, the moon—hell, the fucking sun. 

“Guess I’ll have to wait for a shooting star, instead.” 

And, you laugh, leaning your back against the car—expression blended with vulnerability and searing heat that should melt the settling ice on your face. 

“Y’seem like the sorta woman to make me work for it.” 

“Oh yes, because eighteen months of will-they-won’t-they hasn’t been tedious enough.” 

He grabs your elbow, roughly pulling but finds you fall into him with far too much ease. The snow continues to fall, leaving soft cold kisses on his face, but he doesn’t feel cold. 

How could he? You’re staring up at him with the searing heat of the sun. 

“Y’want me to kiss you, Sweetheart?” 

“More than I want to go home and sleep, Riley.” 

His hand cups your cheek, warm meeting cold as he pulls your lips to his. Cold, soft lips slide against his, and he tastes the orange from your cordial swirling with his bourbon-covered tongue. Your car groans when he presses you against it, your hand clutching him with the same desperation as he’s flush with your body. 

Your cheeks are warm against his hands, eyelashes fluttering open as the two of you break apart. 

“You… you want to come back to mine?”

Yes. Fuck yes. 

But—

“Next time.” 

“Yeah?” 

His fingers brush down your cheek, and he nods. 

He got your number. 

For convenience. You tell him he didn’t need to come in and drink one of your piss-poor beer pulls just to get in your knickers. 

So he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t text when he first lands. He gives himself a day—a moment to shed the Ghost and become Simon. When you do you don’t reply with anything witty, just straight-laced—just like he likes it. 

A time. An address. 

He expects you to size him up at your front door, even bracing for a changed mind. You don’t do either. You let the door open, standing two steps inwards dressed in something lace and rippable. 

Fuckin’ fuck. 

It’s the only thought he has before he slams your door behind him, striding towards you and practically throwing you over his shoulder. 

You don’t taste like what he expects—it’s better. 

His tongue flattens against you, two fingers inside your warm cunt as you whimper. You reluctantly still clutching to the promise you’d made earlier. The one where you informed him it’ll take more than a few fingers and a skilled tongue to make you scream. 

So he sucks. Bites. Nips. 

He finds that squishy part, stroking it as your thighs twitch by his ears. 

It’s then he grants himself the chance to look at you, finding your lipstick spread in a way which seems deliberately chaotic—even if he knows it isn’t. Your lashes wet, eyes clamped shut as you try and try not to give in. 

So fuckin’ stubborn. 

Your hands, all smooth and soft, clutching your breasts, the pink of a nipple poking out between your index and thumb as your chest rises and falls as you fight calling out his name. 

He likes that you have convictions—it gives him something to break. 

His tongue swirling, knowing already what he needs to do to undo you. 

And then—

Simon—fuc-k, Simon.

It’s better than classical, better than whatever is number one on the fuckin’ charts. The sound of you coming hard, and fast, trying to bury it in a whisper than the scream you actually want to release. All of it is a better sound than his knife plunging into some unsuspecting op—because he will make you scream. 

He laps up every ounce you give him, your pleading whimpers and nails in his hair making him groan against your cunt until you almost snap his neck—or try to. 

“Take them off. Now.”

He doesn’t like orders.

He fucking detests them. He gives them. Normally loud and booming. But your voice, all sweet and high-pitched, trying to give stern eyes when your lashes are coated in tears he’s caused…

Your eyes widen when he stands naked. And he knows he’s big. 

He’s very fucking aware of it. He’s seen plenty of evidence to support the fact in the wild, surprised eyes of those who he’s dropped his trousers for. 

You now being one of them. 

But fuck, he fits in you perfectly. So much so, he wants to mould your insides to match him, to ruin you for every other person who thinks they stand a chance with you.

Because they don’t. 

But then neither does he. 

Not that he’ll squander a moment to fuck with heaven—to hear the cadence shift when he hooks your leg over his hip as he drives his cock into you all the way to the hilt. 

He coaxes another out of you, your tight cunt like a vice around him as your manicured nails leave scratches on his back. His tongue swipes across your jaw, before haphazardly capturing your mouth. 

You taste like mint polos and sex—a taste he is already sure he’ll crave. 

And he wonders to himself if you know how fucking perfect you are. If you have any idea of how stunning you truly are. 

Especially like this. Your body shimmering with sweat, each thrust making your breasts bounce as your fingers tease his hair at the nape of his neck. 

And then he wonders about something else. 

Something far from coating your walls in his come.

Would you fit in his life? 

Would you fit as well in it, as he does inside your cunt?

And then you’re clenching, hips lazily trying to meet his as you whimper, moan—

And then you scream. 

Not Riley.

But Simon.

Mission accomplished. 

It has become a habit. 

You have become a habit. 

He lands. He waits a day. He fucks you until you are raw, sore and breathless. His lips are on yours, hands still on your hips as he hears how hoarse your voice is. 

“You back for long?”

“No.”

But this no is different.

It’s tinged with half a teaspoon of regret and sadness. 

You hide your face when he answers now. Sometimes by slinging your arm to shield him from your eyes or by turning from him. It’s like you know he likes them. Likes being able to see each infliction of emotion in them—shimmering, dancing, storming across in front of him. 

Somehow, you’ve fit into his life too well—cutting yourself a hole, forcing your way in, and making it seem as though you were always there. 

Simon lets you be, too. 

You have one of his t-shirts, baggy, black and covered in your perfume. He finds he has one of your hair ties around his wrist, not even realising until he slides on a pair of gloves. Flicking it against his wrist as he thinks of you, something he only allows himself to do briefly.

Things have changed. Shifted. 

But the Earth hasn’t fallen off its axis and he’s not fucked up a mission. So he counts his blessings. He doesn’t know if he believes good things can happen to him, but he could be persuaded that he can have nice things. A belief he even starts to accept. A reality he begins to wish for, rather than keep at arm's length. 

You’ve left the pub. You hadn’t been working every night for a while. Your studies had ended—receiving a photo of a cap and gown without your face when he was in the middle of a desert. 

Now you’re working a better job, one you deserve more—it’s creative, more you. You make the world brighter, and better while he’s getting dirty and riding the world of darkness. You text him once, the day you got paid, that you bought him something nice.

Something he ripped with his teeth when he landed—much to your annoyance. 

You’re no longer the girl in the pub. You’re perfectly applied make-up he fucks off your face. You’re high heels and pencil skirts—and sometimes fitted trousers that hug your arse so beautifully, he’s almost a bit jealous. You’re the pink sky at night, laughter that warms his chest, and a smile he thinks about as he falls asleep. 

“What would my alias be?” 

Your hand slides over a plate to him. Cheese on toast. Nothing big, nothing major, but he stares at it all the same. Because you’ve made him something. 

You’ve been doing it for a while, and each time is as perplexing as the last. His brain is unable to figure out how, why and what he’s done to deserve it. Even if it’s toast, a sandwich, or a fucking meal. 

Because it’s something outside of sex. It’s outside of holding the back of your head as he fucks your throat; outside of him pinning you against the dark alleyway of the pub he first saw you in, making you both cold and warm all at once. 

Even if he knows—constantly turns it over and over in his mind—that this isn’t just sex. He’s not entirely sure what this is. Except…nice?

You take a bite of your own, the crunch filling the air, crumbs littering your top—his top. “My call sign.” 

Simon isn’t sure why he told you about what he did. You were in his arms, warm, smelling of sex, flowers and something sharp. And, it fell out of him. Still drunk off your cunt, lost in the tenderness of your fingers on his chest, playing it a pattern with your nails. 

Not everything. Fuck, he couldn’t tell you everything—wouldn’t. But you know enough. 

Enough for him to know you’re not running, that you still want him knocking on your door whenever he lands—whether it's morning, noon or night. 

Now, you’re making him food. Legs long, his black t-shirt skimming your thighs—all his. Looking ever so inviting, making it hard not to push you up on the counter and give your neighbours something to talk about.

“Egg.”

You snort, sharp and light. “Egg?! You’re fuckin’ rude, Riley. Egg? No, that’s shit, give me a better one.” 

“But, true. You’d shatter, you’re more yolk than shell, you.”

“C’mon, be serious.” 

He gives you a look, finding the one you’re giving him sultry, teasing—demanding. 

“Snow.” 

You stare for several seconds before you hum, crunching the corner of your food with your teeth. “Lemme guess because I’m oh-so-delicate?”

No—

It’s because you’re fucking perfect. 

Because you’re his favourite season and favourite moment.

On some deeper level, he suspects it’s because you’re pure. That you’re unruined. Untainted. Your body has no scars—except the one from chicken pox and one on your hand from a glass bottle shattering. But, that’s it. He’s kissed every inch of you to know, to be 100% sure. 

You’re Snow because each time he sees it, he thinks of you. Those red lips, all that fucking audacity and the way you kissed him, tasting as warm as bourbon and as sweet as sugar. 

“Yeh, ‘cause you’re all pure and innocent, Sweetheart.”

You laugh, richly. Head thrown back, perfect thin neck exposed to the air—to him. 

And he wants to kiss you. 

He wants to taste your laugh and smile, let his hands run around the back of your thighs and feel you against every inch of him. 

That’s when your eyes land on him again—all full of questions and spice. Your tongue drags across your plush bottom lip, wiping up the grease from the cheese as he swallows. 

His throat suddenly dry. 

Because the girl he met in the pub—the one standing before him—is standing in his t-shirt. Looking every bit delicious, good enough to eat and never come up for air. 

And he thinks—

Realises, he actually, might—probably—miss you when he goes back to Price. 

It’s stretched on for months. A year. 

He lands, uses the key you gave him and stamps the snow from his boots, half smiling to himself as he does. Whenever he gets here, he doesn’t wait, he finds his way to whatever room you’re in.

Sometimes he doesn’t get far, your body colliding with his. All curves in his hands and arms around his neck, and he’s not sure what the fuck this is, but he likes it. 

Loves it. 

It’s something like a song about falling in love and a peaceful Sunday morning; it’s those moments you see in movies that make your eyes swell with tears as he stares at you, wondering how on earth you’re so goddamn amazing. 

It’s familiar, and yet he has no idea what is happening next or why. 

Mostly, though, Simon knows it’s something because he said your name to Johnny. 

Not because he was dying, not because he was hurt. But in the middle of a normal conversation, one exchanged on some dark rooftop, stars twinkling, and eyes fixated on a building down a scope. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have answered. Would have ignored him. 

If y’could be anywhere, right now, Lt. Where’d y’pick?

He didn’t need to think. 

He didn’t say home. Because home wasn’t his place, the pub or even the fuckin’ city he’s always ever known. It’s wherever you are. It’s where your heart beats and your bed is placed; it’s where your annoying, shitty music taste is blaring and that sleepy smile is when he wakes up next to you. 

So, Simon said your name. 

Simple. Easy. 

Except it wasn’t simple or fucking easy. It was messy, and complicated. Because Johnny tilted his head, in that obnoxious way he does, demanding more information than he is ever prepared to ever share. 

‘Fuck off, Johnny, before I punt y’off the rooftop and tell Price you’d been a cunt.’

Because you are locked away when he’s here. You are chained inside his chest, the deepest fucking secret—one no one will ever fucking take no matter how much they dig, how much they push him too. 

You are his.

Something only he gets to enjoy—gets to see, hear and taste. 

He’s done all of that for the last hour. Getting some sick satisfaction from edging you until you’re pleading with him, begging him with every breath you have to let you come as you wriggle and wiggle, urging him to lift your legs—just like he likes it, how you like it, and make you see fucking stars.

Now, you’re barefoot. 

A different t-shirt of his hiding the welts he’s left, the growing bruises from the way he’d needed to hold you in place. Watching, observing—admiring—the oddness to your steps as you flick on the kettle. He’s always close—looming in the sun’s shadows across the kitchen he knows better than his own. 

He has to be. Wants to be.

You’ve not just carved a place in your life, but in his chest—his heart. You’ve seeped into his skin, into his soul, merging and bringing to life something he thought had wilted and died. He doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable, that he’s not jagged edges and sharp stares. 

“You wanna go out with me? Tonight?” 

You pause, tea bag in hand, looking over your shoulder at him as if he’d asked you to slaughter a pig, a child, a whole bloody family. 

The moment is tender, almost fragile. 

It trembles under the weight of his question and the silence of your thoughts. 

Then it stills—

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that…” 

“What?” 

Dashing the tea bag into the cup, you turn. Hips leaning against the counter, sigh falling from your swollen, pink lips as your arms fold. The air scented with that familiar smell your home always has—jasmine and pineapple, the sun kissing your toes and legs as your face shows thunder and rain. 

The air shifts, changing. It’s speckled in ice with a cold breeze punctuated by you suddenly not able to meet his eyes. 

“Date me. Change… this. I know that you… I know you don’t have time for that.” 

Except he doesn’t hear that, he hears me. 

He suspects you don’t say it to hurt him. 

But it does. 

It wounds—

It fucking burns. It’s on par with a bullet or a rusty knife, twisting and twisting until it’s hitting nerves and making muscles quake. 

It worsens when the kettle clicks, ready—waiting. It blows steam under your cupboards, billowing out around the edges before it rushes to the ceiling. Twisting, turning, desperate to escape the uncomfortable space between the two of you. 

But, he just wants to pull you close—impossibly close. He wants to cradle and fucking hug you, even if he never hugs anyone. Simon wants to tell you that he hasn’t been doing this with anyone else. That it’s been over a year of this, and even he knows it’s something. 

Admittedly, yeah, he didn’t think he’d have fucking time for someone, and then you came in and blew that all to shit. But, on some level inside of him, he knows they aren’t the words he should be saying. So silence fills the space instead. 

Doubling. Tripling. Expanding like foam and smoothing over crevices as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

And he knows he should just ask again. 

Softer. Maybe with a bit more emotion. Counting in his head. One. Two, fucking Three. 

Your body turning, holding out a mug you got him—big, black with tiny ghosts on it. Because you’d pestered and pestered to know what he was called. What his alias is when he shoots people. The mug made you grin when you handed it to him last time—tired of him taking your favourite. The one with a quote from a television show you keep promising to show him. Sarcastic. Almost makes his teeth show when he smiles. He almost does the same when he takes the mug, and you turn away from him. 

Now when he takes it, your eyes drop to the floor. To the space between the two of you.

The one which feels vast, and far larger than the bar ever felt.  

All Simon wonders is why there’s a pit opening inside of him—why it is filling him with a feeling he wants to cut out of himself. It’s not light or nice, it’s dark and twisty. 

Because he’s the same person who goes on stupid solo missions where the percentage of survival is low, and still fucking comes back to base with whatever was asked of him. He’s Ghost—a man who many fear. Who is often coated in more of other people’s blood than he is dirt. 

And yet this—

You.

Terrify the living fuck out of him. Not that he’s showing that. He knows he’s stood with a stiff back, and a face devoid of any emotions. 

“You said it when we first… Just… I know your job is important. I know you can’t commit and I respect—”

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes meet his. Teeth biting your lip, arms crossing over your chest.  

And shit, he hopes to never see this face ever again. This nervous, unsure face that he’s put there. One which complicates everything and pulls on every string inside of him. 

You are an enigma, and he’s not even sure you know it. 

You’re something he never deserves, something he never thought he’d have, get, or keep. 

Yet, here you are. 

Someone who has seen every inch of him. Knows what he does. Where he goes. You even know brief moments of his past, the parts of him that he’d rather take to the grave. 

You are important. You matter. 

He’s falling—free-falling, in fact—and has been for a while, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Pushing it down, letting it sit with all the other things he doesn’t want to deal with. 

“Do’ya wanna go out with me tonight?” 

Each word hits you, strokes you. He watches as each syllable lands, your eyes reading him. 

“You back for long, Simon?”

His lips twitch. “Little bit.”

And then you smile. All devious and cunning, lips twisting as you unfold your arms and adjust your stance. “I think I’d prefer a takeaway. Keep you to myself, while I 'ave you.” 

Standing, crossing the small space of your kitchen as he cages you in. Your hand clutching his cheek, soft, gentle, and more than he fucking deserves. 

His head lowers, lips close to your ear as you curl your body into him as he whispers, all gruff and quiet so only you—and not a fly or spirit could hear—says, “I’ve always been just yours, sweetheart.”

Simon doesn't expect a response. More a kiss. Maybe even a roll of your hips.

It's why he doesn't expect the words, "I'd hoped so", or the way they make him feel like he's walking on air.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod ghost x reader smut #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost #cod x reader #ghost cod mwii #Simon Riley

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (24)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

As he left King's Landing his heart was breaking − he left his wife a letter with words of repentance and a request that she pray for him while he was away.

He could not forgive himself for what he had said to her and for abandoning her, leaving her with his brother. He told his mother to guard her and not let Aegon touch her, but he knew that his brother was now insane.

They arrived in Harrenhal after two days; plunged into his own gloom and desperation, he burned everything he saw in his path, not caring whether he was burning warriors and knights or ordinary folk.

All that was left of it was ashes.

He wanted to deal with the uprising as quickly as possible.

He condemned those who remained to death − children, mothers, husbands, old men, one by one. He watched as they walked in columns to the scaffold, weeping and wailing.

He felt nothing.

He was a fire and burned everything in its path.

At the very end, however, a woman remained.

She stood before him in her servant's attire − her raven black hair and piercing green eyes making her look downright dangerous, demonic. She did not lower her gaze, standing before him.

There was something about her that intrigued him.

There was a darkness in her similar to his own.

One of the captains dared to approach him and whispered in his ear:

"This is the Witch of Harrenhal, my Prince. Alys Rivers. Rumour has it that she murdered her own mother and is the bastard child of the Lord Strong. She can supposedly see the future and can heal." The man said and he raised an eyebrow.

He looked around, seeing his men lying on cloths with no hands, no eyes, with cuts and wounds, moaning in agony.

He couldn't kill a medic.

"Take her inside and guard her like a prisoner. She is to treat our warriors day and night." He said dispassionately, turning away, heading towards the fortress.

Several troops of the Princess's henchmen hid in the nearby woods, attacking them every night − despite him burning this area again and again, they still managed to protect themselves, coming out at night like rats.

The battles was prolonging, and he was already losing patience.

He spent most of the time alone in his chamber − his wife had not sent any letter to him and he feared that this was a bad omen. He guessed that she still did not want to speak to him, that she had not forgiven him.

He squeezed his eye shut at that thought, grabbing at his eye patch, feeling a burning, powerful pain pass through him − without his maester at his side, his sapphire was rubbing his skin, creating small bleeding wounds in his eye socket.

He shuddered when he heard a knock on the door of his chamber and looked towards it from the map that he had just been looking at.

"Come in." He said dryly.

He furrowed his brow as the woman, the bastard child of the Lord Strong, at least ten years older than him, walked inside.

She held a vessel of ointment in her hand.

She bowed before him meekly, her scent reaching his nostrils, a mixture of herbs and something else that he could not identify.

He knew she was a wet nurse, her breasts were full with milk, hidden just beneath her thin green shirt, her curves feminine, pleasing to the eye.

He pressed his lips together, feeling lust at the thought.

The lack of closeness to his wife for so long made it impossible for him to turn his attention away from such details.

"I have brought an ointment to apply to your eye, Your Grace. One of the guards conveyed me you were in pain." She said softly, her tone low, mysterious, filled with promise, something dangerous burning in her green eyes.

He thought she was made of fire, just like him.

He wasn't sure if he should agree, but the discomfort and pain he felt were unbearable.

He slipped his eye patch off his head, looking at her expectantly, curious about her reaction − the woman approached him slowly, placing the vessel on the table. She leaned over him, his gaze again involuntarily escaping to her breasts.

He saw that she smiled with the corner of her mouth and he realised that she was teasing him; the thought aroused and frustrated him at the same time.

Alys Rivers did not even flinch at the sight of his empty eye socket − she gently removed his sapphire eye and placed it on the cloth that she had earlier spread out on the table. She put the ointment on her finger and began to spread it gently on the sore skin of his eyesocket.

He realised that he had longed for that touch.

Her touch would be different, he thought.

Her hands would be smaller, her fingers longer; her lips would not curve in a lustful, confident smile, her eyes would be filled with attention and care.

She would have smelled of flowery, fresh oils.

She would be focused on her assignment, her warm breath would envelope his face − he would grasp her soft, plump breast in his hand, peeking through from under her thin nightgown, and she would giggle sweetly, asking him to let her do her task properly.

He would draw her onto his lap with impatient gesture, let her feel how much he craved her, and she would blush surely, speaking affectionately about how impatient her husband was.

He felt like crying at the thought.

Everything about his daily life was marked by her presence.

And now she was not by his side.

He shuddered when the woman's touch snapped him out of his reverie and he felt her hand on his palm − he took his hand from hers, looking away, filled with lust and desire, but no longer because of her.

If he didn't have a wife, he would have told her to stay, to be comforted, to experience at least a moment of solace.

But now, if he did, one important detail would frustrate him.

She wasn't her.

"You may leave." He said dryly, no longer bestowing his stare on her.

"I could give you an heir, Your Grace." She said, and he felt a shiver run down the back of his neck.

He looked at her, shocked by her words − she stood over him, a calm, sensual smile on her face.

She would give him an offspring.

A bastard child.

One like Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

One just like her.

Insolent whore.

"You may leave." He hissed, looking at her impatiently.

Alys took his words with surprising calmness.

"Your Grace." She said softly, bowing to him and turning away, heading towards the door in an unhurried motion, closing it behind her.

He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, realising that he was on the verge of doing something that he would deeply regret.

Being separated from his wife for so long was affecting him worse and worse, the weight of his sins crushing him more and more.

He needed consolation.

He placed the precious stone in his eye socket again, but no longer put on his eye patch; he took the parchment and quill and wrote a message, which he rolled up. He called out to his servant, tying up the letter and gave it to him, telling him to send it immediately to King's Landing directly to his wife.

He wrote just one sentence inside.

Join me in Harrenhal.

He had been waiting impatiently ever since, elated at his own decision − he wasn't sure if Aegon would agree to her leaving, or if he would want to keep her in the Red Keep.

He felt uneasy at the very thought that his brother might have wanted to claim her for himself.

What frightened him the most, however, was the thought that his wife would not want to see him at all.

That she still hadn't forgiven him for his cruel words.

That he would never get her back.

When he didn't receive any message from her after a few days he became afraid − he avoided Alys like a fire, yet she appeared where he was like a shadow.

He felt as if she was a reflection of him, his animal brutality, all his primal desires.

He felt that just as in the presence of his wife he was regaining consciousness and peace of mind, with this woman he was getting closer and closer to madness, his heart as black as her hair.

He knew that she desired him and there was something about her that attracted him too − a need to self-destruct, to destroy himself and everything in his path.

He prayed every night to the Seven Gods for his wife to arrive, to save him, to light up the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that kept him from thinking he was mad was his faithfulness.

He was faithful to his family.

He was faithful to his wife.

He fucked himself with hand almost every night, seeking fulfilment, imagining that it was her soft fingers and lips touching him, that she had returned to him, that she forgave him.

That she loved him.

Completely immersed in his thoughts, he could no longer even focus on what Cole was saying to him at the daily councils − he fought strenuously against the desire to fly to King's Landing.

One night he was awakened from a restless sleep by a knock on the door − a servant walked into his chamber saying that a woman claiming to be his wife was waiting downstairs in the main hall.

He had never dressed so quickly before, not even allowing himself to be helped by a servant − he left his chamber, running down the cold stone stairs, full of desire and hope, praying that it was true.

He saw in the dim light of the torch a small figure dressed in a travelling attire − a simple grey cloak, white shirt, a black corset and breeches. He froze, stopping in place − she heard his footsteps as she turned immediately, her face pale and terrified.

Her eyes wide in fear, her braided hair wet with rain, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her sweet lips parted at the sight of him.

It was her.

She looked just as she had when he first saw her in Storm's End.

Pulsating with life, delicate, soft, warm.

His.

She had arrived.

She had forgiven him.

His wife.

He looked at her face, not knowing how she would react to seeing him, but she smiled so wonderfully, that he felt his face contort in pain and relief.

She ran towards him and he threw himself at her, grasping her in his arms, pressing his yearning lips, throbbing with desire to hers with a low moan of despair and relief.

He pushed her aggressively towards the wall, making her take a couple steps back, clamping his hand on her soft hair. They panted into each other's mouths, kissing greedily, sucking and brushing each other's puffy lips with a sticky click, his fingers nimbly untying her corset, spreading it apart. He took a firm hold of her soft breast covered by her thin shirt and they both made a sound of delight.

He paid no attention to the fact that all around them were guards and servants who didn't know where to look.

Let them watch, he thought.

Let Alys Rivers look at what she was trying to win with.

Let them know what happens when fire and water come together.

"− get out − all of you −" He commanded in a low voice hoarse with desire, kissing and sucking her long neck, her hands clenched in his hair, as her fingers traveled down his back, holding him close.

He needed to feel her, right now, right here.

The guards and servants obediently left the hall, followed by a silence broken only by their panting and moans. Their fingers quickly began to untie their breeches, impatiently trying to deal with the material that stood in their way.

"− forgive me − I didn't mean a word − I swear −" He exhaled, caressing her with his swollen, moist lips, her hot cheeks, her long neck, unable to decide what he wanted to feel more, what he longed for more, her scent filling his lungs like the freshest night air.

"− forgive me, my sweetest − it's all well now −" He said in a voice trembling with despair and desire, lifting her up in his arms, pressing her against the cold stone wall.

She sobbed loudly as the pink, swollen head of his cock forced it's way between her fleshy, slick folds, her legs entwined around his waist, her hands clenched in his hair. She pulled off his eye patch, kissing his forehead and he groaned low, his hips with sure thrust sinked deep into her yearning, hot walls, so wet and tight for him, sticky with her moisture, welcoming him home.

"− I know − I'm here −" He panted into her ear, resting his forehead against the wall, her hands sliding down to his buttocks, clenching her fingers on his skin, seeking her own fulfilment, her whining echoing around the room as he slammed into her again and again, spreading her wide on his fat, throbbing cock.

"− don't leave me − ah − please, don't send me back −" She mumbled, her head tilted back, her breasts wonderfully bare before him − his lips grasped her nipple and began to suck on it greedily, drawing a wonderfully sweet moan of pleasure from her chest, their bodies bumping against each other with a lewd, wet slaps.

"− never −" He exhaled loudly, speeding up his pace, rooting into her so brutally and quickly that he felt like they were both almost screaming, hot and sweaty, so close to their peak.

"− I'm going to fuck you all night − tonight − tomorrow − fuck − the day after tomorrow − do you understand? −" He hissed in her ear, pounding into her with all strength he had in his hips, his fingers clenched painfully tight on her buttocks, her fleshy, slick insides clenching against him, making him groan with pleasure.

"− yes − please − please − please, fill me −" She sobbed helplessly and he hugged his face to her cheek, feeling he was about to cry out with happiness, praying it wasn't a dream, moaning helplessly along with her, his hips slamming into her with deep, sure, desperate thrusts.

"− g-gods − yes − please − ah! −" She mewled, tilting her head back, startled by the wonderful, powerful fulfillment that ran through her body like a storm, her loins trembling in convulsions, the sound of his name rushing out of her mouth like a whimper again and again.

"− that's it − your husband is close −" He whispered tenderly into her ear and clenched his eye with a low, helpless groan when he felt his hot spend finally spill inside her again, relaxing him so wonderfully, giving him pleasure from which he felt like he was about to faint.

He fell to his knees with her, and she squealed loudly, locked in his embrace, panting with him − they sat like that on the floor, shocked at how intense the closeness was.

They both swallowed loudly, breathing heavily, his face snuggled into her neck, inhaling her scent, filling his lungs wonderfully.

He thought that he could fall asleep with her like this on this uncomfortably cold stone floor if she wanted him to.

Her presence was enough for him.

He decided, however, that he would take pity on her.

He had plans for her.

"− we will finish in my chamber −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targeryen angst #hotd angst #aemond angst #ewan mitchell smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fandom #house of the dragon fandom #ewan mitchell fandom #aemond fandom #aemond x wife #aemond x wife reader

[morallyinept]

Heyday Hero - A Valentine's Story - Mature!Marcus Moreno

This is a story set in the Heyday Hero Universe. You might wanna read that one first if you haven't already.

Summary: Marcus pulls out all the stops to make your first Valentine's Day together really super!

Pairing: Mature!Marcus Moreno x Mature/CurvyF!Reader (No name of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader is of a similar age to Marcus, who I have made 52 in this story, and Reader is more on the curvier side in body type. Otherwise a blank slate. Images for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)

Word Count: 7.2k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Both Marcus & Reader have REAL bodies, and very real middle age spread/coming to terms with ageing & feeling obsolete.

Explicit: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering - Marcus has superpower hands⚡️/lots of kissing/schmaltzy romance/Marcus doesn't fuck, he makes love/all the flowers and pancake mush you can swallow/Marcus being the perfect, romantic fool

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine's Day, lovelies! 🥰 I just had to revisit these two love birds on this heart day. Love you all so much! 😘

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST

HEYDAY HERO <- Main Story

Enjoy! 🖤

The early morning Austin sun casts a warm glow over Marcus's garden as he ambles among the clusters of vibrant blooms swaying gently in the Texan breeze. 

Clipping blush peonies with thoughtful precision, his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Missy and you; the two women in his life showering him with more love in abundance than he could ever wish for. 

Fragrant petals whisper to him in the gentle flurry, carrying the promise of a special day he’s woken up to. A day that, for so long, had seemed so mundane - another day ending in a Y. So pointlessly lonely. Just ordinary in his solace without a partner to share the topical mushiness with, even if it was rife with capitalist sentiment sponsored by the fat cats at Hallmark. 

Lost in contemplation as he prunes and snips at stems, Marcus's thoughts are a blend of affection and giddy anticipation, and he can’t wait to see his daughter smile as she inhales in the perfumed fragrance of the florals he’s chosen just for her.

Despite the lack of a romantic partner since the passing of his wife and Missy's mother, his Valentine’s Days since were about showering Missy with love and appreciation, something that she initially resisted, stomping into her unruly teens and it being branded “uncool” to spend time with her father fussing over her as she was reaching maturity.

But he still upheld that tradition nonetheless.

Now a headstrong woman in her thirties, she could appreciate that effort and often sought it out willingly as she would snuggle in closer to him when watching a movie together after a hard day of fighting the world’s enemies and threats, and he would smile as she fell asleep snoring into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and subsequently leaving a patch of drool on it.

But as much as the superhero father-daughter duo loved one another, Marcus missed the companionship of a partner he could shower with hopelessly romantic sentiment and love of a more intimate kind.

That was until he met you.  

Over the course of the last six months, yours and Marcus’s relationship has bloomed and flourished, much like his garden, evolving into a softly hedonistic timeline woven with shared experiences, laughter, and genuine affection. 

Despite the exciting journey you’re both on, you both carry unspoken anxieties that occasionally cast shadows on the picturesque canvas of your budding romance.

Your dates were a delightfully regular mix of adventures - whether exploring museums, cozying up at home with a homemade dinner and a classic movie, or exploring the wonderland of nature.

And Marcus still can’t get your first meeting out of his mind. The date that solidified it all for him.

He was mesmerised by you, and still is, fearing some days he’ll wake up and realise it’s all been some wondrous dream where he subconsciously created and crafted you from the moulds of his inert loneliness. 

He glances over to the sun loungers by the pool, and his cock pulls tight in his jeans, remembering the two of you sat in one together, listening to your words as you read from your book to him, only a few days ago as the sun set into a fiery orange sky.

He can smell the scent of your skin again now as the tepid heat warmed it as he had you in his arms, basking in the dying rays as he buried himself inside of you from behind. His nose running tracks against the back of your neck as his fingers drew circles on your clit, bringing you to soaring heights without ever leaving the ground.

With the book discarded to the patio, his big hands were resting and stroking on the crinkles of your tummy skin as he whispered how beautiful you are, nipping on your earlobe as the sky blushed above you, an expansive voyeur to your lovemaking.

The gentle, yet enthusiastic, pace of your relationship allows you to savour each moment, creating a foundation of tentative understanding and trust. Yet, as the seasons change, the passage of time invokes subtle insecurities that bleed in uninvited.

It’s human nature, he supposes. Marcus, a retired superhero, whose body had once effortlessly defied gravity, now finds himself grappling with the harsh realities of ageing. The occasional ache and stiffness serve as reminders of the physical toll his heroic past has taken on him.

You, too, are confronted with your own insecurities when you stand in front of the mirror, naked after a shower, and notice things aren't as supple or as perky as they used to be. The mirage of eternal youth begins to dissipate, sands falling in the glass, replaced by the acknowledgement of lines that trace the stories of your laughter, and the gradual changes of a sinking gravity that comes with the eventual movement of time.

As the months towards his retirement from the Heroics had unfolded, Marcus began to notice the subtle changes in his body - the creaky echoes of years spent in the pursuit of justice. The once effortless movements that defined his superhero heydays were now accompanied by a quiet reminder of the toll taken on his physical form. 

Morning stiffness became a familiar companion as Marcus greeted the dawn - a stiffness of a different, less exciting kind.

The pops in his joints were like a cacophony of irritating reminders, a natural clicking chorus that played out, despite him being an unwilling conductor, as he rose from his bed. Aches manifested in areas that once bore the brunt of intense physical exertion.

His shoulders, which had once easily carried the weight of the world, now bore the imprints of past struggles. Welted, faded scars of times when he came close to exchanging his life so others could live, adorned him. White, little lines of jagged lightning against the golden skin that you would run your fingers or tongue over, bringing about a sensual healing in the layers of his marred epidermis with your explorative and worshipping ministrations.  

On some days, Marcus found himself pausing to stretch, a conscious effort to ease the tightness that settled into his muscles. The warm-up routine, once a prelude to high-flying acrobatic adventures, now became a ritual to navigate the nuances of a body shaped by years of gritty heroism.

Yet, despite the stark, physical reminders of ageing, Marcus approached each day with resilience and a quiet acceptance. The aches were not signals of defeat but rather markers of a life well-lived, a testament to the now grey hero who had faced challenges head-on and emerged with stories of grandeur etched into the fabric of his being. 

Observant and empathetic, you stood by Marcus's side as he navigated these physical aches and pains on the mornings you woke up together.

Your gentle massages and understanding glances spoke volumes, creating a space where the vulnerabilities of ageing became threads that wove you both closer together. 

He thinks back to the way your hands glide over his body and soon distract him from the aches to another ache weighing heavy between his legs. The more pleasant vareity of morning stiffness.

His ears are soon filled with your gasps and moans as he zones out under the morning sun, thinking back to mornings waking with you wrapped around him as he slipped inside you and worked you both out. 

In that tranquil corner of the garden, surrounded by the coveted peace of nature, Marcus confronts the uncertainties, but the happiness he feels quells any of that self-doubt in an instance. 

The kitchen, the epicentre of Marcus’s world now, soon becomes a hub of activity as Marcus sets about creating a special morning feast on the day of San Valentín.

The aroma of homemade pancakes fills the air, mingling with the scents of freshly brewed coffee and tarte fruity berries. The vase of peonies adorns the table, adding a touch of colour to the special breakfast spread he’s prepared all morning with love and care.

As Missy enters the kitchen, hair damp and bedraggled, the mild surprise melting away the sleep in her battered eyes, Marcus can't help but beam.

"Happy Valentine's Day, kiddo," he says, presenting her with the hand-cut bouquet.

Missy's eyes light up with unbridled joy as she accepts the vase of flowers with a kiss on the side of his fuzzy face. "Dad, these are beautiful. Thank you."

“Only the best for my muñeca. Sit, I made you some breakfast.” (Doll.)

“You’re not having breakfast with your lovely lady?”

“We’re spending the rest of the day together. I've made plans.” His eyes light up as he says it, pouring out hot coffee.

"Sneaky." Missy smirks.

“This morning is just for you and me.”

“Makes a change not to see you two half-naked and draped all over each other. You know, these walls are paper thin.”

“Shut up.” Marcus says, evidently blushing. 

“I ought to file a complaint, I’m sure it violates some building code… loud noises.”

“Or you could just stay at your place?” He suggests with a grin.

“Pffft. That’ll never happen.”

In the days leading up to Missy and you meeting for the first time - which was inevitable really considering how often your paths had almost crossed with Missy using her key at any God given time of day - Marcus hadn’t been able to shake a lingering sense of angst. He found himself caught in the crossroads of two important relationships intermingling in his life, and the fear of you both not getting along tugged at the edges of his erratic thoughts. 

As he’d prepared the house for your official get-together, Marcus couldn't help but second guess his decision. What if you didn't hit it off? The worry gnawed at him, the uncertainty of your connection becoming a lead weight on his broad shoulders and making him feel somewhat nauseous at the prospect of facing a choice.

He tried to distract himself with preparations, arranging a small dinner, which soon became over the top due to the stress-cooking that ensued, and ensuring the atmosphere was comfortable. 

But every now and then, a wave of anxiety washed over him despite Missy reminding him that he was worrying over nothing. 

If she makes you this goofy, Dad, then I already love her… Missy'd remarked as he clattered about clumsily with pans. 

When the hour finally arrived, Marcus did his best to hide his apprehension despite his squally gut. As Missy and you exchanged greetings, he observed your interactions with a hopeful, yet anxious, heart.

The initial moments were filled with small talk, and Marcus found himself holding his breath, waiting for a sign that you were connecting, and shucking in deep breaths of oxygen when you subtly reminded him to breathe, observing him turn a shade of purple and giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Of course, Marcus needn't have worried - Missy and you got on like a house on fire.

Laughter began to flow naturally, and conversations unfolded effortlessly. The tension in Marcus's shoulders eased as he witnessed his daughter and new partner finding common ground, especially in teasing him, it appeared.

Marcus smirks as he places a plate under Missy’s nose. 

“Heart-shaped, chocolate chip pancakes? You trying to woo me, Dad?”

“Just showing the love for my amazing daughter.” 

“Why, what are you after?” Smiling, she pours the raspberry syrup over the stack.

“Nothing. Just want you to know how special you are to me is all.” He mumbles quietly with pink cheeks frazzling under his thick rimmed specs.

"Your love is causing me to gain five pounds." She muses.

“What’s that?” He asks, nodding over to the skin on her shoulder now revealed as she ties back her hair.

She glances down at the rather large and angry bruise and back at her father’s concerned eyes. 

“I can handle it, Dad.” She reminds him as he visibly tenses. 

“I know. But I’m always going to worry. Even if you are a Moreno badass.” 

She laughs and then sighs, pulling her cardigan on and covering up the bruise. “Comes with the territory, right?"

He nods, sadly. "It does."

Missy picks up her fork to dig in and then hesitates. "Did you... did you ever have those days when you thought about throwing in the towel?”

Marcus nods again. “All the time.”

As Marcus reminisces about his past, memories of battles lost and wounds endured flood his mind like unwelcome guests crashing a solemn reunion. There were moments etched in his memory with the vividness of fresh lacerations - times when victory had slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving behind scars that ran deeper than mere flesh and bone.

“How did you keep going? How did you… find the strength?” She sighs and Marcus can only helplessly observe the features of her own face, young, but carrying that weight of the world is starting to age her quicker than he would like.

He remembers the deafening roar of explosions echoing in the night as he fought valiantly against insurmountable odds, only to find himself battered and broken, his spirit and pride bruised more than his body.

There were battles where the enemy's strength seemed limitless, where every blow landed with the force of a freight train, threatening to crush his resolve beneath its weight.

In the aftermath of defeat, Marcus found himself questioning everything he had once believed in. The wounds he bore were not just physical; they were a reflection of the doubts and insecurities that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

He considered putting away his katanas many, many times, walking away from the life of a hero and leaving behind the chaos and destruction that seemed to follow in his wake.

But even in the darkest moments of despair, a flicker of hope remained - a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished. It was the memory of those he had sworn to protect, the faces of innocence that haunted his dreams and whispered words of encouragement in the depths of his despair mid-fight.

Marcus leans over the counter on his arms and pinches a raspberry from Missy’s plate. 

“For you. I wanted to make the world a better place for you to grow up in. Safe.”

Missy smiles like a dim bulb about to burn out as she eats. “You did a pretty good job of that, Dad. I've had some big shoes to fill.”

He smiles, running his tongue around the raspberry pips now lodged in his teeth. 

“You’re doing great, kiddo.”

He reaches for another raspberry and she bats his hand away as he chuckles. 

“You know, you’re the only man who's ever gotten me flowers…” She says a few minutes later, eyeing the fluffy heads with a slight dip on her face, and Marcus can’t help but furrow his brow in unison.

Missy looks up at her father with twinkly eyes that mirror the melting chips in the pancakes. “I love you. You know that, right?” 

“Te quiero mucho, mucho.” (I love you very, very much.) He nods as they eat together. 

“I should get going-” Missy states after she finishes her plate, which only seems to be after a few hefty shovels.

“No, stay.”

“As much as I love being a third wheel, it’s Valentine’s Day.” She reminds him. 

“Hey.” Marcus takes her elbow gently. “You know this is your home, you're always welcome here, no matter what. I always want you here.”

“I know. But you guys should do the whole love thing today. Alone.” 

“What about you?” He asks, concerned at the thought of Missy sitting alone in her apartment on the most love-filled day of the year. 

“I’ll be fine.” She assures with a tight smile. “Might see if Miss Starlight or Renegade wanna hang. We can all be lonely and miserable together.” She snorts. 

A thoughtful pause follows before Marcus tentatively broaches the idea. "Have you ever thought about giving online dating a try? You know, like the dating app profile you made for me? I hear it’s all the rage these days."

Missy raises an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on her face, "Dad, are you suggesting I join the world of swipes and emojis? Because that ship has long sailed. I’m knee deep in dilfs on the regular." She grins.

Marcus chuckles nervously, "I have no idea what any of that means.”

“Probably best.”

“Well, I mean, it's one way to meet people. You might find someone who appreciates your eloquent wit and charm."

“Don’t forget the potty mouth.”

“That too,” he smiles. “I know what it’s like. Being the world’s hero leaves you somewhat… lonely. I don't want that for you.”

Missy nods contemplating. “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you two seem really happy together. I guess I miss having that sometimes.”

Marcus, feigning surprise, replies, "Really? Well, I guess you can thank your old man for staying on top of the trends and leading by example."

Missy rolls her eyes playfully, "Oh, I will, Dad. You're my dating app guru now."

“Hardly.” He scoffs.

“This is true, you lucked out on round one. You didn’t get to kiss any gnarly toads or do the walk of shame.”

“The walk of shame?”

“I'll tell you about it when you’re older some day,” Missy quips with a grin. 

There’s always a subtle restlessness, a physical awareness that manifests in the anticipation of your next meeting.

The memory of your kiss lingers on his lips, he can still taste you long after you're gone, and the mere thought of your touch again sparks a warmth that courses through his veins, burning him up from the inside.

His body has changed so much, and yet you make Marcus feel like he’s young and nubile again when the butterflies begin to flap around, and that tingle surges deliciously down the length of his cock.  

With a sense of heady excitement and a touch of mystery, Marcus decided to plan a special surprise for you for Valentine’s Day.

One that he hopes you won’t forget in a hurry. 

He arrives at your place, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and the breath torn from his lungs as he beholds you opening the door with that gorgeous smile just for him. 

Every time he has the chance to see you again, whether for a planned date or an unexpected visit, Marcus feels a powerful surge run through him, making his fingers crackle with a pulsing intensity that makes them buzz almost uncontrollably. He doesn't bother shaking the feeling away anymore, instead he revels in it.

The moments leading up to your regular reunions are filled with a blend of eagerness and a touch of nervous anticipation, as if each meeting holds the promise of uncovering something new and extraordinary.

In those stolen glances and shared moments, Marcus discovers that missing someone can be a beautiful ache, a testament to the depth of his feelings for you, absent hearts and all that spiel. 

An ache that is soon satiated when you open the door and smile at him like he’s the only man in the world. 

His lips find yours almost instantly as you grasp onto his broad shoulders in the doorway, the pair of you almost toppling through in your desperate haste. The soft groans that escape him makes your blood throb inside your veins.

His tongue slips into the comforting home of your mouth, and you feel it over every nerve ending in your body, tingly and visceral. And not just from his crackly fingertips.

“Hey you,” you eventually manage to sigh into his plush mouth, feeling the silk of his greying beard smoothing against your cheeks. 

“Hey, mi Dulzura…” (Hey, my Sweetness) he murmurs dreamily as he plants delicate kisses along your jawline and inhales the scent of your perfume. It’s the vanilla and jasmine one he likes so much when he can smell it lingering on his pillows. 

He’s all hands and enthusiastic smooches the moment he sees you. Unable to abnegate himself away from the basic needs of touch and affection that you give back to him in equal abundance.

You can't get enough of one another. 

You feel his large hands squeeze your hips gently, and your body flares as he pulls you in closer to him, crushed right up against his stacked, warm chest as he kisses you more with a heated groan. 

Reluctantly pulling away he suggests, "How about we go on a little adventure today? I've got something special planned."

“You spoil me, Mr Moreno.” You cluck, running your hands over the soft leather jacket adorning his arms. 

“Always,” he confirms with a grin. “You look great, so beautiful,” he says, eyeing your tight jeans and pretty floral shirt combo. 

“As do you, you scrub up well.” You marvel at the jeans, leather jacket and green t-shirt he’s casually adorned in, pulling tight in all the right places. You stroke over the soft swell of his tummy as you lean in for another kiss.

He pulls something silken out of his pocket and you glance at it with raised eyebrows. “May I?”

“Kinky shenanigans planned on my doorstep?” You query as you allow him to blindfold you. “The neighbours will love that…” You giggle.

“Even better,” he whispers into your ear salaciously. 

“You hound.” You swipe out playfully to him, but miss when you can’t see anything at all now.

“Woof.” He growls, pausing to nip on your lobe and revelling in your desperate whine in response.

After a short drive through town, Marcus finally pulls up. "Trust me, you're going to love this," he assures as he guides you out of the car.

He carefully leads you along a path, each step heightening the sense of anticipation. As you walk blindly, his arm around your waist, and your hand holding tightly onto his other, you can feel his own sense of excitement as it buzzes into your skin with those pleasant tingles and crackles.

“Just a little further.” He assures as he pushes open a door and you step through to inhale a moistness in the air; a balmy heat that’s different from the outside that settles into your pores. 

“Where are we?” You question with a jaunty, excitable tinkle. For a moment, the smell reminds you of a swimming pool.

“Just wait…” You can hear him grinning. 

When you reach your destination, Marcus removes the blindfold, unveiling the breathtaking scene of the Austin botanical garden before you.

The vibrant colours, the fragrant blossoms, and the serene atmosphere creates a picturesque display that leaves you in absolute awe.

You’re surrounded by flowers in abundance, the scent of them driving you wild as they all scramble to make you smell their perfumes first. You’re even more stunned to find it all completely empty.

"Welcome to the botanical garden.” Marcus says, tucking the blindfold into his leather jacket pocket. “It’s one of my favourite places.” 

“Wow!” You smile, turning a full three-sixty as you take it all in. “You know, I’ve always been meaning to come here. I don’t know why I haven’t before…”

“I thought we could spend the day here," Marcus announces with a grin. “Look,” he points over to a small set up of a picnic on a grassy area under an intricate arch of purple orchids in the shape of a heart.

“Looks like a giant purple heart emoji.” You smile at him. 

He nods, eyebrows wiggling above his specs.

“You really know how to romance a girl,” you smile, stroking under his chin. 

“I booked this place out just for us.” His hands slide down your lower back pulling you into him. “We’re completely alone…”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We have the whole day here, if we want.”

“I want. Very much.” You nod and pull him forward by his lapels for a deep kiss. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you smile, cupping his cheeks and gliding your nose over his. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, mi Dulzura. Feliz Día del Corazón.” (My Sweetness. Happy Heart Day.)

He kisses you, gently nipping onto your lips as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. 

The air is filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers as you stroll together along lush pathways, surrounded by an array of captivating plant life.

The Orchid Pavilion, the base for your picnic, is adorned with hanging baskets of intricate orchids, showcasing a kaleidoscope of colours - from delicate pastels to vibrant hues. 

After eating together, an array of home baked, sweet treats Marcus had prepared himself, you wander through a section adorned with curtains of exotic orchids, and Marcus can't contain his enthusiasm as he takes on the role of your personal tour guide.

A role he takes very seriously, much to your amusement. 

"Did you know orchids have a fascinating way of attracting pollinators? Some mimic the appearance and scent of certain insects to lure them in. It's nature's way of flirting, I suppose." He rambles excitedly.

You chuckle, finding Marcus's nerdy fascination endearing. "Flirting through flowers, who would've thought? Tell me more, Mr. Botanist."

You continue your fascinating journey, hand in hand, and Marcus points out a cluster of carnivorous plants. 

"These are pitcher plants. They have specialised leaves that form a pitcher-like structure to trap insects. It's like having a tiny garden predator."

“Have you got these in your garden?” You query, peering into their tube-like structures, like tiny trumpets in the grasses. He has so many of his own plants it's hard to remember them all.

“No. I do have a Venus Fly Trap though. She’s very bitey.” He nips on your neck making you yelp as he walks you forward. 

“Ah. Audrey II, of course.” You smirk. 

“Of course.” He muses. 

As you reach a serene pond surrounded by water lilies, Marcus shares another tidbit. 

"Water lilies close their flowers at night and reopen in the morning, and they…. what?” He stops to look at you quizzically, noting the expression spreading over your face. “W-why are you looking at me like that?”

You shake your head smiling, all teeth bared at him. “You're so sexy when you geek out.”

He blushes beet red and smirks. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until we get to the cacti garden. I will be insufferable.”

"Hot." You chuckle.

You meander through a section dedicated to succulents and cacti, where the desert's resilience takes centre stage. The ground is adorned with various prickly shapes and sizes, from the elegant arms of Saguaro cacti to the whimsical arrangements of succulents that seem to defy gravity as their spiky tendrils reach towards the sky. 

The sun bathes this arid landscape in a warm glow through the high glass ceilings, casting shadows that play on the pebbly, sandy ground like a dance of desert spirits conjured by mystical forces.

“You were right, it’s pretty awesome.” You say. 

“Not as awesome as you,” he whispers, kissing you again. 

A serpentine path leads you to the Aquatic Garden, where more water lilies float gracefully on the surface of a tranquil pond. Golden Koi Carp glide beneath the water, adding a splash of movement as you both sit by it chatting. 

The reflections of the surrounding greenery dance on the water, creating a mirror-like effect that seems to amplify the selection of plant species all around you. You dip your fingers into the pool, the fish swimming curiously around at a safe distance, and Marcus watches with a smile that makes his cheeks ache. 

“You like butterflies?” He asks you. 

You nod, smiling as he takes your hand and leads you to the Butterfly Conservatory, a whimsical space alive with fluttering colours of Black Swallowtails, Red Admirals and Cloudless Sulphurs.

Thousands of butterflies dance around, their delicate wings creating a haze of hues that add an extra layer of enchantment to the garden that stuns you into silent giggles at such a place.

“I wish I could fly sometimes.” You smile as the butterflies flit around, some landing on your sleeves as you admire their delicacy with a splendid awe.

You bring your arm closer to your face, your nose wrinkling in delight as the tiny butterfly shows off its wings just for you. 

“Funny you should mention that.” Marcus teases.

You eye him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“I have something else planned for you today. If you’re up for it?”

“I’m always up for it.” You smirk.

“Come on.” He takes you by the hand once more and leads you towards a garden that’s outside and full of roses in every shade of pink and red that exists on the colour scale. 

“This is stunning,” you say, slowing down as you take them all in.

Akin to being lost in the Queen of Heart’s gardens, it takes you a few minutes of wandering back through the maze of rose bushes, interwoven with clusters of pale lavender hydrangeas, to find Marcus handling some belts and clips near a device you’ve never seen before. 

“Is that what I think it is?” You question with wide eyes as you notice the large contraption hovering just a few inches above the grass, whirring silently.

It has two large circular fans and belts that lead from it to Marcus’s waist as he clips himself securely into it.

“You wanna fly?” He queries and you nod enthusiastically, feeling a surge zap through you and your toes tingle in your shoes. 

You feel him navigate a similar belt around your waist, willingly holding your arms out. He runs his nose against your neck as he does it, and you hear him groan in satisfaction as he inhales.

“Mouth watering...” He murmurs as he kisses your skin and your feel it pulse in your core as you clench around nothing. 

You watch as he clips your belt into his and tugs against it.

“Are you ready?” Marcus asks you as you step closer to him.

“No.” You giggle.

“Do you trust me?” He questions with a serious face, thumb stroking down your cheek.

You nod looking into his deep, cocoa eyes. “With my life.”

Marcus smiles at that, wrapping his hands around your waist. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, okay?"

"Okay." You nod, smiling.

"You’re not afraid of heights, are you?

“Bit late to ask me that now,” you chuckle, and so does he. "Are you going to run me through the pre-flight safety checks?"

Marcus smirks. "Hold onto me. That's it."

"Well, shit." You cling onto him as the whirring starts to get faster, the blades of grass blown out into flat circles, and you can feel the belt cinch tighter around your waist as it lifts you both off the ground. 

“Oh my God!” You clutch onto him tighter and he chuckles softly. “This is really happening!”

“Let’s go see the city.” Marcus smiles, placing a kiss on your head. 

Once a soft breeze, the wind grows more ferocious around you, your body becoming free from the reassuring surface of the world.

The wonder in your eyes grows to questionable proportions, and you’re soon completely bewildered at the fact that you're really flying.

He tips forward in a smooth motion so you’re both lying horizontal in the air when the device reaches the desired altitude.

“You ready?”

You nod eagerly as he propels forward with a simple push of his upper body, steering, as you both zoom off towards the Austin city skyline, your giggly gasps ringing in his ears.

Your eyes meet his in wonder as you grip onto him tightly. “Marcus! We’re flying!”

You feel like you’re shouting over the wind whipping against you, eyes wide and gleaming at the sight of the city approaching in a block chart of colour and twinkles of lights. 

It feels colder, but being crushed against his body keeps you warm enough. You’re too exhilarated to feel any change in body temperature. 

You brave yourself to look at the sky above sinking into an inky twilight of orange and cerise hues as the sun sets. 

“Welcome to my world,” Marcus says, nuzzling into you.

You feel his grip lessen and glance at him with alarm, but the look in his eyes convinces you he’s not going to let you fall.

He simply reaches for your hand with one of his, and you drop subtly beneath him, the belt keeping you close as he takes your other hand and you’re spread out beneath, back against his chest, arms wide as they can go as he holds them out parallel with his.

“Oh shit!” You gasp as he flies you both faster, curving and twisting around the breadth of the skyscrapers; your giddy reflection in the mirrors of the glass windows ara a blur as you pass. 

You don’t notice when he lets go of your hands, his arms around your waist instead as your own arms stay out in front of you as you rip through the air. 

“Better than the butterflies?” You hear him call.

“So much better than the butterflies!” You laugh, almost hysterically, as he loops back towards the botanical garden, after a few more laps around the city. 

As soon as you’re back on the ground in the rose garden, a wave of adrenaline surges through you, and you lunge at him with shaky limbs, almost knocking him off balance.

A melody of gasps and breathy pants puff out of your mouths as you kiss frantically through tinctured groans. The whimper in the back of his throat conveying more than words ever need to about his desire for you in this moment. 

Marcus unclips the belts, yanking them off of the both of you with a fumbling fervour, glued at the mouth with you. Clumsy kisses, teeth clashing against one anothers in your mutual haste, as you push his leather jacket down over his shoulders and his fingers eagerly untuck your shirt from your jeans. 

“That was incredible,” you gasp into his mouth, unzipping his jeans. 

“You’re incredible,” he groans as you take his swollen cock in your hand, squeezing and stroking gently as you lavish kisses over his bronzed neck. 

“Oh God,” Marcus moans.

Subtle flicks of your tongue leave him gasping, his hands running through your windswept hair as you make tracks over his chest littered with sparse, greying hairs as you both tumble to the grass and push his t-shirt up further. 

Tasting all the way down his sternum and lingering over the soft paunch of his tummy, a place you always nuzzle against, he glances down at you with a bashful smile.

Then a gentle nibble on his hips before your tongue wanders into the small, neatly trimmed thatch of hairs around the back of this thick, weeping cock. 

“Oh, please…” he whines biting down on his lip. 

You lick up from the base of him, your eyes transfixed on his as he gasps, watching you run up the full length of him to kiss the top of his leaking head gently. You stroke his thighs and he parts them further making room for you as you settle into making out with his cock. 

You’ve mastered the art of taking your time with him, enjoying the sounds that flutter out of his mouth as you take him deeper and deeper. Those unbridled whimpers as you suck fill your ears, and you swear you’ve never heard a more perfect sound escape him. 

It's when you take him all the way down is when he loses his calm, polite composure. 

“Fuck!” Marcus gasps, his head lolling back. “Mm, just like that…” 

You smirk to yourself as you feel fingers knotting in your hair and subtly tugging on it.

“Yeah… so fucking good. Oh my God… Yes.” He pants.

You let him have free reign over your body too, as he buries two fingers inside you and licks you to orgasm. His favourite place is between your legs, his second is a garden. When the two collide, it's even better.

“Marcus, please…” you pant, words tumbling from your mouth as your legs shake.

“Tell me, tell me what you want, mi Dulzura.”

“I want you inside me.”

“Right here?” You feel his buzzing fingers plunger deeper, stroking on that spot that makes your thighs shake harder as you feel the tingles ramp up. “You want me filling you up, hmm?” 

“Yeah.” You pant as he circles your clit. The heavy throb undeniable on it from the crackling in the tip of his thumb.

“That feel good?” He smirks.

You fist the grass, tearing blades from it that stick to your palms as you grasp his face, fingernails digging into his skull behind his ears as your exhale and puff into his face. 

“Oh my God, yes, Marcus!”

His glasses dig into your cheeks as you strain and wail, your breath fogging them up a little.

“Come for me. Come all over my fingers, come on.” He chants watching you, foreheads crushed together as he zaps and strokes harder inside you. 

“Come, mi Dulzura. ¡Dios mío, eres tan malditamente hermosa!” (My God, you're so damn beautiful!)

The Spanish whispers send you over the edge. “M-Marcus!” You cry out, squeezing around his fingers as your whole body shakes; tingles flooding all over and making you feel like you’re still flying, all the way up there in the pale lilac sky above you as your eyes roll back into it.

You feel him kissing over your neck, humming softly muffled words of praise and desire into your skin as your slick coats his fingers just like he wanted.

"So fucking perfect for me," Marcus croons.

“I need you.” You whisper. 

“God, I need you, too.”

His large, perfectly sculpted nose crushes into the side of your jaw as he fills you; your gasps and whines echoing around the rose garden as he slides into your utterly drenched pussy.

He loves how the stretch of you around his cock brings you to orgasm almost right away; a few gentle thrusts as you adjust to his thickness, and you’re shuddering for him, coating him in your slick before he plunders deeper with that gentle, rhythmic pounding.

He loves how you're completely insatiable for one another, despite the ravishes of age rendering your bones heavier, your paces slower.

Despite it all, you still embark on a journey of a healthy sexual appetite, even if you both have to navigate it with a little more preparedness sometimes; it still rocks your world.

He still has it, and so do you. 

“You feel so good,” You whisper to him as he nuzzles into your face. The wind of his hips into yours, hits you at the perfect angle, again and again. 

“We feel so good together,” he breathes with a smile. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. I don't think I’ll ever stop getting enough of you.” 

You kiss him again as he thrusts a little harder, a little faster. 

The vulnerabilities of being so exposed, so spread before him like this, revealing all the parts about yourself you’ve scrutinised scathingly in the mirror with abhorrence, fade away.

It’s all those wrinkled, stretched, sagged parts of you that he worships with his crackly fingers and tongue. He spends time appreciating them, fawning over them and lavishing them with the attention they so thoroughly deserve as he rolls with you so you’re on top now.

How you watch as your less-than-perky breasts tumble into his face as he pulls them out of your bra, but he licks and suckles at them as his cock notches against your hole and he groans out as you sit on him fully. Running his tongue around those stiff pebbles unabashed, sucking them into his mouth as you grind on him. 

“Come for me…” Marcus pants as he watches that dreamy glaze settle into your eyes as you ride him; that glittery feeling about ready to burst out of your pores as he pushes up with his hips to meet you. “Need to feel you soak me.” 

“Oh shit, I’m coming!” You shake on top of him, gasping. Head thrown back as you rock and grinning as you see stars explode across the sky above you. 

Yeah. Marcus Moreno has still got it.

“That’s it, like that. Fuck, I’m gonna come too! Fuck! Fuuuck!”

Marcus stiffens, his whole body tenses as his hips jerk, and he fills you up. Floods you until he's dripping warm and pearly out of you, all over his soft belly, as you lean upwards to kiss him some more.

Afterwards, as you both lay in the grass half dressed and satiated from the highs of flying and your lovemaking, Marcus reaches up above you both, plucking a single, red rose from the bush and hands it to you. 

You sniff the fragrant petals and smile at him with glittery eyes that wander over his face looking back at you. You run the rose head gently over his cheek and he smiles, and you think you've never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

The way he’s looking at you right now literally renders you mute and unable to breathe. 

But he's a tempest under that sweet smile.

He’s felt it for a while now, that tether between you becoming tighter, knotting into something unbreakable and deepening, but he finds himself grappling with a gnawing worry - one that whispers doubts in the quiet moments of contemplation.

He fears the weight of those three simple words that are on the cusp of his tongue: I love you. 

It wasn't that he doubted the sincerity of his emotions; rather, it was the fear of the unknown, the uncertainty of how those words might alter the delicate balance of your relationship.

Is it too soon? Is it too much? Is it foolish at his age to even begin to allow himself the same giddy excitement he felt when he was much younger? Would uttering those words irrevocably change the dynamic between you, shifting the fragile equilibrium you had both carefully cultivated?

There's also the fear of rejection, of laying his heart bare only to have it met with silence or crippling hesitation. What if you might not feel the same way yet, or even at all? That his declaration of love might drive a wedge between you rather than bring you closer together causes a reaction within him that makes him physically tense.

“I can feel your heartbeat speeding up,” you say, regarding him quizzically with your hand already resting on his chest. Little fluttery pulses thrum under your fingertips.

Looking at you gazing up at him, a mixture of awe and concern, Marcus knows he has all he’s ever wanted and needed right here in his arms, and he can't deny the truth that simmers beneath the surface of his hesitations. 

He loves you with a fierceness that defies logic - defies gravity, even. A love that transcends the boundaries of time and space. And as he grapples with his fears, he knows deep down that the only way forward is to take a leap of faith, to trust in the strength of your forged connection that grows stronger between you every day. 

He decides he has to be bold. To be brave.

To be heroic. 

“I love you. I-I’m in love with you.” Marcus says softly, wrinkled almond eyes swimming with a mix of euphoria and worry. “Be my Valentine?”

You reach for him, stroking your fingers in the soft silk of his greying jawline. 

“También te quiero, Marcus.” You say, before he grazes his lips across yours. (I love you too, Marcus.)

“You learned some Spanish.” He whispers in awe, pulling his smile wide and eyes glistening behind the lenses of his specs.

“I figured I should. After all, I wanna understand all the special things you whisper in my ear.” 

“Sólo las cosas más especiales, y sucias, para ti, mi amor…” (Only the most special, and dirty, things for you, my love.)

“Yeah, I’m not fluent.” You chuckle as he kisses you, pulling you over fully onto his body where he crushes you against him. 

“Yet,” he smiles, as he sucks your bottom lip into this mouth for a deep kiss. 

“So, are we flying home, or…?” You ask.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie now,  hmm?” 

“What can I say, you’ve taken me to new heights, Mr Moreno. I might become addicted.”

“I already am.” Marcus says, nuzzling into you. 

“We should go soon, someone might find us?”

He shakes his head. “I told you, we have the whole place to ourselves, for a little while longer anyway. What do you want to do?”

You smile at him, devilishly.

“Make me fly again…” You whisper, as you feel his re-hardened cock dipping into your sticky folds. 

You push back as he slips fully inside you, hips bucking up to fill you full of him once more, and Marcus does exactly what you ask of him; he lets you fly. 

Thank you so much for enjoying this story! I'd love to know your thoughts and would really appreciate a re-blog too so others can enjoy some Mature!Marcus Moreno. Isn't he just dreamy? Happy Valentine's Day! 🖤😘

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#pedro pascal x reader #marcus moreno x reader #pedro pascal #marcus moreno #pedro pascal characters #mature!marcus moreno #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fluff #valentines day #jett's writing

[drdemonprince]

Hangouts don’t have to involve doing something out of the ordinary together— majority of life is an accumulation of a series of mundane, regular, consistent tasks we need to engage in to survive. The goal is to move towards sharing the mundane together rather than drifting through each day, moving from task to task… alone. Right now, I’m being forced to apply for jobs so I have a position as an attending somewhere after I finish my fellowship next June. There’s so few openings that I can’t be picky about location. I’m also simultaneously studying for my board exams to get licensed in my medical specialty. It’s overwhelming. I find most of these processes deeply unethical and it is excruciatingly cringe to beg for someone to see that you are worthy of life. I’m not even sure how long I can drag on in academic medicine… so this is a particularly stressful time period in my life. But I don’t want to isolate and study myself to death. I don’t want to fixate on this in a way where I have no time left to spend with the people I care about. If I only hung out with people to do something different/ fun/ out of the norm, I’d essentially limit myself to sporadic interactions. Instead, I asked my homies if I could still be there with them AND study or work on a stupid cover letter etc. Along with communal cooking nights and such, I’m slowly starting to spend more time in comforting silence with my homies. I’ll be studying while someone is cleaning or cooking or doing their laundry. Bottomline: I want our day-to-day lives to be more bearable. The cooking, cleaning, caretaking, caregiving, chores, all of the mundane… that’s where we can gradually build in more interdependence. It’s nice to have celebrations that honor any auspicious moment or time in our lives. It’s great to get together to try something new. But we need more low-stakes hangouts that also give us room to deepen our relationships. In Bengre, even if some folks still went out into the city to work during the day— almost everyone including our elders and children, would be outside under the moon at night. Some spend hours drinking chai on porches looking onward at the children playing cricket on the beach sand. Some make the rounds sprinkling blessed flowers from this morning’s temple ritual on every patch of fertile soil in the village as an offering to the land. Some practice their musical instruments and everyone can hear the soothing beats of the mridangam or the melody of the tambura. Some are out back in the kitchens mashing together spices to marinade the fish that others caught on the river this morning. Point is anything… no matter how “mundane” can be a ritual. If anything, that is what makes rituals sustainable.

Beautiful writing from Ayesha Khan that gets me thinking about the conversations we've been having on here about culture!